The Devils of Cardona (39 page)

•   •   •

M
ENDOZA
HAD
NOT
SEEN
C
ALVO
since the massacre at the del Río farm, and the corregidor looked a little more like the man he remembered from Lepanto. He was wearing a helmet and a leather doublet, and a pistol was protruding from his belt in addition to the sword that hung from his waist. His stubbly face was grim as he surveyed the remnants of the barricade and chevaux-de-frise and got down from his horse.

“Christ, Bernardo,” he said. “I heard you had a bit of a fight, but I didn't expect this.”

“Nor did we,” Mendoza replied. “But we held them.”

“Well, I'm glad to see you alive,” Calvo said. “I only heard about this yesterday from the countess's messenger. I brought all the men I could find. Vargas will be here later this morning with reinforcements. I just wanted to get here quickly in case you were attacked again.”

“So you never saw Segura? Or the messenger I sent to you from France last week?”

“No.” Calvo looked at him in surprise. “Why would I have seen Segura? And what in the name of all the devils in hell were you doing in France?”

Calvo had brought only fifteen men, Mendoza observed, but they were well armed and they looked as though they knew how to use their weapons. Some of them looked very tough indeed.

“Leave your men here,” he said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

The corregidor gave the order and accompanied Mendoza back to the village. He looked shocked and angry as Mendoza described the battle and the number of casualties and showed him the wounded who were still lying in the village hall.

“I warned you about this, Bernardo,” he said as they stood by the medieval wall, watching the Moriscos digging graves. “And you should know that I've written to the king and the viceroy to ask for military assistance.
I've asked His Majesty to place Cardona directly under the jurisdiction of the Crown and use his armies to occupy the
señorio
. I told him that we are now in a state of rebellion and that this Redeemer must be stopped if the wedding is to take place.”

“You had no authority to write to the king on these matters without consulting me first,” Mendoza snapped. “The Redeemer is a fiction. Everything about him is fake. Only the murders are real. But this has nothing to do with Moors and Christians. We are facing a criminal conspiracy, not a rebellion, and I do not need soldiers to deal with it!”

Calvo looked chastened and confused now, and Mendoza proceeded to tell him about Péris's murder, the countess's allegations against Vallcarca and the death of Sánchez.

“I'm sorry, Bernardo,” he said. “But this doesn't make any sense. If Sánchez was working for Vallcarca and the baron was using the Inquisition to try to put pressure on the countess, then who killed Mercader and Herrero? And who ordered Pachuca to kill Sánchez last night?”

“Pachuca must have been working for Vallcarca,” Mendoza replied. “Maybe the baron was worried that Sánchez would talk about him. But there's more than one game being played here, and there are many different players. One thing I'm certain of: Belamar is not the prize. This has always been about the countess.”

“Then we must arrest Vallcarca!”

“With fifteen men? You'll need more than that.”

“Not today we won't. He's in Huesca shafting one of his mistresses in his hunting lodge. He won't have much of an escort. We could snatch him before he even knows what hit him. Damn it, Bernardo, there's no better time! If he goes back to Vallcarca, we'll never get him out of there.”

Mendoza agreed that the plan was worth trying. While Calvo returned to the main entrance, he briefly consulted with Ventura as Gabriel saddled his horse. His page was still looking downcast. It was impossible to know whether it was Martín's death or the previous night's revelations that had
upset him more, but there was no time to ask as he and Necker rode out to the top of the hill, where Calvo was already waiting with his men.

•   •   •

T
HEY
HAD
BEEN
RIDING
HARD
for nearly an hour along the familiar path through the valleys toward the Gállego River when Calvo turned his horse away along a narrower path that led up a steep, forested slope.

“Aren't we going to the bridge?” Mendoza asked.

“This way is quicker!” Calvo shouted back. “It leads directly to the hunting lodge.”

The path entered a shallow gorge, and they followed the left bank through thick woods and rocks until it began to descend once again and the two sides began to converge. After a few minutes, they reached a small clearing, which gave way to a natural funnel formed by pine trees and rocks, at which point Calvo raised his hand.

