There was a chill in the house despite Sancha’s efforts at stoking the fire. They were reaching the coldest part of the winter now, which meant Sancha worried more for her parents. She’d spent the autumn sewing extra blankets for everybody, using bits of old fabric she’d been collecting from around the pueblo. The children would have to share, but they didn’t seem to mind. They had lived their whole lives sleeping on each other like stray dogs. Sancha found it adorable, as she knew it wouldn’t last.
Supper went as expected, and everyone seemed to enjoy the soup. Sancha was tired from a long day of running errands, especially since that afternoon was the day for getting water from the fountain. But she couldn’t think about that now. There was still so much to do tonight. And the first thing was to let everyone in the family know what she was planning.
“That’s mad,” was her father’s reaction.
“You shouldn’t have to do something like that. It’s not your job. You have more than enough to do here,” her mother said.
“There’s no one else who is willing to. So it falls to me,” Sancha said. She had long since decided, so she wasn’t allowing any argument on the issue.
“If anything happens, or you need anything, you can send one of the children to fetch me. It’s not like you won’t know where I am.”
“Please, Sancha, be reasonable. It’s too much,” her father protested.
On and on the conversation went. Sancha let them try to talk her out of it, for she knew her parents tired easily. And soon enough, the children were yawning, and her mother was threatening to fall asleep at the table. So Sancha told them they could discuss it more tomorrow. She helped everyone to bed and made sure they had water and candles and everything they would need.
An hour later, the house was quiet. Sancha’s body was used to settling in to her own bed now, and she struggled to stay on her feet as she grabbed a bag she had packed earlier, kissed her children on their heads, and slipped out the door into the cold night air.
The town was quiet and dark, with everyone’s shutters closed to ward off the worst of the cold. Many of the chimneys had smoke rising from them, although this late at night few were being stoked anymore. Sancha made her way west, where the jumbled houses of town gave way to dusty tracks that seemed to disappear into the darkness. Just beyond this darkness, the moonlight was enough to cut out the outline of the ridge above her head and the tower that sat just above.
But Sancha had grown up walking these trails. She knew every step of them, so she marched into the darkness, making her way through the weeds and along the hillside and crevices in the landscape until she found herself in a clearing.
She had long since lost her breath, especially for the last stretch of the walk, which seemed to be all uphill. She took a moment and doubled over, breathing in gulps of the freezing air into her lungs until they calmed. She stood up then to find she was standing in the debris-ridden remains of the old army camp. It had already been pillaged by people in the pueblo for valuables and good building materials, so all that was left were the shells of a few of the shelters and the remnants of a firepit. The air was much colder up here, but it was also easier to see by, as there was little to block the moonlight.
Sancha turned towards the tower and was soon standing at the base of it. She gazed up at it, remembering how high it had seemed the first time she’d climbed up there. The rope ladder had been left dangling, so Sancha grabbed it and scampered up the ladder, taking no time to glance below.
She was soon squirming her way in through the entrance at the top and found herself sitting in the tiny room with the conical ceiling once again. It was cold up here, but she’d come prepared. Sancha pulled out a small wool blanket she’d folded up in her bag and laid it out to sit on, then grabbed a bit of bread and some cheese she had brought with her, as she had been so busy making sure her family had enough to eat she had forgotten to eat any for herself.
She wondered what the soldiers had gotten up to during their long shifts up here in this room, which led to thoughts about whether they would ever return. Many in town were glad they were gone. And it was here where Sancha really saw the lasting legacy of Martin Figueroa. For he had managed to convince so many that the soldiers were the source of all the sin in town. With the army gone, many believed the town would return to a time when it was more pure and innocent.
Sancha knew this was silly. There had always been vice in La Herradura. The men there had always indulged in gambling, drinking, and women of the night. The army had only joined in the fun. They hadn’t brought anything new.
But because of Martin’s influence, everyone in town seemed to agree it was better they were gone. But few seemed to remember that the threat of pirate raids remained. And for all the soldiers’ faults, they offered at least some kind of defence.
She had brought up this very issue at the last town hall meeting and had been met with resounding agreement. It left them vulnerable, and they should all do something about it. It was then Sancha had proposed her wild idea—if the army couldn’t watch the coast, then the pueblo would have to take it upon themselves to do it. This, too, was met with resounding agreement and lots of passionate discussion afterwards.
But it was during the days following, when Sancha went round to all the houses in town to sign the men up to a roster of watch duty, that she learned few of them had any interest. A lot of excuses were made, and no one seemed to have the time. Yet these same men could find the time to sit in the tavern and drink for hours.
In the end, there was no one in town willing to give up a precious night of sleep to watch the coastline. So there was nothing else for it. Sancha would have to do it herself.
She couldn’t do it every night, of course. A couple of nights a week at the most. And her days were already overfilled with taking care of her family, so the tower would have to sit empty then as well.
