The Thief of Toledo

My submission to Iron Age Media's story prompt challenge. A Sword and Sorcery short.

I

Feet scrambled through the streets of Toledo. The guards did not relent in their pursuit of a tall, thin man with black hair. He had a Van Dyke beard and wore a wide-brim hat with a large feather in the brim. With a cape over one shoulder, fluttering in the wind, the man broke through a group of people traveling up the narrow road. 

The people were knocked to the ground as the man pushed past them, which cleared a path for the pursuing guards. They drew their swords as they chased the man underneath a large arch, and into Ayuntamiento Plaza. The towers of Saint Mary’s Cathedral loomed above the plaza in the afternoon sun, and hundreds of people crossing the plaza found themselves curious about the pursuit. They parted to let the man and the guards through.

The man tried to turn left, down a street next to the cathedral, but several guards were waiting at the end of the street. He continued running forward but saw that more guards emerged from another street ahead of him. Now, cutting across the plaza and around the well in the center, the man tried to follow one last street to freedom but was met with a wall of swords. The guards had him surrounded.

The man smiled and raised his hands in the air. “Very well, Count Torrero,” he shouted, “I am your prisoner!”

The crowd parted once more, this time revealing a man in fine clothes, a greying beard, and several jeweled rings on his fingers. He had an ornate rapier at his side and polished, buckled shoes.

“Take his rapier from him,” Said Terrero, “And bind him. This man will sleep in prison tonight.”

“What is the charge?” asked one of the guards. 

“Theft!” spat Terrero.

“Theft?” said the captured man, “I have not stolen a thing!”

“Do not lie,” Said Terrero, “I know who you are, Domingo Garavito! One of the most famous thieves in all of Spain.”

Garavito gave a slight bow, still grinning, “I am Domingo Garavito, but I have stolen nothing today.”

“Dog! I found you in bed with my wife, Brianda!” cried Terrero, “You fled through the window and across the yard, and then I saw that you had stolen my golden crucifix, which I keep in a box near my bed.”

Garavito laughed, “I was with your wife, that is true. I have not met a woman who can resist Domingo Garavito, but even she will tell you that I have taken nothing from your home.”

A crowd had gathered to witness the commotion. They murmured back and forth to themselves as Terrero and Garavito argued. The excitement had attracted much attention in the plaza. 

“Count Mateo Terrero,” came a smooth, warm voice, “what is happening here?”

The count turned to see Father Del Nero, a priest who served in the cathedral. He was a large man with kind eyes and a bald head. 

“Father,” said Terrero, “I am sorry to have disturbed you. This man, this dog, came into my home, slept with my wife, and stole my golden crucifix. This is Domingo Garavito, the famous thief.”

“Famous thief?” asked the priest, inspecting Garavitio, “And you have retrieved the crucifix?”

“Not as of yet,” Said Tererro, who gave his guards orders to search Garavito. When they had not found the crucifix on him, Terrero stood aghast.

“Did he drop it somewhere in the city?” asked the priest.

“No. I had my eyes on him the entire time,” Said one of the guards.

“Father, I never had it,” Said Garavito, “I did not steal a thing from his home, except, perhaps, for his wife's heart.”

The crowd erupted in laughter. Embarrassed, Terrero slapped Garavito across the cheek.

“Count Terrero,” said the priest, “You have no proof that the man has stolen from you. Taking your wife is not a crime, although it is a sin. Still, you cannot unlawfully arrest the man.”

“I must have repayment, Father Del Nero,” Said Terrero.

“Not for theft, but for the affair, perhaps,” Said the priest, “Why not duel him?”

“A duel? With this pig?”

“You could always let him go since he is innocent of theft. Is that what you desire?”

Terrero glared at Garavito, who was still smiling ear to ear. Garavito was now released from his bonds and stooped low to bow at the count in mockery.

“A duel then,” Said Terrero, “Give him back his rapier, I will teach this child some manners.” 

“Do it and be done with it, Count Terrero,” Said the priest, who made his way back across the plaza to the cathedral. 

“And when will we duel, Terrero?” asked Garavito, “I have much to do, and many more women to satisfy!”

Terrero let out a cry of rage, “We will duel now!” he commanded, reaching for a nearby guard to be his second. 

“Here? Now?” asked Garavito, “That is not gentlemanly.”

