The Errant Flock (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Gaspar de Amo stood at his daughter’s bedside, masterfully hiding his disappointment and sadness in front of her ladies. His beautiful daughter had succumbed to the same brain disease that had struck her mother down when Josefa was just a child. He knew this to be true, for it was startlingly apparent not only in her gaze, for the most part lacking in emotion, but also in her childish manner. She was incapable of grasping the reality of adulthood, he thought miserably. At eighteen, she had not matured in the three years since he’d last seen her. In fact, if anything, her condition had worsened. She barely recognised him and seemed to have forgotten the first fifteen years of her life, when he had cared for her, doted on her, and groomed her for marriage. It was as though he had never existed in her life.

Her brain was being infected, eaten away by God only knew what, and the sickness would eventually kill her, just as it had her mother at a young age. Gaspar shook his head in dismay as he rocked his grandson in his arms and watched his daughter pull the comb through the horsehair wig on a doll’s head. He gestured to the infant and, with his arms outstretched, said, “You have to feed him, Josefa. He needs his mother’s milk.”

The duchess, who was sitting up in bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, pouted moodily, and glared at her infant son. “I don’t want to feed that baby. He bites me, and it hurts. Let someone else feed his greedy mouth. I have things to do. I have to finish brushing my dolly’s hair, and then I have to dress her in her finery.”

The inquisitor looked around the chamber, shocked at the sight of so many wooden and alabaster effigies dressed in the finest garments made from the best of materials. He wished he could throw them all into the fire, shake sense into his daughter, and snap her out of this malaise. But she would scream if he touched her roughly, and she wouldn’t stop screaming until she exhausted her voice.

He tried again. “Daughter, you finally have a child, but he’ll not grow strong unless you care for him. Look at him. Is he not wonderful?”

“He’s not mine. He’s a boy child. I like playing with my pretty dollies. And he has no hair. I hate him … I’m going to sew a new dress for Isabella.” She lifted one of the dolls lying on top of the bedclothes and gave her father a radiant smile.

“I wish to begin my mission as soon as possible. There is not a day to waste,” the inquisitor told Luis later in Luis’s office. “I am ready to use all my talents and guide your lost sheep back into the fold.”

“My lord inquisitor, it pleases me to hear that. My builders have worked hard to ready the prison. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with their progress. You will have my complete cooperation.”

“I have already presumed that. But before we discuss the Inquisition, I want to talk to you about my grandson’s baptism. Having heard of the evil infecting your town, I took the liberty of cancelling the grand occasion you had planned.” De Amo watched Luis’s face redden with anger, but his mind was set. His daughter was much too fragile to be seen in public. People would laugh at her, and she would embarrass him in front of men he might have to interrogate one day.

“But I have invited half of Valencia’s nobles,” Luis said angrily.

“And I have sent a messenger informing the invitees of your noble sacrifice. I believe a more private ceremony in your private chapel would be in order, in light of the town’s sombre mood … Come now, Luis, surely you don’t want to appear insensitive?”

“No, of course not,” Luis said, apparently seeing reason but unable to hide his resentment. “However, I do believe my son’s baptism would have brought much-needed joy to the town. The people deserve to meet their duke’s heir. What will they think if I don’t celebrate?”

“It matters not what peasants and commoners think. This town is a black pit of sin. This is a time for pious reflection and mourning for your congregation, and you must lead by example.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Nodding his approval, De Amo said. “There’s one more matter to do with your son. He shall be called Gaspar Luis Peráto De Amo.”

Luis’s face turned purple. “I am his father. I have named him, Jaime.”

“And I am the inquisitor, and it pleases me to give him
my
name.”

“It will be an honour to give my son your name, my lord inquisitor,” Luis said like a sullen child.

In part, Gaspar was disappointed in Luis’s answer. Peráto was a weak leader, just as he’d always suspected. Had the infant been his son, he would not have given in so easily to the question of baptism and name.

Turning his thoughts to other matters, he said, “After my grandson’s baptism, I will expect your townspeople to come forward with the names of suspected heretics. News of your physician’s suicide, murders, houses being burnt, and children going missing, has been running rampant in Valencia. The evil one is present here, and I intend to strike him down before he desecrates Sagrat … and you along with it.”

“God will praise you.”

“God praises all pure souls and those poor misguided errant sheep who find their way back to Him through His Holy Inquisition.”

“Praise be to God,” Luis added.

