The Horse Healer (48 page)

“The king of Aragon is attacking us in Valencia,” al-Nasir said. He had just received notices from the east. “And the worst thing is it appears he is conquering territory. To our misfortune, he seems to have forgotten the terrible punishment we inflicted on him last year in Barcelona. And the king of Castile, surely in league with him, has managed to steal from us a number of frontier towns and their castles.” He looked at the sky, certain that Allah was the one guiding him. “The time has come to attack them, Pedro. Let us get ready to deal them a definitive blow. A few days ago I had a vision. I was inspired by the Prophet …” Pedro de Mora looked in his eyes. The crystalline blue of his gaze was like an open window into his most intimate thoughts. Al-Nasir went on revealing what he'd seen.

“I've been given a sacred mission from him: to sweep the entire peninsula clean of Christians, to eliminate the infidel from the land that was also Al-Andalus to our predecessors. And he ordered me afterward to cross the Pyrenees and turn to Rome. The strength of Allah will force the pope to hand over his city. The Eternally Benevolent, the Grandiose One has made me see it.” He brought together his hands on his chest and raised his eyes to the sky. “Pedro, I have a noble lineage behind me and I will not stop until I see Christianity defeated by my hands, forever.”

He raised his arms and shook them, enthused by his own words. Afterward, he smoothed out his tunic and seemed to return to a calmer state.

“Therefore, we must consider a long campaign and you will play a decisive role in it.” Pedro de Mora wondered what he was thinking. “You must drive a wedge between the kingdoms of the north, stoke up their quarrels, break their ties the way you did in the past with Navarre. If they pulled together, we could never defeat them. But defeat them we shall, and they will taste the dust of defeat if they continue on their own.”

“I will go to the kingdom of León. The monarch thinks well of me and I know he will continue in his grievance with his cousin Alfonso of Castile. I will try to make my way into his court, undermine his already damaged relations, try to bring things to a head …”

Pedro de Mora was unconcerned with matters of religion; he didn't understand them, he didn't even believe in God. His only faith consisted of chasing the enormous pot of money he would get if al-Nasir managed to see through his plans. He would never have made it so far staying on the side of the Christians. He dreamed of Alfonso VIII, defeated by the Almohad troops, kissing his feet, kneeling before him, absolutely humiliated.

Al-Nasir greeted his idea of going to León with approval.

“Your plan agrees with me. A great deal. In any case, try to return before September. I will need you to support the first of the attacks. That one, as I have foreseen, will hurt a great deal, because we will hit them in the depths of their soul, I assure you.”

They went on walking to the next courtyard, and Estela took advantage of their solitude to leave her hiding place with Tijmud. Both were conscious of the risk they would run if they didn't separate soon. The guard spoke to her without losing time.

“It was him … Pedro de Mora.” He took her hands to prevent her from interrupting him. “A slave saw him tampering with the henna that day. The woman has said nothing since; she was terrified, because she was afraid he would come after her as he had with the other three women. But a few days ago, I gained her confidence and she told me everything that had happened.”

“The bastard.” Estela wrinkled her brow. “I can't understand why he would want to kill Princess Najla. … It's terrible.”

“Don't be mistaken. It was for you, not the princess.”

“Are you sure?”

“And he will try again.”

Estela shivered.

“Be careful and stay on your guard. I will try to be close to you, to protect you, but never take your eyes off him.”

VI.

D
uring that same summer, that of 1211, rumors spread all around that there would be war between the north and south. Once more, you could hear words like
reconquest
,
holy war
,
faith
, and
crusade
.

When the fields were plowed and the first September rains arrived, some said with relief and others with worry that the battle would take place the following spring, when the new pasture had grown in.

Indeed, the two armies began to prepare themselves.

Amid copious rains that rendered the land almost impassable, the fortress of Salvatierra, on its high hill, was in a ferment throughout that autumn. With reason, it was said that its denizens never slept.

The orders that arrived from Toledo were definitive. They should rally against the enemy, striking out at his positions, burning his fields and granaries, destroying his orchards and robbing his livestock. That mission was given the name “wasteland” and it continued pushing on through the south with very little resistance on the part of the Saracens. No one understood why the Moors had put up so little energy into defending their redoubts.

At the end of September, in Salvatierra, they had a remarkable visitor. It was a surprise for Diego and the cause of his next and most astonishing mission.