“You are no gentleman.”

“Your young wife agrees!” said Garavito. The crowd let out a great laugh, turning Terrero’s face a dark scarlet, “Very well, I accept.” 

“Who is your second, Garavito?” asked Terrero.

A man stepped forth from the crowd and offered himself to Garavito. Garavito and Terrero removed their hats, capes, and coats, and drew their weapons. The crowd formed a large circle inside the plaza to witness the duel, as it was rare for duels to be held within the city. The guards hushed the crowd as the two men prepared.

Terrero twirled his sword as a gentleman would. He tested the balance of it and scraped the heel of his polished shoes against the stone pavement. He looked up to see Garavito testing the balance of his blade and making the sign of a cross on his chest. 

“A thief who loves God?” he asked.

“We are all thieves who love God,” Said Garavito.

“Speak for yourself, fool.”

“You do not love God?” asked Garavtio, intentionally twisting the count’s words. The crowd erupted in another laugh, and Terrero realized that they favored Garavito. His face was twisted with rage and he saluted Garavito, raising his blade and swinging it downward.

Garavito saluted back, and then turned around, bent over, and released a loud emission. The crowd laughed at the rudeness of the act. Terrero recoiled at the audacity, looking about the plaza with shock. The two men assumed their fighting stances as the crowd settled down. 

The duel had begun. Terrero charged Garavito, lunging at him with his rapier. Garavito performed a perfect disengage, deflecting Terrero’s weapon and stepping to the side, swatting Terrero on his behind. Terrero turned about, and the two rapiers glinted in the sunlight, a flurry of razor-sharp steel followed. Thrusting, defending, parrying, and slashing. 

It looked to the crowd like a dance, but the truth was that combatants were engaged in a game of wit. Their rhythm pulsed. Garavito took two steps forward and one step back, pressing the advance and then inviting Terrero to step into a trap. Terrero did not fall for it, his age had not slowed his mind.

Garavito had better footwork and more precise technique, but Terrero did not believe in showboating. He took his time and waited, looking for a weakness in Garavito’s approach.  Garavito stood erect, his sword behind his back, and moved his arm like a bullfighter, taunting Terrero. Then Terrero found his opportunity.

Terrero moved quickly, faster than Garavito expected. He lunged at Garavito, who brought his sword up to parry, but then stepped to the left and came in close. He elbowed Garavito in the ribs and then struck his face with the basket hilt of his rapier. Garavito stepped away, stunned, and the crowd booed.

“If only you paid this much attention to your wife!” Garavito taunted, “More patience for men than for women, eh?” 

“More insults?” cried Terrero.

“You insult yourself!” said Garavito, “I know that you took your wife as payment for a debt. She was only a child, but now she is a woman and a smart one too. She knows that you do not deserve your noble title, as does all of Toledo!”

“No!” shouted Terrero, who pressed his attack. Garavito defended, more sincerely now. The two of them exchanged blades and ranged all over the plaza. The crowd moved with them, not wishing to miss a moment. 

Garavito deflected an attack, and rolled across the ground, circling Terrero and springing up suddenly to kick Torrero in the belly. Terrero’s second approached, and the duel paused as Terrero collected his breath. Garavito turned to the crowd, blowing kisses into the air. When Terrero was ready, the duel resumed.

Taking their stances again, Garavito and Terrero watched one another. Then, like lightning, Garavito advanced on Terrero. He swept up Terrero’s blade in one smooth motion, sending it flying across the plaza, clanging on the stone as it landed. Garavito let out a shout and ran to the well, leaping up onto the edge.

“Count Mateo Terrero has been bested!” he shouted. 

The crowd cheered, and Garavito did a slight dance, which resulted in his falling into the well. 

II

There was no water in the well. Garavito hit the ground with a thud. He did not know how far he fell, and could no longer hear the crowd on the plaza above him. A shaft of light illuminated a tunnel, running into darkness on either side of him. He reasoned that this was where the river had been redirected, to supply water to the plaza, but found it strange that the source had been cut off. 

He stood and looked to his left and his right. He looked once more upward, toward the opening of the well and saw the head of Count Terrero looking down at him. Garavito laughed up at Terrero.

“Just as you like it, Count Terrero,” He called, “Looking down on others.”

“Bah,” called Terrero, “Die down there. The water will begin flowing soon, and it will wash you away.”

