The Errant Flock (6 page)

Chapter Nine

It had taken David quite a while to reach his family’s home. He’d carried the child in his arms, running part of the way, and she hadn’t cried or whimpered for her parents. In the Jewry, he’d found her curled in a ball fast asleep and in the exact same spot he’d left her. The streets were empty. The procession had dispersed, and most of the townspeople were feasting inside their homes. When he’d skirted the labyrinth of streets on the way out of town, he’d smelled food cooking, heard laughter and song, saw smoke rising from chimneys – and a terrible feeling of envy had engulfed him.

Walking across the plain against a strong wind had slowed him down, but thankfully the girl had slept on, apart from a few minutes in an area where he’d stumbled over rocks and she’d almost fallen from his arms. His arms and back were aching. At first her weight had been as light as a feather, but now she felt as heavy as a sack of potatoes. He hadn’t slept in almost two days, he realised, and the climb up to the north-east gate was tiring, at the best of times.

David had asked Garcia to honour the two days’ leave, previously promised to him, but he’d received a resounding
no.
“You serve at the duke’s pleasure. Your life is his, and leave from the castle is a gift, not a right.” Garcia was a whoreson, David thought for the umpteenth time. He was probably incapable of feeling a sliver of remorse for his part in tonight’s murders. “Keep your mouth shut and forget everything that has happened this night,” Garcia had also said. Forget? David thought. Only a wild animal would forget what it had slaughtered.

He kicked a stone and then stumbled with a misstep. As much as he despised the duke and Garcia, even more, he loathed all that he, David Sanz, had become. Had he always been wicked deep down? he wondered. Or had he simply shed some pesky skin tonight to reveal his true character? The duke would ask more of him. It was inevitable, for in Luis Peráto’s mind, David Sanz had become an immoral criminal, willing to kill on his duke’s whims. He’d sold his soul to the man. Maybe he should have taken the money and been done with it.

David shook his head irately. He was not a henchman, an executioner, or a wicked man. No, he wasn’t. He’d spend the rest of his life asking for redemption and proving to God and his family that he was a good man. He’d rather be hanged as a traitor than take another innocent life to satisfy the duke’s whims. And then he wondered whether he would live to see the New Year. Or would Garcia have him killed against the duke’s orders?

The house and small plot of land coming into view in the distance looked like every other smallholding from Sagrat to the sea, but to David’s father, it was a palace. Situated approximately midway between the town and the Mediterranean coast, it was a decent walk to get anywhere, but its location was perfect, for it was one of the only plots to have a direct supply of fresh water from a nearby river.

Luckily, this plain had a predominately straight road running through it all the way to the sea. He could find his way home blindfolded, for there was not a crack in the road, a plant, or a bush that he didn’t recognise en route. He’d walked this road a thousand times. His skin had cracked in the baking sun and had been drenched and battered in winter storms. The journey this night, however, had by far been the most difficult and miserable he’d ever taken.

He couldn’t help but think again about the money. Deciding not to take it had been an impulsive decision. Had he been too hasty? He was aware of his father’s debts. He owed rent and taxes, unpaid these past two months, and he was under threat of eviction. The present drought had transformed the fertile land into dusty plains. The riverbed had crusted over, and it was so dry that weeds and plants were growing through the ground where water should be flowing. Even the hardiest of crops had failed in the dry spell that had lasted for months.

The house was in disrepair. His mother, father, and two younger brothers lived together in two rooms under a wooden and straw roof. The plot had olive trees and a vineyard, which had failed to produce more than a few grapes this year. In the past, David’s father had been successful, growing onions, spinach, and asparagus. Striving to survive the drought was an uphill struggle, and each day it became more and more difficult to sustain the family’s meagre needs.

David missed his brothers, Diego and Juanjo. They were fine boys, growing into strong men with ambitions. Diego had just turned seventeen, and he was determined to leave the land behind for a life at sea. On David’s last visit home, Diego had spoken about a navy with ships that travelled to North Africa and Portugal. There were rumours about vessels being built, sturdy enough to sail far to the East, where new lands were being discovered and fortunes were being made. Diego walked to the sea every chance he got. When he came home, he was melancholic and even more desperate to leave home. He might have asked permission to leave, David suspected, had it not been for the drought, forcing the family to look for other sources of income. He was a loyal lad.

