The Devils of Cardona (36 page)

The Moriscos were beginning to leave their positions to seek cover
from the crossfire, so that the bandits were able to get close enough to the walls to use their ladders. Others cupped their hands and hoisted each other up till they began spilling over the walls, pushing the defenders back toward the road and driving Necker and his men back into the cemetery. Necker ordered one of the harquebusiers to take up a position in the church tower and fire at the cliff.

Farther up the road, Gabriel and a group of Moriscos watched anxiously as the harquebusier came running at them in a low crouch and ran into the church. Gabriel still felt afraid as he watched the bandits fighting their way up the road toward him, but he knew that he would not run and that he would stay and fight for those who were inside the church, even if he died in the process. From where he was standing, he could see that the fighting in the cemetery was savage as the Moriscos and bandits closed on one another among the tombstones with knives and swords, in some cases writhing on the ground with their hands on each other's throats, pummeling each other like drunkards in a tavern brawl, till men fell dying or wounded among the already dead, and still the bandits continued to clamber over the wall.

Gabriel watched all this as he stiffened himself for the fight he knew would come. He was promising himself that he would do nothing to make his guardian ashamed of him when he heard the shot from directly above him. He looked up and saw the smoking harquebus pointing from the church tower toward the cliff, and a body tumbled down from the rock face into the town. Other shots quickly followed, and the firing from the cliff became more sporadic. Some of it was now directed against the church tower, pinging off the bell with a deep metallic gong, but the harquebusier continued to fire steadily back.

Still the bandits continued to pour up the hill. All over the road between the church and the old wall, men were fighting with swords and stabbing and hacking at each other with halberds, lances and billhooks. Necker and the Moriscos had fallen back now to protect the church, and Gabriel felt
comforted and emboldened by the imposing presence of the German nearby as a group of bandits surged up the road, yelling and waving their weapons. Now the battle engulfed them, and there was no longer any time to think about what might happen as instinct took over and he jabbed his sword in the vague direction of the faces and bodies.

He felt the blade penetrate soft flesh and heard someone cry out in pain. Beside him a Morisco raised his hand to his neck, where a halberd blade had cut him. Gabriel saw the blood gushing from the wound, and the sight of the man's wild, staring eyes filled him with terror and also with fury. He was no longer conscious of anything but the fighting raging around him as he stabbed and slashed at the men who wanted to kill him and whom he wanted only to kill. For a few minutes, the two sides seemed evenly matched and neither was able to gain ground, and then the mobile fighters whom Ventura had withheld as reinforcements joined the Morisco ranks, and they began to push the bandits back down the road.

Suddenly the bandit line broke and the attackers began to run down toward the wall, and Necker and the Moriscos charged forward, letting out fierce, incoherent cries. Gabriel heard himself yelling, too, as he ran forward waving his bloodstained sword. It was only then that he noticed that one of the bandits had not run down the road but had managed to get around the church and was struggling to open the door. Without even thinking he ran toward the man. The bandit turned and raised his sword, but he had no time to bring it down before Gabriel thrust his sword into his stomach, all his weight behind it, and pinned him up against the wooden door.

•   •   •

I
N
THE
NARROW
FUNNEL
between the
lavadero
and the main square, the attackers were also gaining ground as more men and horses poured in through the main entrance. Mendoza had withdrawn to the second barricade and watched as Ventura and his men were driven slowly back. His cousin was at the front as always, despite his wounded arm, and as Mendoza
watched the fighting, it occurred to him for the first time that Ventura's courage was not simply the result of an indifference to death and that perhaps there was a part of him that actually wanted to die.

Soon the fighting engulfed them, too, and Ventura and his men joined them at the barricade. Now the young men Mendoza had seen nervously standing at the barricade less than an hour before found themselves at the front line and stabbed and chopped with their homemade weapons as the bandits and
montañeses
hurled themselves against them. Once again the barricade was breached, and again the distinctions between attackers and defenders broke down as the two sides dissolved into a fluid melee. Some of the attackers crashed through the Morisco defense and ran toward the main square, only to be turned back by Morisco reserves freed by the battle at the church.