The voice echoed down the well, but Garavito heard it well enough. He watched Terrero’s head disappear and was alone once more. He took a breath, picked up his sword, and wandered into the darkness. He kept his hand on the wall to guide him in the dark. 

Stepping through the mud, Garavito knew that Terrero told the truth. Eventually, the water would begin flowing and when it did he would be trapped in the tunnel. Drowing in the dark was not the death he had envisioned for himself. He quickened his pace. 

Rats cheeped in the dark tunnel. Garavito kept his hand on the wall as he walked, but tripped over a bit of uneven ground. He put his sword out in front of him, tapping the floor and the wall the way a blind man would. He was blind in this darkness anyway. He walked along, feeling for a door or a stairwell that might lead him out of the tunnel.

As he made his way through the dark, Garavito considered the events of the day and smiled. He laughed to himself at the way he had humiliated the count. The fool. His noble title meant nothing, not when he had used his power to coerce a child bride. He knew that Terrero was aware of how much his wife hated him and that Garavito loved her. Garavito smiled and mused that he could give her a better life, with less riches but more happiness. 

Up ahead, Garavito saw the flicker of torchlights. This was odd, why would men be in these tunnels with torches? Perhaps, he thought, they had come to rescue him. He walked ahead, and the closer he got he heard an unnerving chant. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up.

It sounded to him like a Gregorian chant but was not in Latin or Spanish. It held a foreboding cadence. Following the light and the sound, Garavito arrived in a large, circular chamber. He knelt in the doorway, cast in shadow, and observed a group of men, eight of them, standing in a circle. They were cloaked in crimson robes, with crimson hoods, and ornate bronze masks on their faces, holding torches to light the room. 

Six men stood, circling two others. One dressed in crimson and masked, the other in bright white robes, his face unmasked. They faced one another as the other men carried on their chant. A solemn and fearful look was on the unmasked man's face.

Garavito observed a great circular portal in the wall. It had a weight and a counterweight, with ropes reaching up through the ceiling. Somewhere above must have been a lever that controlled the door. This must have been how they blocked the water from the river. 

He returned his attention to the group of men. They looked like phantoms in the dark. Long shadows danced in the torchlight on the walls. Garavito knew that what he had stumbled across was intended to be a secret. This was not the work of the church but of some other order. 

The chanting ceased. There was only silence, not even the scuffling of rats could be heard, nor the dripping of water. The scene before Garavito was still, and he doubted his senses, wondering if this were merely a mirage. Perhaps he had died in the tunnel, and these were death angels, come to escort him to hell?

Garavito was not a superstitious man, and he reasoned that he was not dead. Neither was a trick of his eyes in the dark. Whatever he was witnessing was truly happening. Garavito shuddered as the men merely stood there, motionless.

“This is an honor,” Said the masked man in the middle of the circle, his voice distorted, “We bear witness to our salvation.”

“Amen,” said the other six robed figures. The man in white merely stood in silence. Garavito reasoned that the man in the middle was the leader, and he produced from within his robes a dagger. It had a jewel-crusted hilt and looked to be made of polished steel with a line of gold decorating the blood groove. Firelight glinted off the blade as the man in red handed it to the man in white. 

The leader bade the unmasked man in white to kneel, and the leader spoke, “The blood is the life.” 

“The blood is the life,” Repeated the white-robed man. He then raised the dagger to his own throat and ran the blade through his neck. Blood poured out over his white robes, gushing onto the floor. The men standing in a circle lifted their hands in the air and resumed their dark chant.

Garavito was horrified at this dark ritual. Who were these men, and why did they perform this bloodletting? The blasphemy, to talk of salvation while taking life, enraged Garavito. Still, He was not prepared for what followed.

A wind began to blow. The torches blew out, and what looked to Garavito like lightning flashed across the ceiling. Thunder was heard, among the chanting, and in the flashes of light were storm clouds—a horrible defiance of nature.

A startling voice boomed in the darkness, which crawled through Garavito’s ears and made him tremble. It spoke, “More blood. More blood. More blood.”

“The blood is the life!” cried the red-robed men, who raised their hands toward the stormy ceiling. Garavito could not make sense of what he witnessed. Was this the power of Satan or some other dark demon? Witchcraft or wizardry? He had always believed that such stories were figments of a man's imagination, but this was happening now before his eyes.

