“What?”
“It’s too risky. You would have to leave him behind with that family in La Herradura. They could raise him as their own. But you could never see him again.”
“I won’t agree to that. That’s my baby. I won’t give him up, not for you.”
“No. It would be the Aguilars’ baby. And he would have to grow up with no confusion about that. He must never know what his true heritage is in case he attempts to utilize it when he gets older. It would be too embarrassing for my family.”
“Federico will be a better person than that.”
“I have little reason to trust that,” Garcia said. “That’s the offer. I will agree to this mad plan of yours. But you must leave your baby behind.”
Mencía hesitated and felt awful for it. She should be fighting for her and Federico to be together. In fact, she should be willing to give up her life for that.
But just steps beyond Garcia lay freedom. If her father suspected she was married to a titled man like Garcia, he would have little reason to come after her. She would finally have that which she had fought and sacrificed so hard for.
But what would it be worth without Federico? And was she a terrible mother for even considering it? What happened with Salvador already had her doubting whether she was a good person. In the years to come, it would keep her up at night. Leaving Federico behind seemed just as bad. Yes, the Aguilars would take good care of him. But she was his mother. His true mother.
“I’ll give you tonight to think about it,” Garcia said. “Buenas noches…Mencía.”
Garcia left Mencía standing in front of the church doors as he sauntered back into the plaza and towards the inn where he’d found a room to rent. Mencía realised by revealing her identity, she had already committed to her plan. She would have to follow through on it now. Going back to her father after what she’d done to Salvador would mean a fate far worse than any nunnery. And he wouldn’t hesitate to make Federico spend his life paying for it as well.
Mencía would get her freedom. But at what cost?
Chapter Thirty-Six
October 1660 - “Are you sure, sir?” Lucas asked.
“Yes. There was no motivation. You must always consider the motivation.”
Lucas was tempted to argue that obsessing about motivation was getting them nowhere, but he remained quiet for now. He sensed Armada was frustrated and didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that there were no more suspects left. He had spent hours interrogating Gaspar the horseman but found he had no motivation to do the killing. Working for the viscount had been the most lucrative job he’d ever had, and he worried for his wife and children now.
What followed had been more hours spent interrogating the innkeeper, who had been asleep and didn’t hear anything. A few of the neighbours had heard a bit of arguing, but it didn’t last long enough to give anyone reason to worry.
It had seemed so promising earlier in the night, yet somehow they’d ended up with less of a case than they’d had before. Martin Figueroa was dead, Jose Encinas was on the run, and Captain Salinas had been in jail all night. Lucas had suggested the Maraions—perhaps Rodrigo Maraion had found out his grandson was related to nobility and had gone to extort money? But Armada dismissed this, saying Rodrigo would never have attacked him for the rattle. It was much too risky a move. Armada was sure the killer was attempting to cover up what Esteban had discovered. But who was left who was that invested in keeping such a secret?
They arrived in camp to find Pedro dozing away next to a campfire that had fizzled, with just a tiny wisp of smoke rising up from the middle into the air.
“We should do the same,” Armada said.
“I’m not sure I could sleep now, sir. Not after being attacked last night.”
“Yes, we are quite vulnerable here, aren’t we? It is so fortunate that we have one other option that is one of the safest places in all of Andalusia.” Armada nodded towards the tower.
“You mean sleep in the tower, sir?”
“Of course! Once we pull the ladder up, only God himself could get to us up there. And I’m sure Barros wouldn’t mind a bit of company, even if we are asleep.”
“I’ll just stay down here by the fire, sir…” Lucas said, letting his voice trail off as he realised the fire had burned itself out hours ago.
“Nonsense. We’re both tired and need rest. Grab our blankets, and meet me at the ladder.”
Lucas grabbed their thickest blankets and met Armada at the base of the tower. He took his time, trying to find an excuse for remaining down on the ground as he walked. But his tired mind had gone blank.
Without realising it, Lucas found himself standing next to Armada, who was gesturing for him to go first up the ladder.
Lucas couldn’t bring himself to grab the first rung.
“Is there a problem, Lucas?”
There was no way to hide his cowardice now, and Lucas fought back the tears that threatened to spring from his eyes.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Lucas whispered, feeling as though he’d shrunk to half his height. “I can’t…”
Lucas prepared himself for the scolding to come. But instead, Armada put his hand on Lucas’s shoulder.
“What is it?” Armada asked in a gentle tone.
“I can’t climb up the ladder. It’s too…frightening. I don’t know why.”
Armada gave him a disappointed look, which stung worse than any dagger blade. “Have you been up this ladder before?”
“No, sir.”
“Which means everything you told me about what you saw up there and in the storeroom…”
“Pedro did it for me, sir.”
“Lucas,” Armada grumbled, “you can’t let someone else do your investigating for you. There are details that could have been missed! You have to see these things with your own eyes. I’ve told you that before. How many times?”
Armada took a moment to calm himself. “I don’t understand. We’ve been in plenty of castles and high ridges. What’s different about the tower?”
