The Horse Healer (52 page)

Listening to Galib, Diego had the feeling inside that everything was about to fall together. Galib was a Muslim, but his mind was open and his heart was big. He had just put into words what Diego had been longing for. He had transformed his desires into something tangible, and the new task seemed as necessary to him as it was urgent. Now he felt sure. To put a stop to the madness of the Almohads was everyone's job. That plague, born in the north of Africa, threatened to extend to all sides and demolish the world he had always known. He wouldn't allow it. Above all, Diego, hated intransigence and the imposition of ideas by force.

“I will devote all my strength to frustrating their intentions, first by stealing their horses, and afterward however I can.”

“Dedicate your intelligence to it; you're not a soldier. And when you finish, go back to your work. You've been well trained for it, and you should exercise your office with all the mastery you've acquired. That is how you can best help the people. Listen to me. The horses will show you the way. … Remember that is what I told you?”

“Of course.”

“Horses have always been by your side. I still remember your exceptional ability to understand them and the hard days you spent as an apprentice, the first sicknesses and treatments we worked on together.”

“I'm a mere follower of your wisdom.”

“You do me much praise saying that. But I know that for this labor, what's necessary is not just science, but also an inexhaustible spirit and great courage. And you have both.”

Diego stopped Sabba and looked back, full of anxiety.

“I have to go back to the palace and tell them my plan.”

“It can't wait until tomorrow?”

“I need to repay my debt as quickly as possible. I owe it to my king and to Castile for failing to get al-Nasir's Koran.”

Galib stayed there watching how Diego, retracing his footsteps, galloped onward to his new destiny. In him he saw much more than a disciple, and of course a colleague. He was the son Galib hadn't been able to have. He would have liked to be like him. He was the very image of triumph over adversity, of loyalty, and he had the look of an honest man.

IV.

K
ing Alfonso VIII of Castile decided that a hundred of his best men would accompany the albéitar Diego on the frightening mission to the Marismas.

The horses wouldn't be necessary until the arrival of the volunteer crusaders and the militias that were coming from the villages and municipal councils, and none of them would arrive before the end of May, so the action was postponed until then.

Don Álvaro and Diego planned it conscientiously, prepared the strategies, studied and compared the different routes, and chose the best methods to be sure it would be a success.

The group, captained by Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara, left Toledo the first day of May in the year 1212 and traveled some ways without encountering any serious altercation.

Once they arrived at the Marismas, the first part of their mission consisted of localizing the fifteen observation points where the Imesebelen
would be scattered. Afterward, they had to wait for a signal to act in unison against the Africans and avoid their escape however possible.

With their faces painted black and their heads wrapped in dark cloths, as soon as they heard the order they sank down in the waters of the swamp. The darkness of the night and the marshlands and their abundant vegetation hid them from their enemies. The cool water also relieved their flushed faces.

Submerged up to his cheeks. Sancho Fernández, the heir to the throne of León and Diego's escort, still seemed to be listening to the speech Don Álvaro had given before they'd all sunk down in those marshes.

“Don't forget,” he had told them, “those Imesebelen are well trained. They've been taught not to fear death, and they are extremely violent. We will only manage this if we catch them by surprise, so we must act quickly, and all at once. And above all, keep in mind that no enemy may live. Be sure they are dead, and keep at them if you're unsure.”

They split up in pairs, moving forward with extreme caution. The light of the moon helped them to see their enemies and the water hid them until it was time to strike. Sometimes they passed so close to the horses that some neighed nervously, noticing their presence, but not loudly enough to alert their guards.

“Sancho, to your right.” Almost in a whisper, Diego indicated a promontory with two soldiers. One seemed to be asleep. The other was seated and looking off in the opposite direction.

“I'll leave the sleeping one to you and I'll attack the other one,” Sancho proposed.

Trying not to disturb the water excessively, they moved forward one foot at a time, hiding behind reeds, not far from the Africans. They unsheathed their daggers and held them under the water, their muscles tensed, ears attentive, waiting for the signal.

It seemed like an eternity. The dampness was wrinkling their skin and causing their bones to ache. They calculated that they had been there nearly an hour when something unexpected happened, forcing them to make a split-second decision.

The man who seemed to be sleeping sat up, and after talking to the other, he threw a sack over his shoulder and went to mount his horse.

