The Devils of Cardona (22 page)

•   •   •

M
ENDOZA
DECIDED
to take Gabriel with him. They left Necker in the square and walked over to the palace, where a servant ushered them into the salon. The countess was seated on a sofa, with the bailiff sitting opposite her and another servant standing by the door. She had dispensed with the cloak and the manto, and she was wearing a severe black dress with a high-button collar topped by a white lace frill that completely covered her
neck up to her chin. Her hair was drawn back over her forehead and piled high into a crown, which was held in place by a tortoiseshell
peineta
.

Close up she looked paler than when he had last spoken to her, and there were shadows around her eyes. Gabriel was instantly in awe of her, but he managed a surprisingly accomplished and almost courtly bow. One of the servants pulled up two chairs, and the countess dispatched his companion to bring them cakes and chocolate.

“Thank you for coming to Mass today, Licenciado,” she said. “Your presence was much appreciated.”

“As was yours, my lady. The Mass was well attended.”

“That is cause for hope. As Father García said, we must all work together to see that these horrors are not repeated.”

“Indeed.”

“And are you any closer to making any arrests?”

Both the countess and the bailiff were watching him intently. Mendoza did not generally discuss the progress of investigations with outsiders, and he was even less inclined to do so when the investigation was not going well. It was only two days since he had received a letter from Villareal asking him the same question. The counselor's impatience was obvious even in a dictated letter, and news of the massacre was not likely to placate him.

“My men and I have been somewhat caught up in the events of the last two days,” he said, “but we are pursuing certain lines of inquiry.”

These were the identical words he had written to Villareal. It was a useful expression to use at a time when the investigation was effectively stalled and dependent on the random or unexpected event that could take it forward, but the countess did not seem impressed by it, and the pale blue eyes continued to look at him expectantly until he found himself saying, “It's possible that the massacre was carried out by
montañeses
in revenge for the murders of the Quintana brothers. My officers will be visiting some of their villages next week.”

“I understand that you went to Vallcarca,” she said. “It was good of
you to do that. Less diligent officials would not have made the effort. They would simply have accepted what they were told.”

“Are you suggesting that the three Moriscos are not guilty?” he asked.

“I don't believe they are.”

“The baron thinks otherwise. He believes that Vicente Péris may be the Redeemer.”

“Well, of course he does,” she said scornfully. “And what was your impression of the master of Vallcarca?”

Once again Mendoza did not think his opinion of the baron was any of the countess's business. But it seemed impossible to refuse the intense blue eyes without seeming churlish.

“His reputation for severity is clearly justified.”

The countess let out a humorless laugh. “The baron is indeed severe! Vallcarca does not know the meaning of pity or mercy. I understand you met his son, too. Do you think that Rodrigo Vallcarca would make a suitable lord of Cardona?”

“First impressions would suggest that he would not, my lady. And now I would like to ask you a question: What makes you so certain that the three Moriscos would not have attacked those women?”

“I've told you I know my Moriscos,” she said. “And I knew all three men. Navarro and his apprentice did work here on the palace. And Vicente Péris is one of the finest wood-carvers in these mountains. He has worked on churches all over Cardona and in France. He spent two months living with us after he returned from the galleys, because I commissioned work from him to help his family. Did you see the angels in our choir gallery? They were carved by him. Vicente Péris is a pious man who fears and loves God. Is that not so, Jean?”

“Indeed, my lady,” replied the bailiff. “He often spoke to Father García about matters of faith when he worked at the church. I remember he was very curious about the Trinity and the Resurrection.”

“Yet he was punished by the Inquisition for insulting the Virgin and denying the Immaculate Conception,” Mendoza pointed out.

“The evidence against him came from Panalles,” said the bailiff. “The priest wanted his wife, and Péris punched him and knocked him down when he tried to take her. So Panalles took revenge. Péris was in prison for nine months during the trial and interrogation. He has walked with a limp ever since.”

