“Yes, sir,” Lucas said and drank a bit of his ale. He winced and set it down again.
So, Armada thought, it would not be tonight that the boy would develop a taste for it.
Armada drank the last of his own and could once again see Lucas’s point.
The ale was awful.
Chapter Twenty-Three
November 1562 - For a moment, the only sound in the room was Hector breathing. He stood over Salvador’s body, shocked.
Mencía found the panic that had seized her heart was subsiding and was replaced with a vague sense of relief. The threat that had hung over her head for weeks now was gone. Had Salvador deserved his fate? Mencía couldn’t think about that now. She first had to figure out what to do with Salvador’s body.
Hector kneeled over the body. “What…have you done?” he said as he stared into Salvador’s lifeless eyes.
“I didn’t want to,” Mencía said.
“How could you do such a thing?” Hector said. “And in my home…”
“I told you I didn’t want to.”
“Why? Why did you have to kill him? He just wanted to let your father know you were alive.”
“You don’t understand. You have no idea what my father is like,” Mencía said. “What he would have done…”
“You’re right, Mencía. I don’t understand,” Hector said, pacing about the room and waving his arms. “I don’t understand why we took you in, gave you food and shelter, and asked for nothing in return, and in return for that you kill a man in our home!”
Mencía glanced outside. Had someone just passed by the window as Hector spoke? Did he have to be so loud? It was for all of their sakes that none of the neighbours became aware of what had happened.
The door popped open to reveal Ana’s smiling face.
“What is all the shouting about? I can hear you halfway down the…” Ana’s eyes fell on Salvador.
“This is why, Ana. This is why I didn’t want to take her in,” Hector said.
“What happened?” Ana asked, kneeling beside Salvador.
“She killed him!” Hector said. “Right in front of me.”
“That’s enough. Calm down.” Ana turned to Mencía. “What happened, dear?”
It broke Mencía’s heart to look into Ana’s gaze. It was so trusting, even when Mencía wasn’t sure she would trust herself at the moment. Ana showed no fear of Mencía, no suspicion, no judgement. Mencía felt bad for having ever stepped foot in this house and interrupting Ana’s life as she had. Ana was a saint, like the Virgin Mary herself.
Mencía had heard this was what some children felt for their mothers, something she had never experienced. Mencía’s mother was a woman far more interested in the fashions of the day and in organising social events than in having anything to do with a daughter whom she considered more of a nuisance than anything. Despite growing up in the same house, Mencía was still unsure of who her mother was as a person. She had always been kept at a distance by a small army of nursemaids and nannies whose primary job was to not bother Mencía’s mother with such tedious tasks as child-rearing.
“I…” Mencía said, finding it hard to speak. “I didn’t know what else to do. I can’t let my father know I’m here.”
“I think it’s time you told us why, dear.”
“My father, he’s…he’s embarrassed. He wants me and my baby gone, far away, somewhere I can’t hurt his reputation. A nunnery for me and a life of servitude for my child. There is no other way in his opinion.”
“It doesn’t matter,” growled Hector. “That’s still no excuse for killing a man. You could have just talked to your father.”
“You don’t know what he’s like!” Mencía shot back.
“I know what being a father is like. And I would want to know if my child was alive or dead! We need to tell Salvador’s commanding officer what happened and beg for his mercy in—”
“I won’t do it. I won’t!”
“Quiet! Both of you!” Ana shouted.
It was a rare thing to hear Ana raise her voice, and it startled Mencía and Hector into silence. Her back was to them as she gazed out the window, making it clear it would be her who would decide what to do.
Ana took a long breath, then turned around to face Hector.
“The first thing we need to do is give this poor man his last rites. It’s the least we can do.”
“Ana…we have to do the right thing,” Hector whispered.
Ana quieted Hector by putting a hand on his chest and stepping close to him.
“My love, do you remember when Juan was here just after those pirates took his boy? And he sobbed into my shoulder all afternoon?”
Hector stared at the ground. “Of course I do.”
“He told me what made it so hard was how helpless he felt to save him. His boy was taken right out of his hand. Now his boy will live as a slave in Africa, and Juan will spend the rest of his life wishing there was something he could do to save him. But there isn’t.”
Ana turned to Mencía. “It’s not right what you did, my dear. And when the time comes, you’ll have to atone for that. But I understand. At least there was something you could do.”
“What are you saying, Ana?” Hector asked.
“I’m saying we need to give this poor man his last rites,” Ana said. “He deserves that much.”
“And then we need to hide his body.”
Hector glared at Mencía as if she’d spoken too soon.
But Mencía’s mind was already racing ahead. “I thought of a way we could do it. There are still bodies on the beach, right? A few hundred last I saw. What’s one more?”
Hector and Ana glanced at each other.
“They’ll take him home when the rescue fleet gets here and bury him along with all the others,” Mencía said.
A short while later, Mencía walked alone down the little, narrow lane towards the plaza. It was dark, as the moon was blocked by thick clouds heavy with the first rains of the autumn. It made it hard to walk quietly, but Mencía was thankful, for the clouds made it even harder for others to see her. She glanced into every window that overlooked the road as she passed, looking for any sign of movement or candlelight.
