The Horse Healer (46 page)

Inside the fortress, they were working without respite. The walls had to be defended against the onslaught of those who tried to scale them, raining down stones, burning tar, and arrows upon them. Groups of men ran from one end to the other with water to put out the fires, and others carted up more arrows from the armory, lances, darts for the crossbows, so that no one on the battlements lacked for ammunition.

Diego didn't sleep the whole night through and helped in whatever was asked of him.

Almost at dawn, when the attack had begun to die down, he was fortunate to find Bruno and take the opportunity to speak with him about those matters that were upsetting him.

“There are still those who believe wars are won by those who possess the best means, horses, weapons, the greatest number of combatants,” Bruno explained. “And they don't know how wrong they are.”

The Calatravan tried personally to assess the damages suffered by the troops and the buildings and asked Diego to come with him while they spoke.

“Wars are won by the side that has the best information about its opposition. The one capable of guessing the movements and tactics of the other, who can upset the enemy's strategy and emerge triumphant. With information, the weakest can overthrow the strongest, disarming him. Diego, that is our work in Salvatierra: knowing what the enemy is planning, figuring out his movements, knowing where and when he plans to attack, and with what means. Our monarch, Alfonso, knows very well how battles are lost when no information about the enemy is at hand. That is what happened in Alarcos. It won't happen to him again.”

They were looking out over the battlements to the north, watching their assailants' movements, far from the reach of their arrows. Bruno went on leading the conversation.

“Before you asked me why you were among us. Do you feel ready to hear it? If so, listen to me now.”

Diego swallowed and listened attentively.

“Before all else, I want you to know I feel a great respect for you. Don't expect to hear me say it again in the future, because that's not my way.”

Diego was stunned.

“You are the very example of a kind of bravery that's not easy to find in our day. I'm referring to your ability to rise above and the spirit of sacrifice you seem to have. Look, Diego, I'm a knight of noble origin. I come from an old family and my acts must continue to do honor to them. Many of the Calatravans you have met in this fortress are also sons of the nobility like me.” He stopped to give an order to some men who were transporting an enormous cauldron of boiling water to spill over the side of the walls. He told them to save it for another occasion. “Life has forced you to survive. An unexpected destiny separated you very early from your people, and yet that misfortune made you grow. Since then you've fought to be someone, you tried to learn more, to broaden your knowledge, to be a better man. And with that goal, you found a master who taught you a trade.”

“I suppose anyone would do that in my situation …”

“That is not so certain, no. When I listened to you in that cell, I recognized two clear virtues in you: great ability and a strong character. I saw you had a gift that not everyone has, I assure you. You learn faster than anyone else, and you can memorize any text you set your mind to quickly. You should feel proud of all that, Diego, because you have transcended your humble origins as the son of a poor innkeeper to become the greatest albéitar in Castile. And in addition, you've garnered a prestige very few could dream of, and the trust of very powerful people. Do you need me to go on?”

“I'm overwhelmed by what you say. Now, pardon my boldness, but you still haven't told me what you want me for.”

Bruno sighed. He had decided to tell him everything.

“There's no one else in my command who has the talent you have. That's why I want you here. I need you to put your intelligence at our service, for you to let us make use of your knowledge. I began by telling you that wars were won with the mind, not the arm or the sword. I saved your life when I took you down from the gallows, and now I need your mind, your knowledge. You will help me to make decisions, tactics, plans. That is why I need you! Do you understand now?”

Diego was floored, but he no longer needed to know more. He would obey that man, whatever he asked.

“You will have a period of initial training that may take six months. After, you will take part in a smaller mission with your colleagues; that will steel your bravery and put your apprenticeship into practice. We will teach you to live in hostile environments and we may charge you as well with some more difficult missions, when you are more ready. At all times, your abilities, your knowledge, your instincts, will be put to the test. If you work well and do everything that is asked of you, we can help you resolve those matters that are most worrisome to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rescuing your sisters. Your mission will become ours, all of ours, and we will go with you to look for them.”

“Really?”

“You have my word.”

Diego became excited. For the first time in years, someone had proposed rescuing Estela and Blanca. Though it was still a long way away, he was filled with great joy and inner peace.

“Where do I begin?”

