by Doug Walker
CHAPTER FIVE
Later that day, when he was alone, García’s first confession was made to the dog. As always, Poncho listened attentively and seemed to chew and digest each word. The fur ball was a great comfort to his master and a sterling companion. Many things had happened and much was yet to come. The dog’s mind was a catalog of their lives together.
Upon the advice of other officers, García, as a captain, was entitled to an orderly who would clean his quarters, keep his gear in order and attend to baggage during travel. He picked the trooper Jesus for this task, and he had no reason to regret the choice. Jesus did his job with alacrity, all the while keeping García amused with stories of his youth and army life. He was a deep well of information and got along famously with Poncho.
During this period he relied on Jesus to check with headquarters and keep him posted on preparations to sail to Florida. Vessels were being prepared on the coast and workers and soldiers assembled for the venture.
It was also during this period that García had his first brush with the Inquisition. He was called to the office of Bishop Medina de Avila who spoke in length about God’s obvious design, which was of course to spread the True Church throughout the known and unknown world.
García had brought Poncho along for the interview and held the Yorkie on his lap, which seemed to vex the bishop, although he never gave words to his distress. It was obvious through questions inserted here and there that the reason for the exchange was to test García’s faith.
Medina de Avila was somewhat baffled by the presence of Poncho and by García’s odd accent, but he was left with no reason to doubt the captain’s faith. And he felt he had impressed upon García the nobility of the Church’s cause, a message that the captain would in turn deliver to his men. Through the years there had been considerable friction between the church and the secular world over authority. The power of the church came directly from Rome, and that of the secular world from the King, in the present case, Felipe II.
Several days passed following the duel before García once again visited the beautiful Juanita. He was greeted on one hand with what seemed to be controlled passion and on the other a studied aloofness.
“You have neglected me,” she said coolly.
“You know I would never do that. All my love is given you, but my allegiance is also to my military duties. I am, after all, a soldier of Spain.”
“An officer of Spain,” she said with delight. “And you have defeated Alonso. For that you have won my heart.”
García was startled by this declaration. “Then I shall speak to your father?”
“Of course, silly. You were the third to fight Alonso. I told him if he killed three suitors, my hand would be his. I never really meant it, you must believe me. However Alonso took it to heart and he would have held me to my word.”
“You would have married him?”
“My father would have insisted. I too am something of a Spanish trooper. Serving at the whim of my family.”
“Alonso, then, he pursued you?” García felt they were on troubling new ground.
“Call it what you will. We were children together. We played as children played. Of course he is older, but not that much. My dueña, the old person you see over there, she is Alonso’s aunt. Of course when I was very young I had no dueña, and when we were older she allowed the two of us liberties.”
“Liberties?” García questioned.
“Well, we could be alone. You know, coming of age, exploring and testing the waters.”
“I see,” García replied. He wondered how far this coming of age had gone. He sought a girl of absolute purity, something he had been unable to find elsewhere.
“He still seeks your hand?”
“Possibly,” Juanita replied. “I have many friends. They tell me he will recover, but lacks a right eye and has a horrible scar down his face.” She drew her finger down the right side of her face. “I would never marry such a disfigured person, father or no father. It would be disgusting to attempt to love such a person. One might as well breed with a monkey.”
“I see your point,” he said, although he didn’t see at all. García was of a romantic disposition and would have stayed with his lover, whoever it might be, until parted by death. At least those thoughts were in his head.
Juanita took his hand. “Let’s walk into the shadows. I think the old woman is napping.”
At breakfast the following morning, García wondered whether he had enjoyed a romantic interlude, or a rude awakening. Jesus, who bustled about tempting him with more food than anyone could eat, was enthusiastic about taking him to an “auto de fe” that was being held in the gigantic square that forenoon.
García, long immersed in Spanish history, was eager to attend. He had heard of these ceremonies, doctored to appear as much as possible like the final judgment day. Some mistakenly thought they were the actual executions of heretics, but in fact they were only to announce the sentences of certain heretics and to stress the hideous consequences of thoughts, words and crimes against the church.
Of course heretics were burned and put to death in other painful ways, but these executions were done in public places, as the miscreants had been turned over to secular authorities for that purpose.
The saving grace for officers of the Inquisition was that they could not make a mistake. If there was a mix-up and it turned out the person burned was not a heretic, well then, everyone had to die some day and a higher authority would step in. God would ultimately decide who was a heretic and who was not. So those twisting and screaming in the flames were actually being sent off to a higher court of appeal.
An excellent example of this sort of thing, when justice misfired by accident or design, took place in the French city of Rouen on May 30, 1431 at the height of the Hundred Years War. It was here Sainte-Jeanne D’Arc was burned at the Place du Vieux Marche, for all to see. Much later, when events were viewed with a crystal eye, she was forgiven and created a saint.