Sensing none, she whistled into the darkness. Soon she heard the shuffling of feet behind her. It was slow with a bit of whispered grunting. Mencía wished Ana and Hector would be quieter, but it was impossible. They were carrying the heavy body of Salvador Torrini, made heavier by the thick blanket they had wrapped his body in that was becoming soaked with blood.
The three of them continued this way all the way through town until they reached the beach. Mencía went first, keeping her head low as she skittered across the beach, looking out for anyone who could be camping there that night. The smell made her gag, and the buzzing sound of insects meant she was getting close. Soon she stood over the black outlines of hundreds of bodies lined up just above the waterline, all wrapped in sheets to keep the scavenging birds away during the day. If they were lucky, no one would think to check under Salvador’s sheet to see that he hadn’t decayed as much as the others.
Mencía confirmed there was no one about and signalled Hector and Ana that it was all clear. They set Salvador’s body at the end of a row and waited as Ana said a quick prayer for Salvador’s soul, pleading with God to forgive all of them, before they all made a silent dash back to the house.
Once back home, they had a quick word about what they would say to anybody who might ask about the body, then went to bed.
It was not since that first wonderful night with Anton that Mencía had slept so well. She dreamed of meeting her baby and of Anton finding them and of families and love.
She also dreamed of Ana being there, smiling the whole time, watching over them. Hector was there too, always in the corner in the shadows, scowling at her, reminding her that no moment would ever be too joyful, not with what he knew.
But Mencía could live with that as long as her baby didn’t have to. She vowed th
at night that the secret of what had happened tonight would die with her. Her baby would grow up in a life full of family and love and would be free. It was what she had dreamed of from the moment she learned she was pregnant.
And it was all within her grasp.
Chapter Twenty-Four
October 1660 - Armada’s sandals sank into the wet sand as he strolled along the beach. The ocean was getting cold again after a summer spent being warm enough to swim in, but it still felt nice on his feet. It was the one thing he missed about living in Granada, which was so far inland as to make visits to the sea a rarity.
A bit farther down the beach was Rodrigo Maraion, who sat in his fishing boat while working on a large fishing net made of thick twine he had draped over the top. It had countless holes after an entire summer rotting in the sun, but Rodrigo worked quickly, replacing loops of twine and tying off the ends with a skill that came from years of experience.
“Buenas dias, Señor Maraion,” Armada said as he approached the boat.
“Buena,” Rodrigo said in that clipped way Andalusians said everything. He did not look up from his work.
“I wanted to ask you a few more questions about your daughter, Isabel.”
“Haven’t you done enough?” Rodrigo shot back before cinching a knot he’d been working on. “She’s been crying for two days now thanks to you.”
“If you had told me about Esteban’s letter to begin with, this could have been over by now.”
Rodrigo put down his work and looked at Armada, who held the letter aloft.
“You remember. The one Esteban Marañón wrote to your daughter, saying he wanted to meet her…on the same night he was murdered. The one that you, as I understand it, delivered to her yourself.”
Rodrigo went back to his work, but he fumbled with the knot. “What about it?”
“Is it true you delivered it?”
“Yes.”
“So you had contact with Esteban Marañón after the raid? After he had been moved up to the army camp?”
“What is this about? I thought you said you knew it wasn’t me,” Rodrigo said.
“This isn’t about you. I’m here to ask about Isabel. She’s quite handy with a harquebus, isn’t she?”
“She’s fired it once or twice,” Rodrigo said.
“Yes, straight into the army camp. She should stop doing that, by the way. Those soldiers will catch her eventually.”
“Doesn’t mean she killed him,” Rodrigo said, turning his back on Armada.
Rodrigo focused his attention on fixing another part of the net, turning his back on Armada. Armada walked round the other side of the boat, which was beached and listing to the starboard side.
“That might be exactly what that means,” Armada said.
Rodrigo’s head spun round.
“My little girl hasn’t hurt anyone.”
“What happened the night Esteban was killed, then? What did you see when you took her up to the tower to see him?”
Rodrigo blinked a few times, then a smile spread across his face, which became a laugh.
“Is that what you think happened?” Rodrigo said. “You have quite an imagination, Constable.”
“If I’m wrong, then correct me. What happened that night?”
“Nothing,” Rodrigo said. “We never went up to the tower that night. We never saw Esteban again after the raid, just like Isabel told you.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Ask any of our neighbours. We all came out into the road at the same time when the signal fire was lit. Isabel too.”
Armada had little doubt Rodrigo’s neighbours would corroborate his story. He believed Rodrigo. He was one of the most honest men Armada had ever met. To a fault even. So he had no choice but to believe Rodrigo, even when he didn’t want to.
“So tell me about the night Esteban gave you the letter. What were you doing up there?”
“What do you think? I was trying to convince him to marry my daughter. Her baby needs a father, and I’m getting too old to do it anymore. Besides, that foolish girl still loved him.”
