The Errant Flock (3 page)

Chapter Three

Luis looked down at his sleeping wife from the side of her bed and frowned. Even in sleep, her flickering eyelids still bore the pain of childbirth. Her olive complexion had an insipid pallor. Damp hair stuck to her cheeks, and every now and then, her breathing was interrupted by a sharp, squeaky moan.

He rarely looked at her for this long or this closely, for she scared him. Apart from needing her to bear him a child, he detested being in the same room as her. He would rather face a snapping pack of wolves than her when she was awake.

She was not beautiful by any means, he thought, continuing to gaze at her. Her black lustrous hair was magnificent, but even as a fifteen-year-old bride, that womanly glory had been dulled by the expressionless face it framed. Her body was pitifully thin, with visible bulging bones at her shoulders, chest, and ribcage. When he held her during lovemaking, she felt like a scrawny chicken that he could easily snap into pieces.

Her facial features were uninteresting. Small hooded eyes bordered a long hooked nose. Her lips, which were full and pink, some might call pretty if she were to smile more often, but in his opinion, they were uninviting.

She was the plainest of women, but that mattered not to Luis. No, it was her morose character and the malignant stares that chilled his heart, and lay heavily on his mind. Saul Cabrera had been right about one thing, he thought. She did have an ailment of the mind, although he had no idea what had caused it or how it could be cured.

He must have been blind and deaf. He had only met her twice before they wed, and he’d thought her painfully bashful at the time. But he couldn’t recall any blatant symptoms of madness, and as he’d taken very little interest in her since their marriage, he hadn’t really noticed her childish behaviour transform into lunacy.

Were it not for her father, he would have had her locked up, out of sight and out of mind. Her obsession with painted dolls, their clothing, and faces with varying expressions vexed him, as did her refusal to part with them. She slept with them, ate with them by her side, and conversed with them much more frequently than she ever did with people. Her incoherent mumblings, hysterical weeping, and stamping of feet when she didn’t get her way enraged him and frightened the living daylights out of everyone around her. The screeching outbursts, for seemingly no reason at all, echoed throughout the castle’s halls day and night. She humiliated and belittled him – so much so that he no longer appeared in public with her.

Queen Isabella had chosen Josefa for him. The young girl had not been his choice, and he had freely admitted to his father at the time that in favour of any number of other court ladies, he would have cast her aside in the queen’s hallways without giving her a second glance.

Josefa was of good Catholic stock, Luis’s father had countered. She hailed from a family steeped in loyalty to the Castile crown. Josefa’s father, summoned to Aragon by King Ferdinand from Cordoba, in the kingdom of Castile, had ingratiated himself into a position of power with lightning speed. He was not an ordained bishop, priest, or a member of the clergy, for that matter, but he was a scholar of great note and unlike the old Inquisition, an inquisitor didn’t have to be a member of the clergy to hold office. There was nothing that Gaspar de Amo didn’t know about canon law, for he had studied it for most of his adult life and was a university graduate on the subject. Luis believed that not even the Bishops’ Council in Rome could recite, analyse, and act on Catholic teachings as profoundly well as his father-by-law. His published works circulated throughout the Vatican and were a highly regarded source of reading for Catholic scholars everywhere.

In part, Luis was grateful to have Josefa for a wife. Of course, this contentment had nothing to do with her but everything to do with her father. Some three years earlier, De Amo had been chosen to sit on one of the councils of inquisitors. Thomas de Torquemada, the papal inquisitor-general for Aragon, had chosen De Amo personally, and his choice had been backed by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella.

Since taking office, De Amo’s tribunals had been relentless. Many of Aragon’s nobles, from Valencia to Zaragoza, squirmed uncomfortably at the mention of his name, for not even they were safe from his scrutiny. His prowess for obtaining confessions of heresy was widely respected, but many people secretly despised him or were terrified of being in the same room as him.

Angered by previous insurrections by Aragon’s nobles and Valencia in particular, he delved deep into the lives of counts, barons, and the aristocracy, who in his opinion did not pay an acceptable amount of reverence to canon law. Humble peasants and townspeople, lax in their public devotions, were also targeted in his incessant need to save souls and bring them back to the fold. But those who suffered the most were the
conversos
, Jews who had converted to Christianity. None of them were protected against accusations made against them … and no amount of bribery could save a man or woman from trial, conviction, and the sentence that came afterwards.

