The Horse Healer (32 page)

V.

E
arly in the morning, it was always cold in Santa María de Albarracín, even in July. Due to its particular situation between the mountains and its altitude, this was only natural.

On the shores of the Guadalaviar River, Diego managed to hold back a sneeze while he waited for the arrival of Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara.

Soon he heard the steps of a horse approaching him.

“Cold tempers your soul, right?”

Don Álvaro dismounted in one leap and shook Diego's hand energetically.

“I saw you talking with Mencía yesterday …”

“I hardly had time, but I think she was happy to see me.”

“When it comes to a woman, never trust your instinct. It doesn't work, I promise you.”

“I suppose you're right.”

“Believe me, I am, and especially in your case.”

Diego, astonished, asked him why he would say that.

“What I'm going to tell you will sound harsh, but the sooner you understand it, the better for you. Don't dream of her anymore, Diego. She's far, far outside your possibilities. I have never seen a relationship between a commoner and a noble that has worked. Society won't permit it; the cultural differences between you won't either, and I don't even want to think of how her mother will react.”

“Do you think I haven't already thought about this before?” Diego hung his head, conscious of the reality. “But still … I don't know, I have to hear it from her; I'm sure of her feelings.”

Diego showed a stubborn attitude, resistant to all reasoning. Don Álvaro understood that nothing would make him change his mind, only Mencía. He unsheathed his sword and swung it energetically, making it whistle. He decided to change topics.

“During a fight, the defense is more important than the attack. Do you want to know how to fight with a shield?”

“Isn't it more effective to know how to use a sword?”

“No. In combat, you have to know how to be clever on your guard to later be fierce on the offensive. Many times, the effectiveness of your strikes depends on how well you've been able to withstand the ones that have come your way.”

Don Álvaro took off his shield and passed it to Diego. It was triangular in shape, rather long, and its edges were rounded. On the surface were painted the arms of the Laras: two cauldrons.

“A good shield is made of wood and then covered with thick and hard leather, able to resist swords and make the steel bounce off. It is carried attached to the neck by a cord, which is called a guige. That way we don't lose it in combat and it doesn't bother us when we need both hands, as is the case in a cavalry attack.”

Diego tied it on with another, shorter strap called an enarme and held it close to his body, covering almost his entire flank, from the shoulder to the knee.

“The iron piece you see in the center is called the boss. As you can see, it ends in a point and it's very sharp. When you fight man-to-man, it can help you wound your enemy.”

Don Álvaro turned to his horse, took out a sword, and grabbed a morning star in the other hand.

“And my sword?”

“You won't need it,” he said curtly. “Now we'll go on to the action. I guess that's what you want, right?”

“What do I have to do?” Diego stood on guard without losing sight of the morning star—an enormous ball with sharp spikes.

In that moment, without giving him time to react, Don Álvaro's sword fell over one of his shoulders. Instinct alone made Diego block with the shield repeatedly, but when he least realized it, the steel grazed his leg.

“Always be on alert, young man. The shield resists a certain type of arms, but not others. Be more careful with the morning star; avoid it however you can. Ah! And you should learn to use your enemy's own movements to destabilize him.”

Don Álvaro walked around Diego, the sword in his right hand and the morning star in his left, looking for the young albéitar's weak points, making him turn and follow his steps. The heavy steel ball swung with the cadence of his movements. Diego thought it could end up stuck in his flesh if he wasn't careful. He never stopped looking at it. He held the shield close, pretending it formed part of his body. He believed he could move it at the same speed as his hand.

Don Álvaro approached to his right. That was Diego's least protected flank, and without expecting it, he was surprised by an incredible shout, three blows from the sword in succession, and one from the morning star that he managed to sidestep.

“When you fight against someone holding one of these”—Don Álvaro raised the spiked ball—“you should concentrate on it at all costs and try to avoid it. Try to get him to lose it, by pointing your sword at his hand, for example, or giving him a hard blow with the base of it. Maybe that way he'll drop it, because if you're not careful …” With a rapid movement he struck the shield with the morning star, splitting it in two pieces. Diego fell to the ground. “You'll be in serious trouble.”

Don Álvaro's sword was raised in the air, just above Diego's neck.

“I'm begging for mercy …”

“Today, naturally, you have it, Diego, but never trust anyone. Don't let your enemy bring a sword across your jugular, as I could have done just now. Before that happens, look for his leg, for example—it'll be close—and stick him there with your dagger. In the inner thigh, there is a vein, and if you reach it, he'll die instantly.”

