The Horse Healer (50 page)

Part VI

Lands of Heroes

The news of the fall of Salvatierra moves the entire Christian world of Europe with such intensity that they unite en masse, initiating the crusade that Pope Innocent III convokes against the Muslims.

All the roads of Europe are filled with combatants heading toward Toledo. Once there, they will submit to the orders of the great patron of this movement, Alfonso VIII of Castile. An enormous army gathers at the gates of the former Visigoth capital.

The Castilian monarch has sent an order to all the provinces demanding a halt to the construction of walls and any other such labors so that all effort may be devoted to the war, and he commands knights and pages to be outfitted with arms and horses. …

The crusade will oblige the remaining Christian empires to collaborate in this enterprise. Aragon takes Castile's side from the first moment. Navarre is hesitant, but finally agrees. Only the kings of Portugal and León will avoid the war.

On the other front, Caliph al-Nasir has called up a grand army in Seville composed of Turks, Arabs, Egyptians, Berbers, and the normal Andalusian troops.

The offensive will be a definitive confrontation between the two religions and their two gods.

History will know this showdown as the Battle of the Navas de Tolosa.

I.

S
abba didn't take him to Toledo.

Though that was the destination Diego had chosen, on the road, not long before reaching the walls, he heard that some Calatravans had managed to escape from Salvatierra and had taken refuge in the second­most-important fortress the order possessed in Castile, Zorita de los Canes, at the base of the Tagus River, only two days from Toledo on horseback.

From that moment he felt a pressing need to know what had happened to Bruno de Oñate, Otón, and Pinardo, and all the rest of those men he owed his life to, who had been his only real family.

The castle of Zorita rose up over a plateau surrounded by a winding but solid stone wall. To reach the main gate, Diego had to go up a small hill blocked in the middle by a powerful wall.

“I'm looking for Bruno de Oñate …” Diego stopped a man coming down the path with an entire side of beef on his back.

“And you're telling me this?” he grumbled, spitting to one side. “Ask up there; I won't have anything else to do with those monks, or soldiers, or whatever they are. They owe me for four months and I can't trust them another day. God damn the hour I decided to sell to them!”

“Eat your own damned meat!” someone shouted at him from inside the grounds.

Diego entered the castle without needing to identify himself; there was no one manning the gate. He crossed the first courtyard, where nobody seemed to find his presence remarkable, and turned toward a drawbridge that led to a wooden portal guarded by two soldiers. They stopped him.

“My name is Diego de Malagón and I am looking for some knights who fought at Salvatierra …”

“Step aside!” One of them pushed him out of the way.

“What's happening?”

“Make way for the archbishop!”

Diego saw four groups of Calatravans passing through with at least a dozen churchmen. Among them was one middle-aged man, dressed in a gray habit with a red cape. His head was shaved, with only a thin line of hair trailing around the back of his head, from ear to ear. In spite of his fat face, wild eyes, and almost vulgar appearance, he exuded dignity.

When the man was close to Diego, he stared at him with an absolute lack of compunction, even though he was talking to another man. His look was so inquisitive and insistent that Diego felt uncomfortable; the man was looking him over from head to toe. It was true that his clothing was filthy and his hair oily and unkempt. And he smelled like a herd of swine. He felt ashamed, thinking the priest must have noticed all this as well.

“How do you know the Archbishop Ximénez de Rada?” one of the guards asked him, surprised by the holy man's evident interest.

“I … nothing … It's the first time I've seen him. …” Diego answered without attaching importance to the matter. Coming back to what he had come for, he said, “But I do know Bruno de Oñate. Could you tell me if he resides in this castle and if so, where I can find him?”

To Diego's joy, they told him how to find him. That meant he had survived, and they let him through, though he had to leave Sabba behind with a stable keeper as a guarantee.

Diego dismounted from his mare and passed the reins to the boy.

“Give her a bit to drink. She's probably very thirsty and a little nervous.”

“Don't worry; she'll be in good hands.” The boy smiled at him kindly.

His face reminded him of Marcos. What could have happened to him? Where might he be now? The time that had passed since Diego was in Cuéllar was still not enough to forget his indignation.

