The Horse Healer (31 page)

Diego tensed his muscles to resist the pressure she was applying to him and inhaled a mouthful of air to strengthen his chest. He looked at Doña Teresa, holding his breath, but not concealing his expression of panic. She seemed unmoved by the situation and continued speaking calmly.

“She's a little sly. … One time, she managed to stomp on the former albéitar with such good aim that she almost flattened one of his toes. But she's very sharp. When she sees that her victim can't play along with her games, she leaves it aside and tries something else.”

Diego gave off a feeble cry, almost inaudible. He begged for the mare to get bored as soon as possible so he could breathe again. And he got lucky.

The animal became interested in a sparrow that had just landed on the watering trough, an apparition Diego considered almost miraculous, and she set him free. He ran to the fence, where Doña Teresa, a malicious smile on her face, waited to see what he would do next. The determination he showed from that moment on would decide whether he was fit for the job. Now the real test began.

“Are you all right?”

Diego's cheeks were so red, they seemed ready to burst. “Yeah, yeah, I'm perfect.”

He breathed in deep three times, recovered his strength, and turned to Furia again. That showed he wasn't easy to beat. To the contrary, Diego was the type to grow stronger in the face of adversity. Without his knowing it, that gesture alone had made him pass the test. It was just what Doña Teresa had wanted to see.

Diego explored the scabs on the horse's back. They were obviously caused by sweating and chafing from a saddle that was too tight. Some were open and gave off a terrible-smelling yellow bile. Diego took a lancet out of his bag and cut the dry edges of skin. He knew that wouldn't hurt her. Then he lifted some of the scabs to see how they had evolved.

Doña Teresa, surprised by his able hands, let him work without distracting him, observing each of his movements, and said only one single thing: “From now on, the job is yours.”

That produced enormous satisfaction for Diego. In the end, it would be the first opportunity he had to engage in his profession without having to depend on the opinion or the final decision of some master. He felt a shiver of satisfaction and noticed how from that moment, the tension between them dissipated.

“I met your daughter Mencía.”

“Ah, yes?”

“In Olite. Three months back, during a joust.”

“Now that you say that, I believe I heard something about you.”

“Did she tell you?”

“I don't remember.”

“She helped me to save a horse that had been wounded in the neck.”

“I didn't know.”

“Then I was attacked with a dagger and she was by my side.”

“Yes. Terrible, I understand. …” She answered distractedly. “Do you need anything from me? I have to go to an important meeting now.”

Diego turned back to the mare.

“For her cure, I'll need vinegar, fish, sap, sulfur, and a bit of oil. Oh, and an apron!”

“I will be sure they bring you everything.” She made as if to leave.

Diego then remembered he wanted to ask her when her daughter would return, but Doña Teresa didn't give him the opportunity.

“I will order them to clean and prepare the albéitar's abode. It's not far from here, and I believe you'll like it. It has an open stable where you can house the horses you need to treat or supervise. The house has its own staff, which will be at your service from this moment forward.”

Just before she disappeared, she made a half turn.

“Oh … I will pay you a hundred sueldos a week. If you agree, I will announce your nomination tomorrow.”

III.

M
encía returned filled with fear.

She entered Santa María de Albarracín with a discreet escort of knights, a couple of servants, and her three ladies-in-waiting.

By her express wishes, she had traveled on horseback in opposition to the desires of her suitor, Fabián Pardo, who had set aside a carriage and an entourage for her protection. So fiercely had she wanted to leave that castle that she didn't want to wait for their arrival from another one of his terrains. In spite of that, the six long days on horseback had left her feeling defeated.

She admitted that Fabián had been charming with her, and that, though he was approaching middle age, he was rather well preserved. His relation to the Royal House of Aragon had gotten him a high social position and abundant lands and fortunes. And he had other virtues besides: he was talented with the spinet, and he liked painting, falconry, and especially reading.

Mencía returned from that voyage with a bitter aftertaste from a maelstrom of contradictory emotions. Since she was a girl, she had always hated others to organize her life. And for that reason alone, she had rejected the man out of hand. Yet she had to recognize that Fabián had done much to redeem himself, and he was skilled in the arts of seduction. He was so dogged that he had managed to provoke a certain interest in her.

Mencía was sure that any other women in her circumstances would have fallen victim to his enchantments. But not her. When she saw him, she knew she would never marry him.

Her arrival at Santa María was highly celebrated. The church bells sounded out gleefully, attracting the attention of all the inhabitants of the town.