Diego stood up, trusting Don Álvaro wouldn't attack him again, but immediately the sword began to strike at him mercilessly, ten, twenty times—it could have even been forty—a rain of steel and fury that the boy tried to withstand until he felt defeated. Now incapable of even holding up what remained of the shield, he was overcome by an unstoppable quivering in his arm when his enemy's sword gave him a definitive strike. As a consequence, Diego wound up stretched out on the ground and defeated.

Don Álvaro looked at him, sweating and panting, his teeth clenched, still grasping his sword. Without words, he pressed him not to give up yet, to go on defending himself until the end. …

Diego understood. With the splintered shield, almost breathless and still on the ground, his thoughts turned to the past. He remembered the two Calatravan knights who had pledged their life in his father's defense. In the eyes of Don Álvaro, he recognized that same spirit; he emanated the same strength as them, the kind belonging to a single, exceptional breed of men. Then Diego stood up, pressed on by an unknown force. He tensed the muscles in his legs and chest, breathed deep, and shouted as he never had before. He threw himself at Don Álvaro waving what was left of his shield, and since the latter had no time to foresee the blow or to attack with the morning star, he received a tremendous strike that managed to knock him over. When he fell, he hit his head on a stone, but he came after Diego again with zeal. He was expecting the second movement, but there wasn't enough time. Don Álvaro immediately saw the boss of the shield and its sharp point just above his eyes.

“Surrender!” Diego sighed in triumph.

“I congratulate you. …” Núñez de Lara pushed the steel away with his hand. “You learn fast, Diego. Maybe you should put on a bit of muscle, especially in the arms. Try to pick up that stone.” He pointed to a large, round boulder. “Do it over and over till you think you're going to die. And repeat that every day with others, at least three times a day.”

“I want to be brave.”

“Bravery.” Don Álvaro cleaned the earth from his tunic. “I suppose you're thinking about your sisters again, no?”

“My soul burns for not going to help them when I could have.” Diego lowered his head, entrusting the ensign with his painful secret. “I can't forget it.”

“You were only fourteen. How were you going to face a group of men alone, especially those savage Imesebelen? Don't torture yourself anymore. …” Don Álvaro clapped Diego on the back gently. “For now, work on your body, strengthen it, and then grow inside, that's what's really important. To do it, you'll have to fight your lower instincts; from now on, think of them as your worst enemies. Fight so that laziness doesn't beat you and battle against comfort. If you manage it, you will feel more capable, more skillful, and you'll see how that bravery you wish for will grow inside you.” He breathed in and took a dry branch to draw with it in the sand. “In ancient Greece, it was said that bravery was a virtue only given to the gods. But I think we can all have it, you too. …”

That afternoon, Diego found Marcos in the kitchen after he had settled on a first shipment of sheep to his partner, Abu Mizrain. He was counting his earnings on the table.

“Today, he's taken the first twenty and they'd hardly been feeding for two days. For next week, I have thirty more ready.” Marcos had decided to invest what he made in buying more livestock.

“Looks like you've got an eye for business. …”

They heard someone calling at the door.

Diego sent one of his servants to open it. It could be a message for him.

To his surprise, the servant returned in the company of a mysterious woman with a covered face.

“Who are you?”

“I have a message for you.” She turned to Diego.

“Give it to me, then.” He imagined something urgent.

“My mistress, Doña Mencía Fernández de Azagra awaits you tomorrow in the church of San Juan before the first Mass. She insists that you be discreet.”

“Why so many precautions?”

“Best if you ask her. She will wait for you at the confessionals.”

“Thank you very much. To whom do I owe the favor?”

“Forget me. Believe me, it's better that way.”

Diego arrived at the church a good deal before Mass, so much so that he found the doors locked. He waited around until they were opened, and when he could, he entered, wrapped in a dark cloak.

When he found the confessionals, he walked toward them and hid behind a thick column to wait for her. From there he could see the door.

The darkness protected him.

A number of people began filing in, but not a trace of Mencía. At one moment he heard steps coming close. He hid better and held his breath, wishing for it to be her. Someone passed by, a priest.

He looked again at the door.

People kept coming in, until finally he saw her. Though she was wearing a veil, he recognized her by her blond hair and her way of walking. She was in the company of two ladies. She wet her fingers in a font of holy water and crossed herself. With a certain slyness she glanced around the interior of the temple and found him. She spoke with one of her ladies and turned to where Diego was with a decisive step.

“Hi,” she whispered in greeting.

