by Jana Petken
There was no roof on the house, apart from a sparse covering of branches belonging to an overhanging eucalyptus tree, exactly as Diego had said it would look. Yet there was no mule or cart and not a sound or a face greeting his arrival. It was late afternoon, and being January, it was already growing dark. There were still streaks of light in the sky, but the enclosure within the walls was as black as a boar’s mouth. Standing perfectly still, he took a closer look, stared at the run-down structure, and then walked doggedly towards it. “Is there anyone there? Hello?”
A twig snapped. Diego appeared at the opening and sighed with relief. “Thank God,” he said. “Thank God, David.”
The first thing David saw when he went inside was Sinfa, propped up against the back wall like a dark shadow. His heart filled, but his mind was racing with questions, diluting this rare happy moment. Blinking, he adjusted his eyes and looked about him again. “Where are Mama and Papa?” he asked Diego. “They should have arrived here hours ago.”
“They were set free?” Diego asked, gripping David’s shoulders.
“In a manner of speaking. They’re fugitives,” David said. “They escaped from Sagrat yesterday morning, along with hundreds of other prisoners. They were riding two good horses. Christ’s blood! Where did they go?”
“What do you mean, ‘escaped’? What happened in Sagrat?”
Sinfa struggled to her feet like a half-starved dog. “No one has come near this place, only foxes,” she said in a weak voice. “It’s so quiet here that we can hear the rats gnawing at the date palm outside. If only there were dates,” she said, getting emotional.
David looked at her and then lightly touched her face. “There you are,” he said, smiling. “I have food and water.”
“Where are Mama and Papa?” Diego insisted, but his sunken eyes were looking greedily at the bread David had retrieved from the sack he was holding.
David didn’t know where to begin. “Eat and drink, and then we’ll talk,” he said.
Diego tore at the bread with his teeth, and with a full mouth, he mumbled, “I swear to God, I never thought time could march so slowly. We tried to make the food last, but we finished the last of the bread yesterday morning. There’s a river not far from here, but it’s as dry as a bone. We won’t survive another night here.”
In the brief silence that followed, David watched as his brother tried to swallow a lump of bread. God help them, they were starving, he thought. His mind turned to his parents. How long would Diego and Sinfa be able to wait for them? He’d seen for himself that there was nothing here but dry weeds.
“I tried to get here as fast as I could,” David finally said. “I don’t have much water, but I do have more bread and a little cheese. There should be enough food to last you a couple of days.”
“What about you?” Sinfa asked.
Not able to answer her, David said, “We’ll talk about me later. We have to find Mama and Papa. Papa must have taken a wrong turn, although it’s a straight road all the way here. Diego, where is the mule and cart?”
Chewing on the bread, Diego pointed and muttered, “There’s a patch of grass out back. The mule is grazing.” Diego grew thoughtful. He stopped chewing and asked, “Why did you not travel with them? Why did you allow them to flee without you?” And then he looked at David’s waist. “And where did you get that sword?”
Hesitating to speak in front of Sinfa, David motioned Diego outside. The less Sinfa knew, the better. If he had anything to say about it, she would never find out what he had done, or what he was about to do.
After telling Diego about the ambush in the arena and the fires raised by the marauders, David finished by saying, “Captain Tur knows everything. He gave me the sword. I have given him my word that I’ll return with the little girl. I’m going to help him bring Peráto to justice.”
David searched Diego’s watery eyes and saw the tears ready to slip from them. Putting his hand on Diego’s shoulder, he said, “Brother, listen to me. The future looks bleak, but it’s not lost. I will live through this. Tur will protect me. I have the promise of a full life.”
“Yes, you have, if the authorities don’t decide to burn you at the stake. Tur’s plan could be shot to hell for a number of reasons. To accuse a duke of a crime is like accusing the pope of sinning! It will be the end of you both.”
“You’re right. If Captain Tur and I fail to convince the authorities that the duke and his marauders are to blame for everything, I will be arrested and tried for murder. I might not come back. But don’t grieve for me just yet.” David smiled.
“Why are you smiling?” Diego asked angrily. “You don’t have to do this. You’re free now. Can’t you leave Sagrat behind you? Come with us!”
David shook his head. Captain Tur had given his word that he would do everything in his power to make sure both of them came out of this ambitious and perhaps foolhardy plan with their hides still intact. And he had given Tur his word that he would see this through to the end, no matter how grim the outcome looked. “I can’t do that.”
“You can’t or you won’t? You care more about your own redemption than you do about your family,” Diego said petulantly. “Have we not grieved enough? Have you not caused enough harm?”
“That’s enough! Turn your thoughts to our parents. They must be your priority,” David said, irritable, tired, and running out of time. “As soon as I leave with the child, you will search for Mama and Papa. Their stay in prison weakened them, and they’re probably sick with hunger. They could be resting somewhere close by or they’ve taken a wrong turn in the road and are completely lost.”
“And if I find them? What then?”
“When you find them, leave this place. Don’t wait for me. Travel southwards towards Castile. Beg for food and shelter if you have to and don’t stop until you are no longer in this kingdom. An army will soon be scouring Valencia, looking for escaped prisoners.”