Diego and Juanjo wanted more than a squalid life in feudal Spain, where religion dictated what you were and what you could become. All the two boys had to look forward to each day was the long trek to the pine forests, blistered feet, and aching backs. It was illegal to cut down the pine trees in the upper slopes, which lay half a league behind the town, but the lads took only what they found lying on the ground. At this time of the year, there was a healthy scattering of pinecones. If they were lucky, thick branches felled by wind still held twigs. And pine needles carpeted the rocks and soil beneath the trees. These were gathered and put into sacks, later to be used as mulch in vegetable plots or tied into wands for kindling. They never went home until they had sold every piece of firewood collected. And with their profits, they managed to buy eggs, a small joint of meat (on good days), and wheat and grains to make bread.

David didn’t want that life for Diego and Juanjo. He’d not settled for drudgery, so why should they?

He stopped. Next door to the main building was a hut full of straw and farming tools. He looked under his cloak. The girl’s eyes were wide open, yet she didn’t utter a sound. Was she sick? “I’m sorry. It will soon be over,” he told her. “You’ll have some warm milk and a nice soft bed, just as I promised.”

She stared up at him, and her lips trembled at the sound of his voice. “Mama,” she finally whimpered.

He opened the hut’s door, set the child on the floor, and then left immediately. Thank God. She wouldn’t remember this night, he thought, walking towards the house. He wondered which was the lesser of two evils. Was it keeping his family in ignorance about the murders and the girl or telling them everything? The decision he’d taken was not about evil, he then thought. It was about doing the right thing.

His part in this heinous crime would disgust them – and telling them about it might put their lives in danger. But Garcia’s veiled innuendos were more than just threats used to scare him. He was convinced that the treasurer had some sinister game in mind.

He had a duty to warn his family about what might lie ahead. He was already damned, his soul blackened with mortal sin. But had he left the child in the Jewry, the Jews would have been blamed for her parents’ death and the disappearance of her infant brother. Had he taken her to the steps of the church, every citizen in Sagrat would have been implicated … No, he thought with his hand on the house’s front door, bringing her here and telling his family about her was the only decent thing he would do this night.

He stepped softly into the house. The fire in the hearth still burned with deep red embers in their dying moments, managing to cast warmth and a soft orange glow in the darkened room. He gazed lovingly at Diego and Juanjo sleeping soundly on straw pallets in a corner behind the table. After looking about him, he frowned with confusion, which then turned to anger. The air was thick with the smell of boiled vegetables and herbs. The cooking pans were clean. No remnants of wild boar, cooked meat, or bones of any kind were or probably had been in the house. All that lay on the table were two wrinkled potatoes, a lump of bread, and a piece of crumbling hard cheese, leftovers from the family’s meal.

The man with the cart, who had gratefully accepted a coin and the promise of meat, had stolen the boar. He and his family had probably filled their bellies with it and had washed it down with wine. David covered his face with his hands and cursed the man to hell. He’d gut the bastard! He’d rip his heart out and shove it inside his lying mouth …

He turned at the sound of the door’s creaking timbers. His father, Juan, stood before him, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Without a word, David grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him tenderly. “Papa,” he whispered. “I’ve come home.”

Juan Sanz, his face leathered with years in the sun, was as tall and as broad as David was. He too was a handsome man, with black deep-set eyes and a mop of bluish-black hair curling at the nape of his neck. But unlike David, he sported an unruly beard, which covered the bottom half of his face.

Grinning now with pleasure, Juan slapped David on the back. “Son, we didn’t expect to see you this week. What are you doing here?” he whispered.

David forced a smile, but averted his eyes. “I wanted to see my family, Papa, and I don’t have much time … We need to talk.”

Juan’s smile froze. “Hmm, that sounds ominous. Why so serious, lad? You must be freezing. Have some supper and a drop of wine. I got it for our feast, such as it was.”

“I don’t have time to eat, Papa. Will you come with me to the hut? There’s something I have to show you.”

David’s brothers, also awake now, stared groggily at their brother. One by one, they rose from their pallets and, still half asleep, stumbled towards David.

“Welcome home,” Diego said, putting his arms around David.

“Did you bring your new sword?” Juanjo, standing behind Diego, asked.