De Amo was an extremely wealthy man. The sovereigns, who had plied him with riches and land, loved him, yet he continued to exasperate Aragon’s subjects with unfair sanctions, which included confiscation of property and wealth from accused and convicted heretics. These measures were against the
fueros
, local laws, but De Amo had argued that fueros should not be invoked in order to deliver a heretic from justice. Furthermore, the new Spanish Inquisition had been created by the decision of the Holy See, and any other laws could not override canon law, in his opinion. The monarchs agreed with him on every debate; in doing so, they alienated their noblemen and stoked flames of dissent.

Unlike other nobles, Luis believed that he was safe from the Council of Inquisitors’ investigations. De Amo loved his daughter, and she was his only child. Scoffing, Luis thought,
If not me, who else would look after the madwoman lying in the bed?
He was sure that the inquisitor would not want his daughter living with him, for at times, she looked as though demons possessed her. Some might even call her a witch … the spawn of the devil. Would De Amo arrest and punish his own daughter? Would he throw her into a prison cell or have her burned at the stake? No, he would protect her, insisting that she was kept hidden in Sagrat’s castle, sheltered by her husband.

He shook his head in dismay. A healthy Peráto child would have further secured his position with his father by law. Having a grandson would have ensured the longevity and prosperity of the Peráto and De Amo families. And for the sake of his grandson, the inquisitor would have been only too happy to prop up Sagrat’s coffers.

Sagrat was facing financial ruin because of the previous duke’s mismanagement of funds. Had he thought more about his town instead of worrying about Castile, Sagrat would not be facing its present troubles. He’d been one of the few Aragonese nobles to give his financial support to the king and queen’s war in Granada, and his generosity had been unwarranted and irresponsible.

Competition with Valencia for trade and fishing rights was fierce. Jewish taxes were diminishing, as each day more of them left the town. Their skills as artisans and leather makers had been critical to Sagrat’s financial well-being. But their businesses were now being shunned by Christians trying to force them out. Even the most respectable Jewish moneylenders had lost their trade, because of a royal decree. Why should the Jews stay? They had nothing left and no hope of a decent future.

Josefa stirred and opened her eyes. Her feverish wild stare bore into him like daggers. He sighed involuntarily, lifted her limp hand, and pressed her palm to his lips. “Are you well, my lady?” he asked her.

“Don’t touch me. I’m tired,” she said, pulling her hand away and tucking it under the covers. “And I hurt down there.” She pointed between her legs with her other hand. “Where’s my dolly? Where is Pepita? I want her to sleep with me. I want her.”

She hasn’t even asked about the baby,
Luis thought, disgusted. Had she forgotten about it? “Do you remember delivering a son?” he asked her.

“Yes, it was horrible. The old man that was here said it was a boy child... I don’t play with boys... I only like girl dollies.”

“Are you not happy? Our son is a strong boy,” Luis tried again. He choked on the lie he had just spoken, but he needed her to hear him say that they had a fine son. Who knew what her tongue would let slip to her ladies should she know the infant was dead. “Rest a bit longer. You must build strength to nourish him …”

“Where is my dolly?” she said sullenly. “I want her … I want her now!”

Luis picked up the closest alabaster doll and threw it on top of the bed covers. Josefa began to cry. “That’s not Pepita! You’re a bad man!”

Luis walked from the room, closing the door behind him.
Let her weep.
I don’t have to listen to her,
he thought.

Chapter Four

With a pensive expression, Luis sat in a cushioned chair in his office. The past two hours had passed swiftly, and in that time, Cabrera had been disposed of. He and the town’s treasurer had been the only other two people privy to the baby’s death. Josefa, her ladies, and the guards remained ignorant of that truth, for Saul Cabrera had snatched the babe from the chamber as soon as he’d seen its breath falter. At least he’d done something right, Luis thought.

He studied David, who was standing before him, and tried to get the measure of him quickly. Secrecy was the key to success. Persuading the young man to do his bidding would require a subtle yet decisive approach, and if he refused to carry out the order, he too would have to be killed.

Luis couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he’d come up with the plan, which would see him be the father he was meant to be, but from the instant it had come to mind, he’d known that it was the right thing to do. His heart pounded. It was an ambitious proposal, which would have grave consequences should the man in front of him fail. He knew nothing about Sanz, except that he was a fledgling militiaman. He didn’t have time to look into the soldier’s life, his family background, or to ponder over his loyalty and ambitions. Time was running out, and all had to be resolved before dawn.

