The Errant Flock (31 page)

Chapter Sixty-two

The sun had risen, promising another day of dry, mild weather. Having had no rain, the stale smell of smoke hung over the town square, looking oddly barren without the trees and shrubbery that had given it shade in the summer and a touch of colour in wintertime.

Fortunately, the fires had not spread as far as the Jewry, Roman theatre, and prison, situated higher up the hill, but the six streets which had sat directly behind and to the right of La Placa Del Rey no longer existed. Stone steps which had once bordered streets packed with houses looked oddly out of place now, like superfluous decorations, but they were the only reminders of the homes and the people who had lived and worked in the once bustling area.

A carriage carrying the marauder who had died outside the municipal palace and another with the child inside it, were but ten paces from where Tur stood outside the municipal palace. His soldiers were ready. He was ready, yet he hesitated. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. His hands and legs were shaking, and he couldn’t seem to stop clenching and unclenching his fists. He looked at his men, standing at ease but encircling the carriages with strict orders not to allow townspeople to get too close to them, and sensed their nervousness.

He was not one for speeches, he thought, gathering his militia around him for a final briefing, but if ever there was a time to bolster his men’s courage, it was now. “You’re all here of your own accord, but I understand your worries,” Tur said with an unusually quiet voice. “And you’re right to be concerned. There are risks, but do I need to remind you that we’ve just buried five of our brothers?”

“Peráto insisted that most of the men be left at the castle on the day of the auto-de-fé. That was a deliberate ploy to leave us vulnerable to attack. He also refused to double the guard at the municipal palace, and after the ambush, he scurried back to his chambers, leaving the townspeople without protection. He dismissed my request to go after the marauders because he wanted them to get away … and don’t forget that he robbed two chests of coin from his own vault.

Watching the men’s anger growing, he carried on. “I will not even talk about that poor young murdered couple or about their babies being abducted … You all know Peráto’s responsible. Our duke is a deep festering boil on this town, allying himself to marauders who have terrorized our people. And who is going to replace the stolen money, eh? We are. We will pay with higher taxation. Our earnings will be cut in half. And whilst we’re suffering, our duke and his marauders will be sharing their blood-covered coin.” Pausing for a moment, Tur clenched his fist, fighting the rage festering inside him. “Luis Peráto has done more damage to Sagrat than an invading army ever could. He has hurt those he swore an oath to protect. I want to see him executed.”

One of the men said, “As far as I’m concerned, the sooner the better. I won’t serve that bastard anymore.”

Nodding with approval, Tur added, “I hear the inquisitor wants the king to send an army to hunt for Sagrat’s escaped heretics. Well, I say let them see to their business, but we will remind the inquisitor that Sagrat’s biggest heretic is his own son by law.” Pausing, he searched the faces clustered around him. “All you have to do is back up my story as we discussed. But if any of you are having second thoughts, you have my permission to leave now.”

Nobody moved, and Tur turned his attention back to the mission. Gesturing to two of the men, he said, “Go. Bring them here now.” To the rest, he repeated his order that they wait by the carriages until he came back out of the municipal palace, either walking or being dragged in chains for treason.

The two militiamen guarding the double doors to the council’s meeting chambers stood aside and greeted Tur with a weary nod of their heads. “Captain, the meeting is still going on,” one of the men said. “There are a lot of angry voices in there. Even Father Bernardo is shouting about something or other. If I were you, I wouldn’t disturb them.”

“Since when do you give your opinion so freely?” Tur asked, scowling. “Is the duke with them?”

“No, the council have been asking for him, but His Grace has not arrived yet.”

Good, Tur thought. Peráto would have been a hindrance. It would be much easier to make the accusations without him sitting there denying the charges and demanding punishments for the entire militia.

“Open the doors,” Tur ordered the two men.

The town council members were holding an emergency meeting with the clergy and the viceroy, who had remained in Sagrat to lead the investigations into the town’s recent murders. The men sitting at a long table stopped talking when the thick double doors swung open to admit Tur. Glaring at him, the magistrate stood up. Looking Tur over from head to foot, he seemed disgusted by the filthy clothes and dirt caked armour. “What’s the meaning of this, Captain? Who gave you permission to interrupt us?” he asked gruffly.