“What could all that racket be about?” Diego and Marcos were having lunch in the new house.

“Today is the third of June, but I don't remember there being any celebrations that day.” Diego looked out a window from the third floor. “People are saluting and hurrahing for a small retinue, but I can't see who it is.”

He sat back down at the table, and before he returned to his steaming plate of green beans he looked at Marcos. His expression was both strange and familiar.

“For a few days now, I've seen you turning something over in your mind … and knowing you, it's something to do with women, money, or both. Am I wrong?”

Marcos smiled sincerely.

“Either I'm an open book or you are very smart.” He served himself a bit of wine, gave some to Diego, and drank it in one swallow.

“It's not women. I just need to do something,” Marcos said honestly. “I've asked around, to one person after the next, where I can find work, and except for three salt mines on the outskirts and what comes from the small shopkeepers and so on, the main business in the city is wool. Well, that and the sale of sheep to neighboring Aragon. You remember we saw lots of flocks just before we got to the city, but it seems there are many more to the southeast, heading toward Valencia.”

“Sheepherder wouldn't be a bad job for you, since it would give you time to go chasing after the shepherdesses in the fields.” Diego weighed the possibilities of this idea.

“That's the furthest thing from my mind. No, it's not that.” Marcos became serious. “But the thing is, I also found out that on the other side of the border, in the kingdom of Valencia, the Saracens adore sheep meat, the way we like mutton or even suckling lamb.”

He stood up and began to walk around the table.

“And think about it; they come all the way to Santa María de Albarracín to buy wool …”

“I understand. It's occurred to you that they could take the sheep as well,” Diego deduced.

“Exactly.”

“But I see one problem. I doubt the pastors will sell them. Normally, they let them go only when they are sick or too old.”

“You're right, but what if we take those, the oldest ones? Imagine if we could corral them for a few weeks and feed them barley, which is a grain that grows abundant in this area.” Marcos leaned both hands on the table.

“I understand. If they're nice and fat, even if they're old, the Saracens will want them and will pay a good price.”

“That's the idea. We buy them cheap from the shepherds, we fatten them up in a pen, and then we sell them for double the price.”

“It's not a bad idea, but if you don't have a good contact with the Saracens, I doubt it will work.”

“His name is Abu Mizrain.”

“Are you pulling my leg?” Diego shook his head several times, awestruck. “We've been here for just a week and you've already got one?”

“He's a trader who lives in the south of Valencia and comes to Albarracín every two weeks to buy wool. He did it yesterday, and it was then I managed to talk to him a bit. Though a lot of people have the same business, he has an advantage over the rest of them.”

“Have you met the other traders?”

“No, but I've heard things. …”

“Don't be so shy and spit it out.”

“The rest travel alone.”

“And what's the disadvantage in that?”

“Abu Mizrain always goes with his daughter.” Marcos sighed, doe-eyed. “She's gorgeous … and I think she likes me.”

“Now I understand.” Diego slapped him on the back of the neck. “And you've got a place to feed them, I suppose.”

“Not yet, but I'll try to find one this morning. Will you accompany me?”

A few streets away, at the gates to the castle, Doña Teresa Ibáñez received her daughter Mencía, anxious for news. She scrutinized her face, looking for the least sign of contentment. As usual, Mencía was unreadable.

As soon as she kissed her, unable to take anymore, Doña Teresa asked her openly.

“Mother, don't be a bother. Leave me in peace. Now all I'm dreaming of is a long bath and taking off these dirty clothes.” Mencía shook her dress and a cloud of dust emerged. “I'm tired; I'll tell you everything afterward.”

“But did you like him? Is he handsome?” Doña Teresa grabbed her arm while they entered the castle and went up to the bedchambers. “I understand he's highly thought of in the court of King Pedro II, and that he's very rich as well …” Her questions and comments went on without giving the girl a chance to answer. “What did you think of his castle? I'm sure he treated you like a queen. What color did you say his eyes were? Have you set a wedding date? I suppose King Pedro of Aragon will be coming to the ceremony—”

“Mother!” Mencía had to scream to stop her.

“Fine. … Just think that you've been gone for three weeks and that I missed you a lot,” she protested. “I've been so worried. You left in such a huff that I was terribly nervous.” Her eyes went damp and tears began to fall. “You don't know how a mother suffers when her daughter becomes a woman, when she flies off in search of another life, in your case, with this man.”

“That's enough! Stop pestering me with the same issue.”