“How will you find us?”
David’s heart broke. He had rarely seen his brother cry. “I will follow your route along the coast. I’ve heard there’s nothing but a barren wilderness and impassable mountains inland so don’t go there. I will find you before you reach the edge of Spain. I give you my oath. I won’t stop looking for you.”
Darkness had fallen. Enough time had been spent talking, David thought. “We should leave for the convent. I need to get the little girl back to Tur,” he said.
“I pray she’s still there.”
“She will be. The nuns were kind enough to take her in. They won’t have thrown her out after a few weeks. Just be your charming self and get her out of there as quickly as possible. Beg for water and food. They won’t turn you away empty handed with a little girl in tow.
Diego nodded in agreement.
“Get the mule and cart ready. I want a moment alone with Sinfa,” David said.
“David, there’s something I have to discuss with you.”
“Tell me later. No more talking,” David answered.
“You’re going to leave again, aren’t you?” Sinfa said when she saw him.
David paced aimlessly for a moment and then stopped in front of her. All he could see was her outline against the wall’s stones. “I’m returning to Sagrat. I don’t want to leave you, but I have something important to attend to. I gave my word to someone,” he told her, and then he held her hand. “Before I go, I want you to know that I have often thought about a life with you by my side. You’re very dear to me,” he said.
A tiny sob left Sinfa’s mouth … and then another. “Oh David, I am in your debt, and I will never be able to repay your kindness,” she whispered hoarsely. “You saved me in that prison and took me from it, at great risk to yourself. But …”
“But what? What’s wrong?” Confused, David followed Sinfa’s eyes. Behind him, Diego stood with his head slightly downcast and eyes averted. He seemed unwilling to return David’s questioning gaze. David stared again at Sinfa and back at Diego, and then he let out a pain
ful audible sigh. “You have affections for each other?” he asked stupidly.
“We’re in love,” Diego said.
“In love? You’ve only known each other for five minutes!”
“And you have known her for six,” Diego parried back.
Sinfa touched David’s arm. He recoiled and shook his head. “You love my brother. You feel nothing for me? We held hands ... The way you look at me...?”
“You are my saviour!” Sinfa choked. “Forgive me, David. Love crept up on me. Diego and I have spent every waking moment together for weeks. We grew close ... I have come to care deeply for him ... He fills my heart. Please understand. Tell me I have not hurt you.”
David felt his heart being pummelled to dust, leaving him with a gaping hole that was consuming all rational thought. Hurt? He was in agony! Sinfa had filled his mind with dreams of love and a future worth fighting for, yet Diego filled her heart. Diego … He had everything. His soul was untarnished. His ambitions were still intact. He had the love of a wonderful woman and the promise of joy. For a moment, he was stunned by the hatred he felt, not to mention the urge to punch his brother’s face, which was glowing with smug victory.
“I entrusted Sinfa’s safety to you. It seems to me you took your task seriously,” he said sarcastically.
“You did not declare your affections,” Diego answered defensively.
David wanted to scream, “I was not afforded the time or the opportunity to declare my love for Sinfa. I fed you both, covered your escape from Sagrat, suffered our parents being sentenced in a public display of filthy lies, and remained to help put out fires. And you, dear brother, have been well aware of my affections for weeks!” Instead of speaking, he hid his feelings and swallowed the retort.
Walking to the entrance, he smiled weakly at Sinfa. She had just shattered his dreams, yet he still thought her the loveliest, most adorable creature on God’s earth. How could he face her again? He could barely breathe with the pain of losing her, although he realized with sickening clarity that he never truly had her. Glancing scathingly at Diego, he caught a flash of sympathy.
“We have to leave for the convent. It’s growing dark,” he said. “The sooner I leave this place, the better.”
Chapter Sixty-one
Soft flames from a campfire were visible even before David had turned off the road by the river. Driving towards the ruins, he looked at what was left of his father’s farm. It was a pitiful sight. Patches of ground were still charred, even after the recent rains, and everywhere he looked, black tree trunks looking like ugly sculptures marred the land.
Before he got to the where the fires were, he turned to look at the child lying in the back beneath thick layers of hemp sacks. Diego’s charm had paid off, David thought with some resentment. The child had been handed over to his brother without too many questions being asked. The little girl had gone quietly in his arms, and he had even managed to obtain enough food and water to sustain him and Sinfa for two or three days ... Sinfa ... He felt like a foolish boy.
David lifted a sack and, watching her sleep, was reminded of the day he’d met her grandparents, Eduardo and Alma. “Our granddaughter’s name is Ángelita,” they’d told him. “She is our little angel.”
Halting the mule with a saw at the reins, he glanced to his left and saw Captain Tur. Behind him were eight militiamen. Tensing, David looked at them one by one, feeling a mixture of envy and fear. He remembered the weight of his helmet, shield, and sword; the feel of armour on his body; and the pride of being a part of something bigger than himself. The men reminded him of days he wanted back … But he recalled the last time he had seen his brothers in the castle’s courtyard, when he’d been stripped of his pride and led away in shame.
