I called Milán.
“I need you to access the Álava Emergency Services database for me.”
“What are we looking for?”
“I’ll know it when I see it. How long will it take?”
“Consider it done.”
Shortly after, I got another call. It was Iago del Castillo.
“Good morning, Unai. How’s your grandfather doing?”
“He’s still in the ICU. Th doctors say it’s a matter of days. He’s almost one hundred, so they can’t understand how he’s still alive. All of the medics think he should already be dead. They expect his heart to fail slowly and then just stop.”
“That heart has been beating for almost a century. You’re doing the right thing letting it end its journey in its own time,” he said gently. “On a happier note, I’m so glad Deba is back with you. No parent should have to suffer the loss of a child.”
“Thanks, Iago. I was actually going to call you this morning. I have another question, since you’re the only one besides the author who knows the differences between the factual events narrated by Diago Vela and the liberties taken in the novel.”
“Ask away.”
“Does Bishop García die in your ancestor’s version?”
“No, he doesn’t die. The chronicle is true to life—it coincides with Jiménez de Rada’s account in De Rebus Hispaniae, although he was writing in the first half of the thirteenth century. That’s why Don Vela’s chronicle has so much historical value. It’s a firsthand account from one of the protagonists.”
“So this is one point where The Lords of Time diverges from the original?”
“Yes. Bishop García rode back to Victoria with a nobleman from the besieged town to inform the residents that King Sancho the Strong had given them permission to surrender. This next part doesn’t appear in the chronicle, but other documents from that period place Bishop García in Pamplona after the siege, specifically in 1202, where he leases land to Don Fortunio, the archpriest of Salinas.”
This fact worried me—a lot.
Estíbaliz said Bishop García represented Alvar. Ramiro Alvar gave García Alvar’s personality, his obsessions, his quirks. If the bishop died in the novel, who did Alvar think killed him? Who did he want to eliminate? Should I worry about the possible nemeses of an alter who hadn’t appeared since the theft? I didn’t know Ramiro Alvar’s whereabouts or what his next move might be, and that made me uneasy. Would he just be happy to have escaped and leave it at that?
When Iago cleared his throat politely, I realized I’d been lost in my own thoughts.
“I also have a question about the charter that grants privileges to the Lords of Nograro,” I continued. “Does it mention the inheritance rights of illegitimate sons?”
“There is no need. Contemporary inheritance laws make no distinction between legitimate and illegitimate children. However, three years ago, in a Supreme Court ruling, illegitimate children were barred from inheriting noble titles and privileges. In this particular instance, holding the title of Lord Nograro is a prerequisite for inheriting the family estate because of the law of primogeniture. But in the document signed by Ferdinand the Sixth, there is the following proviso: ‘In the absence of an elder legitimate son who fulfills the conditions, the eldest illegitimate son will be next in line to inherit the estate.’ I don’t know if that helps.”
“I’ll say it does. I’m going to let you go now, I have a lot to do.”
“Good luck. I’ll call later to see how your grandfather is doing.”
“Thanks for all your support,” I said, and hung up.
The person who walked through the door was the last person I expected to see. Estíbaliz was still on sick leave, even though she had a lot more mobility in her arm, and, of course, she was no longer working the Lords of Time case. But this was Estíbaliz. To her, rules were meant to be bent.
She perched on my desk, knocking several photos to the floor without noticing.
“I think I know where Ramiro is,” she announced, a mixture of triumph and exhilaration in her voice.
“So do I, but we’re going to need help to catch him.”
After a lengthy discussion, we came up with a plan.
Soon afterward, I called the bar in Ugarte run by Ramiro Alvar’s nephew.
“Hi, Gonzalo, Inspector López de Ayala here.”
“How are you, Inspector? Are you coming to book club this evening?”
“Actually, that’s not why I’m calling. This is about something much more serious.”
“I’m listening,” he said, swallowing hard.
“You may be aware that Ramiro Alvar de Nograro is on the run. I think he’ll try to contact you. We can’t offer you police protection because it would jeopardize our operation if he found out. I can, however, give you some advice about how to protect yourself, and I’ll give you my direct number as well. I’m also going to give you instructions about what to do if he calls. We’re worried you could be his next victim.”
56
A SEA OF BOTTLES
UNAI
November 2019
That same night, young Gonzalo received an urgent call on the bar’s telephone.
“Uncle,” he whispered uneasily, “the police are looking for you.”
“I know. Can you help me get out of here?”
“Of course, I’ll help you. I don’t have much money, but we’ll figure out an escape plan. You know I’d never leave you in a bind. I haven’t forgotten what you did for me. You saved my life.”
Ramiro Alvar heaved a sigh on the other end of the line.
“Thank you.”
Shortly afterward, Gonzalo called me.
“Inspector, Ramiro Alvar has been in touch. But there’s something else I need to tell you.”
The moment had finally arrived.
“Is he within earshot?” I asked.
“No, I’m at the bar. But I’m going to the place he’s been hiding out for the last few days right now. He’s nervous,” said Gonzalo.
“Did you tell anyone else about this? I need to know how much backup to bring.”