“You already have. From today forward, we will teach you the abilities you'll need to become a good spy. You will learn the most refined techniques of observation, you will be taught how to master disguise, you will have to memorize writings, documents, maps, codes; and you will do it without making a single mistake. We will train you to exercise the mental discipline you'll need to adopt different personalities and how to react when faced with extreme situations. You will have to improve your decision making, adapting it to situations where the tension is high. All that, with the help of your own virtues, will lead you to achieve any goal you set yourself in life.”

“It sounds like an attractive and exciting challenge,” Diego interrupted.

Bruno cut him off, adding a few last considerations.

“Remember from today on that there exists between us a mandate that must reign over any other you might receive in the future; you will always help your comrades, when they ask you to and even when they don't; you will give your life for them if it's required and you will never betray them, and you will care for their wives and orphans should they ever die.”

Diego felt the weight of an enormous responsibility, but also the praise of all that had been said about him.

“Count on me. I will do whatever you ask,” he affirmed, fully aware of what that meant.

“There is only one thing left to warn you. You have hard months ahead of you. You will sweat like you never have, you will ache to your very bones, and you will dream of being able to rest …”

“I shall.”

“You will need to strengthen your muscles to brandish a sword or a mace, and your physical training will include concentration techniques to withstand torture and stare death in the face.”

“I have already done that. …”

Bruno looked into his eyes.

“Are you still interested in the job?”

III.

A
nother miscarriage left Mencía even more alone. Her husband, seeing how her pregnancies ended, decided to find another woman who would leave him descendants, even if they were bastards.

For that reason, Mencía barely saw him, and the love that he had once pledged to her seemed to have been snuffed out.

Apart from that, she knew he had been courting a lady from a neighboring county and was already bedding her. In fact, he only came to Ayerbe one day a month to settle accounts with his employees and vassals.

She would go out to ride her horse every afternoon through the extensive woodlands surrounding the castle, remembering her walks with Diego.

What can have happened to him?
she asked herself every day.

Five years had passed since the wedding in Albarracín and four since she'd last heard he was residing in Cuéllar, in Castile. A long time not to find another woman, enough time even to have his own descendants.

“My lady, my lady …” Her lady-in-waiting rushed into the music room. Mencía was playing a difficult piece on the clavichord.

“What is it?” She was alarmed when she saw her so upset.

“The master … The master … Dear God …” The woman brought her hands to her head.

“But it's only the middle of the month… The poor vassals don't have to pay him yet. Or is he in one of his ill humors and he's decided to see me?” she asked sarcastically.

“No, it's not that, no … The master has had a terrible accident.”

“What are you saying?” She grabbed her shoulders, imploring more information.

“His page just arrived, my lady. He will tell you himself.”

“Show him in then, quickly!”

The boy came in, pale, and approached her with urgency. He kissed her hand and begged her pardon for his appearance.

“Do not worry about that and tell me, what has happened?”

“A bad fall from a horse, my lady. I'm sorry …” He breathed in to calm himself down. “He was close to the castle of Monzón when a tree branch knocked him to the ground and he broke his neck. It killed him.”

Mencía remained calm. She made sure he knew he was dead and sent away her servants so she could be alone. They imagined she would weep from grief in her solitude, but that was not the case. She regretted Fabián's death, to be sure. Her pain was the same she would have felt for anyone close to her, but nothing more. Of course it was her husband, but only by dint of force and subterfuge. That is why she had never managed to love him.

He had been a good man and had always respected her. Though recently he had looked for the warmth of another woman, Mencía hadn't held it against him. It was even something of a relief to know that in the beds of others he had found the kisses and caresses she had denied him, and of course, the descendants she couldn't provide for him.

Mencía dressed in black for the well-attended funeral that was held two days later. A long veil hid her from the better part of the gazes that tried to divine her inner state from her expression. And yet it was everyone's opinion that Mencía showed great restraint and self-possession, virtues appropriate to a well-raised woman like herself, at all times.

Despite the recent nature of the occurrence, many figures from the kingdom of Aragon attended, including Queen María de Montpellier and the bishop of Lerida, requiring Mencía to pay great attention and feign a sorrow that in fact she didn't feel.

