The Necklace

by Carla Kelly

  “Is this the worst day of your life?” he asked, surprising her.

  “Yes,” she replied, thinking, Go ahead and make it worse. It is your right. The king called it your duty.

  When he said nothing, she grabbed her courage before it darted out of reach. “Santiago, is this the worst day of your life?”

  “Not even slightly.”

  Hanneke felt her heart go out to him in a way she had never anticipated. She watched as he opened the chest of women’s clothes, looking through it as a man would, as if afraid something would leap out and snarl at him. He found a nightdress, the pretty one of silk she had admired earlier, even as it terrified her.

  He handed it to her. “Wear this. I am not going to ruin your entire day, Ana. I am not that heartless.”

  She did as he said. He chuckled when the cursed thing slid off her shoulders like the other garments. His laugh stuffed the heart back in her body.

  “Ana, where are your clothes?” he asked, sounding more amused than not.

  “Somewhere in a crate with the dowry goods.”

  “We’ll find it in the morning.”

  He turned away, stripped and found a nightshirt. He had wide shoulders, capable looking. He indicated the bed. “Lie down. Sleep. I am a second son with no prospects, except that I now have your dowry. I made a mercenary decision. War is why I did it. All I know is war. When I have peace and time and land of my own, we shall see.”

  He pulled her closer and touched his forehead to hers. “Calm yourself. You may hate me at times, but know this: I am always between you and any door. You are safe with me.”

  Chapter Five

  Hanneke woke several times during the night, once to wonder who snored so lightly beside her. Papa had been a noisy engine, heard through doors and down the hall. She woke up the second time to discover that this husband of hers hogged the blankets. Just as well; the air was warm, a night in June.

  She thought of his promise to keep between her and a door. Did he mean she could never escape him, or that she would always be safe? Which is it? she asked herself, then admitted she knew Santiago not at all.

  “Up, up, sleepy woman,” woke her too soon. “We’re riding in one hour.”

  Startled awake, she pulled the blanket close, a gesture not lost on her husband. “I have a bad habit,” he told her. “You can always yank it back.”

  Oh, no. She thought of last night, when Pablo dropped the dishes and every man reached for his sword. No, no sudden moves.

  Still sleepy, she watched him dress. “Up, up,” he said again. “I will find your crate of clothing and have Pablo bring it to you. Do you have a garment for riding?”

  “I have never been on a horse,” she admitted.

  She dreaded the irritation on his face at her honest declaration, then realized how tired she was of apologizing. “I can learn to ride.”

  He turned at the door and appraised her in that intense way of his. Did the man never rest? “This will not be an easy journey from here to Las Claves, which is far to the south. The morning fog here in Santander will burn away too soon, and the heat will command every league of our journey. I will have no time for complaints from you about things I cannot change.”

  “You will not even know I am here.” She did not add, I wish I weren’t.

  “You will never disobey my decisions. Never.”

  “No,” she murmured. After the door closed, she added, “I know a threat when I hear one.”

  In a matter of minutes, Pablo and Juana lugged in her chest of clothing. After assuring them she needed no help, she fished in the bottom of her chest and pulled out a gown of gray wool, and its darker surcoat, one she already knew could hide a multitude of stains and dirt. Perfect. She nodded at her trusty shifts and sturdy shoes. Nothing in her wardrobe would dare slide off her shoulders. My own clothes, she thought in triumph. Me.

  She added a veil and Mama’s circlet of woven fabric, wishing it still boasted Mama’s scent. No matter. Her simple headgear kept a little of her homesickness at bay.

  She sniffed hot bread and sausage, but nearly walked past the refectory, too shy to make herself known. She opened the door instead, telling herself that if she feared Castilians, she would starve and die. She curtsied to King Alfonso then joined Antonio on the bench, gratified to sit by someone who didn’t frighten her.

  He passed the sausage and bread to her. “Your husband tells me you have never ridden before.”

  “Never,” she replied, determined not to apologize. “Remember, I am a fishmonger’s ordinary daughter.”

  “I doubt you are ordinary at anything,” he said, and speared another sausage for her plate. “Eat more. Journeys like this lack everything except heat and trouble.”

  She finished her sausage and was buttering another slice of bread when Santiago entered the refectory, searching for her. He gestured to her. “I have been summoned,” she said.

  “We have been summoned. I told him I would find you, and here we are eating like sensible folk, instead of worrying about what will go wrong.”

  He helped her over the bench, then walked beside Santiago as she hurried to keep up. She was joined by Pablo and Juana, who looked her over carefully with a smirk.

  “Your color is good. You’re not clinging to the wall. He must not have ridden you too hard last night,” Juana said, making no effort to lower her voice.

  Santiago looked back in annoyance, his lips set in a tight line, as Hanneke felt her face grow hot. The soldiers around them laughed.

  Hanneke looked away. These were the men in Santiago’s employ. She had to journey with them, and here she was, an object of ridicule already.

  She already knew her expectations were nonexistent. As everyone hurried toward the courtyard, she slowed down. There was nowhere to turn, no safe place where she could gather her courage, take a deep breath and try again. She stopped, and noticed Pablo, quiet but at her side.