So it wasn’t perfect, but she couldn’t let the tower sit empty all the time. It wasn’t right. Somebody had to do it, so it might as well be her.
Besides, there was one advantage to such work that she was becoming blissfully aware of—she was alone. She couldn’t remember the last time she was alone. It was so quiet up here, with no children tugging at her skirt and no parents to worry about. Whatever was going on in her house, there was nothing she could do from here, so she might as well not worry about it.
Which left her free to indulge in her own thoughts, uninterrupted, for the first time since she was younger. She loved her family and would do anything for them. She never for a moment regretted getting married and having her beautiful children.
But it was nice, just once a week or so, to have a few hours to herself.
THE END
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Quote Citations
Calderón de la Barca, Pedro. The Constant Prince.
Translated by Denis Florence MacCarthy, Esq. London: Charles Dolman, 1853.
Calderón de la Barca, Pedro. Life’s a Dream.
Translated by Adrian Mitchell and John Barton.
Bristol: WBC Print Ltd., 1990.
De Vega, Lope. Justice Without Revenge.
Translated by Jill Booty. New York: Hill and
Wang Inc., 1961.
A Murder Most Literate
A Domingo Armada novel
Jefferson Bonar
Chapter One
Somehow, the sound of someone violently pounding on the door cut through the din and grabbed Elvira’s attention. Her three girls, lovely as they were, were playing an indecipherable game with each other that, as most games they played, required quite a
lot of squealing at each other and running about. It was Tuesday night in the Cordoba household, a night when chaos was allowed to reign, because Gregorio was out reading lectures at the university. All three girls loved their father dearly, but he could be intimidating when he wanted to be, which was usually about the amount of noise that was made after dinner, when the girls were at their most squirrely.
On Tuesday nights, if the girls promised to get to their beds on time, Elvira was happy to let them run about a bit more than usual. The noise didn’t bother her as much as her husband. The girls needed to be allowed to shriek and cry at each other. They seemed so much happier without the shackles of their father’s many rules, which made the added chaos worth it to Elvira. As long as nothing got broken, of course.
It was after their evening meal, and the girls were ramping up into their most energetic play of the whole day, those precious few minutes of total childhood abandon before someone inevitably hurt themselves and the evening would collapse into tears, accusations, and screaming. But before that moment, the girls brought a joy to Elvira’s life that was unmatched by anything else. It also helped that Maria, her maid, was there to help out.
“Girls, get down from that. You know your father doesn’t like you playing on his favourite chair!” Maria said as she chased the girls about in the parlour. Her words were ignored as the youngest, Olivia, climbed up on the chair, laughing maniacally and trying to jump from it onto Maria’s back.
When the pounding came, Elvira resented being interrupted during such an important part of the day. For the rest of the week, her husband would be home, demanding peace and quiet, not allowing the girls to do much but play quietly on the floor with their dolls. This was their only time to let themselves go a bit mad, which was something Elvira felt was important.
But the pounding would not go away. It was strange. No one ever visited them this late at night. Was she sure she heard it? The house lay on a very busy road. The constant traffic outside brought a host of thumps and rumbles outside their door that everyone had gotten used to ignoring over the years.
Another thump, louder this time. The girls grew quiet, their play interrupted. Maria couldn’t help but look concerned, which the girls sensed and made them worry, as well.
Elvira, wanting to calm everyone’s nerves, rose gracefully and went to answer the door.
“Yes?” she asked.
A man pushed the door open violently and barged his way into the house, bringing with him a sour odour of sweat and manure.
“Where is he?” growled the man, searching the parlour.
“Excuse me?”
“Where is Gregorio? I want to see him. Now!”
“My husband is out at the moment. Now who are—”
“Don’t lie to me, Señora. I’m in no mood for more lies!”
The man grimaced at Elvira, forcing her to take a step back. He then glared at Maria and the three young girls staring at him. His eyes darted about the room, like he suddenly felt uncomfortable. But he focused again on Elvira.
“Gregorio!” the man shouted to the rest of the house.
“I told you, he isn’t here. Now, my name is Elvira Cordoba. I…am pleased to meet you. And you are?”
Elvira struggled to keep her composure. She was just as afraid as the children. She had no idea what this man planned to do. From the looks of him, it was nothing pleasant. She knew it sounded funny for her to address him as if he’d just arrived for a banquet, but she didn’t know how else to defuse the tension.
“Tell him Teo is here. And I want what I’m owed. Tonight.”
“Owed? Gregorio owes you money?” Elvira asked. “For what, may I ask?”
Teo grinned at her. It was a greasy, wide grin that showed the remnants of his foul, broken teeth. He was unshaven, with a dusty beard and broad shoulders, and hands covered in callouses. It wasn’t hard to tell this was a man who spent his life on the road, where bathing regularly was not a virtue. The smell of beer was still on his breath, which made Elvira queasy.