“I don’t know, sir. It just…it always makes me think about that first night after my parents died. And then I panic. I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry.”
“All right. That’s enough of that. It’s clear to me what is happening here. Now, put your foot on the rung there.”
Lucas put his foot on the first rung.
“Look up at the ladder above you.”
Lucas did and felt the cold dread in his heart.
“You’re not frightened of the ladder. You’re frightened of the memory. This ladder is reminding you of the first time in your life you were afraid. Raise your other foot and put it on the rung.”
Lucas put his other foot on the rung. Panic seized him even more.
“The key is to keep the fear focused where it belongs. It’s all right to be afraid of the memory. But you can’t let it seep into other aspects of your life. I want you to climb to the next rung and remember what you’re actually afraid of.”
Lucas climbed up to the next rung and then the next until they were near where the panic had first gripped him. He was tempted to stop.
“Focus on how the ladder feels in your hands. Use that sensation to keep your mind from wandering to the past,” Armada said.
The ladder swayed in the wind, and Lucas squashed the urge to cry out in terror. But he pushed on. The entrance to the tower appeared before him along with the grinning face of Barros, who grabbed the back of his collar and helped drag him inside.
“You made it, joven! Welcome to prison, huh?”
Barros broke down into laughter at his own joke as Armada climbed inside as well. Lucas let himself celebrate for a moment, rubbing his hands along the walls, not able to believe he was here.
“What are you doing here?” Barros asked.
“We’ll be sleeping here tonight, I’m afraid,” Armada said. “Although I imagined us having a bit more room up here…”
Lucas’s mind returned to normal, and he began to thin
k about the case again. There was a tiny set of stairs that led up to the roof, the spot where Esteban Marañón had been killed, and Lucas was eager to get a look at the crime scene. But the stairs also plunged down into a dark abyss. It was the storeroom, and Lucas wanted a look for himself down there as well. There was so much to do now that they were here.
Something else caught his eye. It was the observation port on the wall opposite the entrance, which looked out over the western horizon. Lucas ran his hand over the sill, trying to work out what bothered him so much about it. He stuck his head through it, peering at the ground far below. There was a slope at the bottom enshrouded in morning shadow, where a grove of eucalyptus trees bristled in the breeze.
That’s when Lucas realised it. “Sir?”
“What is it?”
“This observation port, sir. Look.”
Lucas poked his head through, then his shoulders, making it clear he could have climbed all the way if it wouldn’t have meant falling to his death.
“I can fit my entire body through, sir.”
“Yes, I see that.”
“It’s just that there was no way the killer could have gotten out of the tower through the entrance without being seen. So he must have gone out this way.”
Lucas turned to Barros. “Has there ever been a ladder or a rope or anything someone might have climbed down on that side of the tower?”
“No. Not since I’ve been here,” Barros said.
Lucas went to the observation port again, this time looking at the eucalyptus trees below. Was it possible?
Lucas ran towards the entrance and climbed out onto the ladder.
“Lucas, what are you…?” Armada called after him.
But he couldn’t respond, not yet. He had to confirm something. He had to know.
Lucas flew down the ladder and soon felt the ground at his feet again. He raced round towards the other side of the watchtower and found himself staring up at the eucalyptus trees that were now above his head. They were mature, with their bark shedding in thin strips and their high branches with tiny leaves fluttering about.
Lucas climbed down to the base of these trees, peering at the branches of each one.
“Lucas, what is it?” Armada called from the edge of the grove.
That’s when Lucas spotted it. A broken branch. No, two broken branches, each in the same spot.
“I figured it out, sir. I figured out how the killer got out of the watchtower.”
“Yes, go on.”
“He jumped, sir. It sounds crazy, but it explains everything. The killer must have climbed up into the tower, killed Esteban Marañón and lit the fire, then pulled the ladder up when he heard Rodrigo Maraion calling for Esteban. He needed to get out of the tower without being seen. So he jumped out of the observation port, using these trees to break his fall. It’s the only way he could have survived it.”
Armada gazed up at the branches above their heads, then back down at Lucas.
“That means he lied, sir. He told me a man couldn’t fit through the observation port.”
“Who lied?”
Lucas looked back at Armada. “Pedro, sir.”
A look of shock washed over Armada’s face as he considered the implications. “You see, Lucas? Always with your own eyes.”
Lucas began clambering his way up the hillside to join Armada but found it difficult to find solid footing amongst the carpet of dead eucalyptus leaves and soft earth. A lone person appeared on the top of the slope, their figure cut out by the sun that shone behind them.
“You looking for something down there?” Pedro asked.
“We’ve found it,” Armada said.
There was no response from Pedro, who stared down at them, his expression unchanging. The man knew how to hide himself, either in the army or in his own skin.
Lucas stopped trying to climb back up to where Armada stood. But if Pedro tried anything, it would be a few moments before he could help, assuming he could be any help at all.
“Tell me, Pedro,” Armada said, getting within a few paces. “How did you injure your arm, again?”
“I told you. I ran into the killer, and he got in a few good swings.”
“Tell me it again, Pedro. But this time, don’t lie.”
