The Errant Flock by Jana Petken Page A

north-east gate, he was struck by the eerie silence. Craning his neck, he tried to see the top of the wall. There was no sign of flaming torches, nor was there the glint of a helmet or spear peeking over merlon blocks. Moving on, he prayed that Garcia had dismissed the watch in this area and that he was waiting for him on the other side of the wall.
    The portcullis was only partially down, and no guards looked to be in the gatehouse above it. After slipping underneath, he walked through the archway, which led to a Roman courtyard. This was the duke’s private sanctuary. No townspeople were allowed to enter the castle through this gate. Bordering the tiled square courtyard were Roman pillars, arched alcoves with white granite benches underneath, and Roman statues, some of which were eroded or damaged. Ancient but still beautiful, they stood tall in the darkness, embodying an earlier era, yet ever present, like timeless guardians watching history unfold. He paused for a moment beside a fountain and marvelled at the beauty surrounding him.
    He imagined the infant he held in his arms, playing there under the watchful eyes of nurses and guards. The duke’s imposter son was going to have a life of privilege and wealth to look forward to. He’d be raised ignorant of his ancestry, where he came from, and even his given name at birth. Only three people possessed the knowledge of what had happened this night … Only three.
    Dark nagging thoughts pounded his mind. Was he to die? Had the physician been murdered because he also knew the truth? Was he to be thrown off the highest part of the wall or stabbed in the back and share the physician’s fate? Why had he not considered this before?
    “You’re late!” Sergio Garcia’s voice snapped as he came out of the shadows.
    “I was trapped. The processionals blocked my route. I had to find another way up. I’m here now,” David said coldly. He was in no mood to show reverence to the bastard.
    “Yes, you are. Well, where is it?”
    Flicking his cloak over the back of his shoulders, David  revealed the baby, who stirred as soon as cold air touched his face.
    Garcia peeled away the blanket and nightgown covering the tiny body, looking closely at the infant’s genitalia.
    David forced himself to remain still, but he was seething with rage at the callous way in which the treasurer was looking at the infant’s sex in the cold air. For the first time tonight, he hated someone else more than he despised himself.
    “Yes, it’s a boy,” Garcia said, as though David didn’t already know that. “Show me the infant’s house on the map.”
    David covered the baby, pulled out the map, and then tucked the baby underneath his cloak to keep him warm. In the darkness, it was almost impossible to see anything written or marked on the paper, but the black ink cross and lines denoting where the babe had come from were visible.
    “Here, in this house,” David said, pointing.
    Nodding with approval, Garcia said, “I see it. So we should expect to find three bodies in this home come morning? Tell me about them. How did you kill them?”
    David’s stony expression was unwavering. All the way up the hill, he had dreaded this question the most. Now he would lose his pride and honour forever, for the moment he confessed to the murders, the duke and Garcia would own him, body and soul. “I ran my sword through the father’s gut. I silenced the mother with a cut to her neck, and I suffocated the little girl as she slept.”
    “Good … That’s good. And you’re sure you weren’t seen or heard?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Then we will grieve and pray for three of our citizens tomorrow. The duke appreciates their sacrifice.”
    Sacrifice? The duke was a murdering whoreson, David thought. He wasn’t saving the town from some catastrophe. “Only two bodies are in the house,” he said calmly. “I removed the dead child and buried her on the hill. I dug deep, and she will never be found. I give