“I want to see Diego de Malagón,” the recent arrival ordered after speaking with Bruno de Oñate. He had appeared with an escort of twenty well-armed horsemen.

“I will show you where he is,” the castle's bailiff said, though confused by the man's behavior, and directed him to descend down what seemed to be an endless set of stairs.

Amid the shadows, at the end of a poorly lit passage, they came to a worn wooden door that creaked as if it hadn't been opened in years. Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating. A great spray of light came down from a skylight in the ceiling. With their back to the door, three men were writing painstaking messages on sheets of parchment no larger than a cherry. One of them was Diego. The recent arrival approached him and touched him on the shoulder.

“Whoever you are, wait. I have to finish a phrase and I can't leave off in the middle.”

Without turning to see who it was, Diego wet the tip of a very thin swallow feather in the inkpot and wrote three words and two symbols on that tiny sheet. He did so under the attentive gaze of the newcomer, in a language he didn't know. When he finished, he took off a large lens he'd strapped to his face to expand his field of vision and turned to see who'd come for him.

“I can't believe it!” Diego shook his hand, charmed to see him again.

“Me neither! I imagine everyone thinks you're still dead. … Well, not everyone; I've been following you since they hanged you from that gallows.”

“Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara in Salvatierra. … What a pleasure it is to see you.”

Diego encouraged him to sit and asked after his wife, Doña Urraca, as well as his children and his father-in-law, the lord of Biscay.

“Everyone is well, thank you. I'm still grateful for what you did. …”

“What are you talking about? I don't remember …”

“The message you intercepted. Do you know what I'm talking about now?”

Diego's thoughts turned back to the mountain pass of Muradal, when he had slain that Saracen courier. He still felt the man's agony and the bitter memory of what had happened.

“Yes, yes … of course.”

“Thanks to your work, we were able to destroy the most important spy network that al-Nasir had planted in Castile and Aragon. That message was impossible to decipher because it was made with new codes and symbols. We only recognized a name and a city: Arévalo. From that, we were able to figure out where the first spy was located, and once we had him, the rest of them fell. Just a little while back, we caught the last one in Valladolid.” He paused a moment. “It's been the best operation in memory in Castile. The only thing left to do is find their new leader, and we still don't know his name, let alone where he lives. It's a real nightmare.”

“One day he'll slip up and we'll capture him. … You'll see,” Diego commented. “And by the way, you haven't told me what the motive is for your visit.”

“The position of ensign of Castile makes me directly responsible for this fortress as well as its missions. Let's just say I act as a liaison between all of you here and the king. Bruno de Oñate informs me of what happens here, and the king and I study what our next actions should be. Did you know that?”

Diego said he didn't.

“Then listen. Our next mission will be the most decisive one we have undertaken up to now, and that's why I'm here. You'll know what I'm talking about when I have discussed with your superior what your role in it is to be, but I can already anticipate it will be an essential one. Then we'll talk to you.”

Two hours later, Diego asked for permission to enter a small room beside one of the armories, a discreet place where Bruno de Oñate and Álvaro Núñez de Lara were waiting for him.

“Close the door and sit down,” Bruno ordered.

“Do you know Seville?” Don Álvaro laid a map across the table.

“I was never there, but I've memorized this map down to the last details, the same with Córdoba and Granada. I know the names of the streets, the plazas, the mosques, where the main buildings are located …”

“Excellent, Diego. Now you'll have to learn the extensive network of underground pipes.” He unfurled another one with a complex system of forking passages that was superimposed on the map below. “You'll need to in order to penetrate al-Nasir's palace. We know he's living in Seville now, and this is the best opportunity.”

“Pardon me, I don't know if I heard correctly. … You're telling me that I'll have to break into the chambers of the caliph himself?”

“Exactly,” Bruno interrupted. “You have heard right. Your mission will consist of making off with his precious Koran.”

“A Koran?”

Don Álvaro passed Diego a drawing showing a book with a cover adorned with arabesques and an infinity of geometric shapes. In its center was an enormous green stone.

“Not just any Koran … you have to find this one! The most beloved of al-Nasir, his favorite. It is the only copy of its kind.”

“And I'm expected to risk my life to steal a book?”

