The Horse Healer (16 page)

Diego looked at her feet, how she placed one over the other. After forcing her to change her posture three or four times more, the animal still kept the same defect. It left no room for doubt.

“There is a solution, madame.” Diego spoke with Galib's permission, after receiving from him a gesture confirming his suspicions.

“As you say, young Diego.” Her expression showed great satisfaction.

“The problem is in the rear part of her hooves, in what we call the heels. Luckily it can be repaired with a special horseshoe.” He lifted one of her feet and showed her the area he was talking about. “I myself will make them. You'll notice the difference from the first day.”

Doña Urraca seemed convinced, even more so after seeing the expression of pride on Galib's face. She praised Diego without restraint, petted her mare's neck, and shared one last surprise before saying good-bye to them.

“By the way, I would like very much to have you both among the invitees to the feast we are holding this Saturday. We are celebrating the presentation of my father's new wife.”

“We would be most thankful, madame, but we are not of your class, we might stick out,” Galib commented, hardly believing what he had just heard. As a mudéjar, he had never been invited to such an event.

“Be quiet and come with Benazir. We'll be waiting for you!” Doña Urraca made a gesture of leaving, considering the conversation over.

As Diego and Galib returned to their stables, besides remarking on that surprising invitation to the feast, Diego wanted to talk about something that had been eating at him for some time: the impotence he felt at not knowing the origin of many diseases.

“In Doña Urraca's mare, what do you think could have been the source of that pain?”

“I don't actually know,” Galib responded. “But as you well know, the normal cause is an imbalance between the different humors.”

“Humors … Ridiculous!” Diego protested, tired of not finding other reasons more compelling than those of the Greek Hippocrates. “I remember the day you denounced the blacksmiths to me because they thought themselves as capable as the albéitars. A problem, a solution. That's precisely what I heard you say. … According to you, they acted blindly, applying remedies they couldn't understand the workings of, for diseases they couldn't understand either. Don't deny it. It's the same thing we're doing!”

Galib remembered that abandoned, skeletal little boy who had come to him years back. Now he had become a man, almost a colleague, capable of arguing and supporting his reasons. He decided to teach him something that could seem very far from the matters of his profession, but before that, he explained what could have made the horse limp.

“I suppose that it's the fault of an erosion of a small bone that has hardly been described in any of the books you've read up to now. That small bone is attached to a tendon that supports flexion throughout the leg.”

Hearing that surprising explanation, Diego felt bad. After contradicting him and putting his professional capacities in doubt, Galib had once again overwhelmed him with unexpected perspective.

“Master, why did you speak to me of humors, then?”

“As I just said, it's a supposition. Hippocrates, whose wisdom you've just knocked down several degrees, attributes this kind of a limp to an overabundance of yellow bile. I don't know if he's right, because I haven't yet been able to demonstrate my theory. Do you understand?” Diego agreed and bowed his head in conciliation. “It makes me happy to see you dissatisfied with whatever doesn't seem clear to you. And I beg you, don't ever abandon that attitude. Always try to explain to yourself what has been the reason for a certain pain, lump, fever, or even death.” He tousled Diego's hair affectionately. “But you should also learn to be humble when you don't know the answer. In those moments, look to heaven. Your god and mine know all. We are only a smallness at his side. We chase after the truth; he is the truth.”

XXIII.

D
oña Tota Pérez de Azagra was a woman with few blessings.

Still, Diego López de Haro, her husband, possessed one of those gifts that turned its possessor into something special. Maybe it was his grandiose stature, maybe his clear, honest gaze, or perhaps both.

He was a well-formed man, strong, already with gray hairs. His brown eyes shone with intelligence, and his nose, great seriousness. But it was his chin, wide and powerful, that gave him an air of undeniable authority.

Diego looked at them shyly, unable to forget his father. How proud he would have been to see him there, among all these important people. He tightened his belt to cinch the long tunic of green silk that he had bought with the money Galib had saved for him, the first proper clothes he'd had in his life, far from the simplicity of the woolen vests and leather shorts that he usually wore. Under that cloth, he also wore new red breeches and shoes with a lozenge design. For the first time, he felt important. The only thing that made him feel uncomfortable was the tall cap atop his head, since he normally kept it uncovered, but still, he felt happy. …

He had never been to a feast, and he marveled at everything. He was surprised by the luxury that blazed in the dresses of the women, some very beautiful, and in the food that was offered. Without any company with whom to take refuge, his best ally in his quest to go unnoticed was dark red in color and had a deep scent of wood: an excellent wine made on the banks of the river Ebro, as the person who served it explained.

Four mugs of that product robbed him of his timidity and pushed him toward some solitary young woman with whom he could talk. While he walked around and studied his possibilities in that regard, he listened to snatches of various conversations. He heard some say that the worst of their enemies had just died: the Almohad caliph Yusuf. And that he had been succeeded by his son Muhammad, whom they called al-Nasir. Others repeated the surprising news about Sancho VII, the king of Navarre, who was in Marrakesh, supposedly wooing a woman from the caliph's court, after repudiating his wife some months back.