While he walked along thinking it over, he crossed a paved courtyard full of people. When he came to the building where they told him he would find Bruno de Oñate, Diego stopped a moment to study it. He saw a small door with a lancet arch, and since it was open, he went through without hesitation, arriving at an enormous rectangular hall full of people. He moved among them, almost shoving, trying to find someone he knew, but he had no luck. Somewhat desperate, he carried on through the hall, moving from one end to the other, convinced that his lack of success meant that no one had survived the Muslim assault on Salvatierra besides Bruno.

An agreeable aroma of burned wood spread through the room from one of the corners. When he approached it, he saw three men in heated conversation. As he got closer, he thought he recognized one.

“Bruno …” Diego raised his vice to make himself heard.

The Calatravan turned when he heard his name.

“Diego?” His eyes bulged. “But what joy it is to see you!” They shook hands and Bruno stared at him in disbelief. “You know we assumed you were dead.”

He took leave of his companions to hear what had happened in Seville.

“Then you managed to get a glimpse of the Koran?” He was speaking rapidly. “Tell me what was in it. … Tell me everything, fast.”

“It was almost impossible to find you,” Diego said, trying to change the subject. “When I arrived at Salvatierra, it had already been taken, and then I fled to Toledo, where I heard I could find you in this fortress. I didn't know what could have happened to you …”

“As you see, I'm here. We managed to escape that hell at the last minute, but let's leave that aside and …” Bruno thought he saw a shadow of remorse on the young man's face, and feared the worst. “Tell me about the Koran.”

“I couldn't even get close.”

“You mean that you failed in your mission then, right?” He made an ugly grimace.

“As soon as I entered Seville, I went to the house of Wild Fox, and we were discovered as he tried to send a message relating the imminent attack on Salvatierra. They killed him right there, and I had to run with half the city at my back. Luckily, someone I knew from years before managed to help me out.”

“You were conscious of the importance of your mission, no?” Bruno's face was cold and his question wounding.

“Of course. … Of course I knew, but I'm telling you, there were problems and escaping was the best solution. … I came across Pedro de Mora and he recognized me. It was then that I found out he was the one at the head of the Almohads' spying.” Diego was stumbling, nervous. Bruno's expression could not have been icier.

“We put great hopes in you …” He paused deliberately, for too long, it seemed to Diego. “I feel deeply disappointed and not just because you failed to complete your mission, but also because you revealed your face to the enemy and now we can't use you for another mission. We are on the verge of a great war; this is not the time for spying, but for action. That means, Diego, that your time with us is at an end. … From now on, you are free to do as you wish.” Bruno's gaze was as cold as steel.

“I don't understand. … I risked my life and I did exactly what you asked of me. I don't think I deserve this lack of respect. I'm more sorry than anyone that I couldn't do what I'd been asked, but I also lost a great deal on the way.” He was thinking of Benazir.

Bruno showed no interest in his explanations and made as if to leave, but Diego grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“I still think your judgment is unjust, but I won't bother you more. You don't want me to form any part of your plans, and that's fine; though I have a hard time accepting it, I will. But now, I want to remind you of a promise you made me. Remember when you said you would help me rescue my sisters? Well, they're in Seville …”

The Calatravan seemed to have no interest in what he was saying.

“Forget it, for now there's nothing to be done.” Bruno began to walk toward the exit.

“And when will there be? Can you tell me?” Diego followed him.

“Maybe never!”

“So your words have no honor.” Diego raised his voice. “And you're the one who feels deceived. … You lied to me!”

Bruno turned and punched him in the chin then walked off, spitting and cursing. Diego felt better in spite of the blow, because he had said exactly what he wanted to say.

Not long afterward, he was taking the exit, with Sabba as his only company and the words of Bruno echoing in his head. He crossed through the last gate, with the bitter sensation of reliving what he had already been through in Toledo, Fitero, Albarracín, Cuéllar. … The hardest thing was to admit that all that sacrifice, all he'd endured, his determination over the course of those past three years in Salvatierra had done nothing but make him a pariah.

