A Murder Most Literate

by Jefferson Bonar

  The woman returned to the baby, who looked to be somewhere around their first birthday and apparently incensed at being interrupted in the middle of eating. The woman spooned another bit of soup into its mouth as Armada squeezed himself in at the table next to the boy.

  “You are Aurelio Martinez?” Armada asked him.

  The boy struggled to keep eye contact.

  “Yes. And that’s my mother, Angeles.”

  Armada glanced back at Angeles, who tried to return a hospitable smile, but failed. Armada knew she must be worried for her son. Could it just be because they weren’t used to having a constable in the house? Or was it something else?

  “I wanted to talk to you about Gregorio Cordoba,” Armada said, turning back to Aurelio. “I was told you were his assistant.”

  “Just for this year,” Aurelio said, glancing back at his mother. “I…I wanted to make a bit of extra money, so my father wouldn’t have to work. He helps out down at the mill, but he has a bad back. He’s in pain all the time.”

  Armada wondered why Aurelio was so nervous. There was one possibility, but Armada needed to get Aurelio out of the room to test it.

  “I have something in my cart outside. I’d like you to take a look at it. Do you mind?” Armada said, gesturing toward the front door.

  Another glance to his mother, who now had her hands full with the baby.

  “Um…all right.”

  Armada quickly ushered Aurelio out the front door and into the street. As soon as they were outside, Aurelio glanced around and quickly realised Armada hadn’t brought his cart.

  “Tell me about Professor Cordoba’s trips to Madrid,” Armada said. “Did you go with him?”

  Aurelio couldn’t help but glance back inside the house. But his mother was well out of earshot. Armada wondered if Aurelio knew how obvious he was being. Also, why didn’t he want his mother to know about Madrid? How much was he keeping from her?

  “Madrid? Um…yes.”

  “Every time?”

  “Yes…well…maybe not every time. But most of them…I suppose….”

  “What did he do on these trips?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “You were with him. Surely you know…?”

  “I don’t. Sorry.”

  “So, what did you do?”

  A noisy cart filled with charcoal clattered past, making it impossible to hear for a moment and giving Aurelio some time to think of his answer.

  “I just stayed in the room and…looked over papers…”

  “Why don’t you try telling me that again. Only this time, don’t lie.”

  The whole street now seemed to go quiet, as if everyone around were suddenly holding their breath, waiting to hear the answer.

  “You never went to Madrid, did you?” Armada asked. “And neither did Gregorio.”

  Aurelio stared back, not answering.

  “How is it you can afford to attend university? Or afford to join San Bartolomé? You’re risking a lot by trying to lie to me.”

  “No! No…I have a benefactor, that’s all,” Aurelio said. “She’s a mad old woman. She lives just outside Valdunciel, in the north. She’s rich. My mother knows her and convinced her to support me going to school.”

  “And you’re worried you might lose that if she found out about Gregorio’s murder.”

  “I had nothing to do with that. But mother…she worries about it. She doesn’t want anything to get in the way of me getting my degree. She wants me to be a letrado, to have a better life than she or my father did. It’s a rare chance when a farming boy like me gets to go to university.”

  Not Aurelio’s words, but his mother’s, spewed out verbatim, things she must have told him one night before moving their family to this big city. And now their nervousness began to make sense.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” Armada said, not wanting to let up the pressure on Aurelio. “If you weren’t going to Madrid with Gregorio Cordoba, what were you doing with him?”

  Tears welled in Aurelio’s eyes.

  “I’m going to find out eventually. If you make this easy on me, I’ll make it easy on you.”

  Aurelio sighed. “Venga.”

  Armada followed Aurelio. They walked a bit further down the lane before turning up a narrow alley that led back toward the river, along the outside of a wall surrounding one of the crumbling mills. From the other side of the wall came the creaking, grinding din of a wooden mill wheel slowly turning under the force of the current in the river. From inside the mill, the groaning noise of massive wooden gears banging into each other as they ground fanegas of raw wheat into flour.

