by Jana Petken
Garcia took a step forward, grabbed Sinfa’s arm in a tight squeeze, and pulled her towards him until her face was inches from his own and their bodies were touching. “Who do you think sent me? You’re a stupid Jew. Do you think the duke cares about you and your kind? He wants to cleanse this town. You’re an infestation, and if I had my way, I’d wipe your Jewish arses on the floor and throw the lot of you all into the pigpens as fodder!” He looked then at the soldiers and seemed to be enraged even further at the contemptuous stares that met his eyes. “What are you all gawking at? The spectacle is over. Get back to work!”
Garcia’s scowl deepened as he met David’s eyes. If there was ever any doubt of Sanz’s hatred towards him, it had just been removed with that cold, threatening glare, he thought. If he could disobey the duke’s order, he’d kill the bastard where he stood. He’d give anything to watch the impertinent upstart take his last painful breaths, with all his secrets dying with him … But he would leave that pleasure for another time.
“You, Sanz, take this girl to the prison. Throw her in the coldest, dampest cell and let her calm her temper,” he ordered. He looked again at the other soldiers. “She threatened me. You all heard her call me a swine, did you not?” He waited. There was no response. “Well, speak! Answer me, you good-for-nothing goat pokers!”
“Yes, Your Honour. We heard her, Your Honour. Yes …” Slowly and one by one, the soldiers gave in.
Looking at Sinfa, Garcia said. “Wench, you want a roof over your head? Well, you can have one, with the duke’s compliments. You can rot, stink, and eat pork. How would your impertinent mouth like that, eh?” He smirked at her reddened face and swollen lip, glad to be seeing the back of her.
Chapter Twenty
David steeled himself to enter the house but couldn’t quite urge his body to move towards it. He stood on the other side of the street, in the exact same spot as he had on the night he’d first laid eyes on the young couple’s home, and he cursed Garcia with every breath he took.
Watching the people in the street staring into the house through the shuttered window reminded him of pilgrims visiting a shrine. Women arrived with woollen blankets, bread, and steaming cooking pots exuding smells of kid meat and vegetables. They knocked on the door, and he saw his mother’s tear-stained face.
The mood in the street was sombre, but it was also tinged with fear and anger. Every face held shock in red-rimmed eyes and half-open mouths. It was as though they still couldn’t quite believe what had happened to the young family. People here would only find peace when someone had been punished for a crime that sickened and terrified them, David thought. Therefore, it would be only a matter of time before the duke and Garcia found it necessary to sacrifice an innocent man to appease the town’s need for justice. It would be an easy task for them to pick someone at random, torture him, and extract a confession, for when prisoners suffered the agonies inflicted by a skilful torturer, the vast majority said exactly what the interrogator wanted to hear.
It wouldn’t be him. No, they wouldn’t accuse him of anything. If he faced a public death, and it would have to be a public spectacle, he would scream the truth about the crime to every citizen before the executioner had time to shut him up. The duke wouldn’t risk pointing the finger at him. No, if they were planning to kill him, they would be thinking about a more subtle murder. He’d be taken somewhere outside of town into the mountains or maybe to the densest area of the forest. His body would never be found. He’d be a good meal for the wolves.
Death terrified him. Any man who said he wasn’t afraid of it was a liar. He’d woken up that morning grateful to be alive but wondering why Garcia hadn’t finished him off yet. He’d go about his business today thinking that it might be his last. The next time he got into bed, his dagger would be in his hand. He probably wouldn’t have a peaceful night’s sleep ever again.
He straightened his shoulders. What was wrong with him? His brother had died trying to save his father’s property, yet here he stood, unharmed and wallowing in self-pity. Garcia was a bully, but like all bullies, he was also a coward, and like all cowards, he would prey on the helpless and run from the strong … The whoreson didn’t have permission to commit murder, for had the duke ordered an assassination, he, David, would already be dead.