“You won't steal it. If you did, you would give us away and our final objective would be compromised. I'll explain it to you better. We know that al-Nasir is used to hiding a great number of his secrets and strategies in its pages. Some time ago, our ambassador saw him do it and found out from others that it was where he hid his most important documents, as if in a lockbox. They say it's for some mystical reason, maybe so Allah blesses his plans, we don't know.

“Once you take it, you will look for all the documents it contains, one by one. And that is where your participation is essential, because we need you to memorize them. …” Don Álvaro added. “Your exceptional ability to remember what you read has made you the chosen one for this plan.”

Bruno de Oñate took the floor, explaining more details of the operation.

“We know there is a pipe that opens into one of the courtyards in the castle, the one closest to the caliph's residence. That will be where you enter. You'll be in disguise, and you'll be able to move around the precincts once you're out.”

Diego seemed worried about the difficulties of that mission.

“I don't know if I'll be able …”

“You've been training for three years, you've participated in many operations, and you've always behaved properly, with the necessary temperament,” Bruno said, encouraging him. “You can do it.”

“I believe so, too,” Don Álvaro added.

“You'll have a week from today to organize everything. We will study the operation, every step you have to take, and we will practice it with you as many times as necessary. In Seville, you will be assisted by one of our best men. Don't worry, everything has been thought of. You won't have any difficulties.”

Diego rubbed his hands together nervously. He was assailed by a multitude of questions, though he understood it wasn't the right moment to ask them. Except for one.

“Do we know where the book is kept?”

The two men looked at each other, waiting for the other to respond. Their faces said it all.

“Don't tell me, I have to find it myself, right?”

VII.

D
iego spoke softly to Sabba, in the language they shared. He begged her to be calm from that moment on. She understood and snorted discreetly.

They were on the banks of the Tagarete River, where it intersected the Guadalquivir as well as the gates of Seville. His first contact was waiting for him there.

Diego, distracted, watched the incredible effect of the sun on the four copper spheres that crowned the mosque's minaret. It looked like a lighthouse, its glimmer visible from two leagues away.

He had traveled through Al-Andalus with a dozen enormous Flemish mares, posing as a horse trader. It hadn't been too difficult apart from his voyage through the Muradal Pass, where a group of Calatravans had to help him through after an initial operation to clear the area out.

Diego looked at a nearby sundial on a tower close to the river and was surprised to see it was still midday, the hour agreed upon, and he still hadn't seen any visitor.

“Oranges are bitter this season …” The voice surprised him. It belonged to a man in a turban and blue tunic.

“I prefer the winter ones as well.”

With that answer, each knew who the other was.

“I'll take you to my house, but first you need to know the location of the three great conduits that open onto the river.” The man pointed to a place very close to where they were. “You see the first one there? The other one, the next one, used to be named for Saint Bernard. And the third of those old pipes that still bring water to the city is called the cat's cradle.”

“I'll use the first one to leave, it's the closest one to the castle. Now let's go; we're too exposed and besides, I'm hungry as a wolf.”

“Then follow me. My code name is Blue Heron.”

In the neighboring village of Coria, on the left bank of the Guadalquivir, the man had possession of a mill and a villa with large stables. They left their horses in there and ate while they discussed their next steps.

“I am only acting as an intermediary,” the Blue Heron explained. “The next thing you'll do is look for Wild Fox inside Seville. I can't help you any more. For security reasons, I don't know where he lives. That way we avoid getting each other caught if one of us happens to get arrested.”

“Don't worry, I know where to find him. He has to help me with the plans for the castle. Something else: I've noticed a lot of troops gathered on the outskirts of the city. Do you know what might be going on?”

“There are rumors of an imminent attack against Castile. Wild Fox is in charge of confirming that information and then alerting Salvatierra if necessary. Ask him; I don't know anything else.”

During lunch, they discussed what Blue Heron had found out about the Almohad's head of espionage; they believed he was of Castilian origin, but no one knew anything about him. Diego devoured the flavorful fish with cabbage and carrots without knowing when he might eat hot food again. The fragrant wine that accompanied it helped to draw out their midafternoon rest.

Shortly after he'd left Blue Heron's villa behind, Diego saw the skyline of Seville and was conscious that from then on, the most dangerous part of the plan was in motion. He would finally be taking action.

He rearranged the disguise he would employ to get in and followed the riverbank until he arrived at the city, then crossed over a new bridge with the idea of entering through the Gate of Water.