  “I wish I could do you a real service and stop Juana,” Pablo said. She heard all his distress.

  “This is but a small moment in God’s eyes,” she reminded him. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “I told you that.”

  She turned to see Antonio, noting again his olive skin and his eyes so slightly slanted. He did not look like the other men, which told her he had his own story. She wanted to hear it, but now she would do as she was told.

  “Juana will go too far someday,” was all Antonio said. He gestured to the courtyard. “See there, Ana? Your husband found you a real treasure.”

  She followed Antonio into the courtyard, seeing only a white mule. “It looks huge,” she said, unwilling to move closer.

  “Any smaller and she would be a colt drinking mother’s milk. Her name is Blanca.”

  “I am going to die.”

  Antonio laughed. “No one ever died on a mule this well-mannered and little.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Well, no, but trust me.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Who does?” Antonio said cheerfully. “Up you get.”

  With no warning, he grabbed her around the waist and threw her on top of Blanca, who remained in place, unperturbed. Terrified, Hanneke grabbed the nearest thing she could reach, Antonio’s helmet.

  “There is nothing to it, Ana,” he assured her, as he straightened his helmet. “Put your right leg over the saddle brace.”

  Antonio wasn’t a man she wanted to disappoint. “Like this?”

  “Perfect. Now tuck your left leg close on the lower brace. There now.”

  She wanted to object, but there sat Santiago on his gray horse that looked more white than gray. “Perhaps I will not die atop this monster,” she conceded.

  “Perhaps you will not,” Antonio agreed. “When you want to move, give her a little kick.”

&nb
sp; “I wouldn’t dare!”

  “You will,” he assured her. “To stop, pull back evenly. Turn left or right like this. There now. Pablo will stay close to you, won’t you, sir knight?”

  Pablo sidled his mule alongside hers. “We are going to have an adventure,” he confided. “I never had adventures in the kitchen.”

  She thought about that. “I never had an adventure in the kitchen, either.”

  She wiggled carefully, trying to find a comfortable spot, but there was none.

  To her relief, Blanca seemed content to stay above the confusion of an army preparing to move, paying no mind to more unruly mules. She looked back at Hanneke, as though apologizing for those coarser equines. Hanneke took a chance and patted the mule’s neck.

  “One moment.”

  She looked toward the monastery and saw the king on the steps. He walked down to Santiago, who bowed from his saddle, then gestured to Hanneke to come.

  Hoping for the best, she dug her heels into Blanca’s flanks. Beyond a reproachful glance, the white mule obeyed. Holding her breath, Hanneke pulled back on the reins when they reached the church steps. Blanca stopped, to Hanneke’s surprise and relief.

  The king moved toward Santiago first. “Come to me in Valladolid this winter,” he said. “Tell me how your recruiting is prospering. We will plan our next move.” He stepped back. “There will be victory this time.”

  Santiago crossed himself. Alfonso turned to Hanneke and patted Blanca. “She will treat you well, Señora Gonzalez. She has carried my good wife Alionora many miles.”

  “The queen’s mule?” Hanneke asked. “Sire, please thank her for me.”

  “I had to do better than a mere kitchen boy as your granted wish,” he said with a smile. He waved off Santiago. “I have a few words for your wife.”

  After Santiago left, King Alfonso came closer to Blanca. “You seem to be a woman of some intelligence.”

  She said nothing, feeling anything but smart.

  “It is this: There are times when events are larger than people. This is such a time.” Alfonso placed his hand over hers. “The caliphate – the government – of the Almohades has visible cracks in it. We have seen the caliphs grow soft in recent years. Your husband will exploit these cracks.”

  “I have heard people speak of the Almohades,” she said, waiting to know more but unsure who to ask. She glanced at Santiago, who looked impatient to leave, but not willing to cross his powerful cousin.

  King Alfonso saw her look. “My cousin is too impatient, but I am king.”

  Hanneke smiled at that, charmed by this man.

  “The Moors were first, and Berber tribesmen from North Africa,” he said, “all filled with the zeal of a new religion. Wave after wave of invaders followed, the last the Almohades.” He shrugged. “Granted these Muslims – followers of the Prophet Mohammed – came with gifts, too, which they generously shared with us: beautiful architecture, healing medicines, music, something called algebra.” He looked away. “But as much as they think otherwise, this is not their land.” His voice hardened. “The Almohades dealt me a cruel defeat fifteen years ago, but they are weakening.”

  “And you need my dowry,” Hanneke added.

  “We do,” he said without hesitation. “Five hundred years of warfare is expensive.” He patted her hand. “We are realistic, single-minded people.”

  Hanneke nodded. “I have noticed that already.” She leaned closer to the king. “These are momentous times for you, sire.”

  “They are, indeed, the sort of events cancioneros will sing about in centuries to come.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Here is what they never sing about – Some of us will be swept away, others ruined and embittered.” He looked beyond her. “I pray you will not be one of those winnowed out, an innocent dragged into this to suit our purposes.”

  “If I am?” she asked. He frightened her.