  Aurelio followed this wall until they were almost at the water, where the slope of the bank hid them from view of all of Santiago. Armada had to navigate the muddy slope carefully, but caught up to Aurelio just as he removed a loose stone from the mill’s wall, revealing a hidden space inside.

  “This is the mill my father works at. I used to play by myself out here a lot. It’s how I found this hole.”

  Aurelio pulled out a canvas bag and reluctantly handed it to Armada.

  Armada opened it to find it full of chunks of white crystals, stained brown in places and mixed with bits of masonry debris.

  Armada put a bit of it on his tongue. “Saltpetre…?”

  Aurelio nodded. “Gregorio had me steal it at night. It grows on the walls of people’s cellars. I would break in, scrape it off, and give it to him.”

  “And he told everyone you both had travelled to Madrid, to explain your absences?”

  “Yes,” Aurelio said.

  “This is dangerous work, my boy. Saltpetre belongs to the Crown. There are stiff penalties for such a crime, and for good reason.”

  “I know. Gregorio tried to tell me that no one would be bothered, that we couldn’t get in that much trouble for it. But I knew he was lying. Why else would we have to do it in the middle of the night? And be so careful?”

  “Do you know what he was using it for?” Armada asked.

  Aurelio shook his head. “He never told me. I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to make a bit of extra money so my father wouldn’t have to work. Lady Florencia, she only covers my school costs. But my family, they still have to eat. Once I started doing it, Gregorio said if I ever stopped working for him, he would tell everyone what I’d done. And I’d go to prison. I couldn’t—”

  “I understand, my boy. It’s all right,” Armada said. It was hard to believe Aurelio was so naïve.

  “Are you going to arrest me now? Am I going to hang for this?”

  Armada realised this was what Aurelio thought was going to happen the moment he revealed himself to Armada.

  “No, but only if you answer my next question honestly,” Armada said. “Where were you the night Gregorio Cordoba was murdered?”

  Aurelio was shaking now, and he looked up at Armada with the look of a cat suddenly realising it is in the path of an oncoming horse.

  “I was with Julian and the rest of the San Bartolomé boys, I swear it. We were in the pupilaje all night. We were having a meeting about the election. Julian said he’d invited Gregorio over, and we were going to try to convince him to drop out of the election. But…but he never showed up.”

  “Because someone had murdered him,” Armada said.

  “I suppose so. But I had nothing to do with it! I promise!”

  “Yes, all right,” Armada said. “I believe you.”

  For the moment, this seemed to help Aurelio’s frayed nerves.

  “But if I find anything you have said to me today is a lie, I will charge you with the crime of stealing saltpetre and turn you over to the Inquisition without a hesitation. And you know what they do to such thieves.”

  “Yes…yes, of course.”

  Armada had no idea. The Inquisition didn’t prosecute such minor crimes. They had bigger issues to deal with. But he wanted the word “Inquisition” to ring in Aurelio’s ears for a bit, just to impress upon him the gra
vity of what he was involved in. He had to make sure Aurelio was truthful, especially considering what might be at stake.

  “So…so you aren’t going to arrest me?”

  “I suggest you don’t try and flee, Aurelio,” Armada said. “I may have more questions.”

  “Yes, I won’t. I promise.”

  Soon after, Aurelio was back home and Armada was making his way back across the Roman Bridge. There was no time for contemplating history this time. He had to get back to town. He had to talk to Lucas, to sort it all out in his mind.

  Saltpetre! How could Gregorio Cordoba have been so foolish?

  Chapter Nine

  Lucas wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep. He heard his door open and saw a bit of candlelight splash on the wall opposite. Then the sound of footsteps shuffling into the room. They didn’t sound like Armada’s footsteps, so Lucas sat up and stiffened his midsection, ready for the attack.

  “It’s me. It’s Julian,” he heard whispered. Lucas rubbed his eyes and watched as Julian came in and sat down on the edge of Lucas’ tiny bed.