At last, David found his nerve and walked towards the house, passing men and women who were visibly shaken by what had occurred two nights previously. He said good morrow to them and walked on, focusing his eyes on the door. A man put his hand on David’s arm and tutted disapprovingly. “How could anyone want to live in a blood-filled house? I wouldn’t live there if they paid me a bucketful of ducats,” the man said.
“I hope you lot find out who did this,” a woman said.
“You’d better. If you don’t, this town will never recover,” another person added.
David nodded. “We will. Go back to your business. Leave these people in peace.” Even with his glaring disapproval, those who were already standing seemed determined not to move. There was nothing he could do, David thought, apart from appealing to their consciences. “I’ve come to visit my parents. There’s nothing to see here,” he told the neighbours again. “Go on now. Go back to your homes and let my mother and father grieve for their youngest son … and thank you for your kindness,” he added, recognising the women who had brought blankets and food.
“I don’t want you here,” Juan told David, grabbing his boots and then sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on. “If you don’t go, I will.”
“I’ll leave Papa. I just want to make sure you’re both all right.”
“Do we look all right? Do you see what you’ve brought us to? Your mother is wiping blood from the wall and the floor!”
“Hush, you foolish man!” Isa snapped. “There are people right outside the door. Do you want the whole town to hear you?”
“I want him gone,” Juan told her in a quieter voice. He’s not welcome here.”
“He has my welcome, and by God, he’ll have yours too. When are you going to stop being angry with him?”
Juan grumbled, “Not for as long as I take breath.”
“You’re taking breath now because of him,” Isa retorted. “We’d be dead with our throats cut if it hadn’t been for his sacrifice.”
“His sacrifice? What about the poor souls he killed? What about their sacrifice? And how do you know we’d be dead were it not for what he did?”
David said, “I’m sure of it, Papa.”
“Did you hear that, Juan? He’s sure, and I believe him. He’s our son … and he’s the only one we have left,” Isa said, now sobbing.
David went to the window, putting distance between himself and his father. The closed shutters allowed only narrow ribbons of light to enter. It was a dreary day, and had the focus of the townspeople not been on the murders, everyone would have been talking about the possibility of rain.
He turned to face the room. Candles flickered in the corners, casting shadows of his parents’ forms on the walls. The cot and partition curtain had disappeared. The little girl’s straw pallet was also gone, and even the pots and pans, chamber pots, and a small pile of clothes that had been there had been removed.
“Papa, I’ll find you another house. You can’t live here. I can afford to pay your rent until you get on your feet. I spoke to the blacksmith. He’ll take you on. He knows you’re a good saddle maker, and he’s happy to let you use an empty space in his workshop.”
“I don’t want your help.” Juan’s voice was defiant, but his eyes lit up at the prospect of work.
David continued, spurred on by his father’s thinly veiled interest. “Papa, there are rumours up at the castle. They say the inquisitor is coming. He’ll bring men-at-arms, horses, and mules. They’ll use the blacksmith, and you’ll get plenty of commissions for bridles and saddles, purses, and travel chests … There are vacant houses on the other side of town. I’ve seen them. I’ve already asked about the rent.”
“I said I don’t want anything from you!” Juan hissed loudly. “I will find my own way and look after your mother without your money or your council.”
David recoiled at the forcefulness of his father’s words.
Isa, now fully weeping, lay on the bed and pushed her face into the new mattress.
“You see what you’ve done to your mother?” Juan said angrily.
“I’ll leave. I’m sorry, Mama.”
Isa turned her head and sat up. “You’re not going anywhere.” She looked at Juan with eyes blazing with anger. “You always were as stubborn as a hot fly, Juan Sanz, but this time I will be just as obstinate. I miss my Juanjo and Diego. I might die of grief … It’s suffocating me, and I can’t breathe! This is our only son, and you love him, as much as I do. We are a family, and only as a family will I survive this terrible time.” She choked back her tears and swallowed painfully.
