The Horse Healer (54 page)

“Would you share it with me, sir?”

“Saladin drove his men to conquer Jerusalem and managed to regain that holy place for our faith. I will do the same.” His breast swelled until it was almost touching his chin. “I will drive them on to Rome. We will lay siege to that city, the most sacred one for the infidels, and will deal a mortal wound to their pride. And my name for all of them,” he said, signaling the troops gathered there, “will be forever united to that act, as Saladin and his men are to the sack of Jerusalem.”

VI.

M
encía entered, screaming at Marcos, very agitated. She had finally received word of that knight, Bruno de Oñate.

“A new message has come to me from Fitero.” She showed him the wrinkled letter in her hands. “They say that, after the loss of Salvatierra, he went to another castle, called Zorita de los Canes.”

“Relax! Breathe … I can hardly understand you.” Marcos imagined what Mencía's desires would be and was thinking about whether to accompany her.

Only a month before, she had received a card signed by Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara telling her of Diego's death. Despite the source, she had never believed it, because, apart from what her heart was telling her, she had already seen Diego's tomb empty once.

“Where is Zorita?”

“In Trasierra, to the south of Guadalajara.” Mencía pulled a long veil from her hair. “If Bruno de Oñate is in that fortress, maybe Diego is too. Will you come with me to look for him?”

“Well … Yes, of course …” Marcos thought about which of his affairs could wait and which couldn't. “But I do need a few days to arrange some things.”

“Days? I don't think I can wait so long. … I'm not as doubtful as you are. We need to leave this very afternoon!”

Mencía knew that if she traveled with Marcos, things would be easier, but he wasn't absolutely necessary. No one and nothing would hold her back.

“Just give me three more days, and I'll go with you.” Marcos looked her directly in the eyes to convince her, but he didn't manage to change her attitude.

“You don't want to go. Am I right?”

He lowered his head.

“I have things I have to do here. … And a war is coming. I'm not a knight, I don't know how to hold a weapon. I understand you want to see him again, but for me …”

“I've calculated it will take me a week to reach the fortress. I don't need you, I'll go alone.”

“Why don't you wait for some caravan traveling in that direction? Think about it; ever since the rumors about the war began, there's been far less traffic on the roads, and it's become more dangerous to travel.”

Marcos was right, but Mencía was driven more by anxiousness than prudence. Don Álvaro's letter had been a terrible blow to her hopes, and her need for further information trumped her sense of reason. She thought that if she traveled disguised as a man, she would avoid a number of problems.

“Isn't everyone going to war? I'll cut my hair and I'll hide it under a hat. I'll bind my torso and hide my womanhood. That's what I'll do.”

Marcos knew that nothing would dissuade her. Feeling guilty, he said good-bye to her, wishing her luck and asking her to send his regards to Diego when she found him.

“I pray you send me news, and more than anything, be very careful.”

In the meanwhile, one hot sixteenth of June, only four days from the agreed upon date for the crusading army's departure, King Pedro II of Aragon arrived in Toledo at the head of a numerous army.

All the city ran out to greet him amid applause and acclamation. When they saw them crossing the Alcántara Bridge, his soldiers breathed a sigh of confidence. With their help, they would surely defeat the enemy.

Diego attended the festivities with Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara, close to King Alfonso VIII of Castile. He recognized the king of Aragon's companion, the royal ensign García Romeu, whom he had met in Olite. He rode to the right of the king, holding the standard of the crown of Aragon. Behind them there flapped hundreds of flags attesting to the noble families that accompanied them.

“The viscount of Cardona is coming,” Don Álvaro said, recognizing many of the people. “You'll see him under that red banner with a yellow cardoon at its center. And my friend Guillem de Cervera. The design on his shield is a red deer on a white background. I also see Ximeno de Cornell and Dalmau de Creixel, and the counts of Tarragona and Ampurias. Look at that one with the yellow standard with a red stripe, that is Aznar Pardo, the royal butler.” Don Álvaro saw them all with real emotion. “They're all here. This is the greatest concentration of Aragonese nobles that has ever been seen in these parts.”