“I’ll let him tell you that. Just get him here.”
“Gregorio is giving a lecture at the university tonight, as he does every Tuesday night. If you were truly a friend of his, you would have known that.”
“I never said he was a friend. Why would I be friends with such a scoundrel?”
Scoundrel? Elvira was so confused. Nobody had ever described Gregorio like that before. As far as anyone at the university was concerned, he was a respectable man. Yes, his career hadn’t advanced as quickly as they would have liked, but it wasn’t because he was hated. In fact, his students loved him. His family loved him. His colleagues loved him. Why would anyone have reason to call him a scoundrel?
“I would like you to leave, please,” Elvira said. “Or I will get the attention of the authorities.”
“Don’t threaten me, Señora,” Teo said, showing little fear. “You and your husband have a lot more to fear from them than I do.”
What did that mean? Elvira was so confused she was feeling woozy.
“Wherever that bellaco Gregorio is, go get him and bring him here. Once he pays his debt, I’ll be on my way.”
Elvira sensed there would be no more arguing with this man. She didn’t want him in her house for a moment longer than was needed. His boots, worn thin and covered in mud, were making a mess on the tiles where he stood, and he made the children ever more uncomfortable. Something had to be done quickly to get him to go away.
And the only person to do that was Gregorio. She would have to fetch him.
“Very well. Come with me. I will take you to him to—”
“Why? So you can lose me in the darkness? No. I told you, I’m not leaving here without my money. You bring him back here. I’m done walking around in the dark tonight.”
“I won’t leave you alone with my children.”
“I’m not here for them. I’m here for your husband, that’s all. Now go.”
“Don’t worry, Señora,” Maria said, holding them close to her. “I’ll be here. They’ll be safe with me.”
Elvira hated the situation. She decided Teo was unredeemable. She always tried to see the best in people, but there was no good in him. He lived his life no different than the rats she occasionally had to chase out of the house, caring for little beyond his next meal.
“Just put them to bed, Maria. It’s past their bedtime anyway. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
She got a nod of acknowledgement from Maria as Teo plopped himself into the chair the girls had just been playing on, the one her husband had forbid them from touching, and put his worn boots on the table, shaking the caked soil from their soles all over the floor and exposing where holes had been worn through the bottoms, exposing the ragged remnants of wool socks inside.
Elvira found the whole display nauseating and was happy to be out in the fresh air. She worried for her children and found her anger being turned toward her husband. How dare Gregorio bring such a dangerous man into their lives! What was he thinking? And what was this all about?
Elvira was soon walking briskly down the road that curved off to the west to go around the church of San Polo, where the family attended mass on Sundays. There was very little light left to navigate by, as the last of the twilight’s rays were beginning their descent from a dark blue into the blackness of night. The traffic around her was thinning fast, as few beyond those who had lived here their whole lives dared to try to find their way on a moonless night such as this.
But Elvira could walk these streets with her eyes closed if she had to. She knew every rut, every pothole, every stone to avoid, as she’d grown up here and walked this road nearly every day of her life.
The road soon joined up with the Rúa de San Martín, the main thoroughfare that took her north toward the university. Here, the traffic was a bit heavier, as the last of the merchants who had spent the day hawking their wares in the daily market made their way to the River Gate that would take them out of the city. It was hard
to see, as the sliver of a moon was covered in wispy clouds, making the sight of the large horse-pulled carts she passed lose their forms, becoming grey blobs with no form, as if they were dreams only half-remembered in the morning.
Elvira continued north up the narrow lane until she came to the main entrance to the university, where a single door had been left open. The burning orange glow of a candle lit the doorway and cast a shadow of the night porter just inside, a hulk of a man who had little patience for drunk students wanting to sneak inside to vandalise their lecture halls.
“Buenas noches, Señora Cordoba,” the porter said with a smile. He looked at her, confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here after dark.”
“Buenas, Francisco. I was hoping to speak to my husband. It’s a matter of urgency. May I go inside?”
Francisco was a man she knew well. A giant with a big heart and a wife who always brought homemade wine to dinner parties. Elvira found it a bit strong, but it was always popular with her guests. He’d been one of the first people they’d met when Gregorio had first accepted his position here, and Elvira had made a big effort to make friends with him. She’d been thankful to find he was a kind, honest man.
Which was why it was odd that he looked at her with such a confused expression.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“I want to go see my husband. He’s giving a lecture right now. I won’t disturb him, I promise.”
“But he isn’t here, Señora.”
“Of course he’s here. He always has a lecture on Tuesday nights.”
“Not as long as I’ve been working here, he hasn’t. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him here after dark.”
The Domingo Armada Mysteries Box Set Page 53
