by Allen, Jewel
To Raúl, Count Saldana said, “I hope I can count on you, too, Captain.”
Raúl hesitated, just for a moment, thinking of Father Zamora. But his allegiance was to the king. “Of course.”
Count Saldana looked into the faces of his peers. “Consider what I’ve said. Portugal has dealt with the Jesuits; don’t you think it’s high time we did, too?”
Bishop Alvarez stood up. “I can’t believe what I am hearing. I thought you were a Christian, Count Saldana. To falsely accuse others of a crime they didn’t commit --”
“You just might find yourself on the list, too, Bishop,” Count Saldana said. “If I were you, I would tread with care.”
The bishop paled, and sat down. “We...we are just doing our job, helping the poor.”
Count Saldana’s expression hardened. “We have proof that your order has been inciting the riots. On the pulpit and in confessionals. Your own words will excoriate you.”
“But...”
Count Saldana gripped the arm of his chair. “Bishop, if you will not hold your tongue, I will hold you in contempt. You shall be forced to not only leave the chambers but be relieved of your Council duties.”
The bishop pressed his lips together and stayed silent. His fellow clergy looked petrified behind him.
“Here is the initial list.” Count Saldana handed out papers.
Father Ignacio Zamora. The name topped the list. Raúl thought of the aging priest, his fragile constitution. In the hands of an uncaring stranger, he could get hurt. “Let me arrest Father Zamora,” he volunteered.
Count Saldana stared. “I will not mince words. Father Zamora will be tried and can be executed for treason.”
Raúl shut out the pain. “I understand.”
“Your sense of duty is admirable.” The count patted him on the back.
In a daze, Raúl left the room. Leandro followed him out. He seemed almost friendly.
“Nicely played,” Leandro said. “You surprised me in there. We actually agree on something, for a change. The Jesuits must go.” He held up a list. “And others.”
Curious, Raúl asked, “Who do you have on your list?”
“The theater director Gabriel de Guerra. Someone in his circle stole one of his scripts. We have more than enough evidence that he is trying to turn the masses against the king.”
Heart thudding, Raúl thought of Conchita. “Are others implicated?”
“No,” Leandro said, frowning. “Should there be?”
Raúl shook his head, awash in relief. “No.”
He returned to the barracks, his mind in a whirl. He had spent the afternoon waiting for Father Zamora’s arrest warrant. In the end, Count Saldana handed him a confession that needed Father Zamora’s signature. Raúl stared at the paper, loathe to touch it, but accepting it nonetheless.
At least Conchita was safe. He couldn’t wait to marry her. Then he could offer her his full protection.
But Father Zamora invaded his dreams. Raúl tossed and turned until dawn, when, exhausted, he finally fell asleep. In the morning, he woke in a foul mood. He barreled past others in the mess hall, unseeing. Someone gripped his arm.
“Thank God I found you.” Worry etched Mario’s forehead. “You have to help me. Conchita’s been arrested.”
65
Conchita looked up from where she sat on a cot under the barred window. Raúl was struck by her solemn expression. He thought she would be happy to see him.
“Five minutes,” the guard said, clanging the cell door shut after him.
Raúl rushed over. He knelt and held her hands. “I came as soon as I heard. What happened?”
She yanked her hands out of his and turned away from him. “You know what happened.”
Confused by her coolness, he said, “Mario told me you had resisted arrest last night. I only heard about it this morning, or I’d have come sooner.”
“Leandro Aguilar came to arrest Gabriel. He said you knew but did nothing to stop it.”
“Conchita, the play he was writing was a call to arms.”
“It hadn’t been made public yet. Do you send out spies?”
“Some citizens are willing to do their part to help the king.”
Her eyes flashed. “You should have had me arrested then!”
“Of course I wouldn’t, my love.”
She gave him a level gaze. “Then you have no integrity.”
He flinched like he’d been slapped. “That’s a rather strong accusation, isn’t it? I didn’t think protecting the woman I love was a crime.”