During an uncomfortable silence, Luis poured them each a goblet of wine. When he sat back down, De Amo said, “I have other news. I have chosen your town to represent the very greatest of events. There’s no town in the realm of Aragon and Valencia more in need of a public cleansing, don’t you think?” The inquisitor gleefully watched Luis’s eyes widen with fear. It would probably take the fear of God to make Luis the competent duke, he was supposed to be, he thought.

“I have been given permission to hold an auto-de-fé here in Sagrat. Thousands will attend. They’ll come south from Zaragoza and north from Alicante to witness God’s hand at work. I’ve invited every nobleman from here to the borders of Castile. I plan to bring over one hundred tried and convicted heretics from across this realm to Sagrat. After Mass, they shall be sentenced in your town square in front of the multitude, performed by Bishop Hernandez, a friend of mine.

“But you, Luis, must not expect your own people to go unpunished for their heretic acts. Should sinners not come forth voluntarily, their punishments will be harsh. Those found to be wanting in faith will not be spared. I will not display favouritism towards you. You do understand this?”

“I do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not entirely,” Luis said honestly. “I don’t have experience in these matters, but I imagine people might be afraid to come forward voluntarily.”

De Amo laughed. “My boy, you are missing the point. The Inquisition is designed to cause fear. The purpose of the trial and execution is not to save the soul of the accused but to achieve the public good and put fear into others. Fear is a most useful deterrent.” Noticing Luis’s nervous ringing of hands and shifting feet, he asked. “Is there something wrong?”

“Forgive me for asking, but who will pay for this grand spectacle? Sagrat may not be the best choice.”

Gaspar lifted an eyebrow. Insolent pup, he thought. Who did he think was going to pay? “Why, you will pay, of course. Your money will be used to entertain nobles and clergy after the ceremony and sentencing. You don’t want to shame the house of Peráto, do you?” Unmoved, he watched the colour drain from Luis’s face. Sagrat was a wealthy town. The duke just didn’t want to spend his money. “You can’t expect the Inquisition to pay? We spend more than our coffers receive. This is a great honour for your town.”

“Yes, and I am truly indebted to you. But the Jews are leaving, we’ve lost trade, and then there’s the drought and a war that’s draining my treasury …,” Luis hurriedly tried to explain before being interrupted.

“You don’t think the king and queen’s holy war in Granada deserves your coin and the offerings of every noble in the kingdoms of Aragon and Valencia?” The inquisitor blurted out, shocked at Luis’s complaints. “For ten long years, they have fought the Moors and their Nasrid dynasty, who have kept us out of our rightful territories. Ferdinand and Isabella are about to take the Alhambra and Granada. At last, all of Castile will belong to God and his true worshipers. I also have it on good authority that every last Jew in Spain will be expelled within months. Soon all of Spain will be united in one faith. Our monarchs are doing God’s work, and to criticize their demands for money is heresy!”

“Yes, it is indeed a g-glorious mission … set by God himself. I will, of course, support the Holy Father in Rome and Spain’s monarchs,” Luis stuttered. “You will have a magnificent show of faith in my town. It will be a day never to be forgotten. The Holy Inquisition and its guests will have every facility at its disposal. I won’t … I will not disappoint you.”

Gaspar watched Luis grapple for words. He was a transparent man, not clever or cunning like his late father. He didn’t possess ambition, apart from his need to be admired and respected by his peers, but he was Josefa’s protector and had the good grace not to mention her illness. “Your offer is graciously accepted,” he said.

“Lord Inquisitor, there is another matter which may require an urgent response from the Inquisition.”

“You may speak freely,” the inquisitor said. “We are family, after all.”

Luis nodded. “As you know, a great evil has been done in my town.”

“Yes, the family with the children.”

“That’s right. My men have arrested two suspects connected with the murders. It was fortuitous that they were caught whilst trying to flee the port by boat. Witnesses have come forward to testify to seeing these men with the two missing children. Unfortunately, since being spotted, they seem to have killed the poor babes and buried them somewhere. They deny all involvement with the crimes, as of course they would, but the evidence against them is overwhelming.”

“And what is your problem?”

“The magistrate insists on a public trial, but that could take weeks,” Luis told him.

No, De Amo thought, a trial that went on for weeks would not suit his plans. “The townspeople cannot set their minds to confessions of heresy when they are filled with terror and rage. I would hate this matter to interfere with my auto-de-fé. Perhaps if the Inquisition were to preside over this trial, we could avoid prolonging its agonies?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Luis said.

