CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

BOMBARDES

Count Vasca kept the men from Gibraltar waiting four more days.

Yonah used the time searching for the widow of Bernardo Espina, hoping to find a way to deliver Espina’s breviary to his son, as he had promised the physician before the auto-de-fé that had taken his life.

But the search ended in frustration.

“Estrella de Aranda did come back here with her children,” one of the women in the neighborhood of Espina’s former home told Yonah when he inquired. “After her husband was burned for heresy none of her kinsmen would keep her. We gave them shelter for a little time. Then she went to the Convento de la Santa Cruz to be a nun, and we heard she died there soon after. Mother Church swallowed her children, Marta and Domitila to become nuns also, and Francisco to become a monk. I don’t know where they have gone,” she said.

*   *   *

Yonah worried that Bonestruca had had too much wine to recall what he had told the friar about his knowledge of a valuable relic. He was certain Bonestruca was part of a process that bought and stole sacred objects for lucrative sale abroad. The friar knew that Yonah was waiting to deliver armor to the count of Tembleque, and if he had taken the lure, someone should be approaching Yonah about the details.

Yet several days passed without event.

When finally the count returned from hunting he proved to be a man large enough to fill the huge suit of armor. His beard, mustache and hair were the color of ginger and there was a large bald spot in the middle of his scalp. He had the coldly imperious eyes of one born and raised to the knowledge that all the men in his world were inferior beings created to serve him.

The Gibraltar men helped dress him in the armor and then watched as he shambled about the courtyard holding the sword. When he was freed from the steel suit he was plainly delighted with the things they had brought, but he complained of a lack of room in the right shoulder. A forge was set up at once in the courtyard, and Luis and Paco went to work with a will and two hammers.

Soon after the adjustment had been made in the shoulder piece, Count Fernán Vasca sent his steward to summon Ramón Callicó to his presence.

“Has he made his mark on the receipt?” Yonah asked.

“It awaits you,” the steward said, and Yonah followed him back to the count’s chambers, passing through a number of rooms. As they walked Yonah found himself trying to glimpse some of the silver objects his father had made for the count, but he saw none. The castle of Tembleque was large.

He wondered why he was summoned. He didn’t need to collect money; payment for the sword and the armor would be made through Valencia merchants who traded in Gibraltar. Yonah hoped Fierro would be more successful collecting payment from the count than his own father had been.

The steward stopped by an oaken door and knocked.

“Excellency. The man Callicó is here.”

“Send him in.”

It was a long and gloomy room. Although the day wasn’t cold there was a small fire in the hearth, and three hounds lay stretched on the rush-strewn floor. Two of the animals regarded the newcomer with cold eyes and the third sprang to his feet and came at Yonah with a low growl, slinking away at the very last moment when called off by his owner.

“My lord,” Yonah said.

Vasco nodded, and passed the marked receipt to him. “I am greatly taken with the armor. You may so inform your maestro Fierro.”

“My master will be happy to hear of your pleasure, lord.”

“No doubt. It is good to receive pleasant tidings. For example, I am told you have made the discovery of a holy relic.”

Ah. So this is where the arrow I shot at Fray Bonestruca has landed, Yonah thought with a chill.

“It is true,” he said cautiously.

“What is the nature of the relic?”

Yonah looked at the count.

“Come, come,” Vasca said with harsh impatience. “Is it a bone?”

“It is many bones. It is a skeleton.”

“Whose?”

“A saint’s. Not a saint well known. A local saint of the Gibraltar region.”

“You believe it is the skeleton of Santo Peregrino el Compasivo?”

Yonah looked at the count with new respect. “Yes. You know the legend?”

“I know all the legends about relics,” Vasca said. “Why do you think it is the Pilgrim Saint?”

So Yonah told him about Vicente, and how Vicente had brought him to the cave in the low rocks. He described everything he had seen in the cave, and the count listened to him carefully.

“Why did you approach Fray Bonestruca?”

“I thought he might know someone who … would be interested.”

“Why should you think that?”

“We were drinking together. I thought it more sensible to ask a friar who is a drinker than to approach some disapproving priest.”

“The truth is, then, that you were looking for a dealer in relics and the like, and not simply a churchman.”

“Yes.”

“Because you have a fat price for your information?”

“I have a price. It is a high price to me, but perhaps not to others.”

Count Vasca leaned forward. “But why have you come all this way from Gibraltar to seek a dealer? Is there no dealer in relics in southern Spain?”

“There is Anselmo Lavera.” As you well know, Yonah thought.

He told the count of Vicente’s murder, and of his own visit from Lavera. “I know if I don’t bring Lavera and his men to the cave, I shall be killed. Yet, if I do bring them, I shall be killed. My instinct is to run, yet I greatly desire to return to Gibraltar and work for Maestro Fierro.”

“So, what price do you ask for your information?”

“My life.”

Vasca nodded. If he was amused it was not evident. “That is an acceptable price,” he said.

He gave Yonah a quill and ink and paper. “Draw a map showing how to find the saint’s cave.”