The entire street from the main square to the
lavadero
had now become a battlefield that echoed with the sounds of screams, curses, shots and clashing swords. Ventura and Necker were still trying to form the Moriscos into compact lines, but all semblance of military discipline had fallen apart on both sides as men and women hurled tiles, pots and pieces of furniture down on them from the upper windows and the bandits shot at them with their crossbows and pistols.

Although the horses helped push the Moriscos back, the narrow street and the crush of bodies made it difficult for them to maneuver and exposed their riders to attack from the ground and also from the rooms and rooftops above them. Some of the Morisca women who had not taken shelter in the church now joined their men, just as they had in Granada, and charged at the bandits with kitchen knives, chair legs and frying pans. After more than an hour of this, exhaustion forced a temporary respite, and bandits and Moriscos ducked into doorways or sheltered behind the remains of barricades and dead horses to pause for breath and curse one another. But then the fighting resumed once again, and the bandits continued to push them back toward the village hall.

Mendoza's sword arm was aching, and he shouted at the Moriscos to hold their positions as they fell back toward the main square. At the far end of the street near the
lavadero
, Ventura pointed out the Catalan, who was waving his silver mace and urging his men onward. He yelled at Martín to try to shoot him, but the constant forward movement of men and horses made it impossible for him even to load his weapon, let alone fire it.

Whether it was the Catalan's galvanizing influence or the realization that they were within reach of the Plaza Mayor, the bandits and
montañeses
now seemed to sense that victory was at hand, and some of them formed themselves into something resembling a phalanx and pushed forward in a close, compact mass. Most of the fighting was taking place on the main street or spilling out into the surrounding streets and alleyways, but some of the bandits with firearms fought or broke their way into the houses and took up firing positions in the upper windows and balconies.

Mendoza had taken shelter in an open doorway, and he managed to shout at Martín to go inside and fire back. Within a few minutes, the militiaman was exchanging shots with the bandits on the other side of the street. Mendoza was still standing just inside the doorway when he heard a shot from his side of the street and a Morisco collapsed right in front of him. Leaning out, he saw a bandit firing a harquebus down from a first-floor window only two houses away from where he was standing. The bandit was out of the line of fire of Martín and his companions, and he seemed able to pick out his targets at will as he calmly fired at the Moriscos and reloaded.

Mendoza fired at him with his pistol, but a moment later the harquebusier leaned out and fired again, and another Morisco fell, holding his arm. Mendoza edged his way along the wall past the mass of fighting men and slipped into the half-open doorway. Inside the house it was cool and dark, and the noises of the battle were slightly muffled as he paused to reload his pistol and made his way up the wooden stairs, which despite his caution creaked loudly with each step. He hoped that the noise in the street
would conceal his presence from the sharpshooter upstairs, and when he reached the first floor, he was surprised to see that the balcony was empty.

For a moment he thought that the bandit might have been shot, but there was no sign of his body. He peered around the corner and immediately ducked back as he saw the flash in the darkened bedroom doorway, and the ball smashed into the wall behind him. He stepped into the room and fired at the doorway, but now the bandit was rushing toward him holding the harquebus by the barrel with both hands and swinging it like a club. The butt caught Mendoza a painful blow on the left shoulder, pushing him back onto the stairs. He drew his sword, but it was difficult to get within striking distance as the bandit jabbed the butt repeatedly at his face.

Mendoza retreated step by step as the bandit thrust the gun at him in an attempt to keep him at a distance. One blow caught him on the chin so that he stepped back and nearly lost his footing. Sensing victory, the bandit dropped the gun, pulled a dagger from behind his belt and hurled himself forward. In the same moment, Mendoza bent down, holding his sword with both hands, and thrust it into the center of the bandit's stomach just below the rib cage. The weight of the bandit's body knocked Mendoza over and sent him tumbling backward to the next floor.

