The Horse Healer (29 page)

Part III

Lands of Refuge

Each of the five Christian kingdoms has signed a peace treaty with the Almohad caliph al-Nasir, although not all with the same motives. Some are weaving murky alliances with him.

The territorial disputes and the infighting among the different kingdoms breed discord. León fights against Castile and Portugal, and Navarre against Aragon and Castile.

Without any accord among them, any attempt at unity aiming for the reconquest of the territories belonging to their Visigoth forebears, the lands now known as Al-Andalus, is doomed to failure.

Even within the kingdoms themselves, relations as solid as those between the ensign Diego López de Haro and his king, Alfonso VIII of Castile, are brought to the breaking point. The tension between them reaches such a high point that the king takes by force the territories of Enkaterri and Biscay and now, with his Leonese counterpart, he has turned, in the spring of 1203, to Estella, where Don Diego has taken refuge with his men. They wish to capture him to avenge their recent losses.

I.

M
arcos had to decide: follow Diego to Santa María de Albarracín to look for Mencía or stay in Corella where Bernarda would happily take him in.

If he did the second, he wouldn't want for work, since Bernarda's family had a good deal of land and normally needed people for the harvest.

He remained quiet as they reached a league of distance from the monastery. Diego looked at him from time to time without wanting to influence him. They were crossing an arroyo when Marcos finally spoke.

“Can you imagine me working from sunup to sundown, every day, bent over till my back breaks, soaked in sweat, just to fill up wheelbarrows and carts with cabbages or carrots that will never belong to me?”

“I can, but only as long as she's there to sweeten up your rest.”

“Not even then. … It's inconceivable!”

Marcos pressured his mule to not be left behind.

For the two leagues that followed, he stayed serious, his head lowered, perhaps weighing his decision, until he began first to smile and then to laugh uncontrollably.

Diego, a little put off at the beginning, began to do the same, without knowing why.

“What is that laughter about?”

“When I lived in Burgos, that monk who taught me how to read and write told me one fine day that there were more than a million of us in Castile.” He broke into a cackle that stunned Diego.

“I don't understand …”

“If I told you that at least half that million were women?”

“Ah, you rogue … Now I follow you. Back to your old self, eh?”

“Does not King Alfonso himself say in his legal code that all Castilians are free men?”

“He does indeed.”

Marcos admired the landscape that surrounded them. He was surrounded by gently undulating hills replete with apple and cherry trees. It was a sunny day, warm, with an agreeable breeze that made their travels a real pleasure. He approached one of the trees and took two ripe apples. He threw one to Diego.

“I feel free, and for that reason, I don't want to pledge vassalage to any knight or noble, the way others do in these lands. They say they give themselves up to be protected. They give them their grains, their meat, the milk from their sheep, sometimes even their daughters for the enjoyment of the lords. It's absurd. … I say what they actually give up is their freedom.”

Diego had never heard him talk that way and was astonished.

“That's why I don't want to stay with Bernarda.”

“My father pledged vassalage to the Calatravans almost his whole life, and thanks to that, he was able to run an inn. But he didn't want me to follow in his footsteps. He asked me to fly higher than him, to look for proper work, a master; he urged me to make something of myself, without depending on anyone.”

“And did you?”

“I've learned almost everything necessary to pursue my craft, despite the many sacrifices, which you know well. And it's true, I do think I've arrived at the moment to put that knowledge into practice. From now on, I will dedicate myself to it! Fitero was much worse than a prison, but still, I did what I set out to do there.”

“It shouldn't be so hard to learn.”

“How right you are, Marcos. I don't understand why it has to be that way either. I don't think the monasteries should be all dark and bitter, places where the sternness of some sleeps side by side with the goodness and wisdom of others. In Fitero we saw obtuse personalities like Friar Servando right beside good men like Friar Tomás.”

They reached the city of Calatayud, already in the kingdom of Aragon, three days later.

When they tried to enter the town square, they ran into a large group of knights and carters blocking its access. They tried to go around them, but the streets were closed off because of that entourage.

