by Carla Kelly
They camped that night beside a feeble stream. The men in the company took the horses and mules to water, but it was a slow business, since there wasn’t much water. The ugly scarred soldier with an eye and teeth missing raised a tent for her, as Pablo helped.
“Your name is Carlos?” Hanneke asked.
“Si, dama,” he said. “Santiago told me to help you. Juana will bring some bedding and you will lie down.”
Everyone orders me around, Hanneke thought, but she decided she didn’t mind, not when she was ready to drop. “I don’t mean to be trouble.”
“No trouble,” he said cheerfully. He gestured at the men around him, who were putting up their own tents, and lighting small fires. “We can do this in our sleep, and it is not our first time on horseback.”
“When will I start to feel better?” she asked, drawn to this man because she felt his sympathy.
“By the time we reach Toledo.”
“Is that far?”
He nodded, then must have noticed her evident dismay. “Maybe sooner. Are you tough?”
She considered his question, happy to have someone to talk to, after the long silence of the day. “I think I have to be.”
“You do.” He touched his hand to his forehead. “God keep you, dama.”
Juana was less charitable. She carried in an armful of blankets and a pillow, dropped them and left without a word.
Hanneke shook her head over the servant, wondering if there was any way to placate Juana for whatever misdemeanors she had committed. Unable to think of anything, she arranged the blankets, lay down and was asleep in minutes.
She woke with a start because Santiago knelt beside her, watching her, or perhaps trying to decide if waking her was a good idea. She sat up, aware that she ached everywhere, from the top of her sunburned head to her legs, where she had gripped the saddle so hard, hoping not to fall off and further disgrace herself. The pain in her legs and rump were beyond description.
“It’s never easy the first time,” he told her as he set down a bowl.
When she didn’t reach for it, he inched it closer. “You haven’t eaten all day. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I wasn’t certain how often people ate on the march,” she said honestly. “I didn’t want to ask for something out of turn.”
He looked away from her. “I haven’t taken good care of you.”
“You’re busy with everything.”
“It’s no excuse. Call me to account when I deserve it.”
Not I, she thought, as she pulled the bowl closer, sniffing the meat. There was no spoon, and she didn’t want to use her hands, still uncertain about customs among these morose and taciturn people.
Santiago pulled out a loaf of bread he had tucked under his arm and broke off a piece, dipping it in the stew. “Here you are.”
She ate it, and he handed her another piece of bread for the sop. After the second dip, she shook her head.
“That’s not enough, Ana.” In went the bread in the bowl and again he held it out. “When there is food, you eat. When there isn’t, you starve.”
Next came the wineskin and a handful of dates. He seemed disinclined to leave, and she did have a question.
“Sire, that man with the scars. What happened to him?”
“Carlos?” Santiago took a long pull on the wineskin. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did he frighten you?”
“A little,” she replied. “No, a lot.”
Santiago grinned, then grew serious. “That’s what happens when El Ghalib wants to leave a calling card.” He settled back. “It was years ago, when that enemy of mine killed my father. Ambushed him on one of the mountain passes near Las Claves. Carlos was much younger then. El Ghalib peeled the skin back on Carlos’s cheeks and cut him free to let me know who had done the foul deed.”
Hanneke shuddered. “Others have mentioned that name. What kind of monster is this?”
“Why, Ana, Yussef el Ghalib is my favorite neighbor to the south of Las Claves,” Santiago said. “I doubt he was more than fifteen years old when he killed my father. Do you understand what I am up against and why I need an army?”
She nodded, deeply uneasy. “Carlos could have died from that.”
“Many have.”
Chapter Seven
They traveled though high plains and rolling hills and reached Valladolid a few days later, a heavily walled city where the gatekeepers were beginning to close the massive gates as they rode up. After a heated discussion, the gatekeeper allowed them through.
“This is my king and cousin’s actual residence,” Santiago said, after another glare directed at the gatekeeper. “He remained near Santander, where it is cooler.”
As Hanneke rode through behind Santiago – by the end of each day as a matter of course, he led her mule now – she heard whisperings about campfires on the surrounding plains.
She had seen those, too, but knew better than to ask about them, not with Santiago looking more wary and preoccupied each night. She had mentioned her fears to Father Bendicio, who mouthed the words, “El Ghalib.” She also noticed that the soldiers were wearing their chain mail and helmets, even though the days were sun-soaked.
The night before Valladolid, she gathered her courage to ask permission to walk down to the little rivulet grandiosely called a rio. Santiago came with her, even though she knew he had other things to do.
“I will just be down that incline,” she said. “I needn’t take your time.”
“I am coming, too.”
She couldn’t say no. She couldn’t tell him that she wanted a moment away from everyone to wet her sunburned face to cool it, run a cloth up her legs for comfort from the chafing, and a moment to sit and think. She contented herself with washing her face as he sat above her on the bank.
“I would have been safe,” she said, grumpy enough to argue when she finished what little she could do.
He gave her that wry smile which seemed to be coin of the realm with Spaniards, and held out his hand to help her up.