“In which case the Holy Office would bemost pleased to attend to this matter. There’s no sin greater in the eyes of God than murde
r
 
…
Are you convinced of their guilt?”

“I am.”

“Then I expect these men to confess by the end of the day, and if they are found guilty, there will be no mercy.”

“And might I expect a speedy resolution … for the sake of the people?”

“If my magistrate believes the witness statements to be in order, you can expect a swift verdict from me. But you and your magistrates will determine the sentence. Is that clear?”

“They will be executed as soon as possible, of course,” Luis said resolutely.

“Then we are agreed on this matter.”

Luis nodded gratefully. “We are indeed.”

Chapter Thirty

It was not yet dawn. David walked out of the prison and manoeuvred his way through a throng of people seemingly undaunted by the steady downpour that was drenching them. He calculated that possibly one hundred townspeople or more had gathered. They were no longer shouting or threatening to storm the prison, David noted, but neither did they seem in any hurry to leave the area surrounding it.

Some of the crowd sat in empty carts. Others sheltered together in groups under awnings and in doorways. A line of militiamen and Inquisition men-at-arms, dressed in full armour with weapons at the ready, barred the prison’s doors like a wall, and a couple of the soldiers greeted David as he walked past their line.

Going deeper into the gathering, he felt his arm being pulled and heard voices shouting in his ear, asking questions he didn’t want to answer. Who were the murderers? they wanted to know. What were their names? Had they been interrogated yet? Would they be executed soon? David ignored them, until one voice called out his name. David turned sharply. Standing before him was Eduardo, the lost babies’ grandfather. David swallowed painfully and nodded in recognition.

“Eduardo, how are you fairing?” he asked.

“My wife is sick, but I hope to take home some good news. Is it true that you have the men who killed my daughter and her family?”

“We do.” David felt as though he were suffocating. A large crowd had gathered around him, clinging to every word. “The two men will face justice. I hope this brings you and your wife some comfort. That’s all I know, Eduardo.” Not wanting to say more, David strode away from the crowd.

Behind him, he could hear Eduardo shouting. “Did you hear that? The murdering turds will be going to hell this night, and I’m not leaving until I have seen their blood run out of their bodies!”

David walked hastily down the hill towards the Jewry, leaving the people behind, and tried to focus on all he had to achieve before going back on watch. He hadn’t forgotten about Sinfa or about his promise to seek out Rabbi Rabinovitch on her behalf. The noise of the crowd, gruff voices of Inquisition men-at-arms, and the rough handling of the two men incarcerated for the murders must have terrified her. She had been in the back of his mind even during the commotion following the arrival of the two prisoners. She was never far from his thoughts.

David knew the rabbi he was going to visit. For years, the Sanz family had attended the synagogue and all Jewish ceremonies. When David and his brothers were babies, the rabbi had officiated at their circumcisions. He’d also been present at the burials of deceased Sanz family members. During the Jewish festivals of Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, the rabbi had always made a point of going from house to house, preaching the importance of being Jewish and urging people to hold fast to their religions. That period in his life seemed so long ago now. He was a Jewish outcast, a convert who would not receive a warm welcome when he turned up at the rabbi’s door.

David had asked himself a few times why no one from the Jewry had gone to the prison to enquire about Sinfa’s welfare. She was suffering terrible indignities, yet he’d been at the prison for the best part of three days and not one living soul had asked if she was alive or dead.

Recognition crossed the rabbi’s face. “I know you. You’re David Sanz, Juan Sanz’s lad,” he said sullenly. “What do you want?”

              David stood awkwardly, like a scolded boy, at the rabbi’s door. He straightened his shoulders and removed his helmet. He didn’t have time to feel guilty about not being a Jew anymore. In his mind, he was neither Christian nor Jew. His soul was lost, and when he died, it would go to the same place as all other evil souls, regardless of religion.

“Sinfa Cabrera is in prison. She needs your help,” he said. “You must plead her case to the duke.”

“I know where Sinfa is, but I cannot plead for her. The duke won’t see me. I … I tried, but he won’t give me an audience.”

“You must try again,” David insisted.

“I can’t, I tell you. Sinfa has caused her own downfall, and she must suffer the consequences of her actions.”

“Is this how you protect your people? You leave them to rot in a stinking prison when they have no business being there in the first place? Is this how you fight for the rights of Jews?”