He turned away from the creek bed and followed the banks of the Tagus, telling Sabba to get him away from there fast. She must have felt his sorrow, and she began to gallop angrily, wanting to see Diego's spirits restored. She snorted loudly, shook her head from side to side, and raised her ears before turning east.

Diego held on to her, felt her power, and with it, his pains subsided a bit. Sabba was the one who was most loyal, least selfish, his only memory of his family, and without a doubt the best gift he had ever received.

He closed his eyes and tried to erase from his memory the bitterness of all that had just occurred. He wanted to recall the positive parts of his experience with the Calatravans. With them he had learned to be part of a group, to participate with admiration in the heroic labors of men ready to give their lives for a great cause, people whose only dream was to give back the freedom of the people yoked under the tyranny of the Almohads.

He inhaled a mouthful of air and stroked Sabba before deciding to go to Toledo to look for Galib. That was where everything had begun. There he would decide his future.

II.

“I
t's you . … Sajjad surprised to see you. Galib has client right now.” Old Sajjad couldn't believe that Diego was back in that house again.

He looked at him resentfully, unbelieving.

Once the castle of the Calatravans was behind him, Diego had crossed the final leagues separating him from Toledo. Thinking of meeting Galib again loosed a torrent of intense feelings. All he could imagine was embracing him again, talking calmly, revealing so many experiences lived through, mourning Benazir's death, sharing their lives.

“You look the same as always,” he said to Sajjad and smiled.

“Galib be different … very changed, sir. … Me also very old.”

Sajjad was proceeding calmly. Years ago, he had accused Diego many times of going after his master's wife, and that morning, with Galib, he had surprised the two of them. He must still hold it against him, Sajjad thought, looking at Diego. Just in case, he moved away from him, and he didn't stop looking at him for a moment.

“You seem more like gentleman now. … You want lemon … nice, cool lemonade?”

“Thank you, Sajjad, with pleasure.”

Diego stayed alone in that room where twelve years before he had spent hours and hours studying. Once more his eyes roamed the shelves and enjoyed recognizing one title after another. But he found one apart from the others that he didn't recognize at first. He felt excited as he took it in his hands. He touched the embossed title on the cover with his fingertips:
Mulomedicina Chironis
. He couldn't believe he was looking at that treasure of the science of horse medicine that had been thought to be lost forever. He opened a page at random and began to read. It was written in Latin.

“That book cost me a fortune.”

Diego was stunned. That voice …

Galib was behind him, older, hunched over, his hair now completely gray.

“I imagine, dear master …”

Their eyes met during a long silence full of intense and vivid emotions and the weight of remembered bitterness.

“I …” Diego mumbled. “I have to ask your forgiveness for all that …”

“Don't go on, Diego. I know what happened.” Galib came to him with arms open, embracing Diego with complete affection and sincerity.

“I … I don't know where … how to tell you …” The joy of seeing his master again, someone he had considered his second father, was such that he couldn't utter a complete phrase.

“Let's begin where we left off, and don't treat me with such formalities, not any more. We're colleagues. Sit down, please, and tell me everything.”

“Something's happened, something you should know, before anything else.” A shadow of anguish crossed Diego's face. Galib began imagining what it could be.

“Something to do with her, no?”

Diego felt his throat tighten, and he could hardly breathe. He had to say it without looking into his eyes; he owed him the truth.

“I saw her die in Seville, less than a month ago. …”

Galib's heart broke when he heard that. A few weeks before, he'd had a bad dream in which Benazir was suffering terrible pains, but he never imagined it could be real. He grabbed his head and crossed his arms over his chest, crying bitterly, in the depths of pain, deep, wounding, definitive …

Diego watched him dumbstruck, respecting his need to suffer in silence. But then he couldn't bear it, and he embraced his old master to help share his grief.

Once he had recovered, Galib was able to put words to the thoughts and feelings that had overcome him.