“The Gonzalez family has an interesting crest,” he told her. “It is a crest born during our great retreat north centuries ago: Nullus credite, Trust No One.”
“That is sad.”
“That is Spain.”
But this was Valladolid, a city most proper, according to Father Bendicio, who had told her more about the architecture of Islam and their conquerors. To her eyes, it was a middling city with a picked-over appearance, as if weary of warfare. Some of the buildings had that Moorish look Father Bendicio explained, with tracery in stone that looked almost lace-like. By now, she needed no one to tell her that Valladolid had changed hands many times in five hundred years of conquest.
She was familiar with the flinty soil, rocks and desert that seemed to comprise so much of the dry land they traveled through. Although she did not miss the smell of fish that permeated the very walls in Vlissingen, she longed for rain and the shade of trees and grass she had taken for granted in her homeland. Did it ever rain here? Apparently not in June. Or was it July? Time had little meaning to someone trying to stay in the saddle and not irritate anyone.
She found herself preoccupied with the furnace that was Spain. Valladolid’s stone buildings threw back shimmering heat that nearly vibrated in the plaza. She blinked her eyes from the overpowering weight of the sun’s rays and wished for winter.
Not a moment too soon, Santiago raised his hand and they stopped. There was no shade anywhere, but she saw a stout little man peek around a door, then hurry toward them.
She heard Santiago’s sigh and saw Antonio’s grin. Antonio leaned closer to her and whispered, “I think Santiago would rather face El Ghalib than Señor Palacios.”
“Who is…,” she prompted.
“The father of Engracia, your new sister-in-law.”
&nb
sp; She watched in surprise and then amusement when the shorter man grabbed her husband in a fierce embrace that nearly toppled him, caught off balance. She held her breath when Santiago reached for his sword, a reflex she had seen before when he was startled.
“Dios, he must be tempted,” Antonio joked. “Let me help you down so you can placate everyone.”
“Do I do that?” she asked him, surprised.
“More than you know, I think.”
In a moment she was beside Santiago with a curtsy. “You must be Señor Palacios,” she said, and braced herself for the same treatment.
The little man was as round as he was short, with a wispy beard and bald head covered with sweat. He let go of Santiago and beamed at her.
His rotundity was deceiving, Hanneke discovered. He clapped hands on her arms and lifted her off the ground, to Antonio’s further amusement.
“Santiago, you lucky man!” he proclaimed. “You fortunate one!” He set her down. “Consider this your house, wife of Santiago. Engracia will be so happy.”
He pulled her toward the door, talking all the while. “Stay a month until the weather cools, especially with Engracia in her present condition.”
The house reeked of burned olive oil and pungent perfume that failed to mask household odors. Flies clotted the windows and crawled over the food on the table. Señor Palacios waved his arms. The flies rose, then settled on the table again.
“Urraca, my rib, my flesh! We have guests! Engracia, show yourself!”
Santiago looked down at the floor to hide his smile. He glanced at Hanneke and rolled his eyes. A woman as tall as Señor Palacios was short, as angular as he was round, launched herself into the room.
Does no one in this household move slowly? Hanneke wondered, as the woman hugged Santiago, her eyes on Hanneke.
“Santiago, you did not tell us she would be so pretty.”
Santiago stepped back from Urraca’s embrace. “I didn’t know.”
“She is little.” Señora Palacios waved her arms around, too, and the flies rose and fell. “Not at all like my Engracia. Surely you do not mean to take my darling daughter from me?”
Santiago set his lips in that familiar thin line. “That was our agreement.”
“Mama, you know Santiago does not like to be teased. He is not a Palacios.”
Hanneke looked past Urraca to the doorway where a lovely woman stood. Hanneke glanced from Señor Palacios to Urraca, wondering how such beauty had come from this odd couple. Engracia Palacios Gonzalez was tall, with red hair that peeked out from under her lace cap. She was with child, but so graceful, as she hurried to Santiago.
He kissed her cheek, but she had eyes for Hanneke. “Brother, you have brought me a sister. Come, sister, tell me what you think of this great, tall fellow?”
A man I barely know, Hanneke thought. Still, he doesn’t mind leading my mule when I tire. “I think he is a good man,” she said shyly.
“I know he is,” Engracia said, her eyes kind. She clapped her hands together. “Here we stand in all this heat. Let us find you a soft bed, sister. Perhaps some water to wash in?”
“Sí, por favor.”
Engracia pressed her advantage. “Please stay a few days, unless Santiago means to carry us off like an Almohad raiding party.”
“We must return to Las Claves,” Santiago reminded her. “That was my condition.”
Urraca burst into tears and Señor Palacios hurried to calm her, even as he pleaded with Santiago. “Take pity on us, señor! We cannot bear to lose our treasure.”
“But I…”
“What is the rush?”
Who was this new voice of objection, ganging up on her husband? Hanneke watched another tall redhead enter the room. He could have been Engracia’s twin; perhaps he was.