Sancho signaled that he would go after him. They stepped from the water at the same time and Diego reached his man just before he turned to see who was behind him. Without any time to react, all he could do was feel the dagger slice him from one side of his neck to the other.

The other saw Sancho coming and jumped on his horse, pressing his knees into its ribs but not getting an immediate response from the animal. He turned to see how far the stranger was from him and decided he was too close. His horse, for some reason, wouldn't react. He felt a sudden jab just beneath his arm, though he managed to duck the next one, and then finally got the animal to trot away. He prodded the horse just enough so he could turn around and see how much distance he had from his assailant.

But after not even a dozen yards he noticed something warm running down his side and then a sharp pain in his stomach. When he looked for the wound, he was frightened by how serious it was. The man had reached a vein, and he was gushing blood. He felt a sudden rush of cold, the solitude of his imminent death, and with a choked cry, he fell down into the water.

Sancho ran over and finished him off.

Just as he turned to find Diego, they heard the signal: three owl-like chirps. From different points in the swamp, all the knights rushed to attack the Africans' positions with incredible determination, surprising them, though their advantage was not definitive.

When they heard the signal again, they met at the assigned spot and saw that ten of the men were missing. Another ten were wounded, some gravely.

“Tell me, have you eliminated all of them?”

Don Álvaro gathered them in a circle, still feeling the tension of what they'd just lived through. One by one, he asked them how each of their assignments had turned out, and once he was done, he ordered them to begin the second stage of the plan as quickly as possible, discreetly, to avoid any complications.

“Listen to Diego now. … He will explain what we have to do to get the greatest number of animals.”

Diego took over and told them to look at a group of animals pasturing not far away, on the edge of a lake.

“In the wild, mares live in herds and they respond as a group. There are usually one or two adult females at the head and they are in charge of moving the rest. We're going to try to get control of those mares and then get them to influence the others; we'll tie them to our harnesses and, if nothing complicates things, when we leave with them, a great number of animals will follow. That is the only way to do it. But we have to proceed carefully and not frighten them.”

“And what do we do to get hold of those special mares, as you said?” one of the knights, a Sorian with a thin mustache and bitter expression asked.

“I know how they think, what to do to get them to trust me, and what they're afraid of. I know how to interpret their reactions and what to do to convince them to follow me. I'll take advantage of the stillness of the night to walk up close to them and win their confidence. Once I figure out which mares command the others, I'll ask you for help in getting hold of them. Try to hurt them as little as possible.”

Another of the men asked how much time they would need. Diego guessed around three hours.

“This job won't be the most dangerous one of the mission, but it will be the most delicate.” Diego tried to encourage them. “Your work is essential for us to succeed. If they stampede, then we're lost. Daylight will come and I don't think a second attempt will succeed. Therefore, take every possible precaution, do your best not to make them nervous, and follow your instincts. I've always believed that horses are able to intuit men's thoughts. I ask you to make sure yours don't frighten them.”

Diego left the better part of the group behind on the edge of an enormous lake where there were as many as a thousand animals. He remembered that Galib had told him, the first time he'd come there, that the Marismas were formed by hundreds of lakes on a broad plain to the north of the mouth of the Guadalquivir and that it took a half day on horseback to take in their expanse. He dismounted from Sabba and walked into the marshes, and water rose up to his ankles. In the shelter of the darkness, hardly making any noise, he went in search of the first mares.

He stopped to study the behavior of the group just ahead of him. Among them he observed the mares that stood apart, and soon he found one with a white coat that seemed to direct the herd behind her and away from him. He heard her whinny in a strange manner and saw how the rest of them submissively lowered their ears and followed. Diego went after her, making a number of sounds and movements that seemed to pacify her fears, because she received him calmly. He breathed on her nostrils and showed her a rope that he would pass over her head and knot around her neck. He passed the end of it to one of the men with him and asked him to stay there until he heard the signal that they were leaving. He headed off in search of other leaders.

He found another group nearby, quite a bit bigger, perhaps four hundred animals or more, and soon he found three older mares and an old stallion that led the others around. Diego walked toward the stallion.

“Why is it not the males that are in charge of the group?” This seemed strange to Sancho Fernández, the friend of Don Álvaro and nephew of the lord of Biscay.

“The stallions fight among themselves or against anyone who tries to go after their females, and they also have to protect them from predators. But for other tasks, like looking for new pastures, finding water, or less important labors, the mares with more age and experience take over.”

