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and loose stones, and was treacherous to walk in darkness. But it was the quickest route to his destination.
    Feeling nauseated, he rubbed his belly. His legs trembled, causing him to stumble and fall a couple of times before he’d even lost sight of the torchlit watchtower. He cursed inwardly, straightened himself, pulled his cloak’s hood over his head, and walked resolutely downhill towards the centre of Sagrat.
    His orders raced through his mind and crushed his heart. He’d stepped into a nightmarish world from which he would never awaken … not tomorrow … not ever. There was no way out, he thought. If he didn’t carry out the duke’s orders, the Sanz family would be arrested by the Inquisition or killed by assassins.
    Christ’s blessed blood. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time this night. God rest its soul, but had the duke’s baby died one day earlier or one day later, he, David, would not have come to His Grace’s attention. He’d be on his way home right now, looking forward to a wonderful feast, drinking wine, and singing songs with his family, not setting off to steal a child and kill innocent people. He was going to lose his soul to the devil.
    Halting in mid-step, he turned to look at the path behind him and then walked on, satisfied that he was not being followed. The duke was a madman, drowning in sorrow but mad all the same. No sane man would ask another to rob a baby from its mother’s arms, let alone kill all those who witnessed the act. No decent man could possibly conceive such an idea. He had no great love for Spanish noblemen, ignorant of poverty and suffering, but even they would detest the duke and send him to hell for this atrocity, he thought.
    There was no escape from this situation, he kept thinking as he came upon the first street of houses. He could run, but leaving his family behind to suffer the consequences of his actions was out of the question. He could kill himself, but his family would be despised, and the duke might still kill his parents and brothers out of spite.
    His family were the most important people in his life. Because of them, he strived to become a better man, a man of substance. Everything he did was for his family’s benefit.
    He stood at a fork in the road. Tightly knitted streets packed with buildings crisscrossed untidily from the south-eastern part of the hill to the most north-eastern point. He was more than halfway down the hill and now in a heavily populated part of the town. The maze of buildings might have been daunting to a stranger, but David knew every corner of every street in the town.
    He held the map that Garcia had given him. On it, streets were denoted by a series of lines and squares brushed onto the paper with black ink. There were also writings. The words meant nothing to David, but he had no need of them. He was only interested in the seven crosses that were marked at various points on the map.
    He leaned against a building’s uneven wall stones and recalled Garcia’s words. “The crosses represent recent male births, as registered by the town’s priest, Father Bernardo,” he’d said. “It is illegal not to notify him of all deaths and births in the town. It is also against the law not to inform the church and, through it, the duke about any changes in family situations, such as house address or employment. The map integrates Father Bernardo’s most recent census report, and it is accurate. As you can see, there are seven crosses signifying male babies, born within the past three days, and the location of their homes. The small lines next to the crosses symbolize how many occupants are in the house. Do you understand? Are you aware of how important this is to the duke?”
    David had nodded grimly. That had been made perfectly clear when Garcia had said, “If you don’t get a male infant, you may as well throw yourself from the highest part of the wall, like the old Jew, for you won’t last longer than a drunk’s