The Errant Flock (9 page)

Chapter Fifteen

It was still dark, and the church bells had just chimed six times. The forty militiamen stood in line in the barrack’s courtyard, which was situated near the gatehouse on the castle’s north-east corner. Their swords were sheaved in thick leather belts. Each man had a dagger tucked into his waistband and ten of them also held longbows, which rested upright on the ground, casually held in their hands.

David looked at the men’s faces, turning bright red with cold, and wished he could feel the same way he had yesterday morning, when he had not a care in the world and was looking forward to a grand feast of wild boar with his family.

Although his expression was passive, it hid the tumultuous thoughts and feelings that were overwhelming him. News about the previous night’s attacks on farms, his brother’s death, the young murdered couple, and missing children would come soon. The men were going to be shocked and enraged, and he would have to appear as though he were learning the details for the first time. Displaying grief for his brother, Juanjo, wouldn’t be difficult, he thought, for he was in terrible pain and needed to weep.

During the night, guards had spotted one fire burning on the plain; that much he had heard. It had probably been the plot nearest to the castle, which lay in its line of sight. His father’s farm and the other casualty of the attack would not have been so easily seen, as both of these plots sat farther to the east, on the other side of a thick wooded area. No one had been dispatched to investigate, however, and as far as he was aware, none of the soldiers with him had been informed about the reason the farmhouse had gone up in flames.

His chalk-white exhausted face fought to hide the anguish he felt. On his return to the barracks, he’d had just enough time to wash the smoky grime off his skin before the other men awoke. Luckily, apart from the two night guardsmen, no one had seen him come in. The guards had not asked him any questions, nor would they say a word to anyone about seeing him. Soldiers often slipped out to see their wives during the night or to poke a lover or an easy wench. This was forbidden, but there was a close companionship within the ranks, and their allegiance to each other was at times stronger than their loyalty to the duke.

Orders were about to be issued for the day. David’s eyes followed the militia’s captain, Vicént Tur, nervously pacing in front of a castle door. What news would he give the men first? David wondered. Tur’s face looked tense. He was not known for good humour or an easy smile. His conversations were usually conducted in monosyllables, with yes and no answers, and he rarely used full sentences. But this morning, he looked as though he would strike a man for so much as farting in the line.

Paco Morales, standing next to David, nudged him, and as though reading David’s thoughts, said, “Tur looks as though he’s just drunk piss for water.”

David had a fondness for Paco, who had guided him through his first weeks in the militia. Some considered his lively character annoying. David thought him amusing, yet at times he was overly curious about everyone else’s business … He certainly wasn’t boring.

“Maybe he should drink a bucket of wine and make love to his wife,” David said, shrugging.

“He should be so lucky on both counts,” Paco chuckled. “I don’t think he’s seen underneath his wife’s dress for years, and he doesn’t drink wine, not since he got rowdily drunk last year and spent three weeks in prison strapped inside an empty barrel with his head sticking out of the top like a chicken. That had a terrible effect on him... He’s turned to God –goes to Mass every morning and confession every couple of days. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he’s leaving the militia and entering a monastery. ”

David studied Tur with fresh eyes. “Is that why he always looks so sullen – because he’s turned to religion?”

“I don’t know. Maybe God doesn’t pay Tur any more attention to him than his wife does. All I know is that he was much happier when he was falling down drunk in front of the church instead of kneeling down in prayer inside it,” Paco offered with a grin. “This is an important day, my lad. That’s all I know. The duke finally has an heir, and apparently there are going to be big celebrations. Good days are coming to Sagrat. I can smell them.”

How wrong Paco was
, David thought, shifting his feet from one to the other to stop them from becoming numb. He continued to watch Tur whispering to one of the men some distance away and shuddered, feeling that someone had just stepped on his grave. Dear God, what he wouldn’t do for some hot broth and the heat of a blazing fire to thaw his bones. Tiredness was making him shiver. He’d freeze his arse off before the inspection happened.

David turned his thoughts again to the previous night. After Diego had left the farm with the little girl, David had persuaded his mother and father to come back to Sagrat with him. Their languid steps had eventually reached the San Agustin church in the town square, after it had been decided that they should throw themselves at Father Bernardo’s feet and beg for help.

