The Errant Flock

by Jana Petken

  The Mass was over. Torches flickered, guiding the people leaving the church, which was at the base of the hill. David believed that he still had time to avoid a throng of people, but he could see torchlights already flickering on the same road that he had taken from the south-east gate. He swore. He couldn’t go back up the hill the same way he’d come down it. He would meet processionals head-on. The duke had left no time for error, he thought. He must have known this might happen but hadn’t cared. Cursing again, he prayed for a life of torment for Luis Peráto.

  Hurrying along a street which had a steep upward incline, he tried to picture the safest route back to the castle. He knew this to be a long street. At the end of it, he would have to climb thirteen stone steps, marking the boundary line for this section of the town. Beyond the steps, the hill looked more like a cliff face covered with large jagged rocks. It would be impossible to climb with two babies in his arms.

  He stopped, defeated, sick with shame, and mindful of his stupidity. The initial idea of taking the girl home to the farm now seemed ludicrous. He doubted he could take her anywhere. The only way he could get up to Garcia, waiting for him at the north-east gate, was if he left the child somewhere along the way. He’d just have to pray that she’d still be there when he eventually got back to her.

  There was a bitter chill in the air. The infant was well wrapped, but the girl had nothing but a fine blanket and nightgown to cover her, and every time she squirmed, her legs dangled outside of his cloak folds. He had to find her some shelter now.

  Upon reaching the top of the steps, he searched for the spot where the next section of the town began. Farther up the hill and heading north was the high wall that separated the Jewry from other areas in Sagrat. Behind the wall lived what was left of the Jewish community. Once a bustling neighbourhood of affluent Jews and thriving businesses, it now stood a sad, dilapidated cluster of streets full of abandoned homes and empty shops. It was a prison in all but name, David thought. Christians were afraid to go anywhere near it, making it seem more like a leper colony than a neighbourhood.

  First Jews had been forced to wear special badges on their garments, and then the tall, thick walls had come, segregating them from their Christian friends and neighbours. Shame on Sagrat, David thought, and shame on Spain. “A plague on the duke and his bastard lackey, Garcia,” he mumbled angrily whilst he was at it.

  Swinging open a wooden gate, he entered the Jewry. After only a few paces, he came upon an abandoned semi-demolished house and decided that the building would be as good a place as any to leave the girl. As with most doorways, David had to stoop his tall frame to enter. After accustoming his eyes to the darkness, he looked about him. Whoever had lived there had probably stripped the house bare before leaving. All that remained in the room was an old rag lying on a dirt floor, which had once been covered in wooden boards, judging by a few splintered pieces of pinewood that still remained in places. This must have belonged to an affluent family, for only the very best of houses had a wood covering on the ground.

  David set the child down in a corner of the room where the stone wall was still intact. She craned her neck and looked up at his great height with an expression of bewilderment, which David found even more pitiful than her crying. After spreading the fine blanket on top of the dirty ground, he laid the girl upon it, and then wrapped it about her body and bare feet as best he could. For a moment, he sat with her, stroking her hair and soothing her with softly spoken words. Her eyes blinked with tiredness and then drooped with exhaustion.

  “I’ll come back for you,” he whispered when her eyes finally closed in sleep. “I’ll take you to a nice warm bed and you’ll have some milk … I’m sorry – so sorry for everything.”

  Blinded by his tears, he left the house, rocking the infant, whose mouth was open and searching for his mother’s teat. “Please don’t cry,” he begged the baby.

  The house’s wooden door was withered, but he managed to close it behind him and click the latch into place. There were no guarantees the girl inside would sleep on or remain quiet until he got back to her, he thought, but she would be safe enough. She was just a baby and wouldn’t be able to leave the house on her own. Leaving the house wasn’t his biggest worry, he then realised. If she screamed loudly enough, she’d be heard, causing an onslaught of questions to arise in this neighbourhood.