  Was Julian here to punch him again? How cruel could he be? Or perhaps he was here to rob him. Anything was possible now. He had no idea how far these San Bartolomé boys were willing to go for their silly games.

  Julian smiled at him.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not here to beat you or anything. I wanted to apologise.”

  Now Lucas was thoroughly confused.

  “The boys and I…well…our games get a little carried away sometimes. We’d had a lot to drink this afternoon. We didn’t mean any harm by it.”

  Lucas said nothing. He didn’t want to spoil the moment by saying the wrong thing. He still wasn’t sure what Julian wanted.

  “There is a little trick I know. Just stuff some papers down the front of your tunic next time. Then, if any of those bellacos try their little test again, it won’t hurt so much. It’s what Manuel did when they tried the same thing on him for being Montañese. The rest of the boys will think you’re clever and they won’t do it again. Trust me.”

  “Thanks,” was all Lucas could think to squeak out.

  Julian didn’t move from the edge of the bed. There was more he wanted to say, but he was in little hurry to say it. It gave Lucas a moment to study the man’s face. He was quite young, by Armada’s standards. Early twenties perhaps, with blue eyes whose colour pierced through the orange light of the candle that illuminated them. His face still had the smoothness of youth, but even that could not hide the scar on his neck, or the bit of his right ear that had been lost and was now covered in stringy brown hair that had been grown long on the sides to cover it.

  Julian stared at Lucas, as if making sure the apology was accepted before moving on. Lucas felt as though Julian was really listening to him this time, which was odd, considering how cruel he’d been just a few hours ago.

  “We should get a drink. There’s something I want to ask you. Come on, I think I still have some brandy in my room.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Julian stood and walked out of Lucas’s room, leaving the door open for him to follow.

  Lucas rose from his bed with trepidation. There was still a chance the other boys were waiting to pounce on him in the corridor.

  But there was something in Julian’s demeanour that made him want to follow. There had been cruelty there, but there was also kindness. Lucas could probably never be sure which side to Julian he was going to encounter. He knew he should be on his guard.

  Lucas rose and followed Julian into the corridor, which was almost pitch black except for the bit of flickering candlelight spilling out of an open door further along. Lucas followed it until he was standing in the doorway of Julian’s room. Inside, Julian knelt in a corner, wearing a mischievous grin as he pulled up a rug to reveal a trap door underneath.

  “My secret stash. Not even Marco knows about this stuff,” Julian said, then he opened the trap door to reveal a couple of brown bottles topped with corks.

  Lucas took a moment to consider the room, which was quite large, with big bay windows made of glass overlooking the leaves of the mulberry trees outside. Lucas reckoned in the light the view of the city must be stunning.

  Inside, the furniture was all French style and dripping in velvet and fancy engravings, slightly ruined by numerous red and brown stains. The bed was large enough for three people, and a large wardrobe sat in one corner, no doubt filled with fine clothes much like the ones Julian was wearing now, albeit loosely. Given how dishevelled Julian usually looked, Lucas was surprised to find the room so tidy.

  “Glasses, glasses…,” Julian muttered. He looked around the room. “They were right here! Damn that Federigo, he’s always putting things away. I was keeping those glasses here so I could find them!”

  “Federigo?” Lucas asked.

  “My butler. Mother required it in order to live in the pupilaje. She had heard rumours about the state of student’s rooms and wouldn’t let me come without one, which is very much like my mother, if you ever met her. The woman is incorrigible, but I do love her so. Now I have to deal with Federigo, who has an obsession with cleanliness that borders on madness. And for some reason, he is always putting my glasses away so I can’t…ah!”

  Julian had moved over to a writing desk under one of the massive windows, on which was a stack of textbooks, an expensive writing set with quill and inkwell, and a pile of blank paper ready for Julian to take lecture notes on. The desk looked like it had never been used, except for the upper drawer, from which Julian now produced two beautiful glass goblets. He held them aloft with two fingers.

