The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  As he has protected all the countless people who were taken from their homes, imprisoned, tortured, and sentenced to die on the flimsiest of evidence? Rafael thought angrily. The fire of the Inquisition burns bright, fed by the Church, who uses men like you for fuel, men who refuse to see reason and condemn their families to lives lived in constant terror.

  But, in the end, Rafael couldn’t refuse his father. He’d been brought up to respect and honor his parents, and given their situation, his father’s plan was sound. A life in the army would probably be more rewarding than endless days hunched over a workbench, fashioning bits of gold into charms and rings by the light of a candle, his daily existence reduced to long hours at the workshop followed by an evening at home, just down the street from the jewelry shop of señor Cortéz.

  “How I envy you, Rafi,” Ramόn had said. His eyes had filled with tears when señor de Silva informed his youngest son that Rafael would be leaving them in a fortnight, but their father offered no words of comfort. He wasn’t a man given to displays of emotion or physical affection. “What I wouldn’t give to go with you. Just think of it; you’ll get to see the world. You’ll sail the high seas. You’ll experience life.”

  “Or death,” Rafael had reminded his brother. “I’m not going on a sightseeing expedition, Ramόn. I’m going to fight, to bring war to people who only want to live in peace and worship as they see fit.”

  “If all goes well, you’ll never see battle. The British will cower at the sight of the great and mighty Armada and lay down their arms. Some might even welcome the invasion. Surely, they’d like to overthrow their heretic queen who rules without a husband and has neglected to produce an heir, a woman’s only God-sanctioned duty. You’ll come back full of wonderful stories, a brave soldier who’s ready to claim his bride.”

  Rafael had shaken his head. No one understood, not even his brother, with whom he’d been close all his life. Ramόn had been a sickly child who grew into a sickly young man. The slightest of exertions caused heart palpitations, and he turned pale as flour and broke out in a cold sweat whenever he didn’t have enough to eat, his hands shaking like leaves until the food finally fed his blood and the tremors subsided. Ramόn envied Rafael his freedom, his exciting future, and in his bitterness quoted the rhetoric of the zealots, justifying the attack on England and its brave and independent queen. Ramόn would have traded places with Rafael in a heartbeat, but señor de Silva would never allow it, with good reason.

  “Yes, you’re right,” Rafael had agreed, eager to put an end to the conversation. “I will go for a nice cruise to England, see the sights, and then come back and marry Mira.”

  “You lucky dog,” Ramόn had said, elbowing him in the ribs. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Father will find you a beautiful bride as well. Mira’s sisters are lovely, and then there are the Ramos girls. They’ll be ready to be betrothed in a year or two.”

  Ramόn had smiled happily. There were few eligible young men in their community, so Ramόn would have no shortage of suitable brides to choose from. Rafael had clapped Ramόn on the shoulder. “Look after Father while I’m gone. He’ll need you more than ever.”

  “I’ll look after your bride too,” Ramόn had replied cheekily. “Just to make sure she doesn’t get up to no good.”

  “Thanks, little brother,” Rafael had replied. “With you here, I’ll have one less thing to worry about.”

  Rafael buried his face in his arms as tears of fear and loneliness slid down his cheeks. He missed his father and brother desperately, but the one person he really longed for was his mother, who’d left them less than a year ago after a prolonged illness. He’d always been closer to his mother. Lucía de Silva had been beautiful and intelligent, but also warm and understanding, unlike her husband, who valued only his own point of view. “Watch over me, mamá,” Rafael whispered into the wind that ruffled his hair like a mother’s hand.

  He burrowed deeper into the hollow that cradled him but provided little warmth. His shivering kept him awake, his thoughts swirling like fog. He hoped his father would be informed of his fate, should he die on this foreign shore, but he didn’t think his family would ever learn the truth. His Most Catholic Majesty, Phillip II, had proclaimed the Spanish Navy to be invincible and sworn that England didn’t stand a chance against its might. Would the king ever admit to his subjects that ‘The Great and Most Fortunate Navy of Spain’ had been waylaid by the English, scattered to the four winds, and blown to bits by gales the likes of which no Spaniard had ever seen?

  Trembling violently in his wet clothes, Rafael wondered how people lived in this hostile climate. The sky was the color of a nasty bruise, the thick clouds hanging so low one could almost touch them. It was cold, damp, and dreary. The shoreline was rocky and narrow, not like the glorious, sun-drenched beaches of Spain, where the sand was soft and golden beneath one’s bare feet, the palm trees swayed lazily, and strains of guitar music carried on the light breeze from nearby squares. There were times when he hated Spain and those who ruled it, but at this moment, he would have given anything to see its shores again.

