by Jana Petken
When Garcia, Tur, and David were out of earshot of the other men, Garcia wasted no time. “I’ve just been informed by Father Bernardo that your father’s farm was attacked by marauders last night. It seems that your brother Juanjo was killed … You have my condolences.”
An anguished roar left David’s mouth. He bowed his head and then covered his face with both hands. Condolences? The whoreson wasn’t sorry. Swaying with a rush of blood to his head, he conjured images previously pushed away. The full force of grief and guilt finally surfaced. His brother’s lifeless body and the dead couple he had sliced open with his blades … His father’s disapproving face and his mother’s tears …
The sound of muffled weeping escaped through his fingers. “Oh … dear God … no.”
“You have my condolences, Sanz,” he heard Tur say.
Lifting his head, David ignored Tur and instead stared at Garcia, who flinched under the penetrating gaze.
“I can assure you that we will find out who did this to your family. We never know when tragedy will strike, do we?” Garcia said, and his left eyebrow rose in a sinister arch.
David gasped. The bastard was taunting him! He had ordered the attack. The maggot’s guilt was as plain as the reddened cheeks under his shifty eyes. David’s hand went instinctively for his sword, and it rested on its hilt for a few seconds, until he came to his senses and dragged it away.
Garcia looked at David’s weapon and then lifted his eyes to stare at David with a belittling smirk playing on his lips.
David was lost in rage. Scowling angrily, he willed Garcia to sense his thoughts and to feel his fury. If he could end the whoreson right now and give his mother the revenge she craved, he would find some peace, he kept thinking. He’d accept any punishment for the pleasure of killing this pus from the fattest whore’s pox! “Where is my family?” he muttered.
“Father Bernardo is looking after them,” Garcia said. “You mustn’t worry about them. They will be given shelter in the town.”
“Thank you, Your Honour.”
“No need to thank me. It’s our duty to care for Sagrat’s townspeople.”
“Might I return to the line now?” David asked politely.
“Yes, but before you join the ranks, I wonder if I might ask you about your other brother … Diego? I believe that’s his name. Father Bernardo told me that he was not with your parents. They don’t seem to know where he is. I find that strange.”
David let out a painful sigh. “I haven’t seen my brother for over a month but there is nothing strange about that. Diego is a wanderer. If my mother and father don’t know where he is, it’s because he probably took himself off to look for work and has not yet returned. He often does that.”
“I see. Well, if he returns, you must inform Captain Tur.” Looking at Tur, Garcia added, “Perhaps you could find Sanz’s brother a position with the militia … if the lad needs a job?”
“Yes, Your Honour. If he’s half as good a swordsman as Sanz here, we’d be lucky to have him,” Tur answered, albeit reluctantly.
David appealed to his leader. “Captain, will you allow me to go to my parents?”
“Later,” Garcia answered for Tur. “Captain Tur will need all his men today.”
David’s body shook with rage from head to toes. He was safe for the moment. His presence at the farm the previous night was still a secret. Garcia hadn’t been told. He prayed that would remain the case.
In his mind, he gathered the images of the marauders’ faces and tried to recall the smallest of details. It had been dark, but the fire had lit up the area and he’d had a good look at them. He didn’t think he would be able to recognise any of them if he passed them in a street, but their leader’s face, pitted with deep red scarring from his left eyebrow to his cheek, was unforgettable.
“Soldiers!” David heard Garcia shout. “Her Grace has been safely delivered of a son. This is a great day for Sagrat and for her people.”
Lies, lies! David wanted to scream, as he listened to the men’s exploding applause.
“If only our lives were filled with joyous moments and empty of sorrow. Sadly, God tests us, for with gladness comes dismal news,” Garcia continued when there was silence. “It’s been many months since our port was last attacked and looted by marauders, and even longer since bandits caused mischief in our town, but last night Sagrat was once again violated by scum who came in the night like quiet demons.”