“Nothing can stop the desert winds; they have a free soul, like hers. My error was to want her for myself alone, Diego, when that wasn't possible. I loved her to the end, that's why I was dying with jealousy when I found out she had gone after you, lusted for you …”

“I … didn't know how to remain faithful to—”

“Don't torment yourself more,” Galib interrupted. “Benazir was turbulent, passionate, unpredictable … A few days later, she herself confessed to me what she had done, and I couldn't endure it. It was a terrible blow to our relationship; I was always doubting her, and I imagined her with other men. I couldn't trust in her kisses. Everything had changed. … Our trust was broken into a million pieces, like fine crystal. It affected me so much, so much … that I finally rejected her.” He studied Diego's face amid his grief. “Your response to what happened was exemplary. To take all the responsibility and free her of any blame showed me how loyal you really were. Benazir was fleeting; like water running between your fingers, she was impossible to restrain. For a while she loved you the way she had loved me in my day. In reality, I never knew how to accept her as she was; I only loved her my way.”

Diego told him of the circumstances of her death and the reasons he had gone to Seville. While he did, he relived those last hours with the same intensity he had felt at the time.

Galib listened to him, destroyed, almost without strength, recriminating himself, as he had done so many other times, for pushing her away when living with her, for her, was all he had ever known how to do.

Without worrying about the late hour, he wanted to talk about his wife as he never had before, to open his heart completely, to reveal everything he remembered about her. It would be his homage to a woman he had loved to the very limits of his ability.

Diego listened to him in silence. He remembered the passion he himself had felt for her. Then it had seemed to him that the woman was everything, that nothing good could exist outside her. But when Mencía appeared, years later, he understood what it really meant to love a woman.

With the fresh taste of that memory, Diego wanted to share with Galib all the experiences he'd had since he left Toledo. He mentioned all the places he'd been, the people who had marked him, Mencía and Marcos above all.

“I've had everything, and I've lost everything, Galib. I managed to become respected as an albéitar. I could put into practice all I'd learned at your side, and all I'd read in the monastery at Fitero and all I'd learned in the course of my work. But above all, I thought I was loved by the only woman who has ever really captured my heart. Then everything collapsed; Marcos betrayed me and Mencía married another man.”

“Everything is never lost, the way you say. There are moments that are better and worse. … Remember you still have much to give to others, many years to live, and that the job you have is an art. Albéitars are useful wherever we go because we have the virtue of healing; we are healers of horses. I would like to call myself that, a horse healer. The power to restore health is a talent Allah has placed in our hands and in our eyes. To you in particular he has given great intelligence, and now, after hearing about your adventures with the Calatravans, it seems he's given you bravery, too.”

Diego took the
Mulomedicine Chironis
in his hands and remembered how long it had been since he'd studied.

“I remember one day someone called me horse healer and I didn't like it then, but when I hear you now, I have to recognize it's a beautiful name for our profession. … It's been too long since I've practiced it. I stopped studying, reading; in reality I haven't done that work very much these past few years. I miss it.”

“I am happy to see you still need the nourishment of science and that, though in these past few years you have learned other skills, your curiosity is still begging for answers.”

While they spoke, Galib took two large logs and lit a fire. Then he looked for glasses and filled them with a sweet cherry liquor.

“So many years have passed.” Galib swished the liquor in his mouth, savoring it. “I'm surprised by the number of experiences you've had, but … would you say you've accomplished what you set out to do?”

“When I came to Toledo, just a boy, I was a commoner, the offspring of the sweat, misery, and effort of my father, who fought against everything, even his own physical limitations, to provide for his family. I swore to that ill-starred blacksmith, innkeeper, shepherd—because he'd been a little bit of everything—that I would become somebody dignified. He wanted me to learn a profession that would be fitting for my abilities.” Diego stopped to breathe a moment. “And now you ask me if I've accomplished what I set out to do. … I don't know.” He hesitated. “In this sense, I may have come farther that what I dreamed of then.”

“I'm happy to hear you say that.”

“I should be, too, but in reality I'm not. I feel that I left something more important behind on the way; love, friendship, trust in the people I've cared for the most, you among them. … I don't know, everything has passed through my life so fast.”