David had left Juan and Isa on the church’s steps, afraid of being seen and later questioned about why he’d been at the farm. He wondered if the priest gave his parents shelter and alms. Of course he did. It was his job to care for his flock.

              The sight of Diego, head hanging and walking across the plain with the child in his arms, had broken David’s heart. He would probably never see his brother again. His lasting memory of him would be that of his half-naked body and bare feet stumbling in the darkness, his torn nightshirt billowing in the wind.

He would never stop worrying about him. Where was he now? What did the future hold for him? A ship’s captain might not employ a man that looked like a beggar without means to clothe himself? But Diego was a clever boy, David reminded himself. He was astute, and underneath the grime covering his body was a handsome man with a beguiling smile which could charm the most reluctant birds off a tree. He was going to survive and flourish. He, David, had to believe that.

At least there was comfort, knowing that the little girl was alive. He prayed for her  survival and for her future, but part of him wished he had not saved her. He hated himself for even thinking that, but he also knew that she was the reason he’d been compelled to tell his family about the murders. His father’s words would be like pig’s dung on his boots, going with him wherever he went. “After we reach the church, I don’t want to see your face again. You have shamed me. I have lost three sons tonight because of you. Damn your soul to hell.” Not many words, David thought, but they had been powerful and painful to hear.

Chapter Sixteen

David was jolted from his thoughts by Tur’s shrill orders to come to attention. Looking up, he saw Garcia appear. Steeling himself to stand with a blank expression, David steadied his pounding heart and tried to cull his hatred. He should have known this was going to happen. Before any questions could be asked, Garcia was here to lie through his teeth about the previous night.

He studied Garcia from out of the corner of his eye and inwardly cursed him. The treasurer seemed to wear a constant sneer on his mouth, as though measuring another man’s worth and finding it lacking. He was a festering boil, born of a whore who had probably never known the name of her baby’s father. He was a sinister force, more powerful in nature than the duke was, and he was certainly capable of sending men to the farms to destroy and kill.              

After talking to Tur, Garcia came to stand centre front of the line. Cocking his head to one side, he listened to something Tur was whispering in his ear, and then he looked at the soldiers standing in the front row.

“David Sanz, step forward!” Captain Tur shouted.

“What have you done, lad?” Paco whispered hurriedly.

“Nothing,” David mumbled as he left the line.

Standing before Garcia, he felt compelled to give him a courtesy bow of his head. But David’s only thought was that his fellow militiamen would now share his grief, and he was glad.

“I must have words with you, Sanz,” Garcia said in a flat, unemotional voice. “Follow me.”

When Garcia, Tur, and David were out of earshot of the other men, Garcia wasted no time. “I’ve just been informed by Father Bernardo that your father’s farm was attacked by marauders last night. It seems that your brother Juanjo was killed … You have my condolences.”

An anguished roar left David’s mouth. He bowed his head and then covered his face with both hands. Condolences? The whoreson wasn’t sorry. Swaying with a rush of blood to his head, he conjured images previously pushed away. The full force of grief and guilt finally surfaced. His brother’s lifeless body and the dead couple he had sliced open with his blades … His father’s disapproving face and his mother’s tears …

The sound of muffled weeping escaped through his fingers. “Oh … dear God … no.”

“You have my condolences, Sanz,” he heard Tur say.

Lifting his head, David ignored Tur and instead stared at Garcia, who flinched under the penetrating gaze.

“I can assure you that we will find out who did this to your family. We never know when tragedy will strike, do we?” Garcia said, and his left eyebrow rose in a sinister arch.

David gasped. The bastard was taunting him! He
had
ordered the attack. The maggot’s guilt was as plain as the reddened cheeks under his shifty eyes. David’s hand went instinctively for his sword, and it rested on its hilt for a few seconds, until he came to his senses and dragged it away.

Garcia looked at David’s weapon and then lifted his eyes to stare at David with a belittling smirk playing on his lips.

David was lost in rage. Scowling angrily, he willed Garcia to sense his thoughts and to feel his fury. If he could end the whoreson right now and give his mother the revenge she craved, he would find some peace, he kept thinking. He’d accept any punishment for the pleasure of killing this pus from the fattest whore’s pox! “Where is my family?” he muttered.

“Father Bernardo is looking after them,” Garcia said. “You mustn’t worry about them. They will be given shelter in the town.”