“You know how important our citizen movement means to me. By extension, any attack on Gabriel and our cause is an attack against me.”
Flabbergasted, Raúl leaned back onto his heels to put distance between them. “You would put Gabriel above our love?”
“I would put honor above all else. Yes, even over you.”
Raúl stood up, fuming. “Well, at least I know where I stand.”
“Leandro also said you’ll start arresting Jesuit priests, starting with Father Zamora. Is that true?”
He averted his eyes. “Yes.”
Her mouth twisted. “When I heard that, I felt sick to my stomach.”
“I offered to get Father Zamora to sign a confession,” Raúl explained. “I could at least break it to him gently. He’s such an old man.”
“Precisely.” Her voice dripped with disgust. “You are despicable.”
Raúl clenched his jaw. “I suppose Gabriel de Guerra is more superior to me in character?”
“At least he fights for what’s right. What are you fighting for, Raúl Calderón?”
Her words echoed in his empty heart. They cut him deeply.
She turned away from him. “Goodbye, Raúl.”
His glance lingered over her hair, cascading down in unruly ringlets, her tear-stained cheek.
“You are free to go, Conchita,” he said. “This is no time for serious discussions. I’ll come see you soon. We are both tired and overwrought.”
“No,” she said, “I meant it. Goodbye.”
His heart thudded with fear. “As in?”
“We can never marry now.”
“What?” He grabbed her arm. “Conchita, please. Don’t make any rash decisions now. Sleep on it, for heaven’s sake. I’ll give you room. I will come for you in a few days. Weeks, if that’s what it takes.”
“I’ve been here since nightfall.” She looked at the barred window. “I’ve had plenty of time to think about this.” She gazed at him with contempt. “I thought I knew you, Raúl. How wrong I was.”
He let her go, his arm falling helplessly to his side. “If you change your mind...”
“Goodbye, Raúl.”
His heart splintering with every step, he crossed the cell to the door. He glanced back, but she refused to look at him.
“Goodbye, Conchita,” he whispered.
66
A parish servant ushered Raúl into the vestibule, the room next to the altar. “Father Zamora should be here soon.”
The door closed after him and Raúl stood there for a long while, looking around. He remembered Conchita’s words. For a moment, the feelings returned. That burning anger, at her, at him, at the world.
He closed his eyes and blinked away his frustration.
Raúl felt out of place, like he shouldn’t be in a church, for the perfidy he was about to commit. He walked over to the window, in time to watch Father Zamora make his way down the path to the chapel doors. The priest stopped and cocked his head as though listening to a bird perched on a small tree.
Raúl took out the document from his coat pocket. The door opened and he turned around.
“Raúl,” Father Zamora greeted him. “What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe this visit?”
“I wanted to check on you, to see how you are doing.”
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, I would love a cup.”
Raúl sat while Father Zamora put a pot on the stov
e. The priest moved around slowly, making little chinking noises with some cups. Raúl stood abruptly. “On second thought, Father, never mind on the tea.”
“Well, I understand, if you are in a hurry.”
Raúl unfurled the parchment. “I need for you to sign this document.”
The priest paused mid-stir. “What is it?”
It’s a confession that could possibly lead to your execution, that is all.
Raúl set the document down. “Why don’t you read it, Father? Then I will explain.”
As Father Zamora picked it up from the table, Raúl wanted to take it back. But it was too late. The priest began to read. “I can’t,” Father Zamora said.
“I know.” Raúl leaned against the table. “It looks bad –”
“No, I mean, I can’t read it.”
Raúl froze. “But I thought you read books, your sermon...”
“I do. But I have to have bright light, and the print has to be big. I can’t see this.”
Raúl continued to gape.
“Everything is blurry for me nowadays,” Father Zamora explained. “My altar boy has been telling me to get spectacles. What is in the document?”
Time slowed as Raúl considered the question. “It’s a note vouching for my character to the king. He needs it so I can be considered for a promotion soon. I will ask others to sign it, too. You’re the first.”