Yonah composed the map as carefully and truly as he was able, placing in it whatever landmarks he could remember. “The cave is in a barren of sand and stone, completely invisible from the trail. There is nothing there but low rocks, with a few stunted bushes and dwarfed trees.”

Vasca nodded. “Make a copy of this map and take it back to Gibraltar with you. When Anselmo Lavera comes to you again, tell him you are unable to bring him to the cave, but give him the map. I repeat: Do not go to the cave with him. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I understand,” Yonah said.

*   *   *

He didn’t see the nobleman again. The sour steward dispensed gifts of ten maravedíes to each of the armorers in the name of Count Vasca.

According to Fierro’s instructions, Angel Costa sold the burros in Toledo, and the four men rode back to the coast unencumbered by pack animals.

In Valencia, while waiting to board a boat, the men used part of their gift money on strong drink. Yonah felt an urge to join them, but he was still taut with the menace of the past, and he entered their roistering but drank carefully and watchfully.

They had just arrived in a tavern when Luis jostled a fat man who was leaving, and then chose to become insulted. “You clumsy cow!” Luis said. The man looked at him in astonishment. “What is the problem, señor?” he said. He spoke with the accents of a Frank. The amusement in his eyes turned to wariness when Angel moved up, his hand on his sword.

The Frank was unarmed. “I am sorry for my clumsiness,” he said coldly, and left the tavern.

Yonah could scarcely bear the pride in Luis’s face and the satisfaction in Angel’s.

“And if he returns armed, and with friends?”

“Then we will fight. Are you afraid to fight, Callicó?” Angel said.

“I will never injure or kill only because you and Luis seek a bit of amusement.”

“I think you are afraid. I think that you can stomach a game but not a man’s real fight.”

But Paco came and stood between them. “We have managed to do the maestro’s work without trouble,” he said. “I do not intend to try to explain injury or death to Fierro.” He signaled the proprietor for drink to be served.

They drank late into the night and in the morning boarded a packet that sailed with the early tide. During the voyage the four men met morning and evening in prayer meetings on which Angel insisted. At other times Luis and Angel kept to themselves and when Yonah wanted conversation he sought out Paco. Most of the time he kept to himself. He was moody and sad. He felt he had made a pact with the devil, conspiring with the men who almost certainly had brought terrible deaths to his father and his brother. Yet he was strangely happy to disembark at Gibraltar. It was good to return to a place where his arrival was expected.

*   *   *

There was not a long rest period after the travelers reached Gibraltar. While they had been gone, several orders for both armor and swords had come in from members of the royal court. Yonah was assigned to work in Paco’s shed, helping to rough out a breastplate destined for the duke of Carmona. All over the armory there was a clamor, the beat of hammers on heated steel.

Despite the new orders Fierro himself continued to work on the medical instruments he was making for his brother, Nuño Fierro, physician of Saragossa. They were sleekly beautiful, each polished like a jewel and sharpened like a sword.

When work was done at the end of the day Yonah used the glowing fire and the waning light to work on a project of his own. He had taken the steel blade of his first weapon, the broken hoe, and heated it and shaped it. Without a plan or real intent—almost without his volition—his pounding hammer had fashioned a small chalice.

He worked with steel instead of silver and gold, and the small cup wasn’t finely fashioned, yet it was a replica of the reliquary his father had made for the Priory of the Annunciation. When Yonah was finished he had a strange little cup, etched crudely with only the principal figures that adorned the reliquary. But it would serve to keep him remembering, and serve also as a kiddush cup to help him celebrate the Sabbath by thanking the Creator for the fruits of the vine. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that if his belongings were searched, the cross on the cup might bolster the breviary of Bernardo Espina as evidence of his own Christianity.

*   *   *

Less than a fortnight after Yonah’s return, a boy again came from the village with a message that one of Ramón Callicó’s kinsman waited near the tavern for a meeting with him.

This time Fierro frowned. “We are too busy with work,” he told Yonah. “Tell your kinsman to come here if he wishes to see you for a brief time.”

Yonah gave the message to the boy and then waited and watched while he worked. When presently he saw two men enter the compound on horseback he left the shed and hurried to meet them.

It was Anselmo Lavera and his henchman. Lavera slid from his horse and tossed the reins to his companion, who remained mounted.

“Hola. We returned to see you, but they said you were away.”

“Yes. Delivering armor.”

“Well, it gave you time to think. Have you remembered where the saint’s bones reside, then?”

“Yes.” Yonah looked at him. “Is there a reward for such news, señor?”

He heard the man on the horse laugh softly.

“A reward? Of course there is a reward. Bring us to the saint now and you shall be rewarded at once.”

“I am unable to go. There is much work here. I was not even allowed to go to the village.”

“Who would give a single sueldo about work? If you are to become rich, why must you work? Come, we’ll waste no more time.”

Yonah glanced at the shed and saw that Fierro had stopped his work and was gazing out at them.