With the third blast of the trumpet, all present fell silent.

King Alfonso and his wife, Leonor, in their finest dress, awaited the arrival of Pedro II with great ceremony. He galloped forward on his splendid courser, and before all, he embraced the king of Castile with sincere affection.

“With his arrival, the long wait is over, we are reunited,” Don Álvaro said to Diego. “The Ultramontanes have been in Toledo for a month, and Sancho VII of Navarre has finally agreed to come, though he will not meet us until after we've set off. The kings of León and Portugal will not, but we have a strong group of knights who have come from those territories. And you, have you decided yet?”

Diego had been informed two days before that the king had requested his presence.

“I feel flattered, but do you know why he has asked for me to come?”

“Wars are won by the person who acts most intelligently. He knows that, and he's trying to have at his side as much talent as he can pull together. He saw how you handled the mission to the Marismas, he knows about your training in Salvatierra, and he has faith in your abilities.”

Diego settled into his saddle and scratched Sabba's forehead.

“I've thought it through, and yes, I'll go.”

“I am glad for it, believe me. Your presence will be very useful to us, I'm sure. What finally convinced you?”

“I want to avoid an Almohad victory. I can't even imagine what the loss of our freedom would mean for us. I am pledged to combat their fanaticism, and I feel it is my job to spoil their plans to turn us into their slaves and subjects. We have to confront their single-minded vision. If we don't stop them now, they will demolish our principles and our traditions. … For all those reasons, I want to go, but I also have such great respect for the figure of our king, whom I've admired for so long. He has shown great faith in his people by signing charters of freedom for many of his towns and villages. Thanks to his work, thousands of people from the land, men and women with origins as humble as my own, have been able to prosper and reach a degree of comfort unthinkable in other periods when the nobles were in charge of everything.”

“You speak well, Diego. This won't be just another war. Here we have a confrontation of two cultures and two religions. Because of my position, I owe a debt of loyalty to the king, but I assure you, even if it weren't so, I would also be here to recover the lands that belonged to our ancestors and expel the invaders for all time. They dream of spreading their faith across Europe and we are the only ones who can keep that from becoming a reality. Depending on how the wind blows in the battle, we will remain free men or will be subjected to the Almohads' will.”

Three more blasts from the trumpet alerted those united there. The king of Castile was ready to speak. He climbed a tower and raised his voice as much as he could.

“Friends … Christians! The Moors entered our land by force and laid us low. Only a few Christians remained in the mountains to the north and they struck out against them, killing our enemies and dying themselves. For years, they battled them wherever they could … taking their lands until we arrived at the situation we find ourselves in today.”

Many applauded his words and praised his name until he began to speak again.

“As sons of the various and noble kingdoms of Hispania, and as brothers in the faith of Jesus Christ, I ask you to join your voices to mine and ask for God's counsel and for success in our mission. And to seal our agreement, and as an offering to our Lord, I encourage you to say along with me: Only for Thee, All for Thee … Only for Thee, All for Thee …”

In an enormous show of jubilation, those present raised their voices to heaven and repeated his words over and over, enthused to feel part of that formidable undertaking. A great collective feeling spread to all. The mere fact of having reunited people of such different backgrounds and cultures made what they were doing something unprecedented.

In that moment, many of the soldiers thought they were invincible, and some even saw themselves as the hammer of God.

With their souls exalted, their arms prepared, and the crusading spirit instilled in them, the group set off for the south on June 20 to battle their sworn enemy.

They were thirty thousand souls, ten thousand knights, and fifty thousand horses. The Yeguada de las Marismas was reserved for those free citizens who had formed part of the civil militias. To that enormous troop had been added at the last minute more than five hundred knights from the Orders of Calatrava, Santiago, and the Templars.

The motley colors of their standards and uniforms, the clanking of the steel, the beating of the hooves against the road, the immensity of the corps … Wherever they went, people rushed to meet them, infected by their ambition, the dream of victory reflected on their faces. Some even joined their ranks.

Don Diego López de Haro, captaining his knights from Biscay, had left for the south three days earlier. He had taken along the Ultramontane troops to indulge their lust for combating the enemy and avoid the conflicts they might cause with the Castilians and Aragonese.