“More blood!” cried the voice, and the storm ceased. The room was once again silent, and the torches reignited on their own. The red-robed figures loomed over the dead man, speaking softly to each other. The leader retrieved the dagger from the neck of the dead man. 

“Go in peace, brothers,” Said the leader.

“Amen,” They said and began to file out of the chamber, walking toward Garavito. 

Now exposed in the torchlight, Garavito shivered. The robed men merely stood, torches in their hands. They seemed once more like visions from a dream, watching Garavito. They did not seem surprised, or shocked. Six of the men all turned their heads to look at the leader. 

He stepped forward and inspected Garavito. Garavito stood and looked right back at the leader, shivering in fear. Then all seven of the robed men drew shimmering swords from within their robes and fell on Garavito, who defended himself as best he could. He stepped back into the tunnel to nullify their numbers.

They dropped their torches in the chamber, which lit up the room behind the men, making them silhouettes against a flaming backdrop. They pressed forward against Garavito, who dared not turn his back to them. He deflected their attacks, as a master swordsman would.  For a few moments, there was a standstill in the tunnel.

Garavito could not see very well in the dim light, and eventually, a blade slashed his arm. He cried out in pain, cursing at the men, and swung wildly into the air. The men backed away and then pressed against Garavito even harder. They pushed forward in an attempt to trample him. 

A hand in the darkness grasped Garavito's' wrist, making his sword arm useless. He fought with all his might against his attackers but was overcome. The men held him to the floor as he shouted into the tunnel. They lifted him, and two strong men held his arms as they dragged him back to the circular chamber. 

Garavito was forced to his knees, next to the dead man. The robed men sheathed their weapons, and the leader inspected Garavito’s rapier. He lowered the tip to Garavito’s throat and gently touched the blade against Garavito’s neck. 

The leader then passed the sword to another of the men and crossed his arms. 

“Domingo Garavito,” He said with a distorted voice, “Tell me, what did you see, Garavito?” 

III

“How do you know my name?” Garavito growled.

“You are famous. Many know your name,” Said the leader, “Now what did you see?”

“I saw a man spill his own blood, and the power of the devil manifest.”

“The devil?” asked the leader, “You believe we serve the devil?”

“If not the devil, then who? Or what?” asked Garavito.

“You are in no position to ask us questions,” Said another of the robed men.

“We walk in the way of salvation,” Said the leader.

“Salvation? Ritual suicide is salvation?” asked Garavito, disturbed.

“Our god calls for blood,” Said the leader, “The blood is the life.”

“Blasphemy!” cried Garavito, “That is not what the scripture teaches!”

“But it is,” Said the leader, “Did God not take the blood of his own child?”

Garavito’s jaw dropped at the audacity of the statement, “Christ bled in our place!”

“No. He bled as our example. We must all offer our blood.” 

Garavito fumed with rage, “Hypocrites! Son’s of the Devil! You demand the blood of others but have not spilled your own? You serve a false god, and you have been duped by some devil.”

The robed men laughed through their masks. One of them stepped forward and felt Garavito’s hair. He lifted his chin and looked into his eyes. Walking around him, he approached his leader.

“He would make a fine sacrifice,” He said, “He is very strong, cunning, and famous. Besides, he is a thief. God would be pleased by his blood, and by justice being done.”

The leader unfolded his arms, “The sacrifice must be willing. Bring me the potion.”

“Potion?” asked Garavito.

“Yes. A potion that will make your heart willing and glad.”

“Ha! My heart will never be glad for this!” he sneered, “I am a thief, but I know what I am and what I have done. You? You are mad! God will judge you much more harshly than I.”

“God has already judged us. This is why he demands our blood,” Said the leader. 

Garavito watched as one of the men produced a bottle with murky liquid. He uncorked it, and a foul odor filled the chamber. One of the two men holding Garavito adjusted his grip, and instinctively, Garavito ripped his arm free. He sprang up, bringing his knee into the belly of the other man who was holding him. Garavito then lept at the man holding his sword, and with his quick fingers, he reclaimed his weapon.

The robed men were in shock. They grasped at their weapons, but in the confusion, Garavito took hold of a torch and set the leader's robes on fire. The flames climbed up his robes and a cry rang out as the robed men sought to put out the fire. Using this distraction, Garavito escaped into the tunnel.