After making sure no one saw them, she found an empty confessional and pointed it out. Diego understood the message and went in without losing time. On one side of it, a small door gave access to the penitents. Mencía closed it quickly, caught her breath, and knelt in front of the wood grille that separated her from Diego.

“Here we'll be able to talk more peacefully.”

“Why do we have to do it in secret?”

“It's my mother. She hasn't let me have dealings with any man since I returned from Ayerbe.”

“I heard you were engaged to a nobleman from Aragon.”

“That's what they say.”

“It's not true then?”

“I am not.”

Diego breathed a sigh of relief.

“Lift your veil, I beg you. Let me enjoy your beauty for a moment.”

Mencía smiled, flattered.

When she took it off, her beautiful blue eyes appeared. Diego saw them. They were cloudy.

“How lovely you are!”

He surprised himself. It had always been hard for him to express his feelings about women, but with Mencía it was different.

“You'll make me blush if you carry on telling me these things.”

“I have to admit the only reason I came to these lands was to see you.”

Mencía was quiet, and Diego regretted having been so direct. He saw how her breast moved nervously and heard her sigh. She seemed to be thinking.

“I'm sorry. Perhaps I was too frank. …”

“You said what you felt. In that, you're luckier than I am.”

“I don't understand.”

“You can't always have what you want.”

“Sadly, what you say is true.”

“I still remember you in Olite, when you were with that horse. Your hands were the lords of its life and death. In that moment, you seemed like a god to me, and I admired you deeply. … And then, that bastard hurt you. I was by your side when it happened, and I thought he'd killed you. It was then that I felt something very strange for the first time.”

“What do you mean?”

The door of the confessional opened abruptly. Mencía was frightened and looked to see who it was. It was one of her attendants.

“Your mother's coming. You should be seated on a bench, with one of us. …”

“Thank you, Braulia.”

“Are you going?”

“Every afternoon, before night falls, I go out to walk my horse around the riverbed of the Tuerto. If you can today, look for me.”

“I'll be there.”

VI.

S
abba trotted along, infected by Diego's joy.

Again he spoke into her ear, as he used to do some time back. Those soft sounds caressed her and sounded glorious. She turned her head to her master and observed him.

As on every afternoon since two weeks ago, she took him to the riverbed to meet with Mencía. The two talked and talked. They recounted their lives, their dreams, all their memories, day after day. The relationship grew and became more vital, more secret; it seemed there was no turning back.

Halfway there, Diego and Sabba descended down a dangerous path that made them focus their attention. When they left it, the sky started to fill with dense, dark storm clouds and a damp wind picked up. As soon as she felt the first effects of it, Sabba reacted unexpectedly. Without knowing why, she pulled off at an explosive gallop, leaping like a young colt in springtime.

“But what's going on?” Diego laughed at the mad reaction of his mare, grabbed the reins, and tightened his knees over her ribs to avoid falling off. She had been more nervous than usual all day, and he supposed it was because she was in heat. She responded with three sharp neighs, as if trying to explain herself, in her own way, after hearing his question.

“You know what I'm saying to you, right?” He scratched her neck and Sabba snorted. “Mencía told me about an abandoned hermitage without letting me know where it was. But it must be around here. …” He caressed the mare's face. “Sniff the air. … You have to be able to make out the scent of its stones, or the moss that must be growing in its shadows, or if not, the noise of the woodworms inside it. Find her, and take me to her, Sabba!”

The mare dilated her nostrils to the maximum and breathed in a large mouthful of air. Then she turned around a number of times and pricked up her ears. Diego waited attentively, without talking, and let himself be taken north, first at a walk and then a trot, convinced that she knew where she was going.

In the depths of a narrow gorge, damp because of the nearby stream and the walnut grove, they found a construction of rough stone, in bad condition.

When they reached it, on the southern side, they heard a whinny. At that moment, thunder broke loudly over their heads. The sky went from being overcast to blackish in color, and just afterward, the first drops began to fall, heavy and loud. They had to find a place to take shelter fast. Once they walked around the structure, they saw Mencía's horse tied to an old oak.

“Mencía?”

Diego raised up from the saddle and scanned the surroundings without seeing her. Then he dismounted and left Sabba beside the other animal. In spite of the strong rain, that tree was leafy and its branches formed a natural roof.

Diego went up a stony path to the hermitage and looked inside. At that moment, a powerful lightning bolt light up the sky, followed by a quaking thunder.

He called her again but still didn't get an answer. As soon as he entered, he decided to walk to the apse, where there was a bit more light because of three small embrasures.

“Hello, Diego.” He heard the soft voice of Mencía at his back. He turned.