During the reception, people were astonished at her beauty, which many had heard of but had never actually seen. The rumors about the infidelities of the deceased were told and retold among the attendees. Some even affirmed that, contrary to what had been told, he had died in the bed of a woman who might even be attending his funeral. It was hard for them to understand what could have provoked those marital betrayals when a woman sweeter and more beautiful than his wife was unthinkable.

When the interment was over and the body of her husband was in the tomb, all eyes turned to Mencía as the moment came for her to approach in silence and give her last good-bye. Aware that she was the center of attention in that moment, Mencía knelt beside the pit, sighed heavily, and took a handful of earth to scatter over the dead man. After, a chorus of choked-back tears erupted from the women when, in a gesture charged with emotion, she took the gloves from her hand, kissed them sorrowfully, and left them over her husband's breast.

For all, it was a beautiful gesture, but for Mencía it was the last moment of a marriage she had never wanted, the freedom to act as she wished from then on, and, why not, to dream of finally meeting her true love again.

She was moved, of course that was true, but a light of hope glimmered inside her. The death of her husband changed everything, affected her future, opened new possibilities, like being able to make her own decisions or finally following the dictates of her heart.

With the coolness of the air on her cheeks and her heart fluttering, there amid the people watching her, she felt alone, and made her first decision, thinking of nothing else. She would wait for her inheritance, then take a long journey to Castile, a journey with no turning back.

In just two weeks, Mencía had managed to arrange all the formalities that followed the funeral and the testament was read. From then on, Fabián's grand fortune would be in her name. She was named an administrator with power to decide the ends to which his lands would be used, and she ordered the sale of a palace that he possessed in the village of Jaca, to raise money for her purposes.

The day after she received the payment, she concluded a couple of minor matters, took off her mourning clothes, and mounted one of her best horses.

It was the last morning of that long autumn when she was last seen leaving the castle in the company of her lady-in-waiting. No one but her minister knew where she was headed.

Mencía reached the city of Cuéllar on the tenth day of her travels, full of excitement to see Diego. She needed to discharge the enormous debt she owed him, explain to him the true reason she had left him and why she had gotten pregnant. Even if he was engaged to another woman, it would only be right to let him know the conditions that had been imposed on her by her mother if Mencía had given in to her love for him.

It was possible that for Diego all that was now in the distant past, but not for her. She needed to explain it to him, regardless of what would happen, even if she didn't have any hope of bringing about a new relationship with him.

When she crossed the walls of the town, Mencía felt deep emotion and the tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to see him so much … to hold him.

As soon as she took the first street she stopped an older man and asked him if he knew where to find the albéitar Diego de Malagón. To her astonishment, the man ran away from her without responding, gesturing like a madman, as if they had mentioned the devil.

“Señora …” Mencía got down from her horse and stopped a woman with a child. “Could you tell us where the albéitar Diego de Malagón lives?”

“Lord Jesus!” She crossed herself twice and did not stop walking. “What sort of question is that!”

Mencía looked at her lady-in-waiting without understanding what was happening to these people and why they weren't answering. A young man came toward them dragging a mule by its bit and Mencía guessed that he must have known Diego.

“Boy, excuse me, boy …” When he turned, the boy saw a beautiful woman, blond with incredibly blue eyes, who took his breath away.

“Señora,” he said, and coughed involuntarily. “What can I do for you?”

“We've come from afar looking for Diego de Malagón, and …” The boy put his hand to his mouth in fright. “What is it?” Mencía grabbed him by the shirt, ready to get the information from him however necessary.

“You don't know anything of what happened?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you from his family?”

“I'm simply a friend he hasn't seen in a long time.”

“A terrible tragedy happened.”

Mencía was choked by a terrible fear.

“Explain yourself, please.”

“He was accused of poisoning the people, and many of our neighbors died …”

“What nonsense!”

“It's not nonsense, Señora. More than a hundred of us died and so they put him on trial. And then …”

The boy lowered his head, distressed at having to recount his terrible end.

“And … what happened after?”

“Well … what happened is … they hanged him.” The boy studied the woman's reaction. “I'm sorry to say it like that. I regret having to tell you, but unfortunately that's what happened. It was several months back.”