The question remains, was Jeanne transported directly to hell when life ceased at the flaming stake, did she languor among hell’s fire until the Church in its wisdom reconsidered and decided she was bound for sainthood? Very likely it would take an advanced biblical scholar and a phalanx of lawyers to unravel that one. Then the question remains, since the Bible mandates against killing, were the church people involved in the conspiracy guilty of the murder of an innocent woman, and if we sojourned to hell today would we find them there? The issue of judgment hangs heavy on mankind.
After the close encounter in the garden, García stayed away from Juanita for four days. The lady then sent a sealed message by way of the orderly Jesus. García was to come to her that very night, but not until after the midnight hour. The dueña would be fast asleep in her bed.
It was with some apprehension that García napped during the early hours of the evening, and then, following instructions, climbed the wall of the very extensive Tera garden at a spot Juanita had designated. Once over the wall, he waited while his eyes accustomed themselves to the shadows, and then he moved to the appointed spot.
Juanita was waiting. He approached, and they embraced. To his surprise she wore nothing but a thin gown. “My God,” he exclaimed, “your body!”
“Shush,” she whispered. “Why encumber ourselves with clothing? We are like Adam and Eve in the original garden. And there are no apple trees here. Come.” She led him to a secluded spot where she had placed a blanket on the ground and began to undress him. “I’ll be your orderly. And you can be mine.”
García was glad that he had taken a nap, but surprised at the carnal twist his courtship had taken. The two of them were at it almost till dawn and could have continued. They agreed to meet the following night, and García slipped away, arriving back at his quarters just before dawn. He was tired, but also stunned by the turn of events, almost placing himself in the sadder-but-wiser category. If his dream had been a pitcher, he could picture a crack in it. When he entered quarters, he could h
ear Hidalgo snoring and Poncho was at his feet, jumping frantically as if asking what had passed.
García would have told the dog immediately, but Hidalgo might wake. In any event, he would eat a normal breakfast and then slip away for a nap and possibly a chat with the Yorkie. Plans were advancing for the voyage to Florida, and he could not absent himself from his duties for long.
The next four nights were copies of the first and García was nearing exhaustion. Juanita told him that she believed the French were right when they said that marriage marks the end of romance. Her desire was to keep the romance alive as long as possible. García, meanwhile, pondered the difference between romance and raw sex. Then there was the talk with her father still left to be done.
But García was also thinking of an exit plan, a way to disentangle himself from this back-street affair. He did feel affection for Juanita, and she was a clever and resourceful woman, but she was no better, or no worse, than women he had known previously. She lacked the purity of spirit and body that he had sought. He had begun to think that such attributes were non-existent. Or maybe, if there was such a person, he would be bored to tears by her.
Certainly, Juanita was not boring and he thoroughly enjoyed the nightly sessions. They also provided fuel for his regular visits to confession. He did have some problems coming up with sufficient sins. The priests must think he spent all his time overeating and drinking, plus occasionally abusing his dog and cheating at cards. What a liar he was becoming. Now he had something to sink his teeth into. But had he betrayed Juanita, or had she betrayed him? Or was this simply part of the mating dance? Confusion!
Then one morning he returned early and fell into a deep sleep only to be shaken awake by Hidalgo. “Get up, my Captain, or you will miss breakfast. You have developed strange habits of late.”
“Yes,” García agreed. “Long walks in the countryside. Our voyage to La Florida has been heavy on my mind. It will be no picnic in the countryside, but we must discharge our duty to King and church.”
“Yes,” Hidalgo responded, a slight scoff in his voice. “A dual obligation. We face a difficult job in a difficult part of the world, but the penalties for failure are severe. The rewards for success are what? I don’t know.”
“We serve for the glory of Spain and the defeat of heretics everywhere.” García knew on which side his bread was buttered. “I’ve heard that virtue is its own reward. Do you agree?”
“I’ll think that one over. There is an interesting chapel nearby. Knowing your interest in religion, your devotion, I thought you and I might walk there after lunch. Will you accompany me?”
“Of course. I assume we can finish our military obligations by early afternoon.”
“I’ll definitely see to it,” Hidalgo said, then went off to breakfast.
Poncho, who had listened to every word, was alarmed. Something was afoot. Just what was uncertain. With his short legs he made a mighty leap to his master’s cot, placed his front paws squarely on García’s chest and stared intently into his eyes. García had been through such behavior with Poncho before, and he knew enough to pay attention.
There they were, the master on his back, the dog focusing, burning his eyes and soul into García’s eyes. The message was “be careful”. Precautions are needed here. Be prepared. Be prepared for the worst.
At length, the dog hopped down and García sat on the edge of his bunk. He addressed the dog. “The invitation from Hidalgo, it was strange wasn’t it? There is danger in the air. I must take precautions to see that the two of us get out of this situation alive. We could do it on this very morning, but excitement is near. I will take precautions.”
Poncho was delighted. He hopped around and licked García’s hand to show approval.