Crawling across the bed to where Juan sat, she put her arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head. “My love, if you send David away, I will leave with him,” she warned him gently. “Now, you listen to me. If there’s a job for you with the blacksmith, you must take it and be thankful, for I won’t forgive you if we starve because of your selfish pride. I don’t want to live here. I’ve cleaned every bit of this place, and I still see and smell death and innocent babies – and that little girl’s terrified face when Diego took her to God only knows where! I can’t live here, so if David says he can help us, then that’s what we’ll let him do.”
David, still standing by the window, watched his father’s hand stroking his mother’s arm, which was still curved around his neck, and asked, “Papa, will you forgive me?”
Juan sighed. “I’m your father, and I would die for you. I love you son, but you must ask God for forgiveness, and I must ask yours for the terrible words I’ve spoken.”
Relieved to hear his father’s kind words, David asked, “Did Father Bernardo send you here?”
“No, he looked after us,” Juan said. “He gave us and another family broth and bread as well as these old clothes. We were told to wait until the council found us somewhere to live. The lord treasurer himself came to the church and settled us and two other families. He asked for our names, told us not to worry about our debts because the duke had forgiven them, and then he gave us his condolences. He insisted on bringing us right to this door. He then came inside and ordered his men to remove the previous owners’ belongings.”
David scoffed at the duke’s generosity regarding the unpaid rent on the farm.
Isa said, “We accepted gratefully, son. Garcia doesn’t suspect us. He asked about Diego’s whereabouts. Your father told him that your brother had joined a ship’s crew some days ago and that he wouldn’t be coming back.”
“I wanted to kill the bastard for putting us in here,” Juan spat. “Does he mean to watch our every move?”
“I don’t know, but we have to presume that is the case,” David suggested.
A loud rattling knock at the door and raised voices outside stopped the conversation. Juan got up from the bed and cracked the door open to see what the commotion was. A man and woman, both about his age, stood surrounded by an even larger crowd of people than were there before David arrived. The man’s face was drained of colour. The woman’s swollen eyes looked as though they hadn’t closed in days.
“You have a soldier in there with you?” the man asked Juan.
“Yes, he’s my son. What’s this about?”
Pushing past Juan, the man and woman stepped inside the room. Juan quickly closed the door, barring the onlookers, and turned to face the strangers.
The man’s arm was around the woman’s shoulders. The woman’s arms were clasped around his waist. “Look at my poor daughter’s house,” she sobbed loudly.
The man said, “My name is Eduardo. This is my wife, Alma. This was my daughter’s house … our little girl’s.” He was crying now as well. “Her name was Elena, and her husband’s name was Adolfo. The children were named Angelita and Matias.”
Alma pointed to Isa. “You’re sitting where my Elena sat three mornings ago, feeding her infant. I was here with her. I had brought her some potage. I thought it would do her good.”
“Our deepest condolences, Alma,” Isa said tearfully.
Looking at Juan, Isa, and David in turn, Alma sniggered contemptuously. “Condolences? What kind of people are you? How could you come to live here when my family’s blood still stains the walls and their murderers are still at large? You’re worse than vultures picking at flesh! My child is not yet cold in her grave … You shouldn’t be here. No one should live in this house!” Alma was crying breathlessly.
The man said, “This is a disgrace. It’s disrespectful. Can you not see what this is doing to us? We’ve lost everything!” His wild angry eyes flicked from left to right. “Are we not to have their possessions? I made the baby’s crib with my own two hands. Where is it? My wife here sewed every sheet and blanket and all the children’s garments. What have you done with their personal belongings?”
Juan said awkwardly, “Your family’s possessions were taken away by the lord treasurer. We had nothing to do with their removal … He told us we had to live here. You see, marauders burned down our house, and our son was killed.”
David saw the man glaring at him and thought he should say something, but he found it difficult to find words of solace when he was the cause of everyone’s grief. He wanted to tell Eduardo and Alma that their infant grandson was alive and well at the castle and that their granddaughter was with Diego, far away by now.
