“What has happened, my child?” he asked.
“I need your help. I have killed a man.”
He was silent in horror.
“You must help me. Tell me what to do.”
“This is murder,” said the priest.
“He deserved to die. He was a liar, a cheat and a fornicator.”
“It is not for you to pass judgment, my child.”
“You must help me, Father. It does not become any of us to prate of the sins of others.”
The priest was silent. He had sinned with the woman, it was true. But what a provocation such a woman was, particularly to one who led the celibate’s life on and off.
“Who is the man?” he asked.
“He is of the Court.”
The priest drew a deep breath. “Fool! Fool! Do you imagine that murder of a noble gentleman can go unnoticed? If it had been one of your kind I might have helped. But a gentleman of the Court! There is nothing I can do, my child, but hear your confession.”
“You will do more,” she said. “Because you are wise, Father, and you have been my friend.”
The priest fidgeted in his robes. He looked at her face in the candlelight. It was pale, and the eyes were enormous; there was no contrition there, only a contentment that vengeance had been wreaked on the faithless, only the determination that he who had shared in her sin should now share in her crime. She was a dangerous woman.
“It may well be that he was not in truth a gentleman of the Court,” said the priest. “It may be that that was a story he told you.”
“He was well dressed and he carried papers in his pockets.”
“That’s what he told you.”
“I felt them…tonight. They were papers.”
“Take me to where he lies.”
They hurried back to the house wherein the murdered man lay. The girl took the priest up to the room; it was not the mutilated body nor the bloodsoaked straw which claimed the priest’s attention, but the papers which were in the pockets of the man’s garments.
“Hold the candle nearer,” he commanded.
She did so and, as he read, the priest’s hand shook with excitement, for what he held in his hand was the draft of a secret treaty between the Kingdoms of Navarre and France.
“Well?” said the girl.
“This could be worth a fortune,” he said.
“You mean…papers? How so? But I shall sell his clothes. They should fetch something.”
“Yes, they should. But these papers are worth more than clothes, I’ll be ready to swear. I believe there are some who would pay highly for them.”
“Who would?”
“The Spaniards.” The priest’s mind became alert. Priests were so poor in Pamplona—perhaps as they were all over the world—and there were some who could not help being attracted by riches even as they were by the voluptuous charms of a woman.
The situation was full of danger. The man who lay on the straw was one whose kind rarely came their way. His death must not be traced to this house. The priest was now an accomplice of the woman and it was imperative to him to cover up this murder.
“Listen carefully,” he said. “I will leave at once on a journey. I am going to Spain, and there I shall endeavor to see the secretary of the King. He will, if I am not mistaken, be interested in this paper. But speed is essential. If what is written here comes to his knowledge before I reach him, then he will not be ready to pay me for what he already knows. But if he does not know…then he will be willing to pay me highly for what I can tell him.”
“What is on the paper?” asked the girl.
“Matters of state. This man did not lie. He was one of the secretaries of the King. Now listen to me. There is one thing we must do before I leave. We must get him out of this house. And when he is gone you must clean away all signs of his having been here. Let us waste no time.”
They worked feverishly. The priest had cast off his robes to prevent their being marked by blood, and worked in nothing but his drawers. The girl took off her clothes and put on only a light loose robe which could be washed immediately once she had rid herself of her victim.
They carried the body out of the house and through the alley. They then placed it against a wall and hurried back to the house, where the priest put on his robes and carefully secreted the papers about his person.
“I shall set out at once,” he said, “for there is little time to lose. You must tell people that I have been called away to see my sick brother. As for you, wash the house so that there are no signs of blood, wash your clothes and do not try to sell his until at least three months have passed.”
She caught his arm. “How do I know that when you have the money for the papers, you will come back?”
“I swear by my faith that I will.”
She was satisfied. He was after all a priest.
“If you do not…,” she said.
He shook his head and smiled at her. “Have no fear. I shall never forget you.”
He would not. She knew too many of his secrets; and she was a woman who did not hesitate to plunge a knife into the body of a man who had deceived her.
And while the priest set out on his journey for Spain, the girl cleaned the house and her garments, so that when the sun rose there was no sign there that the King’s secretary had ever been her guest.
CARDINAL XIMENES arrived in Logroño on the banks of the river Ebro at the spot which marked the boundary between Castile and Navarre.
Ferdinand received him with such pleasure that the Cardinal guessed something unusual had happened to cause this. He dismissed all, so that they were alone together.
Ferdinand said: “Cardinal, you were opposed to my plans for attacking Navarre. The English are sending a force under the command of the Marquis of Dorset. It is my desire that they shall hold the French while I march on Navarre, which you have wished to leave untouched because you say it is a peaceful state.”
The Cardinal nodded and then looked deep into Ferdinand’s glowing eyes.
Smiling, Ferdinand reached for some papers which lay on the table at which he sat. He thrust them at Ximenes.
“Your Excellency should read this.”
The Cardinal did so, and Ferdinand who was watching closely saw that almost imperceptible tightening of the thin lips.
“So you see,” cried Ferdinand triumphantly, “while you were seeking to protect this innocent little state, its King and Queen were making a treaty with our enemy against us.”
“So it would seem,” replied Ximenes.
“Is it not clear? You see those papers.”
“A rough draft of the treaty, yes. But how did they fall into your hands?”
“They were sold to me by a priest of Pamplona. I paid a high price for them—but not too high for their worth.”
“A priest! Like as not this person was masquerading as such.”
Ferdinand laughed slyly. “There are priests who do not regard their duty as highly as does your Eminence.”
“I should distrust this person.”
“So should I have done, but I am informed that one of the King of Navarre’s confidential secretaries was found stabbed to death in a byway of Pamplona—stripped of all his clothes. It is reasonable to suppose that he would carry such papers in his pocket.”
Ximenes nodded. He had no doubt of the authenticity of the documents. And since the state of Navarre was making such a treaty with France, there was only one course open to Spain: attack.
Ferdinand leaned across the table. “Am I to understand that Your Eminence now withdraws his opposition, and stands firmly behind the attack on Navarre?”
“In view of these documents,” answered Ximenes, who never allowed personal pride to stand between him and his duty, “I think we are justified in going forward against Navarre.”