Diego dismounted to talk to a young girl who seemed not to belong to the group.

“What's happening here?”

“They are Castilian nobles. Fugitives, I believe,” the girl replied, impressed by his height and good looks.

Diego stood on his tiptoes to look over the crowd. He didn't see any banner or coat of arms that identified them. When he tried to ask again, the girl had gone.

“This is all very strange,” he commented to Marcos. “What would Castilians be doing in Aragon, and why would they be fleeing? I'll try to figure it out. You wait for me with the horses in the meanwhile.” Marcos took his reins. “I'll be right back.”

Diego made a hole in the group until he arrived to the square. The fanfare was such that he could hardly hear the responses of the people he questioned. Finally someone told him everything.

“We are following Don Diego López de Haro.”

Diego was stupefied. He didn't understand how the lord of Biscay, whom he knew, could be fleeing Castile, since he was the most loyal servant of the Castilian king. It seemed very odd.

He looked for the center of the square, where there was a large group of knights, and when he arrived there, he questioned them.

“Where have you come from?”

“From Estella,” one answered.

Diego knew that city was in Navarre, which made even less sense.

“We had to leave,” the man explained when he saw the confused look on Diego's face, “after we suffered a long siege at the hands of Alfonso VIII and his cousin, the king of León. They didn't manage to break us, nor did they capture Don Diego López de Haro, even though that's what they were after, but when they left, we had to as well.”

“Diego de Malagón?”

All of a sudden, Diego heard a voice at his back that sounded familiar. When he turned, he recognized its owner: Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara, the husband of Doña Urraca and the son-in-law of the lord of Biscay.

“But what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Diego answered with a broad smile. He had always liked that man.

“A long story, I assure you. But before I tell it, come with me. When you see my wife, she will be overjoyed. How long has it been since we've heard from you? Two years?”

“Three. I spent them in the monastery in Fitero.”

Don Álvaro, perplexed, studied his clothes.

“You don't look like you've adopted the habit. …”

“No, no. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was just there for the sake of my education.”

On the way to one of the corners of the square, Don Álvaro surprised him by looking several times in a certain direction.

“Are you here with someone?”

“Yes, I'm traveling with a close friend. I have to tell him. Let me know where I can find you and I will come back with him.”

After encountering Marcos and telling him what had happened, they headed for the house Don Álvaro had told him about. They were waiting for him there, Álvaro and his wife, Doña Urraca.

The woman ran to Diego and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“How you've changed!” she exclaimed.

Since Toledo, Diego had grown strong, and he was taller and more attractive. She was as beautiful as he remembered, or maybe even more so.

Diego introduced them to Marcos, and naturally he clung to Doña Urraca's side from the first moment.

“Let's go into the inn,” the woman said, pointing into the house. “Are you hungry?”

While they waited to be served, the woman asked Diego in a soft voice whether he'd heard what happened to Galib.

“I don't know what you're referring to. Nothing bad happened to him, did it?” Diego awaited her answer anxiously. He tried to guess from her eyes what it could be about. Was she talking about the turbulent events he had been a part of in the stables? Or was she going to upbraid him for his disloyalty to his master?

“I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about.”

Doña Urraca saw he was nervous.

“Shortly after you disappeared, he rejected Benazir.”

Diego felt terrible. He had surely been the cause of that disgrace. He regretted it, especially for Galib, whom he loved like a father.

“I didn't know.”

“Wagging tongues said you had something to do with it.”

Diego turned red. He tried to talk, but he couldn't find the right words. She knew why. She had had a long conversation with Benazir, who confessed everything to her.

“Don't worry. I know you acted nobly and faithfully. She told me.”

Diego felt relieved.

“And Benazir … is she still in Toledo?”

“No, she went back to Seville. I think she's living with her father, the Persian ambassador.”

Diego clenched his fists with rage. In the end, his departure from Galib had been for nothing. If it had been to save Benazir's honor, not only had he failed to do so, but their marriage had actually fallen apart.