  Julian wrestled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and spat it out toward the large fireplace that filled much of the left side of the room, plopping down on one of the large velvet couches and pouring a drink for him and Lucas.

  Lucas stepped into the room fully and took the drink Julian handed him. It smelled of brandy and Lucas tasted it, finding it much sweeter and less harsh than the brandy he’d tasted before.

  “Good, isn’t it?” Julian said as he finished off his glass in one swallow. “I stole it from my father’s cellar last time I was back home. A hundred ducats, that brandy cost him. And the funny thing is, he won’t even notice it missing. He never goes into that cellar. I’ve been stealing bottles from him for years.”

  Julian took a swig from the bottle, then filled his glass while Lucas sipped his. He’d never been one for brandy, or any drink, really. but he wanted to at least give the appearance he was participating. Besides, he needed to keep a clear head.

  “Tell me, Lucas. Have you ever considered going to university?” Julian asked as he lay back on the couch, cradling his brandy as if it were a baby.

  Lucas was sitting up straight on the couch opposite Julian, not letting himself entirely relax, holding his drink on his knees. He suddenly felt as though he should be lazing about as well, but it felt too extravagant. Who was he to relax like that in a room such as this? On a couch this expensive? In the company of a man from such a rich family…what right did he have?

  “It’s never really been possible for me. I could never afford it.”

  “Afford it? Who cares about the money? You can’t let such a petty thing get in the way of improving your life, my boy!” Julian cried out. It was the middle of the night, with the rooms of the other boys all around them. Yet Julian seemed to care little for waking them up.

  “Do you know what the original purpose of this colegio was? The founders of San Bartolomé, much like the founders of all the rest of the colegios, created it as a charity. They were designed to give poor boys like you the chance to go to university, to get yourself up out of the cesspit of your life of manual labour and be a real man!”

  Lucas wasn’t sure he’d call his life a cesspit. It had never seemed like that to him.

  “I’m the first to admit this purpose has been lost over the ages. San Bartolomé is mostly just a conduit for wealthy men like my father to ensure their offs
pring get all the same opportunities and privileges in life. But I like to think there is something of that charitable spirit still left in this place. I can feel the ghosts of the founders in these walls, and they are always reminding me not to completely lose sight of why we’re here.”

  Julian sat up, ignoring his drink for a moment. “What you showed me this afternoon was bravery. You stood there and took your beating like a man. And you need that if you’re going to survive in a university. You’re definitely smart enough as well, anyone can see that. It would be such a shame if you weren’t able to come here when you get old enough. You belong with us!”

  Lucas found himself brimming with pride. Could Julian really mean it? How could he not? There was no one else here to impress.

  “I want to help you do that,” Julian said. “Tell you what. Tomorrow, we’ll both go down to the registrar and sign you up as a student. I will cover the matriculation fee, don’t worry about that. Consider it an apology for what happened this afternoon. After that, you’ll officially be a university student. It’s the first step in the biggest journey of your life.”

  Lucas was enthralled at the idea of going to university. He’d never considered it before. But he found it hard to picture in his head.

  “But I’ve never even been to grammar school. Don’t you have to go to grammar school first?” Lucas asked.

  “Grammar school? Useless, if you ask me. All they care about is how well you know your Latin. That’s all they really teach you that’s any use. Do you know your Latin?”

  Lucas shook his head that he didn’t.

  “But you know how to read, right?”

  “Yes. My master taught me.”

  “If you can read, then you can learn enough Latin in the next few years to fake it. You shouldn’t worry about these things too much. Believe me, I can’t read Latin at all and they still let me in. It’s not that important for your studies, ultimately. Just get a tutor, like my father did. You pay him a little extra to tell your professors you’re studying hard to catch up with the rest of the students, and they leave you alone for the most part. The important thing is to matriculate as soon as you can, especially if you want to vote in the elections. You won’t want to miss that.”