“Mencía …” He felt trapped by her eyes.

A new thunderbolt rang out with fortitude. The rain began to spatter on the roof so hard, for a moment they feared it would cave in. In just a breath's time they counted more than a dozen places where rivers of water were draining in.

“That chapel looks dry.” Diego pointed to his right.

Though they were in summer, the temperature had dropped so much that Mencía felt a sudden shiver. On her way through the hermitage she had tried to avoid the puddles and leaks but her dress had still gotten soaked. Diego embraced her and felt her shivering. That spontaneous reaction kept them together almost without breathing, living that moment with great emotion.

The water beat the walls of the hermitage and the thunder mounted with growing intensity. Between one and the other, they heard Sabba neighing.

“I'm going for them. … I feel bad for them.”

Diego went out of the temple and untied the horses as fast as he could amid their discomfited whinnying. He managed to get them to the hermitage and convince them to go up to the narrow entrance. Sabba sniffed inside, decided to enter, and immediately sought out a dry corner. The other horse followed her. It seemed calmer.

From the first time they'd met, Mencía felt happy with Diego, though her attraction for him had grown in later encounters. She thought him a fine man, well mannered, someone it was easy to talk to. She was curious about his life, how he had come to practice his profession, what he liked. Mencía wanted to know everything about him. She wasn't very reserved; she wanted to open herself to him as well.

They talked about everything, but about themselves most of all. Mencía confessed her love of music and poetry to him and tried to transmit her passion to him by reciting some of her favorite verses.

Unafraid of anyone, and without calculating about their relationship, Mencía showed him her rich personality, her way with words. Little by little they began to feel the same need to see each other, to want it all the time. They shared the same shortness of breath when they thought about each other, and both of them got goose bumps when they touched. They didn't need much time to understand that what they felt was nothing other than the effects of love.

When Mencía saw Diego appear in the chapel, wet to the bone and his hair in disarray, she looked at him with desire. He brought his lips close to hers and pressed them down, surprised by their suppleness, that taste of heaven, of glory. He couldn't believe it—he loved her. Mencía embraced him and pulled him to her breast; she needed to feel protected.

Diego explored her with more kisses. He looked for her dimples, her cheekbones, then her lips again. She responded quivering, discovering the taste of love.

“I feel like there's something truly great between us,” she whispered into his ear.

A violent flash came through the windows and crossed the entire nave. It was followed by an extended, brusque noise, like thousands of stones skipping down a hill.

“I love you.” Diego caressed her check and she looked for his other hand. “I don't think I'd even know how to breathe if something happened to you. … When I found out you were getting engaged, I thought I would die.”

Mencía offered him a passionate kiss, more adoring than ever, but wet with tears. She asked him to hold her tight, and she engraved in her memory all that she was experiencing. She nestled in his arms. She felt small with him, weak, frightened. She was afraid of her mother's reaction when she found out what she really felt. She was nervous about the future.

She felt a caress on her cheeks, the softness of Diego's lips on hers, then on her chin, on her neck. Those sensations finally resolved her thoughts.

“I know what I'm going to do. I will write to him. I don't want that man to go on thinking I'll accept his proposal.”

When the afternoon passed into night, and the darkness enveloped everything, Mencía said they should go back to the city. They peeked out of the hermitage and saw that it was still raining. They also confirmed that the water had soaked everything.

“I'm scared. Let's go before it gets worse.”

“Wait inside. …” Diego responded. “I'll go study the terrain and see how it is.”

Mencía stayed in the doorway. She saw him walk away until he vanished from her sight. After a moment, she tried to look for him again through that thick sheet of water, but realized it was an impossible task in such darkness. She let a bit more time pass before she got worried, but when she saw he wasn't coming back, she became afraid. She thought of her mother; she would be hysterical. Surely she had organized a search party.

While she thought of all her problems, Diego was looking for a way to get out of that flooded streambed.

On all sides there were branches and tree trunks torn up by the roots and tangled together from the effects of the violent inundation. He walked a good while under a sheet of rain. He saw huge stones roll and walls of earth slide away whole. Alarmed by the terrible sight, he turned back to the hermitage, deciding they must spend the night there.

When Mencía saw him arrive, she hugged him and rubbed his body vigorously so that his temperature would rise. She took off his tunic and wrung it out so it would dry. Then she ran her warm hands over his chest, his back, his legs, stimulating warmth on his skin.

“There's no way to escape the streambed. I've looked at all the possibilities, and believe me, it's impossible, it would be too dangerous. We'll spend the night here.”

