The Devils of Cardona Read Free Page A

Mendoza looked severely but affectionately at the tousled black hair and the dark, intelligent eyes. “Saying something like that in this house is one thing, but outside these walls it’s quite a different matter. Some thoughts are best left inside your head. Go and get dressed now—and dress well. A man will die today.”
    Gabriel bowed and left the room. Mendoza finished his breakfast and dressed with special care, entirely in black apart from the white ruff and cuffs protruding from the silk-lined doublet and slashed-velvet jerkin thathe wore over it, its collar left open in the Flemish style, with his sword and felt cap and long judge’s robe reaching down to his buckled shoes. Outside in the hallway, Gabriel was already waiting, looking suitably somber in brown and dark green, as Magdalena emerged from the kitchen in her apron to inspect him.
    â€œVery distinguished,” she said approvingly. “Like a young judge. Señor, if I may.” She reached up and straightened Mendoza’s ruff. “You need a wife to do these things.”
    â€œAnd why would I need a wife when I already have you?”
    â€œAy, Don Bernardo.” Magda sighed and shook her head. “A judge can’t marry his maid!”
    â€œAnd why not?” he teased her.
    â€œ
Por Dios
, stop. I’m old enough to be your mother. Now, go.” She looked at Gabriel and shook her head. “Though why you want to see something like this . . .”
    â€œIf Gabriel wants to work as a scrivener, he needs to know what the law requires,” Mendoza said firmly.
    â€œBut he’s just a boy!”
    â€œHe’s old enough.” Mendoza took his stick from its resting place near the door and went downstairs. Outside, the
sereno
had gone and the sunlight was spreading across the fine red roofs, illuminating the white window frames and black iron balconies on the upper floors as they walked along the cobbled street, past sprawled bodies that might have been drunken revelers or dead and sleeping beggars, past carriages that emanated a fleeting whiff of perfume that mingled with the smell of horse dung and excrement from the chamber pots emptied during the night, past pedestrians in their best clothes heading for the execution ground and members of the Penitential Confraternity of Valladolid in their long gray cassocks and black hoods, already collecting alms for the student’s soul.
    The execution was due to take place at ten o’clock, and by the time they reached the prison, a considerable crowd had already gathered that includedjudges, magistrates and constables, the bishop of Valladolid, members of the clergy, relatives of the accused and the deceased and the usual morbid onlookers who were always attracted to such spectacles for reasons Mendoza had never understood.
    At nine o’clock they brought out the prisoner, dressed in a white open-necked smock and black hose and the blue cap that would secure him indulgences in his passage through eternity. At ten minutes past, he was mounted on the waiting donkey and the halter was placed around his neck, while the crucifix was bound to his hands. Two members of the fraternity began to beat on their tambours, and the somber procession set off in a slow, stately rhythm toward the Campo Grande, fronted by a hooded brother hoisting a large crucifix. Mendoza’s face was impassive, his stick tapping the ground as he limped along beside Gabriel and Constable Johannes Necker, the arresting officer, while the two monks accompanying the donkey urged the condemned man to accept his death with Christian courage and due penitence.
    The student was clearly struggling to do this, and he began half moaning, half praying when some passersby made the sign of the cross at his approach. More spectators joined the procession as they drew closer to the park, where a large crowd was already waiting. At the sight of the scaffold and the executioner, the