The Devils of Cardona (33 page)

•   •   •

B
Y
THE
TIME
HE
REACHED
the brow of the hill, Ventura, Necker and a group of armed Moriscos were already running toward him from the main entrance, and his pursuers were visible riding away in the distance. They had barely congratulated him on his return when he told them that Daniel was dead. One of the Moriscos asked if Dr. Segura had been killed, too, and he and his companions looked visibly relieved when Mendoza told them that Segura had gone to Jaca. He got down from his horse and told Ventura and Necker about the pursuit and ambush as they walked to the main square. Gabriel looked equally relieved to see him, and Mendoza told him to take his horse to the stable and prepare him a bath. Martín immediately noticed his friend's absence and looked stunned and distraught when Mendoza told him what had happened.

“You're sure he's dead, sir?” he asked.

“I'm certain,” Mendoza replied. “I'm sorry, Constable. He died bravely, doing his duty.”

Martín nodded and followed Mendoza, Necker and Ventura into the village hall. The three men sat and stood around the hot, stuffy room and listened grimly as Mendoza told them about Péris, Jean Sánchez and the ambush in the gorge.

“Special Constable Azcona was killed in His Majesty's service,” he said. “And it is our task to destroy the criminal conspiracy that has killed him and so many others. First, we must arrest Jean Sánchez. Second, it will be necessary to speak to Baron Vallcarca.”

Necker immediately offered to go to Cardona to arrest the bailiff, and Martín volunteered to go with him, but Mendoza shook his head. “Sánchez won't want to return to Cardona now that he knows I'm back and the roads aren't safe. We need assistance from Calvo.”

“Suppose Segura hasn't gotten through?” Ventura said.

“Then we'll send someone else,” Mendoza replied. “And if Calvo can't send me the men I need, then I'll raise my own militia to go search for Sánchez. I need to know how many men in Belamar would be prepared to do this. I need men with weapons and the ability to use them.”

Necker and Martín both agreed to go find out. When they had gone, Ventura told him about the murders of the charcoal burners and his decision to increase the number of sentries and place a lookout in the church tower.

“You did well, cousin,” he said. “But that boy should not have gone up there by himself.”

“Don't be too hard on him, Bernardo. He just wanted to impress the girl. You know what young men are like.”

Mendoza looked past him as Juana and her elder brother, Agustín, appeared in the doorway, looking grim and anxious. Agustín demanded to know where their father was, and Mendoza assured them that he had thrown their pursuers off Segura's track and that their father was almost certainly in Jaca now.

“What if he isn't?” Juana asked coldly.

“Your father knew the risks and accepted them.”

“He had no choice!”

“There was no other way to resolve this investigation,” Mendoza insisted. “And if I don't resolve it, then your family and your village will pay the price. Your father knew that. That's why he came with me. He saved my life, and I did what I could to save his.”

Juana glared back at him, and the two young people left the room in high dudgeon. Mendoza returned to the dispensary, where Gabriel was pouring water into the metal tub.

“What were you doing in the forest?” he said furiously. “Didn't I tell you never to leave the village alone?”

“I'm sorry, sir. I don't know why I did it.”

“Being brave isn't the same thing as being stupid, boy! And if you ever disobey my orders again, I'll send you back to Valladolid, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

By the time the bath was ready, he felt calmer, and he sat naked in the tub while Gabriel scrubbed his back and arms and washed his hair. Afterward he changed into a clean shirt and felt as if he had returned once again to the civilized world. Gabriel still looked downcast and morose, and Mendoza gave him an exasperated smile.

“Come, Amadis,” he said more gently. “Let's go and get some supper.”

At the tavern Necker told them that he had found twenty men willing to form a militia, but only fifteen mules and horses. After supper Mendoza returned to the dispensary, where he lay on top of the bed wearing only his hose, with his shirt off. It was a hot and windless night, but he quickly fell into an unusual and not unpleasant dream, in which Elena was straddling him wearing nothing but a carnival mask, when he heard Necker calling him and woke to find the German standing in the doorway with a torch.

“Something's happened, sir. You'd better come.”

Mendoza quickly pulled on his boots and followed Necker out into the street and down to the
lavadero
, where Ventura and a group of Moriscos were gathered near the smoldering brazier by the washhouse, peering down the road into the darkness.

“We have visitors, Bernardo.”

“What time is it?”

“Just gone one o'clock.”

Mendoza peered out toward the crest of the hill, where he was barely able to make out the shapes of four men on horseback.

“Is that you, Licenciado Mendoza?” called a voice out of the darkness. “You forgot something!”