“No,” he said, “it would be very bad for you if I were to come. The men here would pursue me. It would prevent you from getting the bones.” He took from his tunic the copy of the map he had made in Tembleque. “Here. The cave in which the bones lie is plainly marked. It is on the mainland, just after you leave Gibraltar.”

Lavera studied the map. “Is it east or west on the mainland road?”

“East. A very short distance.” Yonah explained how they would find it.

Lavera moved to his horse. “We’ll see. We’ll return to you, after, and deliver your reward.”

*   *   *

The day passed slowly for him. He threw himself into his work.

They did not come.

That night he lay alone and sleepless in the hut, listening for the sound of a horse approaching in the night, or a footstep.

No one came.

A day passed, and another. And another.

Soon it was a week.

Gradually Yonah came to realize that they were not going to come, and that the count of Tembleque had paid the stipulated price.

*   *   *

The armory’s orders were almost filled. The days became more relaxed, and Fierro asked that the games should be resumed. He put Yonah into the pit with Angel again, in full armor with the rounded swords, and then once more without armor, using button-tipped dueling blades.

Costa beat him both times. The second time, as they struggled Angel whispered his contempt. “Fight, you misery, you coward. Fight, you limp prick, you piece of shite.” His contempt was obvious to those who watched.

“Do you mind struggling against Costa?” the maestro asked. “You are the only one young enough. And big enough, and sufficiently strong. Do you mind being so often in the games?”

“No, I don’t mind it,” Yonah said. Yet he had to be honest with Fierro. “I believe I might win on occasion if we could go back to the mounted tourneys,” he said, but Fierro shook his head.

“You are not a squire learning to be a knight, therefore of what use would it be for you to perfect your skills with the lance? I schedule swordplay against Angel so you can learn from it, for it is a good thing for any man to be a swordsman. Each tourney is a lesson you force Angel to give you.”

Yonah always strove, and it was true he was gaining a small skill through constant practice and imitation. He thought that with enough practice he might become able to parry and strike, able to know when to dance away and when to thrust and lunge. But the older man was faster and stronger, a true master of weaponry, and though Yonah strove he could not best Costa.

*   *   *

Sometimes Angel gave demonstrations with the crossbow, a weapon he didn’t like. “An unskilled man can quickly learn to send bolt after bolt into a closely formed enemy army with a crossbow,” he said, “but it is heavy to carry, and the mechanism is easily ruined by rain. And it doesn’t have the wonderful range of the longbow.”

Now and again he gave the armory workers a glimpse of war, a whiff of the bloody stink.

“When a knight is unhorsed in battle, often he must discard some of his armor lest he be left behind by the sword wielders, spearmen, pikemen, and archers, who are less protected than the horsemen but far less encumbered. The armor isn’t made that can cover everything and still allow the wearer to fight well without a horse.”

They stuffed a ragged tunic with straw, marking off the places that would be unprotected by armor. Almost always, from far off Angel’s longbow sent an arrow to strike the “enemy” in one of the narrow, exposed chinks where pieces of the simulated armor failed to come together. Whenever he made a particularly difficult shot, Fierro rewarded him with a coin.

One afternoon the maestro gathered them at the pit and directed the positioning of a large and cumbersome instrument.

“What is it?” Luis asked.

“A French bombarde,” Fierro said.

“What does it do?” Paco asked.

“You shall see.”

It was a tube of hammered iron strengthened by rings. Fierro had them anchor it to the earth with great stakes and chains. They loaded into the tube a heavy stone ball bound with iron, and primed it with a powder that Fierro said combined saltpeter, charcoal, and sulfur. Fierro spent a time fussing with a hinge that elevated the bombarde’s angle. He stationed the workmen a safe distance away, then he placed the flaming end of a pole to the touch hole at the bottom of the bombarde.

When the saltpeter began to smolder, the maestro dropped the pole and scurried to join the others.

There was a delay as the powder burned, and then there was a terrible sound, as though God had clapped his hands.

The stone ball swam through the air with a quiet hiss. It landed well beyond the target, striking a good-sized oak and snapping its trunk with a rending of wood.

Everyone cheered, but there was laughter, too.

“Of what use is a weapon of war that doesn’t come near the target?” Yonah asked.

Fierro took no offense, understanding it was a serious question. “It doesn’t seek the target because I am unskilled in its use. I am told it isn’t difficult to become adept in its practice.

“Accuracy isn’t so important. In battle, instead of stone balls these bombardes can send forth case shot, which are balls fashioned from pieces of iron and stone bound together in a cement that breaks up in the act of the discharge. Imagine what several bombardes will do to a line of foot soldiers or horsemen! Those who don’t flee will fall like grass before a scythe.”

Paco placed his hand on the barrel and withdrew it quickly. “It is hot.”

“Yes. I’m told if it is fired overly much, the iron sometimes parts. It’s thought perhaps barrels of cast bronze would be better.”

“Truly formidable,” Costa said. “It makes armor useless. Then, are we to manufacture these bombardes, maestro?”

Fierro stared at the broken tree and shook his head. “I think not,” he said quietly.