“Thank you, Your Honour.”

“No need to thank me. It’s our duty to care for Sagrat’s townspeople.”

“Might I return to the line now?” David asked politely.

“Yes, but before you join the ranks, I wonder if I might ask you about your other brother … Diego? I believe that’s his name. Father Bernardo told me that he was not with your parents. They don’t seem to know where he is. I find that strange.”

David let out a painful sigh. “I haven’t seen my brother for over a month but there is nothing strange about that. Diego is a wanderer. If my mother and father don’t know where he is, it’s because he probably took himself off to look for work and has not yet returned. He often does that.”

“I see. Well, if he returns, you must inform Captain Tur.” Looking at Tur, Garcia added, “Perhaps you could find Sanz’s brother a position with the militia … if the lad needs a job?”

“Yes, Your Honour. If he’s half as good a swordsman as Sanz here, we’d be lucky to have him,” Tur answered, albeit reluctantly.

David appealed to his leader. “Captain, will you allow me to go to my parents?”

“Later,” Garcia answered for Tur. “Captain Tur will need all his men today.”

David’s body shook with rage from head to toes. He was safe for the moment. His presence at the farm the previous night was still a secret. Garcia hadn’t been told. He prayed that would remain the case.

In his mind, he gathered the images of the marauders’ faces and tried to recall the smallest of details. It had been dark, but the fire had lit up the area and he’d had a good look at them. He didn’t think he would be able to recognise any of them if he passed them in a street, but their leader’s face, pitted with deep red scarring from his left eyebrow to his cheek, was unforgettable.

         “Soldiers!” David heard Garcia shout. “Her Grace has been safely delivered of a son. This is a great day for Sagrat and for her people.”

             
Lies, lies!
David wanted to scream, as he listened to the men’s exploding applause.

“If only our lives were filled with joyous moments and empty of sorrow. Sadly, God tests us, for with gladness comes dismal news,” Garcia continued when there was silence. “It’s been many months since our port was last attacked and looted by marauders, and even longer since bandits caused mischief in our town, but last night Sagrat was once again violated by scum who came in the night like quiet demons.”

He pointed to David. “David Sanz has just been informed that his family’s home was destroyed and his young brother murdered by swine! But his family were not the only victims. Two other farms were also burnt to the ground.” Garcia stared at David, taunting him once again with his eyes.

The men looked at David, and while many muttered their condolences, others were intent on questioning Garcia.

“How could we not know about this attack?” a soldier shouted.

“Who was attacked? When did this happen?” another wanted to know.

Tur’s voice boomed above the noise. “Let the lord treasurer speak!”

David held his breath.
Tell us about the murders,
he thought, staring boldly at Garcia.
Explain why only one home in this entire town was attacked.

Paco placed his hand on David shoulder, but David barely noticed. His mind raced. Garcia was going to say that the marauders killed the young couple and stole the children. It all made sense now. The marauders had set the fires so that the people would believe that the various crimes were connected. Feeling as though he was going to collapse, David then remembered to breathe.

Garcia continued. “After burning homes on the plain, these evil blasphemers stole into our town and murdered a young couple and abducted their two babies from their home.”

The men gasped with shock. Garcia allowed a moment of rage to settle in the militiamen’s minds and then continued with dire warnings.

“We must be extra vigilant, for we may have slave traders in our midst. And they will strike again and again, as is their way.”

Shame washed over David, but with it came relief. Garcia had shifted suspicion away from anyone living in Sagrat and on to faceless marauders who had plagued Valencia for years. He looked at the stunned faces around him and listened to the rising tide of voices that were interrupting Garcia again. Never had he witnessed havoc in the ranks. He glanced at Garcia, who seemed to be satisfied with the militia’s reaction.

At last, Tur told the men to shut up.

“We must find the bastards and bring them to justice!” Garcia shouted as the noise died down. “And when we have them in our grasp, we’ll cut off their balls and their rods and hang them around their throats like necklaces! Men, your duke demands that you hunt the vermin from here to the coast, to the north, and south of the port … Find these stolen babies and bring them home! Garcia stopped talking for a moment to look at the soldiers’ faces. “Bring these whoresons back alive,” he continued, “and we’ll watch them roast like pigs!”