  “The sin be on our heads.” He looked toward Santiago. “He is a good man, your husband, but he is a warrior above all.” He released her hand. “Go with God, my child. Forgive us, if you can.”

  Chapter Six

  They began their journey south from the misty coast of northern Spain to distant Las Claves, how distant she had no idea. Santiago led the way with his soldiers, Antonio Baltierra among them. Hanneke followed with Father Bendicio at her side, and Pablo and Juana behind. The dowry came next, everything securely tied to mules and draft horses, the strongbox well-guarded in the center. More soldiers brought up the rear, led by a one-eyed giant of a man with a face scarred both by battle and smallpox. As she looked back, he grinned at her, showing gaps where teeth should have been. She shuddered.

  The fog burned away long before mid-day as they moved south into heat she never could have imagined. Her wool dress clung to her like a misdeed. The soldiers removed their helmets and fastened them to their saddles, which made Santiago frown. Soon enough, he sighed and followed suit.

  She wanted to appreciate the scenery, but all she saw was a tired land blasted by the heat of only mid- June. She didn’t want to think about the punishing heat of July and August. She noted mountains in the distance, crags, rocks, flinty soil and wondered why anyone lived here. The contrast with her own green and well-watered homeland was stark.

  Antonio assured her that Blanca had a smooth glide of a walk, but nothing was smooth enough for a beginner. She wanted to ask Santiago to let her rest – hadn’t he assured her she could? – but she hadn’t the courage. She clung to the pommel and endured.

  When the sun was directly overhead, her lord, master, and man with an iron backside called a halt. Hanneke eyed the distance from her saddle to the ground and shook her head. I will sit here until I die, she thought.

  “Dama?”

  Wretched, miserable and drenching wet, she looked down at Antonio. He had the nerve to smile at her and hold out his arms. Why was he so happy? Didn’t he know pain either?

  At least he wasn’t Santiago, the impatient one. “How do I get off this beast?”

  “Lift your right leg over the pommel and lean down. I’ll catch you. You’re not that far off the ground, you know.”

  She gasped as she lifted her leg, wondering when it fell asleep, or if it even belonged to her body anymore.

  “Lean forward. Trust me.”

  She did as he said. He caught her handily, and held her up until some feeling returned to her leg.

  “You could have requested that we stop,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t dare. Santiago told me not to be a nuisance. You may let me go.”

  He did as she insisted, and she promptly fell to her knees. Antonio picked her up, carried her to the one tree on the entire plain, then propped her against it. “I’ll get your husband.” She watched him walked away, his shoulders shaking.

  Did these men of Spain have no manners? Embarrassed, she turned her head when the men dismounted and relieved themselves in plain sight. In a panic she looked around, wondering about privacy for her own relief. Nothing.

  Juana was the other woman in the company. Hanneke watched, dismayed to see her squat by her mule, spreading her skirt around her. I can’t do that, Hanneke thought, in utter horror.

  Here came Santiago. Why did these men have to look so spry after six hours in the saddle?

  He uncorked a leather flash and held it out to her. “Drink.”

  She took a sip. The water was warm and tasted like cow, but it was wet. She took another sip before returning it.

  He pushed it back. “Drink some more. That wasn’t enough.”

  She knew better than to argue and did as he said. He took it from her this time, shook it, and handed it back. “More.”

  Hanneke eyes welled with tears. “Not until I… I…” Why don’t you understand what I need, she thought, exasperated, then realized she was being foolish. “Sire, I can’t squa
t like Juana.”

  “You can,” he said, with some spirit. “Every man here knows what women look like. Well, perhaps not Father Bendicio.”

  “This isn’t how I do things,” she said softly, taking a chance.

  He opened his mouth to say something, probably to scold her, or make fun of her, or exert his prerogative as leader, then seemed to change his mind. “I’ll be back.”

  Too shy to look at anyone, Hanneke managed to stand up straight. She took one halting step, and another, wishing the earth would swallow her. When it didn’t, she took another step and another.

  “Here.”

  Santiago carried a blanket over his arm. “I’ve ordered Juana to hold out this blanket. Get behind it and do your business.” His tone changed, and she almost heard the man who told her last night that he would always sleep between her and the door. “She will do this every time we stop.” His expression hardened. “I told her to make no rude comments, but I cannot guarantee that. I wish I could.”

  He held out the blanket to the servant, who snatched it from him. She shook out the blanket and raised it. “Do your business, fancy lady,” she mocked. “Be quick.”

  Squatting was beyond her, but Hanneke did the best she could, her relief enormous. When she finished, she limped back to Blanca and leaned against her mule until Santiago lifted her into the saddle and mounted his own horse.

  She thought he would ride ahead. When he looked at her closely, Hanneke held her breath, wondering what she had done now. I know I didn’t complain, not really, she told herself. To her utter amazement, he took the reins from her and tugged Blanca after him. It was an easy matter then to close her eyes and grasp the pommel.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I should have done this sooner, Ana.”

  It was a small kindness, a simple act that filled her heart with peace. Maybe this was another lesson: Appreciate small things formerly taken for granted.

  I am now Hanneke Gonzalez, the woman of small things, she told herself.