“But how do you expect me to leave you alone when you haven't given me the slightest indication of what your feelings are?”

Mencía sighed, tired, defeated by her insistence. She was standing at the door to the bathroom.

“Listen. Fine. If you want to know what I think, I'll tell you now. I don't think he's the man for me. That's how I see it right now, though I admit I disliked him less than I had thought.”

With that dry phrase, she closed the door in her mother's face, but it didn't matter much to Doña Teresa. An enormous smile crossed her face. That was celestial music compared to what she had expected to hear.

Before she got lost down a long hall, she heard the bathroom door open. She looked back and saw Mencía peeping out.

“I have just seen a bunch of knights I don't know. Who are they?”

“Your aunt Toda is here with her new husband, Don Diego López de Haro. You know the problems he had with King Alfonso of Castile. Since he was exiled, the poor man goes from place to place. They just arrived from Estella and I told them they could stay here as long as they wish.”

“You're always so kind, Mother.”

Mencía turned and closed the door and called one of her ladies-in-waiting to prepare her bath and then help her to undress.

Once she was nude, she stayed still in front of the mirror, waiting for the hot water to come. She studied her reflection. She checked the tension of her skin, her round forms, their whiteness. The face of Fabián Pardo assailed her suddenly, provoking an unexpected shiver. She didn't want that man, nor did she imagine him as the final recipient of her passion.

She heard the tub filled with water and approached it. She put a foot inside and then submerged herself completely. When she came out, she gave off a long, relaxing sigh.

All she had to do was convince her mother to accept her way of seeing things.

“It's going to be hard,” she said out loud.

“Do you need anything, ma'am?”

“Nothing, Berta, nothing.”

IV.

D
iego knew Mencía had arrived in Albarracín, but after two days he still hadn't managed to see her.

He started work very early, since it was at the beginning of the day that his clients became alarmed when they went for their horses and mules to go out into the fields. Any infirmity or illness would make them nervous, and they would come to his house to let him know.

Mencía came out of the castle early as well, to hear Mass, but she hardly walked more than a few yards and never where the fieldworkers lived, so they never saw each other. The rest of the morning she passed inside the fortress with her music, painting, and poetry instructors, and in the afternoons she would travel around the outskirts of the city on horseback.

Nor had Diego seen Marcos those days, because he had left Albarracín to look for sheep that he could fatten up in the pen he had already managed to find: a good-size one, two leagues southeast of the city.

In his absence, Diego couldn't share his loneliness with anyone, as much as he regretted it, especially when he found out the reason Mencía had been in the Aragonese lands. From that moment, everything went downhill. The dream of imagining her in his arms vanished with the same speed as the sharp pain that took possession of his soul.

The day after he found out, desperate, he showed up at the gates of the castle deciding to ask for her directly, tired of not having managed to speak with her yet.

While he waited, he listened without trying to a conversation between two friars, and what he heard made him change plans.

“At midday, the archbishop will bless the work on the future cathedral,” one commented. “Are you coming?”

“Who could fail to show up for an event like that?” the other answered. “I'm sure the city will break out in celebration.”

Diego thought that Mencía would go to that ceremony and decided to see her then. Back on Sabba, he headed to the southern extreme of the city, to the church of Santa María. There the chaplain's mule was waiting for him, apparently with its guts infested with worms. Diego calculated that however long the cure would take, he would still have time to make it to the blessing.

Only a few hours later, the narrow streets of the city were filled with people. A contagious cheer seemed to impregnate the steep hills, covered with hundreds of boys and girls rampaging about.

With great difficulty, Diego crossed though them until he made it to the town square. He observed once more, enthusiastic, its extraordinary houses. Raised on the same rock, their walls of red plaster were crossed by hard beams of black wood. Also notable were the shapes on their windows and the colorful panels of the window shutters.

Diego left the square behind and stopped at the end of another hilly street where the cathedral was being raised.

For the moment, the construction was no higher than a few men, though every day it could be seen growing. To one side, a wood platform decorated with tapestries, a carving of Christ, and four enormous candles awaited the archbishop's arrival, as well as the other authorities in the city.

Amid pushes and shoves, Diego reached one side of the esplanade and chose the place closest to where the retinue would pass. From there he could observe all the preparations.

“I didn't imagine I'd see the new albéitar of Albarracín here.”

Diego recognized the voice of Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara.

“Well, you know … I enjoy these religious affairs.”

“I don't know whether to believe you or consider other motivations.”

“You wouldn't be wrong. I'm actually here to see Mencía.”