  He didn’t regret saving her, he kept telling himself as he hurried on. She had multiplied his problems tenfold, but no, he would rather cut off his hands than harm her. He pushed all thoughts of the girl away. He’d done everything he could, and for the moment, she was in God’s hands, not his.

  David struggled up an uneven rocky path which began at the very bottom of the hill. From the plain below, this narrow track looked like a piece of white rope wrapped around the entire mound in what seemed like never-ending circles. This was probably the most treacherous route to the north-east gate. He was climbing the steepest part of the hill, right to its crest. It was rarely used by anyone, apart from goat herders.

  He set off at a steady pace, but after a while, his breathing quickened and became laboured. He felt as though he were running up the hill instead of walking at a snail’s pace, which was all he could manage to do in the dark. His skin was moist, his tunic damp with perspiration, but there was no time to stop and rest. He thanked God that the town was below him, and he believed that no one else would be stupid enough to walk this road at this time of night. The babe slept on, no doubt comforted by his body heat, and he calculated that in less than an hour, he’d reach the wall and gate, his mission completed and the horrific night almost over.

  Chapter Seven

  As David approached the north-east gate, he was struck by the eerie silence. Craning his neck, he tried to see the top of the wall. There was no sign of flaming torches, nor was there the glint of a helmet or spear peeking over merlon blocks. Moving on, he prayed that Garcia had dismissed the watch in this area and that he was waiting for him on the other side of the wall.

  The portcullis was only partially down, and no guards looked to be in the gatehouse above it. After slipping underneath, he walked through the archway, which led to a Roman courtyard. This was the duke’s private sanctuary. No townspeople were allowed to enter the castle through this gate. Bordering the tiled square courtyard were Roman pillars, arched alcoves with white granite benches underneath, and Roman statues, some of which were eroded or damaged. Ancient but still beautiful, they stood tall in the darkness, embodying an earlier era, yet ever present, like timeless guardians watching history unfold. He paused for a moment beside a fountain and marvelled at the beauty surrounding him.

  He imagined the infant he held in his arms, playing there under the watchful eyes of nurses and guards. The duke’s imposter son was going to have a life of privilege and wealth to look forward to. He’d be raised ignorant of his ancestry, where he came from, and even his given name at birth. Only three people possessed the knowledge of what had happened this night … Only three.

  Dark nagging thoughts pounded his mind. Was he to die? Had the physician been murdered because he also knew the truth? Was he to be thrown off the highest part of the wall or stabbed in the back and share the physician’s fate? Why had he not considered this before?

  “You’re late!” Sergio Garcia’s voice snapped as he came out of the shadows.

  “I was trapped. The processionals blocked my route. I had to find another way up. I’m here now,” David said coldly. He was in no mood to show reverence to the bastard.

  “Yes, you are. Well, where is it?”

  Flicking his cloak over the back of his shoulders, David revealed the baby, who stirred as soon as cold air touched his face.

  Garcia peeled away the blanket and nightgown covering the tiny body, looking closely at the infant’s genitalia.

  David forced himself to remain still, but he was seething with rage at the callous way in which the treasurer was looking at the infant’s sex in the cold air. For the firs
t time tonight, he hated someone else more than he despised himself.

  “Yes, it’s a boy,” Garcia said, as though David didn’t already know that. “Show me the infant’s house on the map.”

  David covered the baby, pulled out the map, and then tucked the baby underneath his cloak to keep him warm. In the darkness, it was almost impossible to see anything written or marked on the paper, but the black ink cross and lines denoting where the babe had come from were visible.

  “Here, in this house,” David said, pointing.

  Nodding with approval, Garcia said, “I see it. So we should expect to find three bodies in this home come morning? Tell me about them. How did you kill them?”

  David’s stony expression was unwavering. All the way up the hill, he had dreaded this question the most. Now he would lose his pride and honour forever, for the moment he confessed to the murders, the duke and Garcia would own him, body and soul. “I ran my sword through the father’s gut. I silenced the mother with a cut to her neck, and I suffocated the little girl as she slept.”