Pedro stared back at Armada for a long time, his usual hospitable expression fading into one of menace, as if a curtain were being drawn back.
“I jumped out of the watchtower after I killed Esteban Marañón.”
Pedro didn’t look afraid. In fact, he looked quite smug, as if he was proud of what he had done and was relieved to get his due glory.
“Much better,” Armada said. “That must have been quite a fall.”
“I was unconscious for a while. When Barros found me, I had to tell him something.”
“I don’t understand,” Armada said. “What is your interest in what Esteban was doing here?”
“His father and I served together in the Low Countries. He was my captain during the Battle of Kallo. Our company went through hell and back. That is a bond you never forget.”
“I’m aware,” Armada said.
“After he left the army, I didn’t hear from him for years. Then I get a letter saying he needed help with his boy Esteban. It seems he and Esteban had never gotten along, and now the spiteful little brat had run away to La Herradura and was spreading lies about their family. Gustavo needed someone he could trust to handle the situation. It’s why he contacted me.”
“But Gustavo must have wanted you to stop Esteban, not kill him,” Armada said.
“Esteban said he wouldn’t stop,” Pedro said. “I didn’t see any other way.”
“Ordered…” Armada said, looking shocked. “But you killed Gustavo as well. I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t want to kill the boy,” Pedro said with a calm that was chilling. “I did it because my captain thought it was a necessary sacrifice. Then I find out everything he told me about Esteban was a lie. The boy had found out the truth about Gustavo’s family, and he used me to cover it up. I had done his dirty work so he could keep his precious nobility. You can’t tell me you were never tempted to do the same to one of your commanders, Armada.”
“No,” Armada said.
But Lucas knew that answer. It was too fast, too short. As if Armada tried more to convince himself than Pedro.
“I would never have even known if it wasn’t for you and your little puppy dog here,” Pedro said, gesturing to Lucas. “I was close to slitting his throat too if he’d managed to figure it out any sooner. Although I liked the theory about the killer living in the storeroom. That made me laugh.”
Lucas stepped back, his eyes wide.
“So you killed him on top of the watchtower, lighting the fire to make it seem as though someone in the village had done it. Very clever,” Armada said.
“I knew if I made it dramatic, word of it would reach Gustavo. I wanted him to know I had done my duty.”
“Don’t use that word. Don’t call it duty. It was a cold-blooded killing. Nothing more,” Armada said.
Lucas couldn’t understand why the old man was letting Pedro get to him like that.
“Call it what you wish, Constable. But I did what was asked of me.”
“Yes, and now I must do the same. You realise I will have to arrest you now. I don’t want any resistance.”
Pedro held his wrists together out in front of him. “I’m a prisoner of war. Why would I resist?”
Armada clasped the irons on Pedro and escorted him over to the tiny cage on the back of their cart. Lucas felt Armada treated him a bit rough, but Pedro didn’t seem to mind as he was shoved into the cage where he couldn’t sit up straight. Armada fumbled with locking it. Lucas could see his hands were shaking.
“Congratulations, sir,” Lucas said, hoping to remind Armada he had locked away a killer.
“Yes,” Armada said through gritted teeth.
“Is there something wrong?”
Armada’s e
xpression made it clear there was. “Of course not, Lucas. Come, let’s have some sherry to celebrate.”
But Lucas wasn’t in the mood for celebration.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
April 1563 - Mencía stood at the threshold of the church once again. The sun shone in her eyes from behind the battered, clay-tiled rooftops of the houses opposite, and she put her hand to her forehead to shield herself from the worst of it.
In front of her stood Garcia and his two men, who held the reins of the mules they’d bought to carry provisions for the long trek home. They made no move towards Mencía as she stepped outside, just as they’d been ordered.
Behind her, Mencía could feel the presence of Barreda hiding inside the doors, as if Garcia would grab him too if given a chance. He had spent the evening trying to talk her out of what she’d decided to do. And she’d promised him to consider everything he’d told her about faith and morality and having the courage to put oneself in the hands of God to face judgement.
But she had lied. Mencía knew the only judgement she would face was at the hands of these men, who cared little about her soul or salvation. They had a job to do, and it was one they would have to answer to God for themselves someday. But God’s judgement would do little to stop them from hanging her today if given a chance.
Mencía stepped forwards, watching the men to make sure they would do what Garcia had agreed to.
“Good morning, Mencía,” Garcia said.
None of the men held chains or weapons, and they stood at a distance in a relaxed manner to show they would not come after her.
“Please, I beseech you, child,” Barreda said from behind her. “Do not do this!”
Mencía turned around to face Barreda through the door.
“I’m sorry, Father. I have to. Thank you for your kindness. It will never be forgotten.”
Mencía let her hand fall onto Barreda’s arm, and he put his other hand on top of it and smiled at her.
“Good luck, Mencía,” Barreda said.
Mencía then turned and walked down the few steps to the road and joined Garcia and his men. It felt ironic that she had to place herself in their hands in order to gain her freedom. She risked so much, but it had to be done.
The Domingo Armada Mysteries Box Set Page 51