Don Álvaro didn't know if Diego knew of her relationship with the Aragonese noble, but either way, he decided to tell him.

“I'm sorry to have to give you bad news—”

“Don't bother,” Diego cut him off. “I know why she went to Ayerbe.”

“Then I suppose you've forgotten about her.”

“No. Not yet.”

“But, Diego …” Don Álvaro grabbed the young man's arm compassionately. “What are you trying to accomplish? Most likely she's forgotten about you.”

“I just want to talk, and look into her eyes. I need to know if I mean something in her life or not.”

Don Álvaro felt sad, and though he thought Diego would have to face reality on his own, he wanted to do something for him. For Diego to pledge himself to win Mencía's love was absurd—Don Álvaro knew it; that is why he had to forget anything that had to do with her. But at that moment, he had other things that he couldn't put off.

“I'd like to talk to you about it more calmly,” Don Álvaro said. Diego found his interest odd. “Every morning I do a little bit of training, you know, a bit of archery, a little swordplay. Why don't you come tomorrow and we'll chat?”

“I'd love to. … I've never seen it done, and maybe I could learn a little from you.”

“There's no problem on my end. How about first thing in the morning at the river?”

“I'll be there.” Diego shook Don Álvaro's hand.

“Good. I have to go, I need to get my sword before the procession begins.”

Until the celebration started, Diego distracted himself watching the public that was nearby. Two toothless country people stood beside him, their faces wrinkly as raisins, uglier than anyone he'd ever seen, and they wouldn't stop laughing. No one knew why, but they did it so happily that it ended up spreading to the people around them. And thus, choking from laughter and sucking in breaths, he saw her arrive.

Her face was hidden beneath a blue veil and she walked holding her mother's arm, in a procession behind the young lord of Albarracín.

Diego shouted Mencía's name, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd. He tried waving his hands to attract her attention, but that did nothing either. Only sixty feet stood between him and the place of the ceremony and he tried to make his way in that direction. People stopped him; some protested, others pushed him from side to side, but still, he managed to get a good position, different from the one he had in mind but close to the road where the retinue had passed and would do so again. And there he stayed, behind a wooden fence, in the front row, somewhat farther from the stage but with good visibility.

“How pretty Doña Mencía is!” said an old woman at his side.

He looked at her entranced. She really was gorgeous, so much so that conquering her heart seemed unthinkable. She had two blond braids and a dress of blue velvet, the same color as her eyes; and she looked happy as well.

The archbishop, together with his deacons and assorted other monks, came at last to the stage and immediately the ceremony began. The celebrant intoned a chant in Latin and afterward a litany of prayers that Diego couldn't hear well. His attention was directed solely to the face of his lady, to her eyes.

He tried to make her notice him when she turned to the public, but sadly she only seemed to pay attention to the celebrant. And yet, even though a good deal of time had to pass, finally it happened. When she turned, from among the multitude, she saw him, first surprised, then smiling when she was able to return his greeting.

She turned to her mother, signaling his presence. Diego saw Doña Teresa answer into her daughter's ear. She seemed to be upbraiding her for getting distracted. Mencía only looked at him once more, but she did it with a beaming smile on her lips. Afterward, she took on a devout posture, lowered her head, and continued, attentive to the ceremony.

Diego waited anxiously for the affair to be finished. He carried the note that Mencía had left for him in Olite in his pocket. On it, Diego had written his address so she could find him. He would try to hand it to her when she passed by him.

When the blessing was over, the archbishop intoned the “
Te Deum
” and like a single voice, all present followed him with solemn emotion. Then they left the platform and began to file down the street where Diego was.

Mencía changed her position in the retinue to pass closer to him. They went slowly, too slowly for his patience. She didn't stop looking at him, gleeful. Doña Teresa, walking beside her, did the same.

“Diego! I thought you'd never come,” said Mencía.

“How could I reject that invitation?”

Diego was conscious of the little time they had. He stretched to kiss her hand and passed her the paper. She took it and read it quickly. Then she hid it between her sash and her dress.

“I'll come see you.”

Diego heard that and almost exploded with excitement. When the streets emptied out, he returned to his dwelling to get Sabba and take a long ride outside the city walls.

They galloped against the wind, in the solitude of those outlands. Diego talked the whole time. He told her what had happened with Mencía and the animal listened.

He needed to share his happiness.

He filled his lungs with fresh air and breathed happily. Sabba did the same.

Diego loved Mencía.