  Memories of home awakened hunger. Rafael wasn’t sure what day it was, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a proper meal. Supplies had been running low, so all the soldiers and crew had been put on half-rations, which hadn’t been nearly enough to satisfy the hungry men. To make matters worse, the soldiers had sat around and reminisced about their favorite dishes, describing the glories of suckling pig until their mouths watered, and large pans of paella, the rice flavored with saffron and thick with chorizo, shrimp, chicken, and vegetables. Doña Lucía had never made suckling pig, nor did she add chorizo to her paella, since pork was forbidden, but there were other dishes she’d made that were just as delicious. Rafael had tried not to listen to the food talk and had gone up on deck, where the cold drizzle that seemed to fall nearly every day had distracted him from persistent hunger, but the cold and wet weren’t helping him now.

  His stomach growled and his mouth was dry with thirst. He’d settle for a cup of hot broth and a piece of bread, but there wasn’t so much as a mouthful of fresh water to be had in his hiding spot. He licked his lips to moisten them and tasted salt. Taking one last look at the golden charm in his hand, Rafael pushed it into his mouth, swallowing it. It scratched his throat as it went down, but he didn’t care. He might not live long enough for his throat to heal, but if he did, he’d keep the amulet safe from the enemy in the depths of his body.

  Chapter 3

  It was only once the leaden sky began to darken that Rafael felt safe enough to raise his head and look around. Crows and wild dogs had congregated on the beach and were feasting on the remains of his countrymen. Gut-churning sounds drifted toward him as they ripped flesh and crunched on bones, their teeth and beaks covered in gore. Rafael turned away and stared out over the water, a mesmerizing shade of violet in the lingering twilight. The waves no longer crashed onto the beach, but rolled in gently, foaming as they rushed over the pebbles, and then retreated, only to repeat the process again and again. The storm that had sunk Rafael’s ship and many others had passed, leaving behind a vast and empty horizon, devoid of anything but lavender clouds and twinkling stars.

  Rafael peered into the shadows. He thought he saw something bobbing on the water but couldn’t be sure. It might have been a trick of the light, or a piece of flotsam. Maybe even a bit of wood from one of the warships that had been tossed on the monstrous waves like children’s toys and swallowed whole with hundreds of men still aboard. The object drifted closer, taking on a more definite shape in the gathering darkness. A man clung to a hunk of wood, his cheek resting on one arm, his eyes closed. He wasn’t moving. Rafael’s initial instinct was to leave his sanctuary and offer help, but he remained where he was. He wouldn’t have the strength to outrun the dogs if they caught his scent, and he was terrified of being mauled to death. Instead, Rafael rested his head on his arms and tried to sleep. After hours of terror and height
ened awareness of his surroundings, he was exhausted. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, grateful to escape reality for even a short time.

  By the time Rafael awoke, it was fully dark. The sky had cleared, and a gentle breeze moved through the tall grass like lazy fingers. The dogs and crows had gone, having had their fill of human flesh. The beach appeared deceptively peaceful, the dead littering the shore like hunks of driftwood. The stars above looked distant and cold, not like the bright stars of Toledo that always made him think of glittering diamonds strewn across rich black velvet.

  Rafael forced himself to stand up. He was unsteady on his feet and his clothes were still damp, but he was otherwise uninjured. What he wouldn’t give for a dry shirt, he mused, as he took in his surroundings. He had to find shelter and food while it was safe to look. Once the sun came up, he’d be exposed once again.

  Rafael froze, all his senses on high alert when he heard a strange dragging sound coming from the beach. He dropped into a crouch, his eyes searching the shoreline for signs of danger. At first, he thought it was a dog, but then realized the dark shape was too large and too long. It was a man, lying on his belly, his arm outstretched, one of his legs bent at the knee. The man moved his other arm forward and pulled himself up, repeating the process again and again. He crawled away from the surf and took a short break before crawling toward the rushes.

  Rafael left the safety of his hollow and made his way toward the man, who was dripping wet and muttering to himself in Spanish. He advanced slowly and laboriously, but even from a distance, Rafael could sense his determination, driven by sheer will. Rafael approached the man slowly, so as not to startle him, and called out softly, identifying himself as a friend.

  The man raised a hand in greeting, then collapsed back onto the beach, too exhausted to continue. Rafael helped him to his feet and dragged him toward the hollow, which suddenly seemed very far away, given the man’s considerable weight. Rafael didn’t recognize him, but given his age and attire, he took him to be one of the officers.

  “Your name,” the man muttered as he fixed a glazed stare on Rafael.

  “Rafael de Silva, sir. And you are?”

  “Captain Francisco de Cuéllar.”