“What is it?” Mendoza asked. “Why have we stopped?”

Calvo had his back to him and turned around with his flintlock pistol pointed directly at Mendoza's chest. “Unbuckle your sword and give me your pistol, Bernardo. You too, Constable.”

Necker's hand was poised on the hilt of his sword, but Mendoza shook his head and they dropped their weapons to the ground.

“Get down from your horses,” Calvo ordered. Mendoza and Necker dismounted, and Calvo did the same, keeping the pistol leveled at Mendoza's chest as his men encircled them with swords and pistols drawn.

“They're not militia, are they?” Mendoza asked, watching some of them climb down from their horses.

“No, they're not. Now, put your hands on your heads.”

One of Calvo's men took their horses, and they followed the corregidor through the forest until the path gave out onto a small enclosed valley with a large cave in the rock face to the left of it. Directly in front of them stood a roofless stone hut no bigger than a sheep barn that had a pile of stones
lying around its base, which appeared to be a former hermitage. A small fire was still giving off smoke in front of the cave, and sitting beside it were three men, who stood up as they approached and stared at them with hard, sullen expressions. Mendoza noticed that two of the men had bloodied tunics and another had a bandage tied around his head, and he knew that they had gotten their wounds at Belamar. As they drew nearer, he noticed a large wooden cross that had been lashed together with rope lying on the ground near the ruins.

“Where's Lupercio?” Calvo asked.

“Gone to look for pilgrims,” said one of the bandits.

“Now?”

“He said you're not to kill the judge till he returns.”

Calvo scowled and told the bandits to tie them up. Two of the guards bound their hands behind their backs with twine, and Calvo ordered them to be taken over to the hermitage, where Calvo gestured toward the outside wall.

“Sit down,” he commanded. Mendoza and Necker lowered themselves awkwardly to the ground and leaned against the wall as Calvo squatted in front of them with the pistol resting on his thigh. He was smiling faintly, and he no longer seemed clumsy and incompetent, but icily efficient.

“Don't look so surprised, Bernardo. We can't let you leave Cardona. If you did that, a great deal of very hard work would be ruined.”

“Whose work? Vallcarca's?”

Calvo smiled again. “You were always the clever one, Bernardo, but you're only seeing part of the picture. You were right about the baron. He wants Cardona, and he thought he could use the Inquisition to persuade the countess to marry Rodrigo. He got Lupe and Sánchez to kill Panalles. He had Péris and the Moriscos framed. All that was well done, but he wasn't the only player.”

“The Catalan?”

“Lupe?” Calvo looked scornful. “He couldn't organize something like
this. He worked for the baron, but he also worked for someone even bigger. Just like you and me, Bernardo.”

“Villareal?” Mendoza asked incredulously. “He was behind this?”

Calvo chuckled happily. “It's fair to say that the marquis is not a great admirer of the Baron of Vallcarca. In fact he loathes even the air that man breathes. So he wasn't going to let one of the richest
señorios
in Aragon fall into Vallcarca's hands, not if he could get it for the Crown. But even the king of Castile can't just send royal troops into Aragon for no reason. Vallcarca's efforts were enough for the Inquisition, but they weren't enough to make the king pay attention. His Majesty is very indecisive. Villareal needed something more serious, like a Morisco rebellion. Even a holy war.”

“So the Redeemer was his idea?”

“Initially. Lupe came up with the detail. The Quintana brothers. The Arabic on walls. The crucifixions and desecrations. Villareal called it ‘sparkle.' He was always telling me, ‘More sparkle. I need more sparkle.' So Lupe and I provided it.”

“Is that why you murdered Mercader? For sparkle?”

“A dead inquisitor creates a lot of heat.”

“And del Río? Was that sparkle, too?”

Calvo shook his head. “That was Vallcarca's work. His son even took part in it. The baron simply wanted to cover his tracks after Ventura found out about Franquelo and the horses. And then he got Lupe to take care of Pepe. Of course, this served our purposes, too, so Lupe did it his own way and made it look as though the Old Christians were taking revenge. Villareal wanted a war. To do that we needed a lot of dead people, and we needed a good judge to come here and record it all. A judge with a reputation for rigor and thoroughness. As you said, there are many players in this, and some of them didn't realize that they were only pieces—like you.”