Tur faced the men, swallowing painfully with a mouth as dry as Sagrat’s wells.

Casting his eyes over the members in the chamber, he saw the viceroy, sitting farthest away from him at the head of the table. Father Bernardo sat next to him. He had just been appointed as
comisario
after being selected to help the Inquisition on administrative matters, and he looked as proud as a peacock.

“My apologies for the intrusion, Your Mercies,” Tur said in a loud voice. “I have just returned with my men from the northern plains, and I bring news about the marauders who ambushed the auto-de-fé. I have also brought a treasure of greater value than what was lost in the robbery.”

              After the mumblings had died down, the magistrate said, “Go on.” 

Tur felt every pair of eyes boring into him. Their jaws would drop with the story he was about to tell them. “During the night, we came across the remains of the marauder’s encampment. The thieves had fled before we got there, but they left behind an injured man and a little girl …”

“This child – who is she?” the viceroy asked with an intrigued tone.

“She is the little girl who was abducted from her home in Sagrat one month ago.”

Tur stood perfectly still, listening to the murmuring voices heighten in a hurried discussion.

“This cannot be true, Tur,” the magistrate said. “You are mistaken.”

Tur looked at him and at all the other faces turning white with shock. “A dying man usually speaks the truth, Your Mercy,” he said confidently.

Father Bernardo gazed at him with feverish eyes that would raise gooseflesh on the bravest of men. Shaking his waxy index finger at Tur, he spluttered, “Whatever that man said was a lie! The two men we executed confessed to killing her, along with her infant brother and parents … The child cannot be Ángelita Casellas. It is impossible.”

Tur narrowed his eyes with disgust. He’d lost faith in the clergyman. For two years, the padre had been his confessor, and three times a week, Tur had offloaded his sins to the priest. But since taking up his new position, Father Bernardo seemed to have forgotten what God wanted from him. It would appear that serving his own political ambitions had become more important than being of service to his flock.

“You arrested the two men we burned, Tur,” the magistrate said accusingly. “Are you telling us that you arrested the wrong men?”

“I arrested no one. Sergio Garcia captured the two men without my knowledge or yours,” Tur said pointedly. “I simply transported them to the prison on his orders. I do not presume to question my betters.”

The viceroy banged his fist on the table, obviously disturbed by the sound of raised voices and what they were talking about. “Someone had better tell me what’s going on here. I’ve never witnessed such a disorganised body of authority in my entire life!”

“This is a misunderstanding, my lord,” the magistrate said, giving Tur a scathing look. “Captain, continue with this absurd story of yours and you’ll find yourself in trouble with this council.”

Tur was undeterred. “After I persuaded the dying marauder to talk, he perfectly described the child’s house, the way in which her parents were murdered, and what happened to the two babies.”

Surrounded by loud objections, Tur’s voice became louder and louder, until he was shouting above the noisy threats and insults. “There is no doubt in my mind that Garcia, and the marauders who had left the man and the little girl to die on the plain were responsible for all of Sagrat’s troubles! Your Mercies, you must listen to me!”

“And where is she, then, this child you say you have?” the magistrate asked angrily.

“She is with my men outside, but before you see her, there is more you should know … It concerns the duke.”

Chapter Sixty-Three

Tur stood in the hallway outside the council chamber after they told him to wait until they had made a decision concerning the matter. His head was pounding, and his ears were still ringing with Father Bernardo’s threats of incarceration and excommunication from the Catholic Church. He craved water to ease his burning throat, and he was irritated to the point where he wanted to smash the door down and tell the council not to waste any more time.

He had done everything he could to convince the shocked men in chamber that the duke was the head of the snake that had reaped havoc on the town. And he had not even mentioned the suspicious death of Saul Cabrera, the physician who had once been a council member. Unfortunately, the facts he’d laid before them had been met with grunts of disgust aimed at him and not Peráto. They would sooner believe in a flying goat than in their duke being a murdering thief!