  Rafael nearly let go of his burden but caught the captain under the arms just before he fell. He’d heard of Captain de Cuéllar; everyone in the fleet had. Captain de Cuéllar had been accused of disobedience when his ship broke formation in the North Sea and sentenced to death by hanging. He was to be made an example of, but clearly, he was still alive, if not for much longer.

  De Cuéllar stumbled and fell to his knees. “I need to rest.”

  “Let’s get you to the rushes, sir. We’re too exposed here.”

  The captain nodded and got to his feet, then staggered toward the rushes, supported by Rafael. He collapsed to his knees as soon as they reached the deceptive safety of the hollow, his breathing labored.

  “Sir?” Rafael called to him, but the captain lay on his side, closed his eyes, and sank into a fitful sleep.

  Rafael lay down next to the captain and pulled some rushes over them both. They offered no warmth or safety but provided a modicum of cover. He studied the man’s face by starlight. De Cuéllar appeared to be in his early forties, a handsome man with a trim beard and a hoop earring in his left ear. His tangled hair hung to his shoulders and his deep-set eyes were offset by heavy black brows. He was an imposing man, even in his weakened condition, and Rafael felt strangely reassured by his presence.

  Rafael trembled with fatigue, but sleep wouldn’t come, so he gazed up at the stars, trying to figure out if the celestial formations were the same in the north as they were in the south. The constellations didn’t look familiar, and it seemed to Rafael as if this wild land slumbered under a different sky.

  A strange rasping sound distracted him from his astronomical study, and he sprang to his feet, instantly dropping into a crouch and peering through the long grass toward the beach. Something white and long was moving toward the hollow. Rafael’s initial terror was quickly replaced by pity. The thing was another man. He was completely naked, his pale skin scratched and covered with livid bruises. He must have been stripped, beaten, and left for dead. Rafael half-dragged him to their hiding place, and the man curled into a ball next to the captain. His eyes were open, but his gaze was unfocused, and he didn’t seem aware of Rafael’s presence.

  “What’s your name?” Rafael whispered. “I’m Rafael de Silva, and this is Captain de Cuéllar.”

  The man didn’t respond. He was shaking with cold and shock, his teeth chattering like a bone rattle. Rafael removed his damp doublet and covered the man. The shaking subsided after a time and the man fell into a deep sleep, his breathing shallow and uneven. Rafael wrapped his arms around himself and tried to rub some heat into his stiff limbs. It was only September. How could it be this cold? He tried to recall the searing caress of the sun as he’d walked along the narrow streets of Toledo, keeping to the shade to ward off the heat, his face beaded with perspiration beneath the wide brim of his hat, and his feet broiling in his leather boots. For just a moment, Rafael could almost feel the warmth of those summer days and wished he were in Spain, walking down a familiar street toward his father’s house, his mouth watering at the prospect of a good meal.

  Captain de Cuéllar mumbled something and opened his eyes, gazing at the sky for a long moment before turning to stare at Rafael. His pupils were dilated, his expression blank. After a while, he shut his eyes again and slipped into unconsciousness. Rafael pressed his ear to the captain’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. It was steady, which was a good sign. He’d pull through. He needed rest and food.

  Rafael almost laughed at the idea. How nice it would be if some friendly locals took them in and allowed them to sit by a roaring fire while their hosts offered them bucket-sized helpings of something delicious and hot. And wine. Lots of wine. Rafael swallowed back the saliva that flooded his mouth and willed himself not to think about food. It would be his undoing. He shut his eyes, determined to fall asleep. Eventually, he succeeded.

  It was still dark when Rafael woke, but a narrow sliver of pearly gray shimmered on the horizon. He was stiff with cold and needed to empty his bladder. He took care of business, then came back to check on his companions. The captain was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling as he slept. His face was relaxed, and the deathly pallor of last night had been replaced by a sickly flush. The nameless man lay motionless beneath Rafael’s doublet, his face still as an effigy. Rafael moved closer and touched his hand. It was cold, the fingers stiff. He pressed two fingers to the man’s neck, but there was no pulse. Rafael said a silent prayer for the soul of the departed and took back his doublet, which was now dry. He pulled it on and moved closer to the captain, distancing himself from the corpse.

  We have to go, Rafael thought suddenly. We can’t still be here come morning.

  He shook the captain gently. “Captain, wake up.” It took a few tries before Captain de Cuéllar finally opened his eyes. “Captain, we have to find a better hiding place,” Rafael said. “We’re too exposed here. The locals are bound to come back in the morning.”

  The captain nodded and slowly got to his feet. He didn’t ask about the other man, just crossed himself and turned away, surveying their surroundings. “That way,” he said, and the two men stumbled off, moving away from the beach and toward a clump of trees in the distance.