“And Sánchez.”

Calvo nodded. “Sánchez was working for Vallcarca, till we paid him more.”

“And you? What do you get out of this?”

“Money, Bernardo! Much more than a provincial corregidor can ever get. When the Crown takes over Cardona, Villareal will be the administrator, and he will see to it that I receive the rewards I should have received for all the years I spent in His Majesty's service, and Cornelia will be able to live in the manner to which she wants to be accustomed. Think about it: I'll be the man who saved Aragon for the infanta's wedding. That's worth at least a baronetcy and a palace.”

Mendoza looked at his old friend in disgust. “Christ's blood, Pelagio. What kind of thing have you become? Do you think if you put your wife in a palace, it will stop you being a cuckold?”

Calvo's smile abruptly faded. “Steady, Bernardo. Lupe is very angry with you after what happened in Belamar. You've broken up his band, and he intends to crucify you. I was going to ask him to kill you first—for old times' sake. Otherwise you'll die on the cross with your eyes wide open.”

“You're still missing certain fundamental points here, just as you always did. Ventura won't believe your story. He saw us leave together.”

“Ventura and your page will never leave Cardona alive,” Calvo said. “I'll make sure of that when I bring them to see you on the cross. Your depositions will be destroyed, and as for your letters . . . well, I've read them all, and I know what to say and what to leave out when I send my own reports. In Madrid they still think that the Redeemer exists and that the Moriscos killed two Inquisition officials. Without you no one can tell them any different. Now they'll think that the Redeemer and his men killed the king's special justice, Alcalde Mendoza. And who is going to believe anything to the contrary after everything that has happened? And then His Majesty will send the soldiers to the Morisco lands and the Crown of Castile will take possession of Cardona.”

“May you burn in hell, you son of a whore,” Mendoza said.

“Come now, Bernardo. There's no hell. That's just a story the priests tell to terrify children. This is the only world there is, and the only men
who prosper in it are the ones with the cojones to take what they can find. Ah, here he is.”

Mendoza and Necker looked at the path they had just taken as the Catalan came riding out of the forest accompanied by another half a dozen men. He had already seen them, and he smiled as he reined in his horse. He was a big man, almost as tall as Necker, but slimmer and wirier, with a thin mustache and leather riding boots that came up just above the knees, plus a wide feathered hat that suggested he had once been an army officer.

“So you did it, Calvo,” he said, getting down from his horse. “You're a difficult man to kill, Licenciado Mendoza. You should have died at Belamar. Even Pachuca couldn't kill you, but I assure you that I will. I'm going to break your knees first. Then I'll work my way down your shins. Do you think that will hurt? I do. I think you'll beg me to stop, but I won't.”

Just then all of them heard a shot, followed by another. The bandits jumped to their feet and stared at the path with their backs to the hermitage while the men who were still on horseback turned back onto it. Calvo and the Catalan also turned away as the shots continued. The corregidor was just getting to his feet when Mendoza swung his legs sideways and tripped him up. Before Calvo was able to get up, Mendoza had locked his legs around his neck, and now he squeezed them tight, dragging him back into the open doorway.

“Get his sword!” he hissed.

The Catalan had seen them now and was calmly walking toward them, still holding his horse by the reins as Necker turned his back and unsheathed the corregidor's sword till the blade was exposed just enough to slice through the twine on his wrists. He scrambled to his feet and cut Mendoza loose. Mendoza picked up his pistol as Necker rushed toward the Catalan with Calvo's sword and ducked as the silver mace came swinging around from the left in a wide arc. Necker crouched and slashed sideways from the right toward the Catalan's waist, cutting him across his left thigh. The
Catalan grimaced and took another swing, which connected with Necker's shoulder and knocked the sword from his hand. He was just about to land another blow when he saw Mendoza standing in the doorway with the pistol pointed at him.