As if that were a signal, four novices came forward bearing a litter. In reverent silence they lifted Father Guillem onto it and then bore him away up the road. Others were similarly attending to the don. Lay servants arrived with clattering, squeaky carts to remove the dead.
So the two casualties were to be cured of their injuries, were they? But why bother with the litters? Why not perform the miracles right here? Toby's own aches had almost totally disappeared. And Hamish's, also, apparently, for he was holding his head up and smiling as much as anyone, and he had not smiled all day. And that meant...
He struggled to quell fury. That meant that the fight had been a hoax. Not an illusion, for those dead men seemed real enough. And dead enough. But a fraud, nevertheless. The arrogance of it! The callous, deliberate slaughter! A tutelary should never allow such evil things to happen within its domain! Father Guillem had known that, but Montserrat had silenced Father Guillem before he said too much. Montserrat had been playing tricks—evil, evil tricks. Why? Something to do with Toby Longdirk, certainly. Dangerous tricks. The brigands might have provoked the hob into another rampage, putting everyone at risk. What had happened to the hob, which had always shunned tutelaries in the past?
The incarnation spoke, her voice clear and cold like the note of a bell, a voice to brook no argument. But she addressed the words to the night, not to anyone in particular. Her eyes were closed.
"Pepita, you would be welcome here for Brother Bernat's sake, but you are equally welcome for you own. Stay with us and be cherished."
Pepita beamed. "I like you! You make me see rainbows." She ran forward. One of the older women smiled and bent to hug the sodden bundle, then scooped her up and carried her away. As they disappeared from view, a childish voice shouted: " 'Bye, Toby!"
" 'Bye, Pepita," he shouted. "Spirits bless you."
"Gracia," said the spirit, "Margarita, Josep, Hamish... and Tobias. You may rise." It fell silent until they did so. Perhaps it spoke then in confidence to Hamish, for he suddenly pulled off his bandage and grinned at the incarnation with all the stupefied adoration of a spaniel.
The last bodies were being wheeled away; the last of the pilgrims' horses led off. The monks with the torches remained, human candlesticks to illuminate the proceedings. Somewhere higher on the hill a large wagon squeaked and rattled. And more feet, more hooves? Unless there was a freak echo at this spot, it sounded as if two minor armies were approaching, one up the hill and one down, and they were going to meet right at Toby Longdirk. That could not be coincidence.
The rain was growing heavier.
"You come seeking sanctuary," the spirit said. "But your petition has already been contested. Antonio?"
Surely a monastery wouldn't throw a man out in the hills on a night like this without even Smeòrach? Why couldn't they all go indoors and hold this meeting in front of a roaring fire of pine logs?
Many men had halted in the background, their weapons and armor glinting faint reflections of the torchlight. The Antonio the spirit had summoned marched forward out of the darkness. He saluted the incarnation, then stared at Toby with only a faint trace of curiosity in his customary granitic expression.
It felt much like an uppercut to the jaw. Toby knew Captain Diaz of the Palau Reial in Barcelona, but Captain Diaz would not recall their previous meetings, because they had never happened.
"Repeat your concerns, Antonio," the incarnation said, eyes still closed.
"Your Holiness has already seen the document. I have a warrant for the arrest of the foreigners Tobias Longdirk and Hamish Campbell."
Toby shrugged with as much unconcern as he could manage, sending numerous trickles of water racing down his back. He wished his insides felt as cool as his outside. "On what charge?"
"No charge is specified. You are to be detained by order of his Excellency the viceroy."
Toby spared a glance for Hamish—who returned a grim scowl—then addressed the incarnation. "Holiness, I appeal for sanctuary! This is gross injustice."
"We agree. Catalans cherish their ancient freedoms. Antonio, you must present a reason."
Diaz frowned, and if he had been a man who showed emotion it would probably have been surprise. Surely he had not expected the tutelary to hand over a suppliant without cause? Or had he already been assured that in this case it would? The stench of trap was unmistakable.
"The civil power's warrant is cause enough, Holiness, when it deems that lives are in jeopardy."
"If Oreste can be so arbitrary, then so can we. We require you to give us a specific reason."
Another voice intervened before Diaz could respond, a voice whose rasp of age did not lessen its deep authority: "I can present a reason. Captain Diaz is acting on my behalf. The man Longdirk is possessed by a demon." Out from behind the soldiers came a tall, elderly Dominican.
Randal's first punch. The first and last bout in Longdirk's brief career as a professional prizefighter had opened with a sickening lesson in just how hard a man could hit a boy. This punch felt even harder. He had been told repeatedly that tutelaries would never have dealings with the Inquisition. Why must he always turn out to be the exception to every rule?
The old man's pouched eyes inspected him, then a smile like a sword cut parted the skull face. "There can be no question that this creature belongs to the Inquisition, Holiness."
"No question?" For the first time the spirit lost a little of its inhuman calm. "There can be no question that our authority is paramount within our domain! Do you dare dispute this, Vespianaso?"
Hamish recognized the name and muttered something fiery under his breath.
The friar's bow was perfunctory. "Of course not, Holiness. But unless you plan to retain him here, then you must hand Longdirk over to the appropriate authority outside, and in all Spain that proper authority is the Inquisition." He cupped his hands and blew into them to warm them.
"This is not our concern!" Senora Collel cried. "I have no truck with demons! Holiness, I beg you—"
"Be silent, Margarita! The rest of you may be required as witnesses, depending on our decision. Tobias, do you deny the charge?"
Surprise! Perhaps there was hope after all?—if Montserrat was willing to defy both Oreste and the Inquisition. Again he wondered whose were the feet and hooves coming up the hill. It was late for anyone to be on the road, especially in such weather. Things were happening too quickly.
Still, he had no choice now but to gamble on the tutelary's honesty, no matter what tricks it had been playing earlier.
"Yes, I deny the charge."
"State your case, Vespianaso."
The friar shrugged as if that would be a waste of time. "The man was identified as a creature years ago in his native land. He has been pursued across all Europe, spreading death and destruction in his wake. He was indicted again in Castile this summer and escaped again. We set up a checkpoint to intercept him near Tortosa. It was wiped out. Thirty-four men died. I am surprised that your Holiness would even—"
"This is all hearsay. Have you witnesses?"
The rain that sizzled in the torches was driving hard in Toby's face, but more than cold was making him shiver. Yes, there were witnesses: Gracia, Josep, Collel, and the others now up at the monastery. He must not let them be dragged into the Inquisition's coils.