“Which might give him a very strong motive to seek revenge against any members of the Church, including Panalles,” Mendoza suggested.

“I promise you that Péris did not kill Panalles, and he did not attack those nuns,” the countess insisted. “Someone else is behind this. Did you know that Vallcarca has gone to Huesca?”

“Yes. He told me he goes every year to see his father.”

“Did he also tell you that he invited my father-in-law to meet him there?”

“He didn't. Is there any reason he should?”

“The Marquis of Espinosa has no business with the baron unless it has to do with me.”

“Can I ask how you knew that your father-in-law was in Huesca, my lady?”

“Just because I am a woman, I am not entirely without resources,” she said. “I am not as powerless as either my father-in-law or the baron believes.”

“Assuming that what you say is true, what would Vallcarca gain through the crimes that we have witnessed?”

“He wants to terrify me into accepting Rodrigo Vallcarca as a husband! To show that I am incapable of running my estates.”

Mendoza sipped his chocolate as she described the deteriorating situation in the
señorio
. There had been three murders in the past week in various parts of the
señorio
, in addition to those he already knew about. In the last
two days, she had received reports from the bailiff and other officials of violent altercations between Moriscos and Old Christians in which both the rapes in Vallcarca and the murders of the del Río family had been mentioned. Only that morning some of her Moriscos had asked her to use the militia to protect them. Some Old Christians had appealed to Vallcarca to become his vassals, and others had written to the king asking to become vassals of the Crown in order to receive royal protection.

“Do you have any evidence that the baron or your father-in-law is behind these events?” Mendoza asked.

“Of course not. These are powerful men. They would never do anything that could incriminate themselves directly.”

Mendoza was not indisposed to be sympathetic toward her. Vallcarca was clearly a brute, and the mistress of Cardona was infinitely more appealing, both physically and morally. There were already enough anomalies in the investigation to suggest that the countess's accusations against Vallcarca and her father-in-law were superficially plausible. But without proof her allegations were nothing more than opinion and speculation, and it was also possible that she herself might be trying to use him for purposes that were not yet obvious.

“Well, my lady, I shall certainly give due consideration to what you've told me in the course of my investigation,” he said finally.

“Thank you, Licenciado. By the way, I thought you should know that Dr. Segura and I have arranged for the bodies of the del Río family to be buried in the village of Las Palomas. It's about halfway between Belamar and Cardona. Segura says there isn't enough wood for the coffins in Belamar, and now that Navarro has been arrested, there's only one carpenter. Father García will conduct the funeral service the day after tomorrow. You are welcome to attend.”

This news surprised Mendoza. He had left the burial of the bodies to the Moriscos themselves and assumed that they would be buried in the town cemetery. It was only now he realized that he had not observed any
signs of preparation for burial or even heard a carpenter's hammer in Belamar itself. He said that he would do his best to attend, and the two of them finished their chocolate and got up to leave. Necker had brought the horses up to the palace, and they rode slowly toward Belamar, past the Moriscos who were still making their way on foot.

“So what did you think of our countess?” Mendoza asked Gabriel.

“She has a face like an angel,” his awestruck page replied.

“Indeed she does.”

Mendoza listened with amusement to Gabriel's extravagant praise of the countess's beauty and saintliness. He was not inclined to disagree, but he couldn't shake off the suspicion that she was concealing something from him and that it had something to do with the conversation she'd had with Segura earlier.

It was not until Belamar appeared ahead of them that he realized that she might inadvertently have given him a way to find out what it was.

•   •   •

A
T
NINE
O
'
CLOCK
the prisoner was brought before the tribunal in chains for the preliminary hearing. He was escorted by Pachuca and the prison warden, who was wearing a long robe and the leather slippers that were often worn by jailers who spent so much of their lives indoors As Mercader watched them from the long table, he felt conscious of the immense power at his disposal. Like his fellow judge, Orellana, the inquisitor was dressed in a white robe and black hood and gloves. Apart from the silk-fringed Inquisition banner behind them proclaiming
EXSURGE DOMINE ET JUDICA CAUSAM TUAM
—Arise, O Lord, and Judge Thine Own Cause—there was no other decoration in the room.