The rabbi’s face reddened. David couldn’t decide whether Rabinovitch was embarrassed or angry, but either way, he would not back down. “Are you turning your back on her?” he asked.

“I will never turn my back on Jews! I have given my life to this community. Can you and your family say the same? No, you became Christians because of your father’s earthly ambitions … for a piece of dirt! You’re all traitors, every one of you. Don’t you dare come here and tell me what I must do. I officiated at your mother and father’s wedding. I walked with your grandmother to the burial ground when we laid your grandfather to rest – and with your father when he laid
her
to rest.”

“That’s all in the past. I’m here to discuss Sinfa.”

“I can do nothing for her. I no longer have the duke’s ear or his favour.”

David didn’t know whether to feel pity or anger. After Cabrera’s death, all Jews were probably feeling vulnerable. “Just tell me that you have tried. Let me go back to her with news that you have not forgotten her,” he urged.

“I told you that I did try. I sent my son to the castle. When the soldiers saw a Jew coming, they refused to let him through the gatehouse.”

“Your son is not the Jewry’s rabbi. You are, and you still command respect, even at the castle. You can’t give up so easily,” David said curtly.

Poking his head outside, Rabbi Rabinovitch looked left and then right, checking that no one was listening to the conversation. “You listen to me, you impertinent young pup. I have almost two hundred souls in this Jewry. We are confined by walls and marked as undesirables by these badges they make us wear on our sleeves. My people are terrified to leave the neighbourhood. They are afraid to complain to the town council when they lose their businesses. We no longer speak to Christians and Moors, who were once our friends, lest we are accused of corrupting souls. We are cornered like rats, with no safe haven in Spain to run to.

“I loved Sinfa’s grandfather like a brother. I weep for him and tire of the accusations against him, for I know they are not true! But I cannot put my people’s lives in danger because of a silly girl’s temper tantrum. I will remain in the shadows until the duke forgives Saul Cabrera. Eventually, Luis de Peráto will look favourably on the Jews, just as the old duke did, and in the meantime, I will pray for Sinfa. She will be freed eventually.”

“Freed eventually,” David repeated angrily. “Is this what you tell yourself to ease your conscience?”

“I can do nothing …”

David took a step closer, disgusted at the cowardice and fear on the rabbi’s face. “You don’t deserve to be rabbi of this Jewry. You have condemned a young woman to death.”

Dismayed and angry, David left the Jewry. Having only a couple of hours to spare, he quickened his pace. He wanted to take his parents to see a house. With two bedrooms, it was much bigger than the hovel in which they now lived. It was unoccupied and sat in the same street as Paco’s family home. Getting his parents out of their current situation was a priority.

There was good news. His father would work at the blacksmith’s premises. His mother would sew and mend tunics. She was an excellent seamstress. Life would be kinder to them, and when they were settled, he, David, would find some measure of solace for the terrible crimes he had committed.

              He halted at the sight of a young boy with watery eyes, red cheeks, and a runny nose. Dressed in rags, he was surrounded by firewood and sitting on the ground outside a hovel.

Memories surfaced, and David’s eyes welled up as images of his brother Juanjo drifted through his mind … Juanjo, with his filthy face and hands and his proud cockish stance when he arrived home after collecting and selling bundles of kindling … His mouth spread in a grin from ear to ear whenever he brought home bread and, on occasion, a cut of kid meat or a couple of fish for their mother. Juanjo had been a dreamer and never happier than when he was regaling the family with his fantastical stories and imaginary adventures. He would have become a good man, David believed, maybe even a great one.

David sniffed and then grabbed his purse, which was tucked into his leather belt. “How much do you want for a bundle, lad?” When the boy told him, David handed over the coin. “Do you live here?”

The boy nodded.

“Well, if you’re going to sit here and wait for Sagrat to wake up, you should get yourself a woollen blanket. Your mama won’t be happy if you catch cold, will she?” David smiled, ruffled the boy’s hair, and picked up the tied bundle of thin branches.

Behind him, he heard the grating hiss of a sword blade being drawn from a belt. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Sensing danger, he said harshly to the boy, “Go inside your house – now.”

He turned around slowly, one hand gripping his sword’s hilt, and his eyes widened in recognition. There was no mistaking the identity of the man standing in the middle of the street. The taunting smirk and ragged scar had haunted him for days. He stared into the marauder’s eyes and felt a cold rush of fear. The man had come to kill him …