“I wasn’t sure what to do, so I called Beltrán Pérez de Apodaca. I trust him, and he’s a lawyer. I don’t know if I did the right thing.”
I thought for a moment.
“I have no problem with that. Ramiro Alvar trusts him, too, and I’ll rest easier knowing there are two of you. I’m going to tell you what to do when you meet him. I’ll be leading the operation, and we’ll surround the building, so you won’t be in any danger. I’ll see you there in just under an hour.”
* * *
—
By the time we arrived, daylight was fading. A unit of officers fanned out around the glassworks. Milán, Peña, and I were armed and wearing bulletproof vests.
I called Gonzalo. He had last been in touch twenty minutes earlier, and I was getting worried.
“Is everything okay?” I asked when he picked up.
“I’m in the agritourism, in the downstairs hallway. Ramiro Alvar is hiding in the room at the very back of the glassworks. He’s still really agitated. Beltrán and I are doing our best to calm him down.”
“How did he get there?” I asked.
“He called Irati’s boyfriend, Sebas, from the hospital,” he whispered. “Sebas drives an ambulance. Ramiro Alvar told him he’d been discharged and asked if he’d take him home. Then Ramiro persuaded Sebas that it’d be easier for him to stay at the forge while he’s still in a wheelchair. Irati and Sebas didn’t know he’d escaped, or that they were harboring a wanted man, until I told them just now.”
“Typical Ramiro Alvar. He manipulates everyone,” I said calmly. “Make sure he stays where he is, and don’t let him convince you to help him escape. He’ll make something up, tell you whatever you want to hear. We
’re coming in.”
Irati was waiting at the entrance to the forge. I motioned for her not to make any noise, and I holstered my gun. Our uniforms must have looked daunting, because she seemed anxious, her elfin face locked in a grimace.
She led us through the workshop. Ten of my officers spread out among shelves crammed with blue glass bottles and round jugs that puffed out like blowfish.
When we reached the back of the workshop, I took a deep breath and rapped on the door. Milán and Peña stood on either side and just behind me, weapons drawn. I didn’t want anybody inside the room to see them; one wrong move, one knowing look, and the whole plan could go wrong. The volatile emotions in that room could explode at any moment, breaking the sea of bottles that surrounded us.
“Come in,” the young lawyer’s voice rang out.
Irati and I went in. Ramiro Alvar was sitting in his brother’s wheelchair. He swallowed hard when he saw me. Next to him was a comfortable camp bed, which he’d probably been sleeping on for the past few nights. I recognized Sebas, not just as Irati’s boyfriend, but as the gigantic young ambulance driver who had attended to the elderly priest at Quejana.
Gonzalo was the first to speak.
“I’m sorry, Uncle, but it’s over,” he said simply.
I pulled out my gun and took aim. Ramiro Alvar didn’t even bother raising his hands. He stared forlornly at Gonzalo.
“You’re turning me in? I gave you money to buy the bar, I donated my bone marrow to save your life, and this is how you repay me? How you repay our family?” His voice oozed disappointment.
“But you didn’t let me join you in the tower, in the family seat! You banished me to the village, like a second-rank Nograro, one more bastard.”
We looked at Gonzalo in astonishment. It was hard to believe that such an easygoing, polite young man carried so much anger, but his fists were clenched, his voice quaking.
“I did it to protect you! I didn’t want to expose you to all the evil in this family—you have no idea how bad it is,” Ramiro said, raising his voice as well.
“Protect me? From what?”
“From my alter, and from the mental illness that has plagued all our male ancestors. You reactivated Alvar, the very worst of Alvar, your father’s dissociated personality. I didn’t know how he’d react to you. I was afraid he might hate you for being born and make your life hell as he did mine. That’s why I stayed away from Ugarte and from you. I didn’t want to become the womanizing priest who tore families apart the way Nograro men have always done.”
“What on Earth are you talking about?” asked a bewildered Gonzalo.
“Many men in your family have suffered from dissociative identity disorder,” I said, cutting in. “You probably know it as multiple personality disorder. Your uncle believed that your return triggered his illness, and he took on your father’s personality. He helped you in every way he could, protecting you from himself and from the demons in your own family at the same time.”
And then I gave the order.
“You can come in.”
Peña, Milán, and several officers burst into the room, pointing their weapons at everyone except Ramiro Alvar. I’d been very precise with my instructions.
“Gonzalo Martínez, you’re under arrest for the murder of Samuel Maturana. Beltrán Pérez de Apodaca, you’re under arrest for the murder of Antón Lasaga. Irati Mújica and Sebastián Argote, you’re under arrest for the murders of Estefanía and Oihana Nájera.”
57
BENEATH THE WALL
DIAGO VELA
Winter, the Year of Our Lord 1200
The two women slept until late morning. When Nagorno saw how badly hurt his wife was, he cursed all the pagan gods as well as the Christian one.
Alix didn’t feel any better. She took our baby girl in her arms, and the three of us lay together beside the warm hearth. I stayed awake that night praying that my worst fears would not take shape the next day.