Father Zamora squinted and nodded. “Ah.”
“Do you need me to read it to you?”
“No, that’s all right. I trust you.”
I trust you.
Raúl closed his eyes, then opened them. He wiped his mouth with his hand, feeling ill. He pointed at the bottom of the document.
“Is that where I sign?” Father Zamora said.
Raúl nodded. He watched as Father Zamora held the quill aloft, poised over the paper. He held his breath as the priest squinted, licking his lips.
Ignacio Zamora, he signed.
It was done.
Raúl reached over and took the paper from Father Zamora. He held it up to let the ink dry, the letters swimming in his vision. Then he carefully rolled it up and put it in his coat.
Father Zamora raised his eyes to Raúl. The trust in them made Raúl want to crawl under a rock.
67
ount Saldana smiled as he gazed at the signed confession in Raúl’s hands.
“I am very pleased. Very pleased.” He stroked his signet ring. “These are crucial times, and the sooner we root out disloyal officers, the better. At first, I wasn’t too sure of you. Lieutenant Aguilar had given me a different impression. He said you were good friends with this priest, and you even confirmed so yourself at La Granja. This was a test, and you passed, Captain Calderón.”
Raúl stared at the cruel mouth, the hooded eyes of the second most powerful man in the Spanish kingdom. “Then I apologize in advance for disappointing you,” he said.
The count’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Raúl held up the confession and held it to the flame of a candle. Count Saldana’s face twisted with anger. He lunged for the letter, missing and knocking over the candelabra. Wax splattered on the tablecloth. Raúl dropped the remaining paper into a dish before it burned up completely.
“I’ve performed my duty for the king,” Raúl said. “He wanted me to cooperate with you, and you wanted me to get the sworn statement from Father Zamora. I did both. Sending Father Zamora into the safety of a Papal State was extra.” He paused. “Thanks to a dear friend’s reminder, I realize now that blind allegiance to the king doesn’t necessarily equate to honor.”
“Is this how you repay my kindness and mentorship over the years?”
Raúl swallowed. “I am grateful for your friendship, Count,” he said. “But I need to stand for what’s right.”
The count trembled with rage. “You know very well what I wanted. I wanted clear proof, evidence, that I can give the king. You choose to undermine my authority, do you? You want to make a fool of me? You shall pay. I will see you in the courts-martial for this. Seize him,” the count ordered his guards.
Raúl looked at the soldiers flanking the count. They were younger officers. He could fight them both single-handedly, but he chose not to. He knew the consequence to his actions, and he would gladly abide by it in the name of friendship and honor.
For one long moment, the soldiers didn’t move. When they finally came over, they grabbed Raúl’s arms. Shrugging off their hands, he said, “I can walk by myself.”
Count Saldana approached Raúl. “Your arrest is for the king. And this,” he slapped Raúl across the mouth with the hand that wore the signet ring, “is for me.”
68
Raúl fell, face-first, onto the cold prison stone floor. The heavy iron door shut with a resounding boom that shook the cell, and then the sound of footsteps faded down the hall.
Light from a tallow candle perched on a ledge illuminated the ten foot by six foot room. Chains projected from the wall held up a wood bed at a skewed, perpendicular angle. A little basin stood in the corner, from which a malodorous stench emanated. Near the ceiling was a tiny barred window, through which Raúl could see the deepening cobalt blue sky of twilight.
He picked himself up and sat on the bed. The events of the past few hours ran through his head. That heartbreak with Conchita, making him reel with its after-effects. The scene with Count Saldana, making him an enemy of the crown.
And now here Raúl was, in a prison cell, awaiting a court-martial that would spell out his fate. He shook his head and sat on the bed. Then he buried his face in his hands and pressed his fists into his eyes.
The footsteps woke Raúl up. There was a jangling of keys. Raúl raised himself onto his elbows and looked between the bars at Leandro Aguilar.