  “Good … That’s good. And you’re sure you weren’t seen or heard?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then we will grieve and pray for three of our citizens tomorrow. The duke appreciates their sacrifice.”

  Sacrifice? The duke was a murdering whoreson, David thought. He wasn’t saving the town from some catastrophe. “Only two bodies are in the house,” he said calmly. “I removed the dead child and buried her on the hill. I dug deep, and she will never be found. I give you my word that not even a beast will be able to dig up her bones.”

  Garcia’s arm shot out. The palm of his hand connected with David’s cheek with such speed and force that he lost his footing and stumbled backwards. David planted his feet firmly on the ground and instinctively protected the infant by placing both arms around his body. His heavy breathing slowed. Were it not for the baby, he would have had his sword out of its belt and into Garcia’s chest, damning the consequences.

  Garcia’s skin reddened. He spread his lips in an ugly scowl, and bearing his teeth, he whispered ferociously. “You’re an idiot peasant! You were told to kill all the occupants and leave them where they lay – leave them where they lay! Who are you to disobey His Grace? He’ll be furious, and he’ll blame me for your insubordination.”

  Good. Let him blame you, punish you, and kill you, David wanted to say. “My apologies …”

  “You should have left the dead child where it lay, you fool,” Garcia repeated.

  Lies didn’t slip easily off David’s tongue, but he’d practiced his explanation on the way up, saying the words aloud until he’d felt comfortable with the sound of them. Straightening his shoulders, he said, “And how is Your Honour to explain one missing child when there were two in the house? Surely it makes more sense to give the impression that both siblings have been abducted. To steal away one and kill another, at such a young age, might bring even more questions as to the reason the boy child was specifically taken. The townspeople will believe this crime to be child abduction for monetary gain, for this is exactly what I made it look like.”

  As though feeling David’s thumping heartbeat, the infant stirred and began to wail. David rocked him gently whilst trying to control his mounting rage.

  Garcia thought about what had just been said. He did not suffer fools and was a suspicious man by nature. Life and people had taught him that no man could be trusted and that loyalty came at a high price. He disliked Luis Peráto and all the arse lickers that surrounded him. The duke was a dim-witted man with the whims of a petted child. Why was he allowing the militiaman to live? He had asked Peráto that question and had not received an answer. Had it been his decision to make, Sanz would have been killed the moment he’d stepped under the half-drawn portcullis with the infant. He’d served his purpose, and now he was a liability.

  The duke was a gullible fool and, like most nobles, was self-centred and unable to understand a common peasant’s mind. Peráto’s views of the world around him were amusing, for the duke believed that his townspeople wanted nothing more from life than to serve him. They were pack mules, born and bred to carry his load, he was fond of saying.

  Garcia was a commoner. He understood the common man, his suffering, and his aspirations. He also knew that many Sagratans blamed Peráto for their present misfortunes. Commerce was dwindling under the burden of higher taxations. Work of any kind was hard to come by for even the most gifted tradesmen, yet the duke ignored his people’s misery. He was too busy planning a future as Valencia’s viceroy to turn his mind to the beggars on the street and the growing number of women selling their bodies so that they could feed their children. Luis Peráto sickened him, not because he was unkind to his townspeople but because he was stupid.

  Garcia stared at David, trying to decide whether the man was foolish enough to lie. There was no respect in Sanz’s steely gaze. Being struck had not seemed to cow him one whit. If anything, the man was being openly disrespectful. “How can I be sure the girl’s dead unless I see the grave and her body for myself?”

  “You can’t.”

  “If you’re lying to me, it will be the death of you. You don’t strike me as a man who wishes to lose his life over a mere child,” Garcia said, voicing his thoughts. “Where on the hill did you bury her?”

  “Halfway down, at the edge of the crevice, where the soil is deep and the undergrowth is at its thickest. As I said, I took great care to make sure the grave would never be found.”