His face reflected his deep sorrow.

Don Álvaro purposely changed the conversation.

“If you've been living in a Cistercian monastery so long devoted to prayer and study, which by the way I find very praiseworthy, I wonder what your next destination could be. …”

“Santa María de Albarracín,” Marcos answered for him. “A woman lives there who's got him up in arms.”

The couple looked at each other with expressions of surprise.

“We're going there as well. If you remember, my father-in-law made his second marriage with an Azagra. A name closely tied to our lands—”

“And who is she?” Doña Urraca interrupted her husband to find out from Marcos's lips, full of curiosity. She needed to know what woman could prove so attractive to Diego as to make him chase after her.

“Mencía,” he answered, playing along completely.

“You're not referring to Mencía Fernández de Azagra?” Doña Urraca's gaze clouded. If it was her, a relationship with Diego, a commoner, would be as difficult as snowfall in a desert.

“The very same,” Diego said.

Doña Urraca turned to her husband with a frustrated glance.

“My wife and Mencía are cousins,” Don Álvaro added.

A strange silence overcame the table until the noble Lara resumed speaking, giving a rapid summary of what had happened in their lives during those years, leaving the reference to the girl to the side.

“A little after that feast, I was named ensign to Alfonso VIII, substituting for my father-in-law. But that did not last long. We spent a number of months on the siege of Vitoria, taking advantage of the king of Navarre's absence while he was away in Moorish lands.”

Diego indicated that he was aware of the matter.

“But the tensions between the king of Castile and my father-in-law began to be unbearable. In the siege of Vitoria, the king made use of men and resources from Biscay without ever asking my father-in-law's permission. He was furious when he found out, but even more when, months later, he heard that the king, who had always been his proud friend, had taken the side of the Leonese monarch in a claim that the Haro family had against the latter concerning a number of castles.”

“I thought they were like brothers,” Diego interrupted.

“Certainly, but it changed into hate, so much so that my father-in-law has asked no longer to be a Castilian subject.”

“I don't know what that means.”

“He's renounced all the privileges, holdings, income, and even his ability to reside in the kingdom. That upset the king so much that we had to leave Toledo as fast as possible. We found our first refuge in Estella, thanks to the Navarrese king, but a few months back we were attacked by troops joined under the banner of Castile and León. The two monarchs­, formerly irreconcilable enemies, now brought their forces together to capture Don Diego López de Haro. We holed up in the impregnable castle­ that they call Zalatambor in the beautiful town of Estella, and there we were able to hold out.

“Tired of making no progress, they finally abandoned the endeavor. But shortly afterward, King Sancho of Navarre expelled us from his lands under pressure from Alfonso VIII. And now, Castile has become a hell for us; the kingdom of Aragon has closed its doors and doesn't want to have us either. That's why we're going to Albarracín. Since it's independent from the other kingdoms, we won't have problems there. And anyway, it's governed by family.”

Diego was feeling more attracted by politics, although he didn't always understand it well, and it even seemed like something distant from him. He admired the king of Castile for his firm commitment against the Almohads' fanaticism, for his willingness to protect the lower classes, and for his establishment of a code of law. He admired his intention to unify the different territories of Hispania to defy the Saracen enemy in spite of the difficulties that arose, such as the one he had just heard of with that estimable family.

While he listened to Don Álvaro, Diego looked at him. That man was one of the highest representatives of the nobility of Castile and as such he enjoyed abundant riches and power; however, Diego didn't envy him for what he had, but rather for how he was. Don Álvaro possessed a virtue he wanted for himself: bravery.

Diego understood that without that ingredient, he would never manage to fulfill his obligations or reach the high goals he had set in life. Did he have that virtue? He didn't know.

It was now long ago that he'd disobeyed his father and failed to protect his sisters. … And he didn't know how to do it now.

Life went on, time passed, but Diego always lived with the burden of a debt that he owed those who shared his own blood.