The carpenter Navarro was wearing only a plain white shirt, tight breeches, hose and no shoes, and his spindly legs gave him the appearance of a plucked chicken, Mercader thought as the accused sat on the bench in front of him. On a smaller table to Mercader's left, the notary waited at the
writing stand with his quill in hand as Mercader opened the proceedings, his imperious nasal voice echoing around the paneled gallery.

“What is your name?”

“Pedro Navarro, Excellency,” the Morisco replied sullenly, without looking up.

“‘Lord Inquisitor' to you. Look up at me and speak louder. Your place of residence?”

“Belamar de la Sierra, in the
señorio
of Cardona, Lord Inquisitor.”

“And your occupation?”

“Carpenter.”

Mercader already knew all this information, but legality demanded that he follow the procedures established more than a century earlier by His Excellency Tomás de Torquemada, first Grand Inquisitor of the Holy Office for the Propagation of the Faith. And so he continued to question the carpenter about his parentage and grandparents, his wife and children, the places he had visited in the course of his work, his knowledge of the catechism, the date of his last confession, and his antecedents with the Inquisition. The Morisco was also familiar with the questions, having already been through the process before, and he answered them with the resigned air of a man submitting to a ritual whose outcome was already decided. Finally Mercader came to the admonition, which all inquisitors were obliged to present to those brought before them.

“Do you know why you were arrested?”

It was only then that the Morisco showed signs of animation. “No, Lord Inquisitor, I do not,” he replied emphatically. “We were told some nuns had been attacked, but I don't know anything about that.”

The admonition had been intended by His Excellency Fray Tomás de Torquemada in his infinite wisdom and mercy in order to give the accused an opportunity to confess of their own volition, but Mercader felt more satisfaction than disappointment as he ordered Pachuca and the warden to take Navarro away. Soon afterward the carpenter's apprentice was ushered
into the gallery, and the same procedure was repeated. As a minor, Juan Royo was accompanied by a guardian—a Zaragoza lawyer whom Mercader had carefully chosen for the purpose. Unlike his predecessor, Royo was terrified and overawed by the tribunal, and he trembled uncontrollably throughout the questioning. When asked if he knew the reason for his arrest, he also replied in the negative, and he, too, was returned to his cell.

In keeping with the regulations, the admonition was repeated twice more on consecutive days. Each time the prisoners were brought before the tribunal, and each time they gave the same answers. On the fourth day, the Inquisition prosecutor Ramírez attended the tribunals for the first time and formally accused the two Moriscos of an
asalto en
despoblado—
an assault on the open road—as an expression of their depraved lust and their hatred of the Holy Mother Church. The
fiscal
then submitted his formal request for torture, and the following day Mercader informed the carpenter that because he had vacillated in his replies even though there was much evidence against him, he was to be subjected to torture and torment so that the truth could be extracted from his own mouth, and that his interrogation was to begin the following day, contingent on medical inspection by a doctor.

Navarro said nothing as he was led back to the tower, but his apprentice was considerably less composed. At first he buried his face in his hands as the charges were read out, and then he shook his head and began to protest his innocence till Mercader commanded him to be silent. As the weaker of the two prisoners, Royo was taken directly to the place of torture. The young Morisco was dumbstruck with horror at the sight of the dank, cavernous room, with its arched roof and windowless walls, as Mercader explained the purpose of the hooks, pulleys and racks in a kindly, almost avuncular voice and told the young apprentice that the quilts on the walls were there to muffle the inevitable screams of all prisoners who were brought here. All this could be avoided, the inquisitor concluded, if Royo would only confess to the crimes he had been accused of.