“I did, but you mustn’t touch it,” David said, more harshly than intended. His eyes welled up with love. Crushing his family to him, knowing that they might send him away for what he’d done, was terrifying. His heart thumped like a drum in his chest. He flicked his eyes from his father to his brothers, and then straightened his shoulders. He was running out of time. The little girl was probably freezing and starving by now.

“So tell us, what’s so important that you won’t warm your bones and feed your belly? And what’s this about the hut?” asked Juan.

“Papa, I’ll tell you everything when we get outside. Please come with me now.”

The boys looked on expectantly. David, walking towards the door, said, “You two stay here.”

Juan wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He shook his head and sighed. “This must be important, son. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to walk all this way from town in the middle of the night to pay such a short visit. Are you in trouble?”

“You could say that,” David answered grimly.

As they left the house, Juan gestured to his other sons, putting his finger to his lips and then pointing to the closed door that separated the bedroom from the main room. “Keep your voices low. Don’t wake your mother.”

Chapter Ten

Outside the farmhouse, David’s nervous fingers fumbled with his hood. Hearing the girl cry, he put his hand on his father’s arm, and asked, “Will you listen to what I have to say before you go in there?”

Juan stared at the hut’s door and then at David. “What’s that noise I’m hearing? Is that a child crying?”

“It is.”

Shrugging David’s hand away, Juan said, “You had better have a good explanation for this.”

Inside the hut, the girl’s wailing drowned out David’s voice. He lifted the child, but this time, he couldn’t soothe her. “Father, what do I do?”

“Give her to me and start talking.”

David’s mouth opened and then closed.

“David?” Juan said warningly.

“Papa, her life was in danger. I had to hide her …”

“Stop talking!” Juan put his hand up to silence David and then covered the child’s mouth to stifle her crying. “What is that?”

David’s open mouth snapped shut with fright. His eyes bore into his father and then he whipped his head around to stare at the door. The sound of hooves thundering across the plain became louder and heavier, and upon reaching the plot, they struck the ground so hard that the hut’s wooden walls vibrated.

David gasped for breath. “Dear God, the duke?” he choked. His terrified eyes widened. He looked again at his father, rocking the child and gazing with eyes as big as plates at the door. His father had a right to know why the men had come. He had to explain. “Papa …”

Juan cut David off with a fierce whisper. “Hush up!”

The horses halted, snorting and whinnying with excitement outside the hut. Men were yelling. David pinned his ear to the wall. He couldn’t hear their words, just animal-like cries. The first smell of smoke wafted through the hut’s walls. David instinctively reached for his sword, but his father swiped his hand away. Then the sound of hooves battering against the ground began again, seemingly scattering in all directions.

Juan covered the girl’s mouth with his hand and pulled her closer to his chest. Both men crouched in a corner of the hut, as far from the door as possible. Even from inside the windowless wooden structure, David and Juan could see the bright orange torches and hear the crackling of flames through cracks in the timber slats. Terror sat in their eyes as the horsemen’s intentions became clearer.

Juan uttered the word everyone in Sagrat feared: “Marauders … What do they want with us? We have nothing.” His panicked eyes looked for a weapon. A scythe stood upright against the wall. He grabbed it and stood up, still trying to silence the girl’s weeping with his free hand covering her mouth. “I have to get to your mother and the boys.”

“It’s too late, Papa. They’ll run you through before you get ten paces from here!”

“If I’m going to get myself killed, I’ll die trying to save my family! Get out of my way, lad!” Juan whispered sternly.

David’s mind was racing. Was his father right? Were they marauders? Was he wrong in thinking they were the duke’s militia, his own brothers-in-arms, sent to silence him? But no one knew he was here …

Marauders were not known for being merciful. They usually killed their male victims and took female prisoners to be sold or used. And marauders didn’t usually attack smallholdings. They preferred towns with richer pickings or robbing caravans on the coastal plains. It had been months since a band such as this had been anywhere near Sagrat.

He couldn’t breathe … couldn’t believe … God, please not his family!

“They might not be marauders,” he said. “Papa, trust me – they might be here because of me!” Grabbing Juan’s leg as he stood up, he begged again. “Don’t go out there. You will be of no use to Mama or the boys if you get killed as soon as you open this door. Don’t move! Papa, sit down!”