“Did Isabel know you went up there to speak to him?”
“No. And she got angry at me when I told her. She was embarrassed, I guess. I can’t blame her.”
“Tell me about when you made contact with Esteban Marañón. How did he seem? Was he happy to see you?”
Rodrigo put his work down. He looked confused, as if still trying to comprehend it in his own head.
“Yes. Which was odd. I tried to talk to him about Isabel, but he was distracted. I couldn’t get him to calm down. He was worried one of the other soldiers might see us speaking. So he had me hide behind an olive tree while he went to go write that letter. He was back a few minutes later and told me to give it straight to Isabel. Then he ran off.”
“Did you give the letter straight to Isabel as he asked?”
“Of course,” Rodrigo said.
“Did anyone else see the letter? Or know that Esteban wanted to meet with Isabel? Did you tell anyone about it?”
“No. I would never do that.”
“How about Quiteria?”
“She didn’t know about the letter until after Esteban was killed.”
“So there is no way you know of that Jose Encinas or Martin Figueroa could have known about it?”
Rodrigo gave Armada a curious look. “What do those two have to do with this?”
Rodrigo appeared confused, which made it obvious he’d had no contact with anyone that night. But it made things murkier for Armada. How had Jose and Martin found out about what Esteban wanted to do, then? From Esteban himself somehow? That seemed unlikely if he was as worried as he seemed to Rodrigo that night.
What seemed more unlikely was that Isabel somehow passed on the information. Why would she? There was no motivation there that Armada could think of. A girl that age in that condition wouldn’t wish to discuss such a private matter with two elder men who were not her family.
But that left Armada with no viable way for word of Esteban’s intentions to spread to the killer.
Armada had to let the issue rest for now. Isabel Maraion was still at the centre of all this. There had to be more to learn there.
“How did Isabel react when you told her she couldn’t keep that meeting?” Armada asked.
Rodrigo smiled again. “As usual, Constable, you have it all wrong.”
Armada agreed and was tiring of it. “So correct me. What happened?”
Rodrigo bowed his head. “It was me who wanted her to keep that meeting. Isabel was still hurt. It broke my heart to see that.”
Rodrigo threw down the net and hopped out of the boat. Armada took a step back.
Rodrigo stepped closer to Armada but not for a physical confrontation. It was an emotional one, as if daring Armada to stare into his eyes and know what he was feeling.
“It was me who was the romantic, I suppose. I was the one who still hoped that Esteban had changed his mind. I wanted my Isabel to be happy. Esteban had seen something in my daughter, and it was more than just lust. He knew how important family was, which was amazing for an orphan. And just when the boy had what he wanted, he threw it all away. He destroyed my daughter, his baby’s life, everything. So I hoped…that maybe there was some other reason behind it. Something I could help him work through. I know we could have figured it out. But then he was dead.”
He turned away. Armada’s heart sank. The only motivation that had ever made sense for Rodrigo and Isabel Maraion to kill Esteban was if it was out of pure vengeance or about preserving Isabel’s honour.
But Rodrigo hadn’t mentioned anything like that. He only cared about Isabel’s happiness. She was angry, but it was too much of a stretch to Armada to consider her bloodthirsty. Neither her nor her father were that good an actor.
This revelation meant there were just two suspects left and one big missing piece of the puzzle.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lucas rubbed his fingers over th
e smooth metal surface of the key Salinas had just given him. Salinas frowned at him, making it obvious he wasn’t happy about the situation.
“I want that key back as soon as you return,” Salinas said, trying to muster up a bit of conviction. But it was easy to see through the veneer.
Salinas walked away, mumbling to himself. Lucas felt bad for him. The key represented the last shreds of power Salinas had over anything in his life, and now he’d had to give that up as well. He was like a prisoner peering through the bars of his prison cell at the gallows being constructed for him outside. Although Lucas and Armada had told no one of Salinas’s role in the brandy smuggling ring, it was inevitable the secret would get out. Salinas must have known the day was coming when the last shred of power he had, his freedom, would be taken from him.
But Lucas had a bigger worry on his mind. Now that he had the key, the worst part of all this was still in front of him. He would have to use it.
Lucas faced the watchtower, whose sun-bleached stones were already warming up after just a few hours of sun. Barros, who had just begun his shift in the tower a few hours ago, had left the rope ladder down. It lay against the side of the tower, banging against the stone wall as the wind caught it and fluttered it about. It made a soft bopping sound as the wooden rungs made of olive branches bounced about on the stones like an ancient drum, a drum that reminded Lucas of the fear he must face.
Lucas grabbed the first rung and pulled himself up, then climbed another and another. Thus far, everything was all right, but there was still so much to go. All he had to do was not stop.
“What are you doing, joven?” came Pedro’s voice behind him.
“I’m going to climb up.”
“Are you sure? I don’t know if you’re ready,” Pedro said.
This spurred Lucas on. He pictured Armada’s face and having to tell him that not just once, but twice he had been a coward and couldn’t handle the height of the ladder.
The Domingo Armada Mysteries Box Set Page 44