Garavito noticed that the torchlight did not fade, and he turned to see that two men pursued him, torches in hand. With the help of their torchlight, Garavito saw that the tunnel had many doors and hallways. He could not have felt them in the dark, for they were on the opposite wall that Garavito had been leaning on for guidance. Now he knew he could escape his enemies if he could slay them and take their torches from them.

Garavito turned and readied his rapier. He sliced open the robe of the first man and ran his blade through his belly. He fell, and the second man brought his sword down on Garavito, who deflected it and stepped to the side. He brought the rapier up to the man's neck, and with the flick of his wrist, he cut his throat. The man lay there, gurgling and writhing, and then went still. 

Garavito put out one of the torches. He took the other with him and found a hallway in the tunnel. He followed it, and it led to a staircase. At the top of the stairs were even more halls to follow. Garavito knew that these halls could not flood and that he would be safe should the water begin flowing again. 

Soon, Garavito was wandering a great labyrinth beneath the city of Toledo. He had lost track of time but had not caught sight of his pursuers and breathed a sigh of relief. As he wandered the halls, which seemed to lead to nothing, he took time to process what he had seen. Storm clouds in the chamber, lightning, a disembodied voice, ritual suicide, all of these things were forbidden by the church.  

He reasoned that whatever dark god they were worshiping, he was not the one true God. Perhaps it was Satan, an impostor spirit, or a demon from the ancient world. Still, he was now stuck in these halls, which he believed had to lead somewhere. How else would those men have gotten into that chamber beneath the well? 

He walked for what seemed like hours. The cut on his arm was now burning, but the bleeding had stopped. Garavito considered the swords the men had used. They looked ceremonial, not like the rapiers and sabers used in modern Spain, but like he had seen in paintings from hundreds of years ago. He trembled at the idea that these practices had descended through the decades, having been practiced from ancient times.

Garavito found himself at an intersection of hallways. He walked each one at length, yet they all seemed to go on indefinitely—all but one. Garavito found a spiraling stairwell within. He followed the stairs to a large door. There was a place to hang his torch, so he set it aside and pushed the door open. 

The sound of a choir filled Garavito’s ears. He followed an ornate corridor to find that he was in Saint Mary’s Cathedral. The choir director was practicing with the choir, many people occupied the pews in prayer, and Father Del Nero was lighting candles at the altar. Garavito went to him.

“Father,” he said, “I am most glad to see you.”

“Ah, the famous thief,” Said the priest, “Have you come to confess?”

“No, father,” Said the thief “I have come to warn the church.”

“Warn the church? Of what?”

“I do not know how to explain this,” Said Garavito, “But I have witnessed an act of Satan. One which threatens the lives of all in Toledo.”

Father Del Nero looked at Garavito. He studied him for a moment, noting the seriousness on his face. He took Garavito to a small office, where he closed the door. The father looked at Garavito and pointed to his bloody arm.

“You were wounded in your duel?” he asked.

“No, father. I was wounded by someone else. That Is who I have come to warn you of.”

“I will need to clean the wound,” Said the priest, who brought over a pitcher of water. He rolled up Garavito’s sleeve and began to wipe down the cut.

“Father, I-“

“You know, Garavito, a life of thieving and adultery holds consequences.”

“Of course, father, but-“

“You must know that thieving is sin, but adultery? Well, adultery is lust, and lust is a deadly sin.”

“I know my sins, Father,” Said Garavito, “I was baptized, and go see my priest in Madrid for confession.”

“That is good news. Very good. Well done, my son.”

“I did not sleep with Terrero’s wife,” Said Garavito, “I only kissed her, and Terrero walked in. I have known her and loved her since I was a boy. That is why I went to Terrero’s house.”

“Is that the truth?” asked the priest.

“It is, I am not an adulterer,” Said Garavito, “Now Father Del Nero, please…”

“In a moment,” Said Father Del Nero, “Why did you duel Count Terrero if you were innocent?”

Garavito let out a groan, “Because, I wanted to humiliate him, maybe kill him lawfully under God, so that I could claim his wife, Brianda for myself.”

“The bleeding has stopped,” Said the priest, “Sadly, you lost a lot of blood. Blood is, after all, precious.”