“No decent Christian would live here now. You lost your son, but we lost our family and you’re making yourself at home as though they never existed!” the woman shouted at Isa.
Upon hearing his mother crying loudly, David finally found his voice. “That’s enough. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain you must be feeling, but please don’t take your anger out on my parents,” he said. “Can you not see my mother and father’s sorrow? They too have lost a child. Their home has been destroyed. They have lost all their possessions, and they were forced to live here against their will.”
Juan asked gently, “Do you really think we would be here if we’d been offered any other roof over our heads?”
David said. “We’ll find the culprits. Every militiaman who can be spared is out looking for them. They will face justice soon enough.”
“No one will tell us anything!” the man snapped. “The duke sent his condolences, but when I went to the castle to seek an audience with him this morning, he wouldn’t even see me.” He asked David, “Are you searching for my grandchildren? They might have been taken to the port. Is your cavalry looking to the north or towards Valencia? If the scum manage to get our little ones into the city, you’ll never be able to find them … Why have you not caught the swine yet?”
Alma said, “Angelita has the curliest of hair. Matías, the baby, is marked by God. He has a deep red patch in the centre of his back. It’s shaped like a fig. Please … please find them. I know they’re alive!” And she wept again.
“Eduardo, Alma, you have my oath,” David said. “We won’t stop looking. We’re searching as far and as wide as we can. Every soldier in Sagrat wants justice for you. We’re using all our resources. We’ll give up our night’s rest to hunt these monsters, if that’s what it takes.” David hoped his words would appease them; however, he was sadly mistaken.
“This house is evil now,” Eduardo said. “Nothing good will come of you living here. Best you move out and leave it to the devil.” With this parting shot, Eduardo took Alma by the arm and left.
David felt his lungs being crushed by guilt.
Juan sat back down on the bed and held Isa in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-One
David picked his way through the streets, feeling a bit better now that he’d seen his parents. At the distant sound of thunder, he looked up and saw that the sky had darkened further. From his positio
n halfway up the hill, he could just about make out the sea in the distance; above it, a sheet of black clouds was sweeping across the heavens and heading towards the town. They would see a good downpour at last, he thought.
As he turned a corner, a biting wind whipped back his cloak. Grabbing its edges, he pulled it tighter across his chest and was immediately reminded of the young Jewish woman he had escorted to prison the previous day. She’d be freezing in that cell. Some of the prisoners incarcerated during the winter months died of the cold. No visitors were allowed, and basic items, such as blankets or combs to untangle hair, were denied. Comforts such as hot broth and freshly cooked meat never reached the incarcerated, unless they were wealthy and could pay for those privileges.
The Jew, Sinfa, had left him with an ugly feeling of shame. Garcia had struck her as though she were a mule that needed to be beaten when stubborn. Yet neither he nor any other soldier present had found the courage to stop the treasurer. The young woman had courage, David thought. She’d bravely stood up to Garcia, with chin jutting out in prideful defiance and her mouth full of protests. She’d been humiliated and scorned just moments after burying her only family. She’d lost everything in that house, yet she had looked almost regal.
He felt as though they shared a strange alliance. Her grandfather and Juanjo had both been victims of the same crime, perpetrated by the very men the townspeople were supposed to look up to. The duke would more than likely leave Sinfa Cabrera to rot inside those freezing walls, for he would not want to be reminded of her again. Garcia would make sure she was severely punished for her outburst against him. She had called him a coward. God help her, for he supposed that would be unforgivable in Garcia’s mind.
Walking along one of the wider streets, David spotted a mule and cart. It stopped outside a house. He caught up with it, paying no heed to the driver, who was piddling up a wall. But then the man turned and climbed up into the driver’s seat. David saw his face. His mood darkened once again. Striding angrily towards the cart just as the man was about to drive away, David caught hold of the mule’s reins. Seething, he said, “Remember me, you thieving bastard?”