“Life is a long pilgrimage on the path to perfection. We try to reach the end and we don't realize how much important there is on the way. I have known many who believed they were unhappy for not accomplishing their dreams. Their ambitions blinded them so much that they couldn't see the goodness offered by the road itself.”

“I understand you, but I have to say that I haven't seen so much goodness, maybe because I've had to take too many roads, almost always treacherous and full of obstacles and setbacks. Being a commoner closed so many doors, Galib, some important, like access to knowledge. If I managed to get access to it in Fitero, believe me, it was thanks to lies and tricks and buying off more than one person's indulgence. … I also had to learn not to aspire to win the heart of a noblewoman. Just because their blood is different! I tasted the terrors of war and exile because of this love. But if I think of our profession, even there I haven't encountered colleagues remotely as noble as you. One of them, a
menescal
from Naples, was so wounded by envy, just because I saved a horse's life, that he tried to murder me. And to top it off, I suffered misunderstanding and a death sentence for discovering the origins of a plague that was afflicting many of my neighbors.”

Galib pushed one of the logs so that the others would set it alight.

“The ability to grow in the face of adversity lies at the root of greatness, and overcoming it is a healthy stimulus for the heart. To learn from your errors makes you noble, and to be humble, in a world full of pride, is the key to happiness, I promise you. Diego, everything you just shared with me, all that is a few steps on the long road of your life. You need to understand that happiness lies not in grandiose goals. Those challenges are what made you grow, and if you think about it, you'll see that each of them has a meaning.”

Diego looked at him with the same admiration as before. Galib wasn't only the best albéitar in Toledo, but also a wise man and a philosopher; the man had reminded him of so many things. … Paying attention to his words, Diego began to recollect some of the moments he had lived through, and he was shocked to see how they fit together like clockwork. Just as Galib had said, they had all given him something; some maybe in a hidden way, though most otherwise.

“What is missing then?” Galib asked.

“It's been some time now that I've needed to do something.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I still haven't lived very much. … My father asked me to take care of my sisters and I wasn't able to protect them when they needed me, and in Salvatierra I met some men whose only task was to overthrow the fanatical Almohads. They counted on me, they gave me a mission, but I failed them.”

Galib ran a finger around the rim of the wineglass, thinking of how to help him. After a brief silence, he spoke from his heart.

“When Allah wanted to make the horse, he spoke to the south wind: from you I shall make a creature that will be the honor of my legacy, the humiliation of my enemies, and my defense against those who attack me. And the south wind responded: Lord, do it according to your desire. Then Allah took a handful of wind and with it, he made the horse. …”

Diego looked at him, astonished. That fable still affected him as much as it had the first time he heard it.

“Do you know what else I told you then?”

“You talked about my future.”

“True, and I linked it to you mare, Sabba, as your inseparable companion. I told you she would take you to incredible places, and also that those noble animals would guide your path to greatness and to prominence. With them, you would do good. Remember?”

“Of course, but what could all that mean right now?”

“It means you shouldn't abandon the science you worked so hard to learn. When your father spoke to you as he did, he didn't want to push you to take up arms, though now you burn with longing to punish those infidels, which they are for me just as much as for you. You have to trust in your destiny, and maybe one day soon it will show you how to achieve both realities. Open your eyes wide and listen to your heart; it is free. And then be brave enough to listen to what it tells you.”

A bell tolled six times and Galib was exhausted. He would need to rest before dawn.

“I need to sleep awhile, Diego. Tomorrow I have to be fresh; I have a visitor. Would you like to join me?”

“That means we could work together again.” Diego was overjoyed with the idea.

“How would you feel about starting with one of the king's horses?”

Hours later, when the sun was about to rise, Sajjad looked for them everywhere in the house before finding the two albéitars at the stables. Diego was speaking with Sabba in a language Sajjad couldn't understand, and Galib was breathing on her nostrils. They were getting ready to ride to the stables in the royal palace.

Sabba whinnied cheerfully, recognizing the man she hadn't seen for so long, feeling his hands stroking her head.

“Welcome back to my home, dear Sabba. …”