“Then why are you going up to him?”

“If I get hold of him, there won't be a problem. Some fight with the mares when they don't want to move.”

He gave a snortlike sound, and immediately the male looked over at him. Diego stayed there waiting for the stallion to take the initiative. It came over with great authority and sniffed at his head and shoulders. It chewed at his clothing and then sighed, accepting him. Diego pinched its neck and passed a rope around its neck while he whispered in its ear.

After grabbing the stallion, he had no difficulty with the three mares that followed him.

For the moment, everything seemed to be working.

For the next two hours, he managed to get hold of more than fifty guide animals, until he heard a short, sharp whistle, the sign that it was time to leave. Each man tied one of those mares to his saddle, and each mare was followed by between twenty and fifty animals.

At first, many of them resisted, and they even had to let the most nervous ones go to avoid further problems. The rest, with lots of care and not too much pressure, they managed to move toward the north in the direction of the mouth of the Guadalquivir River, where soon all of the knights met back up.

Once they'd crossed the next valley, between the basin of that river and the sierra of Seville, they had made it through one of the worst stages of the journey back. They hoped to make it to the highlands before dawn to avoid being seen, since the image of more than three thousand horses escaping from the marshes would undoubtedly attract attention.

As the horsemen and their herds arrived, Don Álvaro congratulated each of them, happy to have made it through that first stage. He looked for Diego to talk about what they should do from that moment forward.

“Before daylight comes, more than a thousand Christian soldiers will have left Córdoba headed in the direction of Carmona. They left Toledo with the sole idea of serving as our reinforcement. Their attack will attract the better part of the Almohad forces, and if they respond the way we've planned, it should leave the road back clear for us.” He observed the enormous group of mares gathered behind them and then looked into the sky. “We only have two hours until dawn. Let's not delay anymore.”

“On the other side of the sierra, on the banks of the Huéznar River, I remember having seen a long esplanade where we can rest the horses,” Diego suggested.

Don Álvaro, thinking of their incredible expedition, felt overwhelmed with bittersweetness. He had never imagined anything like this, so much beauty in one place, a mission so complex and impassioned. With the pain of his recent dead companions weighing on him and unsure about the future, he prayed in silence and set off.

The second day, while they were crossing the wastelands of La Serena, they decided to speed up. They raised up a thick cloud of dust, but they would arrive faster that way to the north, to a humid zone where they could slake their desperate thirst. The tremendous heat was asphyxiating the herd and making the crossing almost unbearable. Many of the mares were roaring with anger, looking for any opportunity to flee their captors. The riders were doing everything they could to keep them from getting away, but they slowed down the whole group in the process.

Once they'd left the steppes behind them and begun to climb the first hills of the sierra, they had to chase after a Saracen patrol that had spotted them. They killed almost everyone, but a single person did manage to escape.

“That's going to cause problems, you'll see. …”

Seeing the risk they were now running, Don Álvaro decided the moment had arrived to make some decisions. He brought everyone together and explained the situation.

“From now on, we have to be able to steer the herd with half as many men. The rest will form five circles of protection around us, at different distances away.”

He named five leaders and gave strict orders for them to do everything necessary to keep the enemy at bay.

“Attack them, destroy them, chase them down, and kill them!” Don Álvaro gestured wildly. “You're free to decide how to do it, but I do not want to see a single turban come within ten leagues of those animals. Understood?”

The different groups took off and no one heard from them until four days later, when they reached the area of the Guadiana River where there was a pass leading to the Castilian border, their last hurdle before entering friendly territory.

When they were a few leagues from the riverbank, they saw the arrival of a furious cavalcade: two of the other four patrols. According to what they said, as soon as they reached their positions, they were attacked by an army of no fewer than three hundred Saracens who were not far away now.

Don Álvaro said they would be punished severely once back in Castile for not maintaining the enemy at the distance he had specified. Their impudence had brought the enemy upon them, and now everyone was exposed.

He called Sancho Fernández.

“A few leagues north of the river, there is a castle of Calatravans. Call them to come to our aid. Push your horse as hard as it can go and make it gallop till it dies of exhaustion. As if you were chasing down the devil himself.” He slapped the rump of the Leonese's mare and it shot off like an arrow, speeding away until it could no longer be seen.