“This is the prisoner,” Leandro said, nodding. The guard opened the cell. He tied Raúl’s wrists.
“Where are you taking me?” Raúl asked.
“To Cheverra.”
Raúl looked out the little sliver of a window. The sky was pitch black. “What time is it?”
“Dawn,” Leandro said.
Raúl’s mind raced. Was Leandro leading him to freedom? He welcomed this new development with guarded optimism.
Their footsteps echoed in the hall, past the prison entrance, and on the steps out to a carriage. Leandro opened the door and shoved Raúl in. He fell on his side and split his lip against the edge of the bench.
Whatever this was, it was not a bid for Raúl’s freedom.
The situation reminded Raúl of another time and place when he lay on the ground, his hands tied behind him, too. Another abductor. That same boy had grown into a man. But this time, would Raúl be able to get away?
“Do you like my knots?” Leandro asked.
Raúl flexed his hands. “They are exceptional.”
Leandro shifted in his seat. He held something in his lap. A dagger in a scabbard. He pulled it out, then inserted it back in.
“For once,” he said, “a compliment.” Bitterness laced Leandro’s voice.
Raúl glanced out the window, where the sky was lightening. “Why are we going to Cheverra?”
Leandro leaned forward, malice in his expression. “So you can watch your brother’s house go up in flames. A personal act of revenge, if you will, before the crown enacts justice.”
Hot anger surged through Raúl. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would. I can make it look like an accident, too.”
“Why do you hate me so?”
“You had everything I ever wanted. I worked so hard. One summer, I went home, hoping for a hero’s welcome. My father disabused me of any notion that I was doing well. He heard of your advancement and called me a failure.”
“But now you’re in power.”
“Even with Count Saldana, you became the favorite first.”
“This isn’t a race, Leandro.”
“Oh, yes, it is. Only one of us can be first. Only one of us ca
n be stronger. And it might as well be me.”
Leandro kicked him under the jaw. Raúl sucked his breath in, at the pain. The carriage lurched to a stop, sending Raúl rolling under the other bench. Leandro pounded on the wall with his dagger hilt.
“Why are we stopping?” he asked the driver.
“An old woman is blocking the road with her mule,” came the reply.
The mule races at dawn! Raúl recalled. Could the rider be Mother Rita?
“Tell her to race on then!” Leandro barked.
“I’m trying to, but she’s being obstinate.”
Leandro cursed and got out of the carriage, shutting the door. Raúl kicked the door open in one explosive movement, hitting Leandro on the back. Leandro fell to his knees and turned, his eyes flashing. He brandished his dagger and said, “Why, you –”
Raúl kicked the dagger out of Leandro’s hand. It flew somewhere towards the front of the carriage.
“Want this, Officer?” spoke a gravelly female’s voice. She appeared in the doorway. Gaping at Raúl, she said, “Why, it’s Conchita’s fool!”
“Hola, Mother Rita,” Raúl said, grinning.
“Get off my dagger, woman,” Leandro growled.
“Why?” she asked. “So you can hurt that fellow? He might not be much to look at, but I’d rather he survive than you. I can smell rotten meat from a mile away, and you stink!”
Raúl squirmed out of the carriage and landed on the ground. Leandro got on all fours, trying to reach for the dagger. Just as Leandro was about to wrest it from under Mother Rita’s foot, the old woman said something to Chucho the mule, who raised its front hoof, hitting Leandro squarely on the temple. He landed with a groan on his back.
Leandro sat up, holding his hand to his head. “Witch!”
Mother Rita picked up Leandro’s dagger and cut Raúl’s bindings. Then she turned to the driver, who crouched by the carriage horses. “You,” she threatened him with the dagger. “Do you want to be next?”
The driver shook his head, jumped into the front seat, then collected the horse’s head. Leandro jumped into the front bench. “Go to Cheverra, as quickly as you can,” he told the driver. He turned and flashed Raúl a malevolent grin before the carriage pulled away.