He hadn’t expected Tur to bring his men, although it had crossed his mind that Tur might decide to punish him after he got the girl back. Putting what might happen to him aside, he looked at the men’s expectant faces and realised that the little girl was so well hidden that no one would ever guess she was there. Motioning to the back of the cart, he said, “She’s asleep under that pile, Captain. Her name is Ángelita. She’s well.”
Tur peeled away a couple of sacks, and for a moment, he watched his men gaze at the child as though they had never seen one before.
“She’s no worse off for her ordeal,” David assured the men again.
“I would not have believed it, were I not looking at her with my own eyes,” one of the men said, seeming deeply affected by the child, who had stirred and was trying to sit up.
“It’s a miracle,” another added.
Tur, still staring at Ángelita’s face with eyes kinder than anyone had ever seen them, pulled back the sacks completely and touchingly held her hand. Her face crumpled, and at her first soft whimper, he again displayed a rare glimpse of emotion by hushing her with a soft melodic voice. “There, there, little one, everything’s going to be all right.” He looked at his men with an austere expression back on his face, and said, “She is the only light in what’s been the darkest of days for Sagrat. She makes what we are about to do worthwhile.”
The men nodded.
Now that he had delivered on his promise, David wondered again about his own fate. As the men continued to coo over the child, he took a quick look around. There were two closed carriages sitting a short distance away. Three horses were tethered to a tree stump. Longbows and pikes were lying beside shields, and beside them was the duke’s flag, lying carelessly in a muddy pool. What he didn’t see were prisoners’ chains.
“Did you catch the marauders?” he asked Tur.
“We’ve not been looking for the marauders,” Tur surprised him by saying. “We left the town last evening, but we came straight here. We’ve been waiting for you all night.” Glancing at his men, he added, “But as far as the authorities in Sagrat are concerned, we’ve been on patrol, searching for the whoresons who destroyed our town.”
Looking at the two carriages, David asked. “What are they for?”
“One is for the little girl. The other is carrying the body of one of the marauders we found dead outside the municipal palace.”
A look of confusion crossed David’s face.
“He still has his uses, which is more than I can say for you, Sanz.”
David stared at Tur and the men, and then his hand instinctively went for his sword.
Tur looked amused, and for a brief second, it appeared he might smile. “Were you thinking about fighting all nine of us, with my sword?”
David lowered his eyes. “What are you going to do to me?” he asked no one in particular.
Tur was pensive for a moment, as though thinking about how to answer. Lifting Ángelita from the back of the cart, he turned to the man standing next to him, and said, “Take the child to the carriage. Sit with her and keep her happy. We’ll be leaving in a minute. As for you,” he said to David, “you’re free to leave.”
“I can go?” David’s eyes brightened. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but suddenly all the hope he had suppressed now flooded through him. “Don’t you need me to testify?” he asked, surprising himself.
“No, you’re no longer a militiaman, and your presence here will hinder us, not help us.” Tur looked at the mule and cart. “I won’t even ask where you got that. Take it. Go now – and don’t show your face in Sagrat again.”
David looked again at the men. He was still sceptical and unclear about why he was being set free. Remembering Tur’s words in the Roman theatre, he had to ask what he was thinking. “If the authorities find out about my involvement, will you come after me?”
Tur cocked his head to one side. “There is only one person who might accuse you of being complicit in the murders. The other was Sergio Garcia, and he’s not coming back from the afterlife to talk. As for the duke, if he accuses you, he’ll be admitting his own guilt. Of course, he might be interrogated and squawk, like a bird, in which case the council will order your arrest and interrogation. I will send my m
en to look for you north of Sagrat. You must go south. Leave Aragon – do you hear me?”
David nodded. He felt exhilarated with a burst of energy he hadn’t felt in a while. He was free. It was over, and he still couldn’t quite believe it. He watched a man put water, a sack of bread and cooked kid meat in the back of the cart.
“You have a long journey ahead of you. Make the food last, young Sanz,” he said, patting David on the back.
Tur handed him a purse filled with maravedis. “When you were dismissed, you didn’t get paid what was rightly owed to you,” he said matter-of-factly. “This is from your brothers.”
“Thank you for giving me my freedom, Captain,” David said, his voice cracking with emotion.
“I’m not doing this for you. As I told you, you’ll only complicate matters further. I just hope to God you’re right about the infant’s birthmark.”
“I am.”
In another rare moment, Tur stretched out his hand and placed it on David’s shoulder. “Make amends to God. No man is truly free when his soul has been damaged and his conscience weighs heavy.”
Watching Tur and the militia leave, David reflected on Tur’s words and was unable to comprehend fully what had just happened. He had not been able to say goodbye to Paco, who’d been absent, or to ask why the dead marauder’s body was being used in Tur’s plan. Everything had occurred with the speed and twisted logic of a dream.
Before leaving, he visited Juanjo’s grave a short distance from where the cart stood. He said a Jewish prayer, uttered his goodbyes, and then left Sagrat without once looking back.
Chapter Sixty-two
The sun had risen, promising another day of dry, mild weather. Having had no rain, the stale smell of smoke hung over the town square, looking oddly barren without the trees and shrubbery that had given it shade in the summer and a touch of colour in wintertime.