He pointed to David. “David Sanz has just been informed that his family’s home was destroyed and his young brother murdered by swine! But his family were not the only victims. Two other farms were also burnt to the ground.” Garcia stared at David, taunting him once again with his eyes.
The men looked at David, and while many muttered their condolences, others were intent on questioning Garcia.
“How could we not know about this attack?” a soldier shouted.
“Who was attacked? When did this happen?” another wanted to know.
Tur’s voice boomed above the noise. “Let the lord treasurer speak!”
David held his breath. Tell us about the murders, he thought, staring boldly at Garcia. Explain why only one home in this entire town was attacked.
Paco placed his hand on David shoulder, but David barely noticed. His mind raced. Garcia was going to say that the marauders killed the young couple and stole the children. It all made sense now. The marauders had set the fires so that the people would believe that the various crimes were connected. Feeling as though he was going to collapse, David then remembered to breathe.
Garcia continued. “After burning homes on the plain, these evil blasphemers stole into our town and murdered a young couple and abducted their two babies from their home.”
The men gasped with shock. Garcia allowed a moment of rage to settle in the militiamen’s minds and then continued with dire warnings.
“We must be extra vigilant, for we may have slave traders in our midst. And they will strike again and again, as is their way.”
Shame washed over David, but with it came relief. Garcia had shifted suspicion away from anyone living in Sagrat and on to faceless marauders who had plagued Valencia for years. He looked at the stunned faces around him and listened to the rising tide of voices that were interrupting Garcia again. Never had he witnessed havoc in the ranks. He glanced at Garcia, who seemed to be satisfied with the militia’s reaction.
At last, Tur told the men to shut up.
“We must find the bastards and bring them to justice!” Garcia shouted as the noise died down. “And when we have them in our grasp, we’ll cut off their balls and their rods and hang them around their throats like necklaces! Men, your duke demands that you hunt the vermin from here to the coast, to the north, and south of the port … Find these stolen babies and bring them home! Garcia stopped talking for a moment to look at the soldiers’ faces. “Bring these whoresons back alive,” he continued, “and we’ll watch them roast like pigs!”
Chapter Seventeen
Luis stood in front of the blazing fireplace in his chambers, rubbed his hands together, and smiled with satisfaction. After spending an hour with his new son, he had concluded that being a father was the greatest achievement a man could attain. The baby was everything Luis could have wished for. He had drunk his fill of a noblewoman’s milk, and he was no longer a peasant’s son but a true Peráto of noble lineage and rightful heir to the dukedom.
Luis had not been able to get the physician’s words out of his mind. “Your wife is not strong enough to nourish a baby,” the Jew had stated. Well, the old man had been wrong, for one of Josefa’s ladies had informed him that the duchess’s breasts flowed with milk and that she had successfully satisfied the baby’s hunger on her first attempt. His wife had become a valuable cow, but her worth to him ended with her ability to feed the baby and breed more sons.
He tried unsuccessfully to push Josefa from his mind. A frustrated sigh left his mouth, and he grumbled as the first tinge of annoyance blighted his perfect
morning. God’s grief in heaven, the woman irked him to distraction. She was a mother, for God’s sake, and had no need of dolls when she had a living baby. He had pointed this out to her after she had roughly discarded Jaime Gaspar in favour of a wooden effigy lying on top of the bed. In response, she had screamed at him to remove the baby from her sight.
Her ability to care for the infant was doubtful. She obviously didn’t like him, but that mattered not. No, the less the mad creature had to do with the baby, the better. He would send for two wet nurses. They would nourish him and keep him safe.
God never gave his people overflowing cups of joy, he thought. Instead, he gave sips, leaving his worshipers with a perpetual thirst for contentment. If the Almighty had provided him with a sane wife and good mother for his son, he would be satisfied and would ask for nothing more. After all, he was not a greedy man.
Shrugging, he cast all thoughts of Josefa aside. Today was going to be pivotal for the town and for his leadership. There were loose ends to tie up regarding the infant, and his arrival would not be fully celebrated until the previous night’s acts of violence had been put to rest and were forgotten.