Don Diego had fixed a place to pass each night to be certain there was enough water, pastureland, and firewood. He had been helped by the foragers who went ahead before nightfall to scout for the zones with the best sources of water and most extensive plains.

Four days after leaving Toledo, this first group caught a glimpse of the castle of the village of Malagón, taken by the Moors years before. The fortress wasn't large; it had only one central tower and four more at the corners. It was of stone and cement and its defenses were rather modest.

When the occupants saw the army of Ultramontanes and Biscayans appear, they immediately sent an emissary prepared to hand over the castle so long as the lives of its inhabitants were spared. Don Diego accepted the terms, as that was the common practice in such struggles, but the Ultramontanes, mad with crusading zeal, threw themselves upon the Saracens once inside, putting all of them to the knife while Don Diego and the others stood by impotently.

After that butchery, many of the foreigners were satisfied, though their hands were stained with Saracen blood that they had scattered without concern for age, rank, or sex. Drunk on its effects, they decided to wait in the castle for the rest of the crusaders to arrive.

The better part of the main force arrived in Malagón at midmorning on the twenty-seventh of June, and Diego was with them. When he saw the battlements of the fortress and the Christian flags on its towers, he ran ahead with Sabba to reexperience his memories in that place that had once been everything for him.

He ran to the lake and saw the inn, now in ruins. Beside it, the stables were completely destroyed. There his past was distilled, the drama of the most painful moments of his life, and the death of his family. His father and his older sister dwelt in the waters of the lake, along with those Calatravan knights who had come to their aid. So many memories beat against the walls of his head, so much pain, that he wanted nothing more than to embrace the earth there and let his tears fall upon it.

Inside the fortress and out, the Ultramontanes were complaining rowdily of the lack of victuals.

The carts with the provisions arrived late and were insufficient. The surrounding fields lacked the necessary pasture to feed the horses, and the sweltering heat was unbearable for those from cooler countries. Nor did their thick garments help, as they were ill-suited to that climate.

When the two kings contemplated the blood the foreigners had shed, they called their leaders, among them the archbishops of Bordeaux and Narbonne. They were warned that such a thing would not be permitted again, but that irritated the men who had come from so far at the pope's behest to eradicate the Almohad presence on Iberian lands. They couldn't understand letting the enemy run free to fight again. For many, that even seemed an act of cowardice and a betrayal of Christian ideals.

“Your Majesty, my men have come to see the blood of the heretics flow, the way our brothers did long ago in Jerusalem. They don't understand why anyone would prefer to negotiate the relinquishment of fortresses instead of burning the enemies alive inside them,” said a leader from Gascony, presenting the complaints of the Ultramontanes to Alfonso VIII. “They say that if it continues thus, they will abandon the crusade and return to their homelands.”

King Alfonso, worried that such a conflict had arisen so early in the campaign, tried to convince them as best he could.

“Tell them I will pay them double. Tell them we can't afford to level the fortresses because afterward we will have to rebuild them to defend the positions we've conquered. Our war against the Almohads won't be over forever in one battle, however grand such a thing might be. We have to retake the land little by little, until we push them into the sea and they return to their own lands, which they never should have left. We therefore need to conquer many more fortresses so that, from more solid positions, we can go on taking territories farther to the south.”

“I understand, Your Majesty, but please understand us as well. My men have come to this crusade after hearing of the deeds of their forebears in the Holy Land, and they want to show the same degree of valor. … Don't restrain them. Don't despise their combative spirit or they will leave. Think it over well.”

The king contemplated the disastrous effect it would have on his men if the foreigners abandoned them and stated his agreement.

“Only two leagues from here is the fortified town of Calatrava, on the other shore of the Guadiana. It is an almost unbreachable defensive redoubt. Built on stone and surrounded by a deep moat, one of its slopes goes down into the riverbed.” He took out his sword and brandished it in the air. “Let us take it by force! We will fight together, sword by sword, against its defenders. We will show our warrior spirit and make a conquest worthy of those heroes of the past.”