He scrambled to his feet and extricated the sword, pausing to load his pistol once again. Downstairs the Moriscos had been pushed even farther back, and the street immediately in front of him was filled with bandits and
montañeses
. No sooner had he opened the door than some of the bandits came rushing toward him. He slammed the door, bolted it shut and dragged a table in front of it, but it was already beginning to give from the force of bodies as he dropped his stick and stood waiting in the cool darkness with his sword and pistol for the end that now seemed inevitable. He did not feel afraid, but disappointed at the thought that he would have to leave the world so soon. He hoped that Gabriel and the others would die quickly as he prepared to make his attackers pay as high a price for his life as possible.

The door was about to break when he heard two blasts on a trumpet
coming from the direction of the
lavadero
. To his surprise, the banging on the door immediately stopped and the noise outside in the street began to recede. He waited a few moments before opening the door. There were now more horsemen than ever in the main entrance, but the Catalan was no longer visible among them, and Ventura and the Moriscos had regained the ground they'd lost.

As he watched the battle unfolding near the
lavadero
, Mendoza realized to his amazement that the bandits were also being attacked from behind and that they were trying to retreat. Within minutes he was back at the main entrance to the village, where an astonishing scene was unfolding. All across the hilltop, bandits were trying to fight their way past the mounted pistoleers and swordsmen wearing red sashes around their waists, who were coming up from the valley below on foot and on horseback. Others tried to avoid the road altogether and jumped down the rocks even as they were being shot at. Some of the bandits and
montañeses
threw down their weapons and begged for mercy from the oncoming horsemen and the advancing Moriscos, and not all of them received it.

As the Moriscos pushed forward to the crest of the hill, they saw bandits riding or running through the ravine and up into the woods in an attempt to escape their pursuers. At last the battle began to ebb, and Mendoza and Ventura gave orders to round up the prisoners. Men, women and children were pouring out of the town now, and they cheered wildly as another horseman came riding up the hill toward them with an upright and almost stately gait, and Mendoza recognized the familiar pennant bearing the lion and shield of the House of Cardona.

he vultures were already hovering over the village as Mendoza made his way back through the main street, past the bodies of men and horses and the wreckage of the barricades. Juana Segura's orderlies were beginning to carry the wounded on planks to the village hall while men and women wept or hugged each other or sat on the street looking dazed and exhausted and astonished to find themselves still alive. In that moment Mendoza was concerned with only one person, and he felt a sick feeling in his stomach when he reached the church to find the door half open and streaked with blood and an unknown body lying on the floor next to it.

Gabriel was not there, but Necker was standing nearby watching the men, women and children who were coming out to inspect the aftermath of the battle that most of
them had only heard. His two-handled sword was sheathed, but the splashes of red on his face made it clear that he had used it.

“You held them, Constable.”

“We did, sir. And your scrivener fought well.”

Mendoza nodded approvingly. “Do you know where he is?”

“In the village hall.”

“Good work, Constable. Keep your defenses in place. They may try again.”

Mendoza felt positively exultant now as he walked to the main square, which was filling up with wounded men. The stretcher-bearers were bringing in another groaning body on a plank to the village hall, which looked more like a butcher shop. The floor was covered in blood, and the wounded were lying on mattresses or piles of straw or sitting propped against the walls waiting to be treated, while Juana Segura and her assistants stitched, washed and bandaged wounds and hurried back and forth carrying pans of water. Despite the carnage, he suppressed a smile at the sight of his page kneeling over a man who was lying stretched out on a mattress while Segura's daughter prodded with a knife at a bleeding gash in his shoulder. The Morisco was clearly in agony, and Gabriel was leaning his weight against his chest and shoulder in an attempt to hold him down.

“Are you all right, boy?”

“I am, sir.” Gabriel looked up and smiled grimly as the man writhed around beneath him. “You're bleeding.”

It was only then that Mendoza was conscious of his aching jaw and the blood trickling down his chin. “It's nothing,” he said as Juana Segura pressed the point of the knife deeper. “I'll see you later.”