Juan stared at David with eyes filled with confusion and terror. His legs buckled, and he fell to the floor, clutching the little girl in his arms. Throwing a scathing look at David, he hissed, “What have you done to us? Isa and my boys are out there!”

David crawled on his knees to a split in the hut’s wall where the timber was brittle, causing it to crack. He put his eye against the long narrow opening and gasped with horror. It was impossible to count how many men were outside, and he couldn’t see what they were doing, but the bright orange glow lighting up the sky was undeniable. “No … They’re going to burn us out.” He grabbed a loose splinter of wood and pulled it, widening the hole. Squeezing one eye shut, he peered through the breach with his other eye. The house was already being torched. He saw flames rising into the air, whipping the walls, and dancing wildly in the strong wind.

              Isa Sanz’s terrified screams pierced the air, drowning out the crackling flames and, for a brief second, silencing the attackers’ screams.

David gripped the pommel of his sword and drew it from its leather belt. His eyes were like slits. Fear was replaced with rage. “No more hiding. I’m going to defend my family!”

His father grabbed his arm and shook his head, horrified. “No, son,” he said tearfully, “you were right. We can’t get to them … God help us!”

Tears streamed down David’s face. “I have to try,” he shot back. “Stay here and mind the girl. Promise me!”

“You can’t fight what’s out there.” Juan’s teary eyes pleaded again. “They’ll kill you. Don’t you understand? They’re going to kill all of us!”

The smell of smoke as well as burning straw and timbers sifted into the air and through the hut’s walls. The marauders were still yelling like animals. David strained his ears. He couldn’t hear his mother’s voice anymore, and he had not once heard a sound coming from Diego or Juanjo. Were they dead?

The little girl was choking on smoke that she had inhaled. Juan covered her face with his blanket and clutched her closer to his chest.

David’s eyes stung, and he coughed uncontrollably. The crackling sound of flames and disintegrating wood was overwhelming. Both men looked upwards and gasped. The hut’s roof was on fire. Flames had licked their way through the outer covering and were now inside. David’s heart sunk. “The ceiling is going to cave in!” he shouted above the noise. “We have to get out before we burn to death in here.”

His father nodded, set the child on the floor, and tried to stand. Coughing, he lifted the child back into his arms and then faced the door, panting as though he had just raced a horse.

David cracked open the door. He looked at his sword, held against his chest with its point raised in the air. His mind’s eye still saw the blood on it from earlier, and he inadvertently shuddered. Juan stood behind David, holding his throat, trying to stifle his coughing fit. Tears poured down his face, reddened with the scorching heat. Gripping one of his father’s shoulders, David gave it an affectionate squeeze, and then shouted above the noise. “As soon as we’re outside, run with the girl! Run as far as you can. I’ll try to hold them back!”

The attackers saw David and Juan as soon as the hut’s door opened. Surprise crossed their faces, and they halted their onslaught on the property to watch the men stumble blindly into the open. Regrouping, they encircled their kill, shrieking with amusement at the pitiful sight of the two staggering men still unable to focus their smoke-filled eyes. The horses’ hooves pounded on the ground, at times a hair’s breadth from where David and Juan desperately tried to dodge the jabbing swords pointed at them from all directions.

“What do we have here?” a marauder shouted at David, standing with his sword outstretched. “Go on then, dance for us! Make us laugh!”

David wiped his eyelids and saw the men clearly for the first time. He glanced briefly at each of the assailants. They were not militia but five men he had never seen before. Two of them rode mules whilst two sat on horses without saddles and with thick rope for bridles. Only one of the men, whom David presumed was the leader, had a well-groomed horse, dressed with leather bridle and saddle.

The men continued to toy with David and Juan. Laughing, they mocked David’s futile efforts to hold them back with his flashing sword.

David searched his father’s face, still reddened from the scorching heat. Juan clung tightly to the child squirming under his blanket. Her face and body were hidden, but her legs were visible, dangling and swaying with Juan’s rapid twisting body movements.

His father was looking for a way out of the circular enclosure, but he wouldn’t be able to break through it, David thought. The marauders had them penned in, and after they had tired of their game, they would cut him, his father, and the child down. “What are you waiting for, you whoresons?” he screamed at the horsemen. “Do it! Do it! Get it over with!”