“Son of a whore, it's the Catalan!” whispered Ventura. One of the horsemen came forward a few yards and then tossed a heavy object onto
the dirt road. The four men turned away and vanished into the night, and Mendoza heard them riding off as Ventura and the Morisco sentries rushed forward to pick up the object. His cousin returned holding a bag that Mendoza knew contained a human head. His first thought was that it might belong to Segura, until Ventura held up the bloodstained head by the hair, and in the light of the torch he felt almost relieved when he recognized the eyeless face of militiaman and special constable Daniel Azcona.

ercader listened carefully as the
fiscal
Ramírez read out the new indictments. From time to time, he interrupted to add something or remove or change words or phrases that he did not like. But such interventions were only adornments. The case against the Belamar Moriscos was overwhelming. On numerous occasions the defendant Pedro Navarro had witnessed the mayor and doctor Pedro Segura summon the demon in his surgery or in private homes while treating patients. Segura had also left inscriptions from the Koran in the rooms of sick patients in order to cure them. He had refused to tell the priest that his patients were dying so that they would not receive the last sacrament. He had used his visits as a doctor as an opportunity to preach the teachings of the false prophet Muhammad and had written and distributed Aljamiado books to disseminate his evil teachings. He had performed
the banned ritual of circumcision and had married couples from Belamar according to the Moorish custom.

In addition, the aforementioned Segura had incited the Moriscos of Belamar and other Morisco places to revolt. He had conspired with the three Moriscos—Navarro, Péris and Royo—to acquire weapons and gunpowder from Navarre, which he had stockpiled in Belamar. He had rejoiced in the deaths of Fray Juan Panalles, the priest of Belamar, and the three Quintana brothers, the prosecutor went on, and had very likely been involved in them.

“I don't like that,” Mercader interrupted. “Change ‘very likely' to ‘certainly.'”

Ramírez crossed out the offending words. The accused Segura's daughters had also assisted their father in his damned heretical practices, he went on. Juana Segura had helped her father write Arabic books. She was also a
curandera—
a folk healer who used sorcery in the course of her profession. Like her father, she consorted with the devil while collecting herbs and remedies in the forest, and the apprentice Juan Royo had observed her dancing naked and copulating with the horned beast. Segura's eldest daughter, Susana, was also guilty of heretical practices. The carpenter Pedro Navarro had seen her naked in a tub in her father's house, washing herself in preparation for prayer. Another witness had seen her perform the full-body
guadoc
in the Countess of Cardona's own house and observed her regularly offering the prayers of her damned sect.

There were ten other names on the list, all of whom confirmed the many reports that the Zaragoza Inquisition had already compiled over the years. These charges, Prosecutor Ramírez concluded, were only the most visible manifestation of the conspiracy that had been allowed to fester in Belamar, which now threatened the Inquisition, the Church and the peace and security of His Majesty's realms.

“Excellent work, Prosecutor Ramírez.” Mercader turned to his
secretary. “I want this rewritten, copied and ready to send by the end of the day. Send copies to the inquisitor-general and also directly to the king.”

The two men bowed and left the room. Mercader remained sitting at his desk, admiring the interlocking geometrical shapes painted onto the wooden ceiling panels. Ramírez had done his work well. The charges were certainly serious enough to get Segura burned, and probably his daughters, too. Their interrogations would lead to other arrests, and it was only a matter of time before the heretic countess herself was brought to the Aljafería. When that happened, the Supreme Council and the king himself would know that Mercader was the man who had finally subdued the haughty Aragonese. He was still immersed in these pleasant thoughts when there was a knock on the door and his secretary reentered.

“Your Excellency. Familiar Pachuca has come from Huesca. He has a message from Commissioner Herrero.”

“Send him in.”

Mercader had not been expecting to see Diego Pachuca. Though Pachuca worked for the Inquisition, he was an unsettling presence, and Mercader was not always certain if his capacity for violence and cruelty was always directed toward God's service or even whether it was on the right side of sanity. Pachuca came into the room, his long arms dangling toward his knees, with the heavy, loping stride that made Mercader think of a wolf. He was wearing his usual green, bearing the white emblem of the Cross of Dominic, but his cape and boots were covered with dust and his sour face was unusually animated.

“Your Excellency, I have news from Commissioner Herrero.”

“Oh?”

Pachuca bared his lips in an unpleasant gap-toothed yellow smile. “I think that Your Excellency would do well to leave for Huesca,” he said. “As soon as possible.”

Mercader did not appreciate being told what to do by his subordinates,
and he was irritated by the faintly triumphant smirk on the lowly
familiar's
face.

“And why is that?” he asked.

“Commissioner Herrero wishes me to inform you that he has arrested Pedro Segura.”

•   •   •

O
N
THE
MORNING
AFTER
HIS
RETURN
, Mendoza summoned his men to the village hall and gave them new instructions. From now on, no one was to leave the village for any reason until further notice, even to work the fields, without authorization. Firewood, water and forage would be collected by organized teams with an armed escort, and all animals were to remain inside Belamar. Sentries and street patrols were to keep their braziers and torches burning throughout the night in order to deter any potential intruders and see that the streets were well lit.

These orders were proclaimed by the
pregonero
and only added to the collective mood of expectation, fear and dread in the village as the suppressed tensions and anxieties of the last month now found their outlet in the groups of neighbors who stood outside their homes seeking solace in numbers, listening to the latest rumors and sightings of bandits who could be seen moving across the fields or looking down on the village from the overhanging cliff as though they no longer even felt the need to hide themselves.