He’s a handsome devil,
Luis thought, staring at David, and exceptionally tall and broad at the shoulders. He had an honest face, yet he had a steely gaze, which was encouraging. His face, although partially hidden by his helmet, was expressive, even if he was standing as still as a statue. Something about the determined line of his lips and unwavering stare from hooded eyes commanded respect and possibly caution from others. Physically, he had passed muster. This was a one-man mission requiring strength and resolve, and Sanz looked to have both these attributes.

“Remove your helmet,” Luis finally said. “I want to take a good look at you.”

David did as ordered, placing his helmet under his arm and then straightening his body to attention. He bowed his head, lifted it, and said resolutely, “Your Grace.”

Luis nodded. “What are your duties?”

“I attend to the incarcerated in your prison, and on occasion I stand watch in the towers.”

“I see. And do you do your job well?”

“I believe so. I have much to learn, but I am already a skilled swordsman.”

“Skilled? You seem very sure of yourself.”

“I have trained with the sword since I was a boy.”

Luis nodded his approval. “I have need of you, Sanz. There is an important matter that must be seen to straight away,” he said. “I’m going to give you an opportunity to impress me. Does this please you?”

“It pleases me very much, Your Grace.”

“You seem like a man wanting to improve his lot in life. Am I right?”

David nodded enthusiastically.

“Perhaps you see yourself rising in the ranks, broadening your horizons. I know I would if I were you.”

“I do, sir. I have spent years learning my craft. You will find no better or more loyal a soldier.”

“Those are bold statements. You have not yet proved your loyalty to me.”

“I am at your command.”

Luis gave a hint of a smile. Sanz looked as if he wanted to weep with joy, and so he should. It must feel like a great honour to be in the duke’s chambers. “Tell me, what is your father’s occupation?”

“He’s a saddle maker by trade, but he has the privilege of farming your land,” David answered proudly.

“Which plot does your father rent from me?”

“The one sitting by the river, just before the main fork in the road that leads to Valencia.”

Luis nodded, recognising that particular farm. Rising from the chair, he poured himself a goblet of wine. Looking at Sanz, he noticed again how tall the militiaman was. He stood head and shoulders above him.

“Do you love your family, Sanz?” Luis asked.

“I do, Your Grace.”

“Do you love God and your duke?”

“Yes, of course. I am devoted to both the Holy Roman Church and to your family.”

Luis was thoughtful as he sat back down. Sanz seemed to be gushingly loyal and eager to serve. He was also a new recruit – easy to mould – and easily threatened. He couldn’t know for sure if the man could be trusted, but swift measures would be taken if he were to become difficult … He’d do nicely.

The treasurer, Sergio Garcia, walked with a confident swagger into the chamber and stood beside the desk. David was glad for the interruption. The duke’s scrutiny about faith and family was worrying. The interview was beginning to feel like an interrogation.

Garcia placed a written document on the desk and asked the duke to sign it. Meanwhile, David took a closer look at the treasurer and realised that he’d seen him before at the prison, inspecting the building works. He was a lofty figure in both height and demeanour, with thinning hair and bright pink skin. His face was puffed up, as though he’d been crying for days, and his deep-set unfriendly eyes were disconcerting in what was fast becoming a tense situation. David wagered that he was no more than thirty years old, but being dressed in black from his tunic to his hose made him appear overly austere for his age.

Luis rose from his chair and then went to stand in front of David. “The lord treasurer will give you orders, Sanz. Carry them out to the letter. Remember how important this is to your family. Don’t disappoint me.”

David bowed his head. “I won’t, Your Grace,” he said.

When the two men were alone, Garcia took the bold step of sitting in the duke’s chair. David cowered under his piecing gaze and had to look away. The duke’s questions about his family and their lives had unnerved him. And being in his presence had been oddly unsettling.

“The duke grieves for his newborn son. He died a short time ago, after living for no more than a few minutes,” Garcia said, rushing his emotional words. “I fear the duchess’s health will suffer because of his death. Sagrat will also mourn this terrible loss.”

“My condolences …”

Garcia waved his hand to silence David. “The duchess’s father will be here within days. This news will deeply upset him. Do you know who he is?”

David hesitated. This man would have to be shown deference, he thought. Garcia spoke as one accustomed to commanding and being immediately obeyed. And he did not seem to be the type of man who would view any disloyalty or disrespect kindly. “No, Your Honour, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“He sits on the Council of Inquisitors,” Garcia told him. “He’s a very important man. I can’t imagine what he’ll do when he finds out that another grandchild has died. I hear he’s disagreeable at the best of times … You are aware that the duke’s prison is filling up with heretics?”

