The Errant Flock (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Miguel and Ignacio appeared to have been overcome by smoke before the first flames licked their feet. Their flesh, now peeling off their bodies like slices from tender joints, fell onto the flames, making the odour of pig fat and smoke even more pungent and the sight horrific. For anyone in close proximity to the fire, it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. It was also dangerous because of the sparking wood flying perilously far from the pyres and into the crowd of people.

Even though the bodies were still burning, the militiamen no longer stopped the townspeople from leaving the square. Eduardo and Alma, electing to stay, were surrounded by their family members, who were standing in a clustered group and staring unflinchingly at Miguel and Ignacio’s charred remains.

Paco approached David, sitting alone some distance from the stakes. Placing his hand on David’s shoulder as he sat down on the muddy ground, he asked, “What did the lord treasurer whisper in your ear?”

“Nothing. It was of no importance,” David answered.

“David, I am your friend, but I will hammer down this wall you’ve built around you until it cracks. I’m weary of your lies and secrets.”

“Not now … Please, Paco, not now,” David said impatiently.

“Yes, now. I’ve been watching you. You lit the flames on those pyres, but I suspect you knew those poor bastards were innocent, just as I did.”

“That’s nonsense!”

“Is it? Then why do I see more guilt and fear in your eyes than in any prisoner we have locked up in our prison. Who are you afraid of?”

Shrugging off Paco’s hand, David tried to rise to his feet.

“Sit down!” Paco exclaimed, tightly gripping David’s arm. “You’re not going anywhere until I get the answers I’m looking for.”

“I’ve got nothing to say. Let go of my arm.”

“Sit or I’ll hold you down by the tip of my sword.”

David swallowed painfully. His throat felt as though it were filled with bone-dry straw, and it tasted of burnt meat. He didn’t think he could talk to Paco even if he wanted to. Sitting back down from his half-risen position, he decided to let Paco have his say. What did it matter? He wasn’t going to tell the truth anyway. “Get on with it,” he said hoarsely. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why you were summoned by the duke on the night the physician died.”

“You’ve already asked me about that. I told you—”

“You lied. I have served in Sagrat’s militia for over twenty years. I hold a higher rank than you, yet no lord or master has ever given me so much as a fleeting glance. Not even Captain Tur crosses the threshold to Peráto’s private chambers. I spoke to the guards who were on watch at his doors that night. They told me you were inside with the duke for a long time. What did he want from you?”

David held his tongue.

Paco tried again. “I watched the lord treasurer approach you tonight and whisper something in your ear. I saw the loathing in your face. What did he say? Why do you hate him?”

“I don’t hate him.”

“More lies. I sensed the hostility between you and him. You either think me stupid or blind.”

“I think you are an astute man,” David said sincerely.

“If that’s so, you’ll not be surprised to learn that I also think you’ve played some part in this shameful travesty of justice. The town was cursed the night the physician fell off that wall … the same night you were summoned and hell spilled onto our streets. I’m not asking anymore. I demand answers or I swear to God Almighty that I’ll take my suspicions about you to Captain Tur.”

David’s sharp intake of breath was audible. Panicking, he averted his eyes. Paco
was
astute, which meant that his suspicions could run deep. He wouldn’t give up until he was satisfied. He would chip away until he got to the truth. “Will you give me leave until we’ve finished here?” David asked.

Paco nodded. “Yes, but when we leave this square, you’ll spill your guts to me,” Paco warned him.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The militia had been given strict instructions to keep the fires going until every piece of human bone had been incinerated. Just before dawn, the last flickering flames simmering within the pile of ashes died. David tried to concentrate on the job of clearing the mounds of ash. First the men had to douse the debris with water, and then they would shovel it onto the back of the cart.

When the area had been cleaned, the cart was driven away. David and Paco left the square and began picking their way through the deserted streets towards the prison. Walking briskly, David braced himself for Paco’s interrogation. A devoted militiaman, Paco was also loyal, persistent, and above all honest. He and his family would be relatively safe as long as he remained ignorant, David believed, but the moment the truth came to light, his sense of duty would compel him to seek justice against the duke and everyone else involved in the terrible crimes that had been committed.

Battling with indecision, David gave Paco a quick sideways glance. Should he keep his mouth shut, share every detail, or omit certain facts? Would it be better to say that the little girl and the infant were dead or that they still lived? Could Paco be trusted to keep his mouth shut? What would he do when it was confirmed that the wrong men had been executed? Would his disgust outweigh their friendship?

David, jolted from his thoughts by Paco’s sudden grip on his arm, halted in mid-step.

Gesturing behind them, Paco raised two fingers in the air. “There are two of them,” he mouthed.

David pricked his ears but heard nothing. Regardless, he followed Paco, striding towards the end of the street. Turning a corner, they slipped simultaneously into the first shadowy porch and pressed their bodies against its inner wall. Then, with hands on the pommels of their swords, they listened and waited.

Panicking and feeling a sense of doom, David flexed his muscles and tried to slow his breathing. His sword arm would be ineffective, he thought. He would be of no use to Paco. The wound had started bleeding again after Garcia’s rough grip had ripped some of the gut stitches out. If he was forced to wield a weapon now, he would tear the skin further. “Paco, if they’re armed, we should run,” he whispered urgently. “This is not your fight.”

“Hush.” Paco put his fingers to his lips and shook his head.

The two figures wearing dark cloaks
with hoods pulled over their heads walked briskly past David and Paco’s position but then halted abruptly, as though they were lost or looking for something.

David, standing rigidly against the wall, silently urged the two men to turn around so that he could see their faces. His chest felt as though it might explode. In his growing anger, he hoped that one of them was the marauder, coming back to try to finish the job. What life was there to be had when he was constantly stalked by fear and threat of death, he thought. Best to die fighting with what little honour he had left, and if he could inflict pain on the whoreson, all the better.