“He must be planning to carve up Castile with that Moor, or else he'll be asking him for money, as he's already done on other occasions,” a brother of Álvaro Núñez de Lara said loudly. “King or no king, he seems like a mere traitor to me. …”

Diego saw that a young woman with dark skin was looking at him from aside. He looked away for a moment until he decided what he was going to do with her, and then Doña Urraca came over, wanting to introduce him to her father. Diego followed her steps until he came to the man who was oozing vitality, although he was around seventy years of age.

“Father, I want you to meet a promising young man who works as an albéitar. A new friend of my family, Diego of Malagón.”

“Have I seen you before, young man?”

“I don't believe so, sir.”

“Diego is the assistant,” his daughter clarified, “who has come with Galib's wife, Benazir.”

“I still have not had the chance to greet that good man …” He studied Diego from head to foot. “I'm glad to know you're in training to be an albéitar. We need them in Castile, good ones especially. Take advantage of your time; you're in the hands of the best one.”

“To work at his side is a privilege, I assure you.”

“Young man, you must understand that the cavalry represents our greatest arm to defeat the Saracens. We need healthy horses, vigorous ones, and someone who can act with diligence and a steady hand when they fall victim to some infirmity. That is why your profession is so important, I would even say vital, perhaps more so than a doctor's.”

“Father, is it true you're staying in Toledo only a week?”

“Sadly yes, my daughter. The king has called me to Burgos to begin a new campaign, this time against Navarre. His Majesty is trying to open a new path to the sea and unite Castile with her possessions in Gascony, on the other side of the Pyrenees. It is decided that in this quest, he will take Vitoria, San Sebastián, and Fuenterrabía. And he will, believe me, as well as anything else necessary to meet his objectives.”

“And what response do you expect from the king of Navarre when he sees his territories attacked? He will declare war against us again. …”

“No, my daughter. It appears he is lost in a strange love affair with an Almohad princess. If he is in Marrakesh, as our spies assure us, he will not change our plans.” He stopped conversing in an instant when he saw the archbishop of Toledo. He begged their pardon and ran after him.

Doña Urraca accompanied Diego a while more, introducing him to other people. The most influential families in Castile were there: the Azas, the powerful Castros, the Ruiz Giróns, the Laras, of course, and the Haro clan.

Then Diego was alone again and tried to find the girl he had seen before, but he couldn't, and suddenly he found himself captured by friendly hands, those of Benazir, who pushed him to the center of the hall where the dancing was taking place.

“It would be cruel for you to leave a feast like this one without feeling a woman's body beside yours,” she whispered in his ear.

Diego reddened immediately. More proof that Benazir had decided to display her seductive charms once again. It wasn't the first time she'd done it in recent weeks. While they were measuring him for his clothes, he could feel how her hands sought him out with renewed desire, and he noted her agitated respiration when she helped him remove his tunic, grazing his skin with her hands, touching him on all sides.

“Don't be alarmed, Diego. We have my husband's permission. And besides, I won't accept the excuse that you've never danced. The steps aren't difficult; I'll teach you.”

“I'm all yours,” he answered her, without wanting to give her the impression that his words obviously did, judging from her sweet gaze.

Diego looked at the men's posture and imitated it. He passed an arm around her back and they faced each other, waiting for the first notes to sound. He didn't manage to hide his nervous tension.

The first sounds from the clavichord rang out, and all present bowed to their companion. The women bent over graciously, receiving the men afterward with two small leaps. When Benazir did it, Diego looked once again at her lovely body. That night she wore a dress not often seen on Muslim women. The cloth gripped her waist, showing her curves clearly, and opened at the top, showing generous cleavage. She seemed to intuit his thoughts and also saw where his eyes were roaming, and she smiled, showing she was in league with him.

The dance was an authentic martyrdom for Diego, and not because it was unknown to him and difficult, which was also true, but rather for the whirlwind of feelings that he had begun to feel. Benazir's excessive proximity, her perfumed skin, the touch of her body; he fought against his own thoughts and desires, but at the same time, she made him aware of hers. She took advantage of the least contact to make him feel her body. Their cheeks touched several times and were finally touching throughout the last steps, when they spun one around the other.

When that dance was over, she said something in his ear. Diego couldn't hear clearly because the noise of the applause drowned out her voice. He even thought it had been a stupid misunderstanding, but he thought he had heard something as terrible as it was worrying; he thought he heard her say that she wanted him. …

From that night forward, Diego avoided Benazir as much as he could.

And yet the echo of those words followed him over the course of the following months like a heavy torment. He knew he was too fragile to decide between duties and desires when it came to her. But he was also conscious of the grave consequences that his lack of strength could lead to if he wasn't capable of holding back that storm of sensuality. He still could. Besides the profound and enormous affection he felt for Galib, he would never offend the man who had given him work. To wound him with such a deception would be like wounding himself.