“Yes, Your Honour, I am aware, although I don’t believe there have been any convictions yet. Most remain suspects, and many have not been charged.”

“You disapprove?”

“I am in no position to give my opinion. I am slightly mystified by our justice system.”

“You’re not afraid to speak your mind, are you?” Garcia said sharply.

“Forgive my audacity.” David swallowed uncomfortably. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“My point is that the inquisitor is coming to Sagrat. It is his solemn duty to prosecute suspected heretics on behalf of the Holy Office in Rome and our monarchs. Do you disagree?”

“It is not for me to agree or disagree. I do as I am ordered.”

“Good. That’s good. There are heretics everywhere. You are also aware of the threat they pose to Spain?”

David’s palms were sweaty. His mouth was dry, and his instincts screamed danger. “I don’t know … I suppose,” he muttered, not knowing what else to say.

“Oh, come now, lad. Surely you must know that there’s a snake pit of Judaists in Sagrat claiming to be good Christians yet practising their old religion’s rituals in secret.”

“Yes.”

“Are your parents good Catholics? Are they faithful to the church’s teachings?”

David felt the first ripple of fear shoot through his body. His skin blushed with heat. His legs were trembling. Garcia was testing him, baiting him. Thinly veiled threats were hidden behind every word he spoke. David wondered if they were directed towards him or his parents – and if so, why? The Sanz family were good Christians. They had converted to Christianity three years previously and were still considered new conversos,
but they could not be called Judaists
.

David was well aware that his father’s desire to become a Christian had more to do with renting the farm than for religious reasons. And he’d been proved right. The new duke was no longer renting land to Jews.

His father and mother hadn’t broken any laws, religious or otherwise. There were no Jewish Sabbath rituals. They didn’t attend any Jewish burials. No animal had been slaughtered in the Jewish manner – not in their house. No Jewish prayers were ever spoken, and the Torah … Well, he didn’t know where that book was.

“My family are good Catholics,” David affirmed.

Garcia spread his arms in a friendly gesture. “Yes, but it’s so difficult to know if that’s true, isn’t it? I believe you, of course, but words of fealty won’t be enough to appease the inquisitor. He’s like a dog with a pig’s leg bone, so I hear, thorough and determined to get to the truth once he suspects a person of heresy. I’ve heard that people have died under his torturous interrogations.”

“Your Honour, with respect, what has the inquisitor to do with me and my family? Why am I here?” David asked, becoming angry.

“I’ll tell you why you’re here in a moment. As for your family, they have nothing to do with the Inquisition, at this present time … but it
would
be shameful if they happened to come to the inquisitor’s attention in the future.”

“My family have done nothing wrong. I can see no reason why the inquisitor would be interested in them.”

Stroking his goatee, Garcia said, “One would like to think so. But there are bad people in every town, Sanz. It’s quite common nowadays for a person to falsely accuse another of heresy for the price of bread or to settle a feud. Some people enjoy inflicting ill on others. The world has always been this way, don’t you think?”

“I assure you …”

“Evil is everywhere,” Garcia continued, ignoring David’s protest. “Your family are recent conversos, are they not?”

“We have been Christians for three years.”

“So you are still adjusting to your new religion?”

“We have adapted well and love Christ.”

“Then you must know that to revert back to the Jewish way after baptism brings a heavy penalty – death in most cases?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good.” Garcia sighed. Rising from the chair, he sighed again, as though he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

David stood like a statue, afraid to move, speak, or make a noise, swallowing the lump caught in his throat. He watched Garcia take a few steps towards him and then stop. Leaning nonchalantly against the front of the desk, Garcia stared at nothing in particular, but then his eyes bore into David, making the hairs on the back of his neck bristle.

“Sanz, keep this to yourself,” Garcia said softly. “The duke is worried. He is a powerful man, but he holds no sway when it comes to Inquisition matters. He won’t be able to save any of his townspeople, should the inquisitor choose to investigate all of them … Have all members of your family been baptised? Do they have enemies?”

“Yes, they have been baptised, and no, they have no enemies that I am aware of.” David swallowed uncomfortably and felt the first droplet of perspiration roll onto his eyelid. He dared to stare at Garcia and was bolder still when he refused to look away. David instinctively knew that he was facing a malicious character, and he had to admit that he was afraid.

“Your Honour, what are my orders?” he asked, thinking that he had stood there long enough playing a game of cat and mouse, knowing that he was the mouse. Whatever the mission was, he wanted it to begin, just so he could get out of this chamber and away from Garcia …