Outside, the tired, starving townspeople hammered on our door, impatient to hear the news the two women had brought back. Everybody wondered at the absence of the worthy Bishop García, who was transformed into a martyr within hours. He was considered a saint, our selfless protector.
By the time Alix awoke, I knew what was wrong with her. She had blood in her urine, and when I opened her mouth, I saw the blisters in her throat.
“What happened, my love?” I asked.
“García,” she whispered in my ear. “I attacked him because he was beating Onneca. He tried to kill her at La Romana Inn. He put the powders in my mouth. I tried not to swallow, and I made myself vomit, so that I wouldn’t end up with my guts burned like Count de Maestu.”
Alix coughed and winced. I could only imagine the agony she felt each time she spoke.
“Lope, the innkeeper’s son, poisoned Count de Maestu,” she explained. “The bishop offered to recognize Lope as his son if he would do it. And the seal…Onneca told me everything. It was García who faked the letter announcing your death, using a copy of King Sancho’s royal seal. Don’t surrender the town. Onneca and I didn’t meet with the king; the bishop spoke with him alone. He brought a document releasing the residents and the king’s lieutenant from their promise not to stand down. The bishop said we have King Sancho’s permission to surrender, but I’m not certain that is the truth. The bishop also had a copy of our present king’s seal.”
I bit my lip in frustration. In saving Onneca, Alix had condemned herself to death. Her mouth and throat were blistered from the powders. All I could do was give her belladonna to alleviate the pain of her final moments. In less than an hour, she would be dead.
“Rest now, Alix. I’m going to fetch Grandmother Lucía. She is upset and keeps asking after you.”
I left her cradling our baby daughter and hurried to Grandmother’s house.
* * *
—
That’s how Alix died, embracing her grandmother and her baby, who clung to life despite the famine.
I asked Lyra to disperse the townsfolk camped outside our door. I did not want anyone to see me when I came out bearing Alix’s shroud. I fastened my red bracelet around her wrist: the time had come for her to join Yennego.
I walked through La Astería district. Everyone closed their wooden shutters when I went by, as a mark of respect. Gunnarr helped me push aside the lid of the tomb beneath the wall next to Sant Michel Church, where Alix used to go every morning to pray for our son’s return. Dried seeds from the lavender she brought with her were still strewn over the stone, despite the snow and storms of that accursed winter.
I gathered as many as I could and sprinkled them over my wife before we sealed the tomb again. My grief was so intense that I refused to pray to any god.
I entered my brother’s house in that lamentable state. Onneca’s wounds were healing, and she seemed greatly improved.
“How is Alix?”
“I’ve just come from burying her. Bishop García forced her to swallow Spanish fly. It poisoned her just as it did your father. What do you have to tell me, sister-in-law?” I asked.
“My cousin Bishop García was responsible for the murders of my father, my sisters, and my brother. I will take up the matter with him when we meet in the hereafter. But now we have to inform Lieutenant Chipia that the king has given his consent for us to surrender the town. He will not be sending any reinforcements, dear brother-in-law. The document is at La Romana Inn, you must request King Alfonso’s permission to fetch it, or he must send his own men to the inn.”
“The royal document, Onneca?” I shouted, losing my patience at the deception all around me. “Weren’t you going to tell me about the counterfeit seals your cousin possessed, the ones he used to prove I was dead?”
“The ones that separated us, Diago, say it,” she retorted, holding my eyes with her golden gaze.
“I kept that from my lips out of respect for my brother,” I replied. “What’s done is done. But I cannot trust a royal dispensation delivered by a man possessing counterfeit seals. What will happen if we surrender the town without the king’s permission? We will fall into Castilian hands and the Navarrese will be our enemies. When King Sancho returns from the south, he will reconquer the town and we will suffer and die.”
“Diago,” interrupted Nagorno. “Look at what has happened in recent months with a cold eye. King Sancho has had more than a year to dispatch a messenger to Pamplona, commanding them to send reinforcements. And yet he has not. Look around you now. The townsfolk of Nova Victoria and your beloved Villa de Suso are starving to death. You are a learned and wise man, like King Solomon. Remember the story of the two women who both claimed to be the mother of a child. Solomon awarded the child to the woman who would rather give up her son than see him cut in two. He knew she was his true mother. What kind of lord are you, Brother? Will you let your children be slaughtered, or do you prefer to see them live under a different ruler?”
“You have always wanted to surrender the town to the Castilians because they will favor your people.”
“You know what happens in a prolonged siege: a few days from now, people will start to dig up the dead, and after that, they’ll eat the sick. Do you think any of us will be alive by spring? And even if there are survivors, will they ever forgive themselves for what they are about to do?”
58
THE GLASSWORKS
UNAI
November 2019
“We’ve got you,” I told them.
All four were too shocked to react.
The day before, Ramiro Alvar had called Estíbaliz, explaining that he hadn’t fled the hospital. Sebas had shown up at the hospital and urged him to escape, saying that the police were about to arrest him. Ramiro Alvar played along, but not before leaving me a message: The Lords of Time opened to the beginning of “The Old Forge” chapter.
The Lords of Time Page 39