With no swords in sight, Paco leapt from the porch and lunged at one of the men with such force that both tumbled to the ground. David, right behind him, pounced on the other man and after a brief tussle pushed him roughly against a wall and pinned him there with his elbow.

“No, no, David! Son, it’s me … Papa,” the man in David’s grip gasped hoarsely.

Open-mouthed, David whipped the man’s hood off. Still unable to comprehend what was going on, he flicked his eyes to the figure on the ground, being held down by Paco’s dagger, tickling his throat. “Hold fast, Paco!” he said hurriedly. “That’s my brother, Diego.”

Paco’s bewildered eyes widened and then bore into Diego’s face as though he were looking for a resemblance to David. Finally, he withdrew his dagger. “Get up, you fool. You almost got yourself killed! Why were you following us?”

“I can probably explain that …,” David began.

“You had better.” Without waiting for the explanation, Paco glared at David’s father, Juan. “Sagrat is on high alert. This is no time to be wandering the streets in the middle of the night, stalking militiamen like a couple of thieves or paid assassins. Don’t you know what’s been happening in this town?”

“Enough, Paco,” David said.

“No, David, not enough! Had they come across any other soldiers but us, they would be on their way to prison for questioning. Or they would be dead!”

“We weren’t stalking you. We were trying to catch up with David,” Juan said unconvincingly.

Diego’s eyes were as big as plates. Standing on shaky legs, holding the nicked skin at his throat, he panted for breath. “We went to the prison … but the soldiers wouldn’t let us see you.”

“That’s right,” Juan said. “And when we got home, we found our street crawling with militiamen. They forced us to go to the square, even the neighbours’ children.”

“Instead of shadowing us, why did you not approach us before we left the square? You didn’t do a very good job of it,” Paco said, clearly still angry.

David was no longer listening to Paco but embracing Diego. He was overjoyed, yet his heart thumped anxiously. He had so many questions for his brother. Where did he go after the fire at the farm? Was the little girl well? Where did he leave her? Why did he decide to come back to Sagrat?

“For the love of God, will someone tell me what’s going on?” Paco whispered furiously.

There was no way out of this, David thought. He had to talk. “Paco, I’ll answer all your questions. I’ll tell you everything,” David said.

Juan put his hand on David’s arm. “David, no. Please, son, don’t,” he warned him.

“I must do this, Papa. I can’t lie to him any longer. He already suspects me.”

Juan’s panicked face paled. He opened his mouth to protest, but David raised his hand to silence him.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Paco had listened to the entire story in stunned silence. Sitting beneath a tree with David, Juan, and Diego on the outskirts of town, his expression had held a mixture of anger and shock, but he’d also been pleasantly surprised to learn that the infant and little girl still lived.

After a long discussion about the situation, the whereabouts of the girl child, and what they could do to keep David safe from another attack, Juan and Diego went back to the house they’d just rented near Paco’s home. Paco and David set off for the prison.

“David, the duke is destroying his own town,” Paco said as they approached the prison walls. “The man I pledged my sword to – the noble lord entrusted by the king and queen to protect his people and lands – is killing his own citizens? The bastard … No more … I will serve Peráto no more. I’ll live to see the man stripped of his title and his miserable life!”

“The common man has no weapons to fight his master. We do his bidding or die,” David said, miserable.

“You might be right. I can’t help but think that our beloved Captain Tur has also been swept into this mire of dung. And him, a man who prays in the church every day for absolution! He took the credit for the capture of Miguel and Ignacio. He brought them to the prison, yet he wasn’t even at the port, according to Diego. I suspected he was lying. At the trial, he looked as though he’d just been kicked in the gut by a mule and had the wind knocked out of him.”

“You think he is obeying the duke and Garcia’s orders too?” David asked.

Paco nodded. “Yes, but he’s probably not a willing participant. I know him. He’s a good man.”

David wondered what Paco would have done. “Would you have killed those people?” he asked, needing to know.

“I would have carried out my orders, same as you. I would have tried to protect my family, just as you did,” he said honestly. “You have to understand, lad, that we militiamen are no better than pack mules in our nobleman’s eyes. We serve him until we drop. We carry his heavy burdens and protect his castle and his coin. We do not retire until we are too old or too infirm to be of use. The only difference between us and the mule is that the mule’s flesh gets eaten after years of gruelling service.

“To disobey the duke’s orders is to sign one’s own death warrant. We’re fodder in his eyes, used to feed his whims. Nobles, my lad, have absolute power over their lands because they demand absolute obedience and loyalty. And make no mistake – these men of privilege and wealth may talk with fancy tongues and wear fine robes, but they are amongst the biggest thieves and murderers that God ever created.

“Peráto killed his physician, David,” Paco continued, becoming more irate. “I knew that man. For years, he walked the castle’s hallways as regally as a noble himself. Yet the duke probably didn’t think twice about murdering him … So, lad, what do you think would have happened had you disobeyed him? I’ll tell you what would have happened. You and your family would be dead and buried by now, and another militiaman would have been appointed to carry out His Grace’s hellish orders in your stead … That person might have been me.”

“I obeyed. I did as commanded, and the duke still wants me dead. His word means nothing,” David said angrily.

“I agree. That’s why the duke no longer has our allegiance. Saving the people of this town is all that matters now … and somehow, with God’s good grace, we will succeed. We have to.”

Looking at Paco, David wondered how he now viewed
his
future. He knew everything there was to know, yet he was still willing to risk his life. Why? David wondered. Why risk the lives of his family? It was an important question.

“Don’t stare at me sideways,” Paco said, as though reading David’s thoughts. “And don’t ask me again why I’ve agreed to help you.”