Luis nodded to Garcia, who was skulking at the office door, and gestured to him to enter. When seated, he looked briefly at the treasurer’s face, and seeing his grandiose smirk, he relaxed his muscles. “I take it by your satisfied expression that all went well this morning,” he said. “I hope so, Garcia. I’m unwilling to hear bad tidings of any kind today.”
“I believe Your Grace will be pleased. As you said last night, it’s not important what the townspeople think. What matters is your militia’s loyalty.”
“Do I have it?”
“You do, Your Grace. If anything, their respect for you has grown. The cavalry has been dispatched to hunt for marauders, and there is not a man amongst them who’s not seeking revenge.”
“Where are your elusive mercenaries? Where do they hide?”
“That I don’t know. Our man inside the town won’t tell me where their hideout is situated. They’re like ghosts. They disappear once they get paid and reappear when I summon them,” Garcia said, handing Luis a document to sign. “Here is the payment order for the mercenaries’ activities last night.”
Luis, grumbling impatiently, snatched the document from Garcia’s hand. “Why do you insist in giving me these accounts when only you and I know about my personal funds? The money is not coming from the treasury, is it?”
“No Your Grace.”
“Then I don’t need to see any more figures. I trust you. If I didn’t you would not be standing in front of me.”
It was probably better if Garcia didn’t admit to knowing where the marauders hid, Luis thought as he casually scanned the document. He’d never been comfortable discussing them with his treasurer. “I have shamefully come to rely on the mercenaries’ talents,” he said absently.
In the past six months, they had successfully managed to rob two heavy-laden caravans headed for Valencia, carrying coin and gold. One of those caravans had come from Sagrat with tax revenue earmarked for the monarchs’ coffers. Two militiamen had been killed in that ambush, but their deaths had been worthwhile sacrifices for the good of the town’s finances … He’d felt no guilt then, and he still didn’t. Why should the king and queen have the bulk of what the town earned? He had much more need of the money, and after all, it was his to begin with.
He wasn’t sure if he liked Garcia having so much influence over the marauders. They obviously thought highly of him. Why else would they come running every time he summoned them?
Sitting at his desk, he realised that there was a lot about Garcia he didn’t know. He’d been scribe to a noble family in Valencia. That was true, for Count Javier Castro Ortega, a Valencia noble, had recommended Garcia for his present position. Yet the man was still a riddle to be solved.
“There must be no doubt in my soldiers’ minds that marauders killed the couple and abducted their children. I will not tolerate a single rumour or theory that doesn’t point to the bandits. Can you assure me that this will be the case?” he asked Garcia.
“I can, Your Grace.”
“And what of Sanz? Does he pose a threat or not?”
“He might.” Garcia cleared his throat and then nervously scratched his head. “Your Grace, unfortunately there was a small setback at the Sanzs’ farm. One of the sons, Sanz’s younger brother, was killed as a result of the attack.”
“What! Died, you say? I said no killings!”
“I can assure you that the marauders didn’t touch a hair on the lad’s head. Father Bernardo told me that the boy was kicked by the family’s mule and died of injuries to his face. It was an unfortunate accident.”
“What do the marauders say?”
“I have not spoken to them. I thought it best not to seek them out until the dust settles.”
“Christ’s blood! I want Sanz’s loyalty, not his hatred, you fool. Tell me, does he or doesn’t he suspect us of the raid?”
“I believe he does … No, I’m convinced of it. I gave him reason to suppose it could have been us, just as you asked.”
“Good, then we will have his silence. He’ll be shitting fear until the day he dies.” Luis looked at Garcia’s frowning face. “You disagree?”
“I still don’t trust him. Last night I saw insolence in him. This morning I saw anger. When I told him about the attack on his home, he went for his sword. His hand rested on its pommel for just a second, but I saw the hatred in his eyes when he touched it. He’s not a meek man, and I strongly suspect he’s not as loyal as Your Grace believes him to be … Forgive my outspokenness.”