Relating David’s account of the night of the murders and abduction of the infant and his older sister had been a simple matter of using David’s words and details and replacing his name with the now-defunct marauder lying in the carriage outside. “The marauders were the duke’s mercenaries, paid with his coin,” Tur had informed the open-mouthed men.” He told them that they had acted on his orders to acquire an infant, his own son having died at birth. Peráto had also ordered the attack and burning of the town and probably knew where the two stolen chests from the treasury were hidden. Tur wasn’t sure if this assumption was accurate, but his gut feelings said it was, and he believed his instincts, sharpened by years of soldiering.

“So you still insist that the duke is guilty of all these monstrous crimes?” the magistrate asked, facing Tur again.

Tur chose his words with the utmost care. “No, I insist that the marauder we found accused the duke of those foul crimes before he died.”

“You want us to believe that the duke’s son does not carry his father’s blood?”

“I am not asking you to believe anything I say. I am simply telling you what was told to me.”

“All the saints above,” the magistrate murmured, rising to his feet to pace the room. “Do you really expect us to stride up to the duke’s door and arrest him because you say he’s guilty? We need proof, Tur. Real proof!”

“I took the liberty of bringing the little girl’s grandparents here. They are outside as we speak. They will confirm that she is their granddaughter,” Tur said, becoming even more irritable at the magistrate’s scepticism. “Will you at least speak to them?”

“Even if it is the missing girl, we cannot connect her to the duke. There’s nothing to be done,” Father Bernardo said to the others.

“Nothing,” another council member agreed.

“I say we arrest Tur for heresy,” Father Bernardo then suggested for the umpteenth time. “He is bearing false witness against His Grace.”

“The grandparents also have information about markings on the infant’s body. I think you’ll all agree that’s something only family members would know about.”

The viceroy, who had been conspicuously silent, finally stood up and tapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “I’m wondering whether you men are afraid to learn the truth or if you’re fearful of the consequences it will bring you. What if everything Tur says is true? Is it not our duty to investigate such horrible crimes to the fullest extent of the law, no matter who the suspect is? Padre, am I not correct in thinking that God judges all men equal in station when it comes to sinners?”

“Of course … but we are talking about a respected Duke.”

“We are talking about a duke accused of murder and mayhem. Tell the guards outside to bring the grandparents and the child!” the viceroy shouted. Looking at Tur, he added, “You, Captain, don’t move more than one pace from where you stand.”

After intense questioning and witnessing during which Ángelita clutched a handful of her grandmother’s hair and snuggled into her shoulder, the council reluctantly agreed that she seemed to be familiar with Alma and her husband, Eduardo.

On the viceroy’s orders, Tur led the group of men outside, and when they reached the carriage, he opened its door and said, “Your Mercies, the dead marauder I told you about is inside.” 

The magistrate took a quick look and then just as quickly turned away. The others stood back, being able to smell the man’s rotting flesh from where they stood. Covering his nose with a kerchief, the magistrate asked Tur, “When did you say he died?”

Tur’s eyes were steady. A man less hardened by war and even more devoted to religion than he was would have found this a difficult lie, but he was fighting for his life. “A few hours ago,” he said calmly enough.

“He stinks.”

“Dead men usually do.”

The magistrate gestured to Father Bernardo and then said to Tur’s militiamen, “Do you men swear to tell the truth in front of your priest?”

The soldiers nodded without hesitation.

“So will you all attest to seeing this marauder alive and of hearing him accuse the duke and the late lord treasurer of murder and abduction as well as other crimes?”

One by one the men answered, “Yes, Your Mercy.” 

“You’ll all go to hell if you’re lying,” Father Bernardo warned the men with a look of sheer disgust.

The viceroy nodded. “Captain Tur, assemble your men.” And addressing the magistrate he added, “I have decided to investigate this matter. Your council can debate this all day if they want to, but you and Father Bernardo will accompany me to the castle.