Garavito let out a frustrated sigh. He shook his head and looked down at the priest as he cleaned Garavito’s wound. This is when Garavito noticed that the priest’s hand was puffy red, juicy, and had been burned. He raised the priest's sleeve to reveal burns running up his arm.

The priest gave Garavito a solemn look, “The blood is the life.”

Garavito drew his rapier and held the priest at the point of it, “Heresy!  Do you speak to me of sin? You have betrayed God.”

“I honor the truth, thief,” Said the priest, his smooth, warm voice shifting to a menacing tone.

The door burst open, and Garavito was swarmed by men in crimson robes and bronze masks. He defended himself valiantly, deflecting their attacks. He kicked a table over, and some of the robed men tripped over it. As they regained their feet, they saw that Garavito had climbed up the wall and rested on the window sill.

“God has seen all that you have done,” He shouted, “You will be judged for this, and in the house of the Lord too. Hear my words, God will judge you all!”

Garavito broke the window with the hilt of his sword and jumped out and into the street.

IV

Shards of glass made a chinking sound on the stone street. Garavtio suffered minor cuts but did not bother wasting time. He ran down the narrow street, beneath archways, and around corners. The sun had set, and the city could only be seen in torchlight. Garavtio looked over his shoulder to see if he was being chased. There was no one behind him, and Garavito felt immense gratitude rise in his heart.

As he turned to look ahead, he collided with a man. The two of them rolled down the sloped street and into Ayuntamiento Plaza. Garavito raised himself, and in the torchlight was able to recognize the man. Count Terrero and Garavito sat with surprised expressions on their faces.

“You!” Terrero said.

“Me,” Said Garavito, looking around the plaza in fright.

Terrero stood to his feet and drew his sword, “Now let’s see if you are as funny without a crowd!”

“I have no wish to fight you, Count,” Said Garavito, “In fact, there is much that I must tell you.”

“I have no need or wish to hear you speak. Draw your weapon.”

“Count Terrero, please.”

Terrero did not wait. He lunged at Garavito, forcing him to defend himself. Garavito was calm, and backed away from the count, offering no offensive moves. Terrero raged on, stabbing wildly at Garavito, desperate to spill his blood in the plaza. 

“Curse you, fight me coward!” cried Terrero.

“I must not!” called Garavito, who closed quarters and grappled the count. He held him closely, Terrero seething and shouting.

“Honor! Show some Honor! Let me go, fight me!”

“My fight is not with you any longer,” Said Garavito as he tossed Terrero to the ground, sheathing his sword.

Terrero stood in a rage but paused when he saw blood on his clothes.

“Not my blood. And I did not strike you,” Terrero said.

“No. It is mine,” Said Garavito, showing the priest cuts made from broken glass and the wound on his arm. This was the first good look Terrero had of Garavito. 

“I have much to tell you, Count,” Said Garavito, the gravity in his voice causing the count to nod in understanding.

“What has happened?” said Terrero, sheathing his sword, “Say so quickly, and when you have spoken your piece, we will resume our business.”

Garavito took a breath, “Father Del Nero has kept a dark secret. When I fell to the bottom of the well, I found a chamber beneath the city. In that chamber were men, robed in crimson. They chanted and coerced a man into cutting his own throat. Then, I witnessed something I still cannot make sense of, for the ceiling became a stormy sky, and an unseen devil spoke. The men were dedicated to bringing it more blood, and they dared to call it by the name of the Lord.”

Terrero shook his head, “You are very clever, but you are only stalling.”

“No,” said Garavito, “I am being truthful, I escaped these men, who pursued me through many tunnels. It was they who wounded my arm. I found my way to some stairs, which led to the cathedral, where I found Father Del Nero. I tried to warn him of all this, but he proved to be one of them.”

“You would accuse a priest of heresy?” laughed Terrero.

“I escaped from the men by lighting their leader's robes on fire. Father Terrero suffered horrible burns on his arm, and his followers joined him to capture me. That is when I jumped through the window and onto the street. Look, these cuts are fresh from glass. I still have a shard in my boot.”

“Lies,” Terrero said, “You probably got caught breaking into another man’s house, stealing his goods and his wife, and escaping through the window.”

“I swear in God’s good name, I do not lie,” Said Garavito.

“No, He does not,” Came Father Del Nero’s voice. The two men turned to see the priest, dressed in his red robes, unmasked, with several of his followers with him.