Outside, some wounded bandits had also been brought under guard to the village hall and were waiting outside to be treated. Their guards stood watching as some of the Morisca women insulted and even spit on them. Mendoza ordered the women to leave them alone and walked down past
the bodies and the broken barricades to the main entrance, where Ventura's Moriscos and the countess's militiamen were guarding a group of prisoners.

“What shall we do with this rabble, Bernardo?” asked Ventura.

“For now they can carry out the dead. Take the Moriscos to the rectory. You'll have to give up your bedroom and stay with us. We'll take them to the ravine and burn them later.”

Mendoza looked down at the valley, where a carriage was coming toward them accompanied by a mounted escort. A few minutes later, it drew up in front of them and the Countess of Cardona stepped off with the help of one of her servants, followed by Susana Segura. She was wearing a long black cloak and a scarlet surcoat embroidered with golden thread, and a white muslin veil hung down over her immaculately braided hair. Mendoza had not seen her since their meeting at Las Palomas, and she looked steely and determined, like a warrior-queen, as she glanced around with a sad, desolate expression at the human and animal corpses and armed men.

“Long live the Countess of Cardona!” one of the Moriscos shouted.

“Long live!” The Moriscos and militia raised their weapons. The countess acknowledged them with a vague nod and smiled at Mendoza. “I'm happy to see you alive, Licenciado.”

“And I am glad to see you, my lady,” Mendoza replied. “We were very much in need of assistance.”

“Is Dr. Segura's family well?”

“They are, my lady.”

Susana glanced up at the sky and silently mumbled a prayer. The countess also looked visibly relieved. “Go to your sister,” she ordered Susana. “Licenciado, will you join me in my carriage?”

“I'm not sure if it's safe for you to be out here, Countess. There may be sharpshooters.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But what I have to tell you cannot wait.”

•   •   •

A
SERVANT
HELD
THE
DOOR
OPEN
for the countess and Mendoza and shut the door behind them. “Did you find Vicente Péris?” she asked.

“We did, my lady, but he was murdered. And whoever was responsible also tried to kill us.”

“And did you know that Inquisitor Mercader has been murdered? And Commissioner Herrero also?”

Mendoza stared at her in astonishment. “When did this happen?”

“Two days ago. They were murdered on the road from Huesca. They were on their way to Cardona to make arrests. The rumors say that Moriscos from Belamar killed them, but I know who is responsible. My bailiff Jean Sánchez and the Baron of Vallcarca. They are the ones behind everything that has happened here.”

Mendoza still did not trust the countess enough to tell her that he had already begun to reach similar conclusions himself, and he listened impassively as she told him about her father-in-law's visit and Vallcarca's attempt to use Mercader's impending investigation to make her marry his son.

“And what makes you so certain that your bailiff was in France?” he asked her.

“He left a message saying that he was visiting his father in Lérida on the day of Espinosa's visit. I sent a servant to bring him back. He found Sánchez's father in rude health, and the old man hadn't seen his son in months.”

“Did you have any reason to mistrust him?”

“None,” she replied. “It was because I trusted him that I sent my servant to bring him back. Jean's mother was my wet nurse. He was my childhood playmate. I treated him as a member of my own family. I let him run my estates. I made him the most powerful man in Cardona. I wanted him to come back to the estates because I depended on him.”

“And you have no idea why he would have turned against you?”

“None. But I'm convinced that he followed you to Béarn.”

Mendoza told her what Péris had revealed to Segura and of his belief that Sánchez had killed Péris to conceal his role in luring the three alleged rapists into the hands of the Inquisition.

“Then he must have been working for Vallcarca,” the countess said, “because it was the baron's militia that arrested Navarro and his apprentice. And there's something else you ought to know. I believe that Sánchez killed my husband on Vallcarca's orders.”

Mendoza raised his eyebrows. This was not a possibility that he had even thought about. “May I know how you reached such conclusions?” he asked.

“Vallcarca told me that I could not defy him after what had happened to my husband! What is that, if not an admission of guilt? And it all makes sense now. Jean was with Miguel on the day he died. He was wounded himself during the attack, with a sword cut to the arm. I used to think he tried to save Miguel. Now I think it was just another deception.”