He walked without fear of being recognized. The niqab hid his head entirely, save for the small slit he saw through. Under a long tunic, he wore a closer-fitting shirt that he had stuffed with cotton to give the appearance of a woman's breasts. From outside, no one could doubt that he was a woman, and the donkey that accompanied him, loaded down with containers of water, also left no doubt as to her profession.

“Where are you going, woman?” A soldier stopped Diego before he made it to the gate.

Diego raised his hand to his throat, implying that he was mute.

“You can't speak, I understand. … Let me see what you have here.” He uncovered the containers and bent over to see what was inside them. Once he saw it was water, he let Diego through. “You may go ahead.”

He crossed through the archway and promptly turned down an alley to the left. Before it ran into a wall, he took another, circuitous one that went right and then diagonally, crossing a small square that was known throughout the city for its famous baths. Only two streets away, to the right, once he had crossed through another, smaller square, he should find a dead end and just before that, the house of the Wild Fox.

An old man stopped him short while he was trying to cross through the second of these squares and tried to buy a pitcher of water.

“Some water bearer you are. … If you don't shout, how are you going to sell?”

Diego once more made the gesture suggesting he was mute while he filled up the man's pitcher. He drank it in one swig.

“Water bearer and mute, what luck.” He spit on the ground and asked for another. He looked for two coins and gave them to Diego, who began to feel uncomfortable under the pressure of the man's gaze. He lowered his head so he wouldn't look him in the eyes, praying for him to leave as soon as possible, which he did.

Shortly after that, he was inside the home of his contact, in his courtyard. The Calatravan received him with a nervous gesture, but Diego was relieved to find himself safe. His face seemed familiar.

“It's urgent that they know!” He shook Diego as if his life depended on it. “It's a disaster!”

“But what's happening?” Diego took off the niqab and helped the man to calm down.

“I just found out the caliph is going to attack Salvatierra, and the worst thing is, they're already on their way.”

“How can that be? I haven't crossed paths with any army except in the fields here on the outskirts of the city.”

“Those are the last of them. The rest have taken another route, I think through Jaén, where they will be joined by troops coming from Africa.”

Diego asked him if he had sent a message in warning.

“I was just about to do it. Come with me, fast.”

Diego left the donkey in the courtyard and lifted his tunic to be able to run up the stairs to the roof of the buildings. On one end, he saw a small dovecote with no more than a dozen birds.

Before he took one, the man remembered that he hadn't given him the plans to the caliph's palace.

“Take this before I forget. You'll find three of his rooms marked with a blue cross; the book you're looking for could be in any of them. The red crosses indicate the places where the caliph's personal guard is housed. Stay away from them. I risked a great deal to get this information, but I trust it will help you. And one last thing, I must remind you that to leave Seville, you'll need to return to this house. I will furnish you with a new identity and the proper clothes.”

“Yes, of course. Count on it.”

Diego hid the plans in the inner pocket of his tunic and watched what the man did with the doves. Amid the rush and the scrambled nerves, the man let one escape; another one almost did the same, but he caught it by the neck.

He looked for the strongest one and began to wrap a small fragment of parchment around its leg while he repeated over and over what a disaster awaited them if it didn't arrive at Salvatierra in time. The matter was so urgent that there was no time to use their more secure systems like the cylinders Diego had seen before. With the dove, the information would hopefully beat the enemy there.

Diego looked at their surroundings from the roof. When he found a small raised spot, he got an excellent view of the city. They weren't far from the minaret, and therefore from the castle, and they could see a few of its battlements and outer walls.

The sky was beginning to turn pink and orange as the sun escaped behind the horizon, when Diego heard voices. Below them, in the square, he saw a group of men singing and women applauding them. Everything seemed normal.

He turned to Wild Fox. He had just tied the cord around the dove's foot and was about to set it free for the first leg of its critical flight.

“Go, little one,” he whispered into its ear. “Travel swift as the wind, let it carry you. Duck the headwinds, escape the storms, and reach your destination soon.”

He let it go, and the bird winged away with zeal. It rose and made a couple of circles over the house. The two of them followed it, waiting for it to find its direction and finally fly toward the north. But at that moment, a shadow appeared, large in size and ragingly fast, threatening the dove in its flight.

“What is that?” Diego asked.

“No … It's a hawk!” The Calatravan choked as he said it. “That means they've found us. We have to flee!” he screamed.