Terrero’s jaw dropped. He and Garavito drew their weapons and readied for a fight, but did not see the men sneak up behind them. They were struck on the back of their heads, bound in rope, and taken across the plaza. Their swords were confiscated and kept by one of the red-robed men. They entered the Palace of the Arch Bishop and down a set of stairs. They followed a tunnel beneath the well, and into the same circular chamber as before. 

Terrero offered all manner of curses and obscenities at the men, who moved the corpses from before. They produced fresh white robes and wrapped them around Terrero and Garavito, and then poured salt on the floor to purify it before their next sacrifice. 

Garavito kept his cool. He listened as the men spoke to one another.

“Which should go first?” asked one man.

“The thief, he is famous!” said another.

“No, the nobleman. God will want his blood first.”

They carried on like this for some time, until Father Terrero stepped in, “We must choose between a nobleman and a thief. The nobleman should go first, for his pride. And then the thief, for today he was found innocent.”

“Innocent?” called Terrero, “He slept with my wife, and stole my gold crucifix! It was of immense value, for it was a gift from his majesty the king!”

“They searched him, and he did not have it, Count Terrero.” Said Father Del Nero, “And as to his adultery, I questioned him. He did not sleep with your wife.”

Terrero turned to look at Garavito, who only grinned.

“You did not? But I saw you kissing her.”

“It was only a kiss,” Said Garavito. 

“Then why the duel?”

“You demanded it. The people were watching. What better way to humiliate you?” chuckled Garavito.

Terrero held a blank expression as the reality set in that he had been fooled by Garavito, who orchestrated every moment just to humiliate him. He howled.

“I hear that you have sin on your hands, Count Terrero,” Said Father Del Nero, “You took a child as a bride and as repayment of debt. How long ago?”

“Ten years ago, and I broke no laws!” called Terrero.

“In your pride, you broke God’s law. Now you must pay. Rejoice and be glad, salvation is near.”

He produced a bottle with a milky liquid inside and forced it down Terrero’s throat. He sputtered and choked, and then his eyes dimmed and he sat still. Father Terrero cut his bonds and led him to the center of the circle. The priests began chanting once again.

Father Del Nero produced the same jeweled knife as before. He bade Terrero kneel and he spoke, “The blood is the life.”

“The blood is the life,” Responded Terrero, who then cut his own throat. The Chanting resumed, the wind blew, lightning flashed and the voice called out.

“More blood. More blood. More blood.”

“I will give you more blood!” cried Garavito, who was no longer bound. He had slipped his bonds and retrieved his sword from the distracted men. Now he stood near the portal that restrained the river from flooding the chamber. With a single swing, he cut the ropes holding the counterweight, and the chamber flooded.

The men screeched as the wind blew, lightning flashed, and now a flood overtook them. In the confusion, Father Del Nero climbed to his feet and attempted to escape the chamber. He sloshed through the knee-deep torrent toward the tunnel but felt a sharp pain in his back. He looked down to see Garavito’s sword emerge from his belly.

Garavito whispered into the priest’s ear, “God promised never to flood the world again, Del Nero, but this is not the world.” 

He pulled his sword from Del Nero’s body and left him to God’s judgment. He sloshed through the rising water, cutting down each of the robed men until none were left. Reaching the same door the men had brought him through, Garavito began ascending the steps. The current grew strong and pulled Garavito back into the tunnel.

He was carried through the tunnels as the water rose. Now, the tunnel was filled with water and Garavito scraped along the ceiling. He felt that his hour of death had drawn near, and made his peace with God. As he scraped along the ceiling, he felt the opening of the well above him. He grabbed hold and pulled himself up with all his might. 

The water began to rise inside the well, and Garavito gripped at the interior stones, climbing his way out of the water and climbing out the top of the well. He collapsed on the stone pavement, alone in the torchlight, and prayed a prayer of thanks. Then, he franticly began searching his own body, rifling through his clothes, inspecting every pocket.

“Where is it? Where is it?” 

He stopped suddenly and smiled. From within his breeches, he pulled a golden crucifix, shimmering in the torchlight. 

“There you are,” He said, as he kissed it, “You will make me a wealthy man indeed.”

He stood and made haste to Terroro’s house, “I will collect Brianda, and we will start a new life together in Madrid. An honest one, perhaps.”