Mendoza nodded and said nothing. Her allegations were certainly possible, but Péris was dead, which meant that there was no one who could testify that Sánchez had been responsible for luring him to Vallcarca. And without the bailiff, there was only the countess's own account of her conversation with Vallcarca to implicate the baron in her husband's murder or the death of Péris or in anything else.

“Well, surely you have enough cause to arrest Vallcarca?” she asked. “Put him to the torment and make him confess!”

Mendoza was surprised by her vehemence, and he also sensed an element of fear behind it. “You say that Vallcarca was using Inquisitor Mercader to blackmail you,” he said. “Did he say what offenses you would have been charged with?”

Once again she looked guarded. “Well, he didn't mention anything specific,” she replied airily. “I assumed it was heresy or some other concoction.”

“But if the two of them were in collusion, then why would Vallcarca kill Mercader?”

“I am a simple woman, Licenciado. I don't understand Vallcarca's machinations. But is it not obvious, after today, that this is a man who is unconstrained by the laws of God and man, who will kill any number of people he thinks necessary to achieve his aims?”

“Someone definitely fits that description,” Mendoza admitted. “And I will certainly speak to Vallcarca again. But now, my lady, I think you should return to Cardona. It's not safe for you to be out here.”

“Would you like my men to remain to protect the town?”

“I don't think we're going to be attacked again, but you could leave half of them for another day, just in case. And I would like you to take our prisoners. We haven't room for them here. I would also like you to send a messenger to Corregidor Calvo in Jaca. Tell him to send as many men as possible to Belamar as soon as he can. And make sure your messenger has an escort. Enough people have died these last few weeks.”

“Very well. And now there is one thing I must ask of you. Dr. Segura is in the Inquisition jail in Huesca. Can you get him released? His family needs him. Belamar needs him.”

“That is very difficult, my lady. I have no power to alter the course of an inquisitorial investigation. I don't even know the charges against him.”

Just then they heard a sudden commotion outside. Mendoza looked out the window to see two of the countess's militiamen coming up the hill on horseback. One of them was trailing a rope attached to the hands of a prisoner who was walking with obvious difficulty, aided by one of his escorts, and as they came closer, Mendoza was astonished to see that the man at the end of the rope was none other than the bailiff, Jean Sánchez.

•   •   •

M
ENDOZA
GOT
DOWN
from the carriage and held out his hand to help the countess as the militiamen brought the bailiff over toward them. The
haughty official who had once tried to expel him from Cardona was dragging his right leg. His knee was oozing blood through his torn hose. His clothes, face and hair were covered in blood and dust as he stared sullenly at the ground in front of him.

“We found him trying to crawl out of the ravine, my lady,” one of the militiamen explained. “He can't walk by himself.”

The countess was looking at Sánchez with an expression that was simultaneously sad, reproachful and astonished. “Why, Jean?” she asked. “Was it the money? Didn't I give you enough?”

“I don't have to explain anything to you,” Sánchez said bitterly.

“But you will explain yourself to me, villain,” said Mendoza, “when I take you to Jaca. This one is my prisoner, my lady.”

“Take him,” the countess replied. “I never want to see him again.”

Mendoza said good-bye to her and accompanied the militiamen and their prisoner back to the village hall while she returned to her carriage. They had almost reached the main square when they saw Susana walking toward them. At the sight of Sánchez, her face hardened.

“What have you done to my father?” she asked.

Sánchez stared at her coldly. “Go to hell, you damned whore,” he said.

Susana appeared momentarily disconcerted, and then her anger returned and she smacked the bailiff hard across the face. Sánchez merely shrugged and looked away as Mendoza nodded to the militiamen to take him away. Juana Segura greeted him with equal contempt and refused Mendoza's request to treat his wounded knee until he reminded her that he would not be able to interrogate Sánchez or put him on trial if he died. She cleaned and bandaged the wound, and Mendoza told the militiamen to chain him up in the stable beneath the dispensary. He ordered them to leave and stood in the doorway looking down at the sullen prisoner, who was leaning against a wooden post among the milling goats and sheep.