The marauder’s leader sawed at his horse’s mouth with the bridle and brought it to a complete standstill. The other men followed suit. The expressions on their faces grew serious, and the malicious laughter faded.

David took a swift step backwards, and with his sword arm still outstretched, he tried to shield his father. Staring up at the leader, he baulked at the man’s arrogant smirk. Who were these men?  He panted harder now, convinced that he was in the dying seconds of his life. The horseman continued to stare at David with nonchalant enjoyment. The fire that surrounded them still raged. Sparks flew in all directions, continuing to make the horses jumpy.

His mother and brothers …Were they dead? David wondered again. He grunted loudly. Any minute now, he would die too, but why should he be killed like a cornered animal? “Who sent you? Get down here and fight me, you bastards!” he heard his shrill voice shout. “What are you waiting for? Fight me fairly!”

“Not tonight, lad; maybe some other time,” the leader said, still smirking. “We’ll meet again!” Pivoting his horse, the marauder rode off with his men following behind him.

David was incensed and his mind devoid of rational thought as he ran screaming obscenities after the horsemen. He sprinted as far as he could, until he was forced to stop because of the searing pain in his chest. Light-headed, he bent over double and panted in short breaths. Finally, after steadying his pulse, he ran back towards the house … It was falling to the ground. The roof was gone, walls were crumbling, and the door had completely disintegrated.

At thirty-nine years old, Juan Sanz had suffered his fair share of loss. But as he stumbled over charred smoking timbers and rocks surrounding his house, he felt like an old man. In so much pain, he craved death rather than suffer his present anguish.

For a while, the fire had burned strong and fast, but a gusty wind was beginning to extinguish its power. He shouted, and his booming voice overpowered the dying flames, still crackling and snapping pieces of wood. Tears ran down his face as he tried to get as close as possible to the remaining structure. He screamed his wife’s name. “Isabella … Isa! Diego, Juanjo!”

Running from the front of the house to the back, not once did he lower his ear-piercing shouts for his family. But although he called for them, he had already concluded that no one could have survived the fire or the marauders’ blades. Finally, he sunk to his knees, and his cries matched the sound of the weeping child in his arms.

From out of the darkness, Juan heard his wife’s screams for help. Stumbling to his feet, he shook with elation, convinced he’d heard his wife’s cries but unsure of where they had come from. “Isa, where are you?” he shouted in every direction. Running towards the open field behind the house, he heard her cries again. At a low stone wall, he saw Diego. Behind him was Isa, propped up against the stones. Her head was bowed and violently shaking from side to side.

Juanjo’s limp body lay on the ground. His head rested on Isa’s lap, and she stroked his pale cheeks. “Look what they did to our son!” she moaned without looking up.

Drowning in grief, Juan squatted down beside her and fixed his eyes on the gaping hole just beneath Juanjo’s left eye. The wound was surrounded by a crimson halo, startlingly bright against his lifeless white skin. His blood had streamed out of him. It had turned one side of his face and neck red, and it had spread all the way down to his chest. “My son,” he muttered. “Oh, my poor son!”

Diego’s hand grasped a rock. “I’ll kill them, Papa!” he cried. “I’ll kill them all!”

Juan set the little girl down on the ground and then lifted Juanjo’s body onto his lap. Rocking his dead son in his arms, he wept unashamedly, his grief so profound that he was unaware of Isa’s loud sobs and Diego’s questions about the small child sitting beside him.

“Almighty God, why did you allow this to happen? Oh my lad, my sweet child!”

Isa picked up the little girl and looked at the tiny smoke-blackened face for the first time. “You’re just a babe,” was all she muttered.

The wind whipped Juanjo’s straight black hair onto his face, and it stuck to the blood. Juan pushed it away from his son’s eyes and felt his heart crushing with guilt. Three years previously, he and his family had converted to Christianity. He had not been happy about the decision, but it had seemed unavoidable and a justifiable means to an end at that time. The old duke’s ruling to evict Jews from farms and smallholdings on Sagrat’s land had forced many Jewish friends and neighbours to leave the area. Many had left Spain rather than convert or live in the town, faced with new and unfair laws regarding cohabitation and occupations. No Jew wanted to live in the open countryside nowadays. They were being persecuted just about everywhere. The only safe place left in Sagrat was the Jewry, surrounded by its high wall.