“Carry on.”
“These tragedies will not be forgotten. The townspeople will grieve but they will eventually get on with their lives, of course. But I suspect that David Sanz will continue to be a problem. If he loosens his tongue and speaks out about this, only a handful of people will believe him, but it will only take one other person to begin a rumour about your son’s origins to spark flames of accusations … It will not be easy to silence tongues once this fire is lit. The effects could be disastrous.”
“What do you suggest?” Luis asked.
“You must have Sanz killed – and soon. You’ll be making a big mistake if you don’t get rid of him.”
Luis closed his eyes in contemplation. He knew Garcia was right, but his father’s words of advice sprang to mind every time he thought about getting rid of the militiaman: “Remember, son, your militia will protect you. They will fight for you and be loyal to their last breath. But harm one of your men and you will lose them all.” He opened his eyes and found Garcia’s beady eyes staring at him. The man revolted him at times. He needed to be put in his place.
“I pay you well for your services, do I not?” Luis asked.
Garcia’s eyes widened with surprise. “You do, You Grace.”
“Then why do you insult me?”
“Insult you? Never!”
“I disagree. My son’s baptism ceremony should be my only concern, yet you’ve given me other worries to deal with. You have neglected to carry out my orders. You failed to dispatch messengers to Valencia with invitations to the infant’s celebrations. The inquisitor will arrive at any moment, and I have still to receive your estimate of how much the prison’s extension has cost me.
“I told you to deal with the physician’s granddaughter, yet she still lives in that grand house with hidden money, which should belong to me! I have mourning townspeople to care for. My people will want answers and justice for the murders and abductions, and they will need my support and my promise to keep them safe. Yet I cannot send anyone to burn at the stake for last night’s crimes … Tell me, Garcia, why must I have the troubles of the world on my shoulders whilst the only thought you seem to have in your head is your desire to kill David Sanz? Do you think I’m a soft-bellied simpleton?”
“No Your Grace …”
“Don’t interrupt me! Look at you, a wax-nose
d commoner daring to tell me who I must kill and what I must do instead of solving my problems, which are many!”
“I have not had time to attend to the town’s affairs. I’ve been busy with other business of late … I brought you the infant,” Garcia responded, throwing Luis a look of sullen defiance.
Luis grabbed the edge of the desk and then punched it with his fist. If only he didn’t need the man, he thought. He’d been impulsive getting rid of his father’s allies on the town council. He’d been tired of old men continually telling him, “This is not how your father conducted his business.” He had wanted a fresh face, someone who would be loyal to him and not to his father’s ghost. Garcia was unscrupulous and his criminal mind was exactly what was needed.
Rising from his chair, he strode angrily towards Garcia. His open palm shot out so fast that it caused Garcia to stagger backwards when it connected with his cheek. Luis looked at his stinging palm, walked back to his desk, and sat down. He felt better. Garcia would now think twice before answering. Who did he think he was, an equal?
Garcia lifted his hand and massaged his wounded face, and then he lowered his eyes. “My apologies, Your Grace,” he mumbled.
“You will never again mention my son’s origins. If you so much as speak his name to me I will have your tongue cut out, your hands bathed in boiling oil, and your testicles fed to the pigs. Are we clear?”
“Yes.”
Nodding with satisfaction, Luis said, “My business with Sanz and his family is over. He proved his loyalty, and he and his parents will be left in peace. I will hear no more about your petty desire to end his life or your opinion on this matter. My people will demand justice for these murders, and I need you to make sure they get it, without pointing your finger of blame at Sanz.”
“But how will they get justice, Your Grace?”
“Find a way to give it to them! Do your job! Remember, Garcia, there are many men in this town who are more capable than you are and more willing to serve me. You are not infallible, and I would sooner run you through with a sword than any one of the soldiers, who guard me well.”