Mendoza spent most of the day ensuring that his orders were complied with. He was standing by the village wall looking over the ravine when he heard a trumpet sound from the tower. He immediately went to the
lavadero
, where Necker, Martín and a group of Moriscos were watching a man riding a mule who was being pursued across the valley floor by a larger group of riders, some of whom were shooting at him. The pursuers were gaining ground, and Mendoza ordered Martín to prepare to fire. The militiaman quickly ignited a fuse from the burning brazier and loaded the escopeta.

“Come with me,” Mendoza said. Martín, Ventura and the Moriscos
followed him to the crest of the hill, till he had a clear view of the lone rider and his pursuers.

“Aim behind him,” Mendoza said. “Keep firing until I tell you to stop.”

“But, sir, they're out of range.”

“Hombre, I don't care if you hit anyone, just shoot!”

Martín fired twice. As Mendoza had hoped, the horsemen immediately slowed down, and the realization that they were being fired upon made them reluctant to come closer, so that their quarry was able to regain lost ground. The militiaman fired two more shots before the horsemen turned back, and the rider raced into town. The Moriscos clustered around him as he nearly fell from the saddle.

“It's Galindo, the miller's son!” one of the Moriscos cried.

Mendoza pushed his way through them. “Where've you come from, Galindo?” he asked.

“From Las Palomas, señor,” Galindo replied hoarsely. “I was visiting my sister when they came to the village and attacked it.”

“Who attacked it? Give the man some water!”

One of the Moriscos poured from a pitcher into a clay cup, and the miller's son drank it gratefully. “Bandits and mountain men,” he said. “The
montañeses
are killing any Moriscos they find and looting their homes. Many houses have been burned. Many people in Las Palomas are dead. My sister and her children escaped to Cardona, but her husband was killed. They say the Inquisition has arrested Dr. Segura, sir. And now the Old Christians are going to destroy Belamar.”

“Segura has been arrested?” Mendoza asked. “How? Where?”

“I don't know, sir. But they say he's in Huesca. And Inquisitor Mercader is coming to take him to Zaragoza for trial. Sir, you have to leave Belamar. Everyone must leave or you'll be killed. Cardona is on fire! There are hundreds of them coming. It's like an army!”

“You're a brave man, Galindo,” Mendoza said. “Go and see your family now.”

He gazed back down the road. He did not know how Segura had been arrested, but it was now clear that no help would be forthcoming. And as improbable as it seemed, Mendoza realized that his investigation was temporarily suspended and that for the time being he and his companions must prepare for war.

•   •   •

“D
O
YOU
KNOW
ME
, Dr. Segura?”

Segura stared back at the thin little man who was sitting on the opposite side of the table watching him with a faint and almost playful smile that seemed at odds with the sorrowful expression on the statue of Christ in his thorns that was hanging from the wall directly behind him. He knew Commissioner Herrero, who was standing next to the table and wearing a cassock, with his hands folded just below his waist, his tonsured head illuminated by a shaft of light that descended from the high window like a halo. He knew Diego Pachuca the
familiar
, who had accompanied Herrero to Belamar the last time arrests were carried out there. But he did not recognize the little man with the face like a hatchet, and he did not understand how he had come to find himself sitting in an Inquisition jail with his hands chained behind his back, because his memory of the last two days was still hazy.

He knew that he'd done everything Mendoza had suggested and that it had worked out well. He concealed himself in the woods and watched the bandits ride past toward the Huesca road. He then threaded his way through the forest toward Jaca, taking care to avoid the road, and made his way directly to Corregidor Calvo's office. He told the corregidor about Péris and Sánchez and the bandits who had killed the king's special constable and tried to kill the
licenciado
himself during their return from France. He passed on Mendoza's request to call up the militia, and Calvo promised to send out messengers that same day.

At that point he was eager to return to his family, but Calvo insisted that
the roads were not safe and that he would do better to return to Belamar with the militia the following day. This was sensible advice, and the corregidor had kindly given him money to pay for food and accommodation at the pilgrims' inn. He remembered eating supper at a local tavern and stepping out into the darkened street to return to the inn, which was only a few minutes away. He remembered how his legs seemed suddenly to turn to water and the street began to roll beneath his feet.

He remembered thinking that he must have been ill or eaten something that did not agree with him, as he held on to the wall to keep himself upright. But soon the walls, too, seemed to be shifting, and he felt himself falling, and there was nothing he could do about it. That was the last he'd seen of Jaca. Sometime later he found himself lying in a cart, covered with straw, his hands and feet tied, a gag around his mouth and a bag over his head. He remembered struggling to free himself, and then someone hit him hard on the head with a stick and he passed out again.

It was not until they untied his feet and dragged him from the cart that he returned to consciousness, but even then they had to hold him up, because his legs were too weak to carry him. They took off the gag and removed the bag, and he saw Pachuca and the warden for the first time and knew that he was in the hands of the Inquisition. He wanted to ask them questions, but his tongue would not even form the words as they dragged him down the stone steps and along a torchlit corridor where they unlocked a heavy door and chained him to the wall of a cell that smelled of urine and dank straw.