They saw the brutal collision of the hawk with the dove; a cloud of feathers left a sign of the hunt, and the dove beat its wings once more in the clutches of the sharp claws. Diego watched it until he saw with fright that its flight ended in the main square. There was a detachment of soldiers there, and he saw one catch the hawk on his leather glove. Their eyes crossed. Now there was no room for doubt. The situation was desperate.

He heard a high-pitched whistle pass by his cheek. Out of instinct, he ducked. It had been an arrow.

“Where can we flee to?” he asked Wild Fox.

When he turned, he had to hold out his arms to keep from falling. He saw that the arrow had entered in one of the man's eyes and was lodged in his brain. The poor man was already dead.

Diego left him stretched out on the ground and heard a chorus of voices underneath the house. He looked around, clueless as to how he would escape. No one had foreseen this situation, but there was no time to regret that and even less time to hesitate.

He ran to one edge of the roof and studied the situation. Close to the building, there was another, a bit lower, but it seemed too far to jump. Before deciding, Diego looked to see if there was any other way. Then he lifted his tunic to his waist, tied it in a knot, hid the niqab inside, and gave himself a running start.

While he was in the air, he thought he wouldn't make it, regardless of the enormous force of his leap. He felt all the blood in his body accumulate in his legs when he took off. A few feet from the edge, his temples began throbbing from clenching his jaws. Without breathing, harnessing all his might, he made it to the other roof, rolling across it and feeling a shower of arrows coming down around him. He ran, avoiding them as best he could, and jumped onto a lower sloping roof. When he looked back, he saw two soldiers on his trail. One had just jumped onto the roof of the first building. The second, snagged on a ledge, recovered and ran after him as well, screaming something incomprehensible.

Diego guessed at the distance between himself and the street and jumped, seeing no one else close by. Once on the ground, he began to run through a confused network of streets that seemed to lead to nowhere. It was getting late, and in the darkness, everything blended together, but Diego was still able to follow the path he had memorized without the least hesitation.

When he could tell the soldiers were getting closer, he thought about his alternatives. To turn back to the gate where he'd entered the city was suicide, because the guards would already be notified of his flight and would have sealed the exits. He thought of the tunnels, which didn't seem a bad idea, but he had just left the closest one behind and couldn't turn back. With few other options, he concentrated on gaining speed to at least get as far as possible from his pursuers.

After recognizing a small mosque in one of the alleyways, he thought of the other buildings that he would be coming up on, in case any could serve as a temporary hiding place. When he went over them one by one, he suddenly thought of a brilliant solution.

He calculated that only three streets away he would come upon the palace of the Persian ambassador, and he remembered Benazir. Years ago he had heard she'd gone back to Seville after her separation from Galib. Though it was true that many years had passed, whether she was there or not, that was his only hope of salvation.

He covered his head with the niqab and ran as fast as he could until he arrived at the palace gates. He pounded for them to open, looking behind himself the whole time. No one answered. He tried again, this time with an enormous knocker shaped like a panther's head. He waited, panting, all his muscles tensed. No one would open. He looked for somewhere to hide and found two large barrels against a wall. He ran to them and hid himself. Soon afterward, he could see the same men who had followed him and after them at least a dozen more. All overlooked him, and Diego seized the moment to return to the door and knock again.

At last someone opened it a bit. A woman stuck out her head and asked the purpose of his visit.

“I need to speak to Benazir, it's urgent.” Diego disguised his voice to not sound too masculine. The woman could tell there was something strange there. She began to close the door when someone spoke from inside.

“Who is it?”

“Who are you?” the woman at the door asked him.

“Please, I pray you, tell her it is one of Galib's sisters.” Diego thought that would provoke her immediate interest. He needed them to open up the gates, to enter as soon as possible, or else he would be discovered.

The door opened a bit and Benazir appeared there, more mature but still as beautiful as he remembered. She looked askance at that woman hidden under the niqab, curious as to why she would have mentioned that name.

Had it not been for the presence of the servant, Diego would have taken off his head covering at that moment, revealing his identity. But if he did, she might take fright and call the guards. He decided to keep up the subterfuge.

“He sends me. … You must listen to me, it is a matter of extreme importance to all, especially for you.”

Benazir recognized something familiar in that voice, though it was distorted by the presence of that thick cloth.