“I have to go back. My mother will kill me.”

“She'll understand.”

“You don't know her. When she knows what's happened, I don't know what she'll do, especially if she hears it's been for you.”

“Our first night together …”

Diego kissed her on the mouth with passion. She did the same, but she was a bit upset. Diego noticed.

“Don't be afraid.”

“Hold me tight.”

Diego squeezed Mencía and together they huddled in that corner. Love floated between them, rose with the steam that was coming off their clothes. Mencía hugged him, trying to make him a part of herself, holding him forever.

Amid kisses and caresses, sweet words and whispers, they finally fell asleep, very close to each other.

The first rays of light penetrated through the windows and with them, the announcement of the storm's end. Mencía awoke in a rush. In that overwhelming clarity, a cloud of anguish floated through her soul. The arrival of a new day meant awakening to the harsh reality: facing her mother and mailing that letter to Fabián Pardo.

During the night, she had lived far from those obligations, dedicated only to dreaming with and enjoying her beloved.

When Diego woke up, he found her on the threshold of the door. He went to her back and embraced her from behind, kissing her neck sweetly. He breathed in with pleasure and a strong scent of wet earth reached him, but at the same time, he felt nervous for Mencía.

“Are you thinking of Fabián?”

“Yes, and I feel terrible. …”

She exploded into painful sobs. Her relationship with the Aragonese had been almost sealed, and to break it could provoke a territorial conflict. With that matrimony, her mother was trying to soften the king of Aragon's aspirations for the territory of Albarracín. Besides that, Diego's position as a commoner was no help. Her mother would never accept him, nor would the others who were close to her. Mencía was conscious of the consequences that love would have in her life. It would mean she would have to flee, begin a new life elsewhere, maybe with another name.

“I've built up too many expectations.” Mencía dried her tears with a handkerchief, not daring to look at his face.

“I don't know if I understand what …”

“No, you don't understand anything.” She grabbed him by the shoulders. “I'm looking for a solution that probably doesn't exist. … But I know I love you, only you. I want you for me, forever, and yet there's him.”

“He's noble, rich, and powerful, everything your mother wants for you, but imagine for a moment what your life would be like at the side of someone you don't love. Think about it, it's your only life! Would you waste it being unhappy? I wouldn't. I know there's a lot I don't have, that my blood is humble and my sole inheritance is a mare and a destroyed family. I admit I'm the son of a poor vassal, a simple innkeeper, but I have something more valuable than all the properties that nobleman from Aragon possesses: your heart.”

Mencía responded to his words by kissing his lips passionately.

“I don't know what to do to solve this problem.”

“Don't let anyone strip from you the most important thing in your life: your freedom. Be yourself. Stand up without fear. Tell them both. Let happen what has to happen. … I'll be by your side.”

“Don't ever leave me alone, I beg you.”

“I won't. Never.”

An hour later, Mencía and Diego entered the church of Santa María de Albarracín. Before reaching the castle's esplanade, they split to avoid being seen together. But Doña Teresa had spotted them from the tower, before they even entered the city.

Mother and daughter met at the gate to the fortress.

When Mencía saw how bloodshot her mother's were, she imagined how long and hard her night had been. Doña Teresa didn't wait until they were inside, but began immediately to assail her with questions.

“Are you really fine?” She inspected her arms and legs, looking for a scratch, a wound, some bruise.

“Yes, Mother. Nothing happened.”

“Tell me what you've done, where you spent the night. Where, in that infernal storm?”

“In the hermitage of Santa Clara.”

“Unless I'm wrong, that's not on your normal route. What was there, then?”

“Nothing, Mother.”

“I sent half the city to look for you. I thought you were wounded, alone, that you'd disappeared. It was horrible. There was a time when I thought you were dead.”

Doña Teresa felt relieved to see Mencía healthy and unharmed, but she needed answers, and especially wanted to know why her daughter had been with the albéitar.

“Nothing happened.”

“I prayed to God for someone to find you last night and be able to help you. You didn't see anyone?”

“No, I was alone the whole time,” she lied.

“Are you sure?”

Mencía held her breath, full of doubts. That insistence could only mean her mother knew something. … Just in case, she decided to tell the truth.

“Well … the truth is … I was with the albéitar Diego.”

Doña Teresa's eyes opened wide.

“What?”

“Yesterday I saw him on the path, when it was beginning to rain. But don't be afraid; he acted like a gentleman the whole time. He simply stayed with me so I wouldn't be afraid during the storm. It was lucky he found me.”