  Garcia nodded begrudgingly. He was not going to waste time searching for a grave. “Your reasoning might be sound. Let the people think that both children were spirited away.” He nodded again but was still outraged that the common pup in front of him had made this decision on his own.

  David waited. His fate was in Garcia’s hands now. He either believed the story or didn’t and was veiling his thoughts. He wanted to punch the man until blood spouted from his ears. His disregard for the three lives supposedly taken revolted him.

  Thinking about the little girl and unwilling to be in Garcia’s company a moment longer, he asked. “May I take my leave now?”

  “Yes, but go straight to your barracks.”

  David bowed his head in gratitude.

  Garcia held out a purse, heavy with coin. “This is an offering from the duke,” he said with some resentment. “Take it.”

  David felt bile rise in his throat. The duke could shove this coin up his noble arse, he thought. “I’m not a paid assassin. I will not accept this blood money.” And he wouldn’t become indebted to the duke, who had just ruined his life and damned his soul to the fires of hell. “I have killed for His Grace this night, but only because I’m afraid for my family. I did what I did because he ordered me to, but make no mistake: I am a murderer. I deserve to go to hell, not receive a reward.”

  “You dare to refuse the duke’s kindness?”

  “I do.”

  “You will insult him.”

  “He’ll recover.”

  For a moment, Garcia was pensive as he stood watching David gently rock the infant, who was opening his mouth and searching for milk.

  “Take the purse or not; it’s up to you. Your refusal won’t ease your conscience, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

  “Nothing will ease my conscience, and of course it bothers me!” David hissed at him, and then snapped his mouth shut.

  “Sanz, what you did was for the glory of Sagrat. Thanks to you, the duke has an heir. You should be happy that he asked you to serve him.” Spreading his arms, he suggested, “The benefits of your actions this night far outweigh any distastefulness involved … surely?”

  David refused to answer.

  “I’m sure your family will be grateful to have this money,” Garcia continued. “I wonder why you’re not thinking about their welfare instead of your misguided principles.”

  “My family’s well-being is all I think about,” David retorted.

  “Then I suggest
you take this gift. Life has a habit of giving, only to take away when we least expect it. Fate toys with us. It tricks us into false securities and makes us careless, and then one day it kicks us to the ground. You might have a good life now, but who knows what calamities may befall you and your family in the future. Take the money.”

  “Your Honour, I will take nothing from you. I’d rather cut off my hand than accept anything from yours.” Expecting to be struck again, David tightened his grip on the baby. When no slap came, he relaxed his muscles, and said, “The infant needs warmth and milk. I suggest you look after him or you might be the one with a difficult future.”

  Garcia’s eyes narrowed. “Remember this, Sanz: you’re still breathing, but only because the duke ordered me not to kill you,” he said with a voice crackling with anger. “For some reason unbeknown to me, he trusts you. Don’t disappoint him. If you do, he will crush you and your family like ants – and no one will care but God.”

  David handed the baby to Garcia. Garcia looked at it for a second and then sneered at David, “You are a murderer. Don’t ever forget that. If you speak of what happened here, I will make sure your mother, father, and brothers are locked away for the rest of their miserable lives. I will be watching you, but for now … get out of my sight.”

  David stood alone for a moment, until his racing pulse had returned to normal. He was still alive … but for how long?

  Chapter Eight

  Garcia found Luis staring at his dead son, who was lying in a crib. He coughed awkwardly and approached. His eyes then settled on the tiny body covered from head to foot in white linen, with only its face visible. The infant would have to be buried soon, Garcia thought. Best to take it out of sight, and let it be out of mind.

  “Tell me you have it,” Luis said without turning.

  “I do, Your Grace. Here is your son.”

  With the dead baby forgotten for the moment, Luis turned sharply and gazed upon the infant, who, as though knowing all eyes were upon him, began shrieking loudly. Luis smiled. “The sound of a strong, healthy baby is the sweetest of music to my ears.” Taking the baby from Garcia, he cradled it in his arms and whispered soothing words whilst stroking its face. “You have looked him over?”