Mencía heard the news like a blow from a club. She leaned against her horse, and, almost fainting, she looked at the boy with a destroyed expression, feeling utterly helpless, dying with anguish. She breathed deep to recuperate a bit of strength but she couldn't speak; her voice failed her. Her servant, seeing her in that state, spoke for her.

“Do you know where he lived? Could we speak with someone who had contact with him before he died?”

“They were in a house close to the town square, right against the walls of the citadel. Ask around there.”

“Who else are you referring to who lived with him?”

“A trader named Marcos. He disappeared just before your friend's trial.”

“Can you come with us?” Mencía regained her speech and placed a gold coin in his hand.

After finding out that the house where Diego lived was now occupied by another family, the boy went with them to where Veturia, his former servant lived.

Mencía paid him another five coins for his service, before saying good-bye to him at the door of a house that was excessive for a woman of the servant's stature.

“You're Veturia, correct?”

As soon as she opened the door, the two women came in without being invited.

“But … Who are you, and what do you want?” Veturia was shocked by their boldness.

Mencía explained to her the scantest details and began asking about what had happened with her former masters. Of Marcos, Veturia would only say he had gone to Burgos shortly before the execution, taking all his possessions with him. But when she spoke of Diego, her face flushed and her voice began to falter.

“I'm sorry, señora. Without meaning to, I was partly guilty for what happened to Diego.” Mencía didn't wish to tell her that she was talking about the love of her life. “I just confessed to alleviate my conscience about a series of events he'd been at the center of, and then, everything happened so fast. … I saw him die myself, hanging from that terrible rope.”

Veturia began to cry while Mencía observed her, boiling over with sorrow and rage. She felt powerless and disgraced. Her illusions of seeing him again were shattered in a thousand pieces. A sharp pain pierced her soul. And she cried without consolation, as no woman had ever cried before. She was drowning in her own tears.

A few hours later, in the cemetery, Mencía found Diego's tomb, topped with a rough cross of wood, half rotten and painted with his name and the date of his death.

She knelt and caressed that mound beneath which her beloved was resting.

Her lady-in-waiting looked at her mistress full of anguish, lain out on the ground, and embraced her, covering her with tears. The pain she exuded was so great it filled the air and the grass growing around her. And she listened amid whispers as Mencía told Diego how she had loved him, promising him her eternal affection, broken beneath the pain of never again seeing his eyes, feeling his arms or lips.

Mencía began to kiss the earth with grief-filled passion, looking for his soul inside it. Though her servant tried to drag her away, she took pity on her and could not manage to do so. She begged her aloud, pulled at her belt, insisted, and maybe for that reason, neither of them heard the arrival of the person behind them.

“Who are you?” the person exclaimed.

When they turned, the two women shouted. They were tense and frightened by the man's strange looks until they found out what he wanted.

“I saw you down there on the ground hugging the earth like you'd been the lover of the person buried there, but I don't know you. I didn't see you during the trial or after. Who are you?” Mencía stood and looked into his eyes.

“My name is Mencía Fernández de Azagra. I loved this man with all my soul and one day I abandoned him, without ever telling him why. To my great dismay, I couldn't live at his side, and believe me, I wished to dreadfully. …” Though her tears mixed with the traces of dirt on her face, the man could see sincerity and purity in her eyes, and he felt a deep sorrow for her.

“I'm the gravedigger, señora.” Mencía pinned him in her blue gaze. “I think you should know something.”

“Speak, I pray you.”

“That day, when they hanged him, everything was very strange. Weird stuff was happening. That night, some men gave me money, they did …”

“I still don't understand …”

Mencía clenched her fists until her nails dug into her hand.

“They paid me not to bury him and asked me to leave the cemetery for a few hours.” He looked at Diego's tomb. “So I couldn't see anything, and since then I've had the suspicion that they didn't ever put him in the earth.”

“What?” Mencía choked when she heard him. “You think there's nobody there?” She pointed to the place where Diego was supposed to be.

“That's what I believe.”

“Where do you have a shovel?”

Days later, a smiling woman, accompanied by her lady-in-waiting, waited for someone to open the door to a house in the center of Burgos. She called twice, until a man of undefined age answered the door.

“Could you please tell Marcos de Burgos that Mencía Fernández de Azagra is here to see him?”