`Hanged,’ the Inquisitor said. `Hanged quickly.’ He sounded resentful, as though he truly believed Sharpe to have been responsible for the Marques’ death.
Ducos had only one regret about Richard Sharpe’s death. He wished that the Englishman had known that it was he, Ducos, who had reached out across a nation and engineered revenge. Ducos liked his victims to understand who had beaten them, and why they had been beaten. Ducos paraded his cleverness as other men displayed their medals. He took some papers from his pocket. `La Marquesa’s wagons are in the castle.’
`They will be delivered to us?’
`If you give me an address.’, Ducos smiled. `The cathedral perhaps?’
The Inquisitor did not blink at the taunt. `My house, Major.’
`In Vitoria?’
`In Vitoria.’
`And you will give the wealth to the church?’
`What I do with the wealth is between me and God.’
`Of course.’ Ducos pushed at his spectacles again. `They will go north with the next convoy. Of course, father, the wealth is not yours. It belongs to the widow.’
`Not if she leaves Spain.’
`Which we have agreed would be unwise.’ Ducos smiled. He did not want Helene bleating to the Emperor how he had cheated her of his wealth. `So you will take care of that business?’
`When it is convenient.’
`Tonight is convenient.’ Ducos pushed the papers across the table. `Those are our dispositions. Casapalacio’s men guard the western road.’
The Inquisitor took the paper and Ducos stared out of the window towards the west. Martins cut the warm air on curved wings. Beyond them, beyond the last houses of the town, the plain looked dry. He could see the village far off where the single tower of a small castle threw its long shadow. That tower was another French garrison, a place where cavalry were based to keep the Great Road clear of Partisans. Tonight, when the martins were back in their nests, and the plain was dark, La Marquesa was travelling to that tower, going to meet her lover, General Verigny.
Such a journey was safe. The land about Burgos was free of Partisans; the country was too flat and too well patrolled by the French garrisons of the plain. Yet this night there would be no safety for the Marquesa. The troops who guarded the road this night were troops who served France, but were not French. They were Spanish. They were the remnants of the army that had been recruited five years before, an army of Spaniards who believed in French ideas, in liberty, equality and fraternity; but defeat, hopelessness, and desertion had thinned their ranks. Yet there were still two Battalions of Spanish troops, and Ducos had ordered that they be given this duty this night.
The Inquisitor looked at him. `She goes tonight?’
`As last night, and the night before. They have prodigious appetites.’
`Good.’
`And your brother?’
`He waits in the north.’
`Splendid.’ Ducos stood. `I wish you joy of it all, father.’
The Inquisitor stared up at the subtle, clever man. `You will have your letters soon.’
`I never doubted it.’ Ducos smiled. `Give Helene my regards. Tell her I trust her marriage will be long and very happy.’ He laughed, turned, and went from the room.
This night the Inquisitor arranged a marriage. Soon La Marquesa would wear, on her left hand, a wedding ring. She would not marry some Grandee of Spain, but a man who had been born in humble circumstances and lived a life of poverty and struggle, She would become a bride of Christ.
She was rich beyond avarice, yet the Marques’ will had contained one small and not uncommon stipulation which had not escaped the Inquisition’s notice. If his widow took her vows as a nun, then the Marques’ wealth reverted to the church.
To which purpose she would be taken to a convent in the north country, a far, hidden, remote convent, and there she would be buried alive in the silent loneliness of the sisters while the Inquisitor, on behalf of God, took her inheritance.
It would be legal, there would be no scandal, for who could argue with a woman’s decision to take the veil? Father Hacha felt the beauty of the scheme. It could not fail now. The Marques was dead, his only legatee would become a nun, and the Inquisition would survive.