For that, and for everything, he couldn't betray him.

He stopped his Arabic classes to avoid temptations.

Galib didn't understand, but Diego justified himself by saying that the pace of the work had become exhausting. He tried to avoid Benazir at every moment. He fled from those places where they might run into each other. He also went more frequently to church and tried to busy his mind with more reading to keep from thinking of her.

Amid so many tribulations, the month of December came, with cold and snow as a prelude to the changing of the century.

A few days after the beginning of the year 1200, on a day like any other, Diego arrived at the forge very early. He needed to make a complete set of horseshoes for the horse of a demanding and rich Jewish businessman. He had promised to have them ready before lunch.

He lit pinewood—its resin would keep the fire burning—and he readied enough coal to reach the desired heat. He didn't ask after Galib, because he assumed he was at the market, like every Tuesday, where they needed him to affirm the good health of the animals before people would buy them.

Diego breathed in a mouthful of smoke with pleasure. The scent that came from the furnace had always captivated him. He hummed, enchanted, proud of the work that he had in his hands.

He placed several bars of iron inside to soften them and readied his hammer and a chisel to cut the metal afterward. He also placed a punch close to the anvil. He would use it to perforate the metal, opening holes where the nails would later go. Afterward, he would use another tool to finish the edges of the holes.

He took off his shirt and looked for his thick leather apron. He tied it around his back and checked the heat of the oven.

In that moment, he didn't realize she was there. Benazir had been watching him for some time, in the shadow of a stable wall, sure of what she wanted. Without his noticing, she approached him in silence. Her breathing was agitated, full of excitement.

And at once her hands embraced Diego's nude torso, and then her lips moved over his back, then his shoulders, until they reached his neck.

Diego knew who it was. He felt a temptation so intense, so hard to elude … He turned and looked at her, first frightened, and then desirous.

Benazir kissed his mouth, making him feel her silken texture. Diego tried to pull away, to allay his own longing, but she resisted him and kissed him with more ardor. No words had any effect on her.

Diego, in despair, decided she was the most beautiful of all women, and finally gave in to her. He kissed her as though his entire life were in those kisses; he felt the warmth of her skin, her shoulders, her stomach. Benazir twitched, invaded by pleasant feelings, especially when Diego's hands began to move over her, making their presence known on her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. The woman's ardor inflamed the air they both were breathing. Diego took in her perfume like a mouthful of soft sensations and let its aroma suffuse him. She swayed like the desert sands, her hands seemed to melt on his flesh, to penetrate it, and her hair floated over his face, making him feel drunk.

At that moment, Galib entered and saw them. Sajjad was at his side.

“Sajjad say to master … Find master for this. Sajjad no lie.”

Diego and Benazir separated, and she choked back a shocked scream.

In an explosive succession of thoughts, Diego, confused, nauseated by that horrible tension, tried to speak, to explain himself, but he couldn't find the way. It was horrible. He imagined the pain that his master must feel, seeing himself deceived by the two people he trusted most. Diego hated himself for letting himself be swayed into doing something he should never have done.

The desolate expression on Galib's face said it all. The damage was done. With the sole aim of softening his pain, the only thing that occurred to Diego was to try and salvage Benazir's honor.

“Master, I don't know how to explain it. … What …”

“How could you…?”

“She has always avoided me, I swear. … I confess it, I lost my head. …”

“What?” Galib closed his eyes in rage. He ran toward Diego with clenched fists and a furious demeanor.

Benazir, cringing from the situation, covered her mouth, destroyed. Diego was lying for her, assuming a burden that didn't belong to him, but she didn't speak; she preferred silence to the terrible consequences that would come to her if her husband knew the truth.

Diego felt Galib's eyes on him and his disgusted expression, and he knew that his strategy had been the correct one. He kept going.

“I wanted her so much. … And today I managed …”

Galib couldn't take more and pounced on him, hoping to still his rage by punching him. His head was spinning. He could understand nothing. It seemed so atrocious that he had never imagined it. He had considered Diego a son, his greatest disciple; he loved him. He had just suffered the most dreadful disappointment, seeing them in intimate contact, caressing each other in that way. He felt humiliated, betrayed, offended to the point of wanting to die.

Diego took in his hate without any response. Galib was pounding his body all over, and he wanted to bear the fury of the man he loved like a father, whom he had never wanted to betray. But it was too late to talk; it was too late for anything.

From a corner, Benazir watched them, ashamed. She had decided. She would confirm that supposed abuse if her husband asked her. If she didn't, she would be reputed by her husband as an adulteress, and her life, her name, and her honor would be stained forever.

She pulled away from them crying, but just before she left, she turned back to Diego and saw his gaze, serene, conscientious. With her eyes, she thanked him for his generosity and loyalty, but she only felt more ashamed. She left the stable running, with indescribable bitterness and despair.

Diego packed up his things without knowing how to continue or where to go.