Whoever he was, this man knew how to command a room. Hanneke watched his entrance, a grand sort of strut, as if he knew how good he looked and how fine his clothes. She lowered her eyes when he turned to look at her, because it was an all-encompassing glance, the kind that saw through her dress. I don’t know you, but I don’t like you, she thought.
“Ana, let me introduce Felipe Palacios, Engracia’s brother,” Santiago said. “Señor, this is my wife, Ana Aardema Gonzalez.”
“Dios mio, you have outdone yourself,” Felipe said. “The honor is mine.”
Ana edged closer to Santiago, trying not to be obvious, and then not caring. Nullus credite. Trust no one. She bowed, relieved when her husband rested his hand on her shoulder. Maybe he felt as she did.
“Really, Santiago, must you leave so soon?” Felipe asked.
“I must. We will be gone by morning,” he said, then turned to Engracia. “Sister, please find a comfortable bed for Ana. This journey is a trial to her.”
Engracia gestured and she followed, after a backward glance at Santiago, which she hoped registered at least a portion of her gratitude. Señor Palacios began his protests before they were out of the room. She pitied her husband because he must stay and listen.
“Is Juana with you?” Engracia asked as they entered a chamber at the back of the house.
“As always,” Hanneke said, then checked herself. Perhaps Engracia liked the servant. “I mean, yes.”
“I will send her with a tub for you, and I will find salve for your sunburn.” She sighed. “Papa will argue, Mama will cry. Poor Santiago! I would like to stay longer, too, but I promised Manolo I would not argue and cry.”
“Santiago is a man with many responsibilities,” Hanneke said. “Please, not Juana. All I need is a basin of water. Maybe a little soap.”
“Very well,” Engracia said. “Lie down. Rest. I must finish packing.” She rolled her eyes. “Santiago will snarl when he sees how much I am taking, and I haven’t even told him about Jawhara.”
When the door closed, Hanneke lay down and closed her eyes, relieved to be in a quiet place with no donkeys braying, no swords rattling, no dust swirling. The heat didn’t go away, but she felt a breeze through the open window.
She tried to sleep, but she heard voices outside. Curious, she went to the window and saw Santiago, Antonio, Carlos and other horsemen standing in the corral below. She settled herself on the window ledge, watching as they gestured toward the distant hills. Santiago took out his knife and drew in the dirt, as the men gathered closer. She thought it was a crude map.
He pointed, they nodded. After a few minutes, they dispersed. By now, there was a servant at her door with a welcome basin of water and soap. She stripped and cleaned herself as best she could, then crawled into bed.
The room was dark when she woke up, aware someone was in the room.
“I am glad you saved me a little water.”
She sat up in bed, aware of her nakedness. She heard clothes drop and then more water splash into the basin. She lay down, wondering if tonight was the night when her husband decided to claim what was his, bought and paid for. It was inevitable.
He had other ideas. He flopped down on the bed, with his feet dangling over the edge.
“You could sleep,” she suggested.
“I could, but I dare not.” He sat up. “Here. This is for you from Engracia.”
He held a dress and shift. “They don’t fit her, and I am certain they are too long, but you will be cooler, Ana. That wool dress must be purgatory.”
“I will thank her in the morning.”
“You can thank her tonight.” He sighed and rose, putting on his same dirty clothes while she got as far as the linen shift, much cooler than her own. “We are riding tonight.” He stopped and cocked his head toward the door. “Ay de mi, Urraca is wailing and pleading, and Engracia is in tears. God, how their racket chafes me! Thank you, Ana, for not behaving that way.”
I wouldn’t dare.
“There is Felipe, too. I despise the man. Imagine this: He wanted to k
now all about your dowry, then had the effrontery to demand to know what would become of it if I died in battle.”
She stared at him, as amazed as he was.
“He wanted to know if you would return to the Low Countries, or if someone else would control your dowry.”
They regarded each other, and Hanneke spoke first. “I think I would rather not spend any longer in this house than an hour or two.”
“Wise of you,” he said then laughed. “If he kills me, run.”
“Santiago, that is not funny,” she said firmly.
“It is, actually,” he assured her. “In addition to being a greedy man, he’s a notable coward. He will never kill anyone.” He thought a moment. “He would send others, though. Stay away from him.”
He sat in the window after he dressed, but not for long, because his attention seemed to focus on the hills.
“Fires,” she said, sitting beside him. “We saw those last night and the night before. Is it people who came after the gates were closed?”
“They are why the gates are always closed at night,” he said, pulling her closer. She thought it was an unconscious gesture.
Ana thought she knew who it might be. “You call them Almohades,” she said, working to keep her voice calm, even though she felt the fear, too.
“I do, indeed. I wondered how long it would take for word to get out that Santiago Gonzalez is carrying a fortune to Toledo. Or trying to.”
“But who would tell…”
He shrugged. “Everyone. No one. The wind. That is Spain. We will leave as soon as we can, a few at a time, and then assemble in another place. I want you to ride with me.”
“I am afraid,” she admitted.
Her husband surprised her. Would she ever come to know him? “I am afraid, too.”
Chapter Eight
When Hanneke heard Urraca’s by now familiar wails coming closer to their room, she pointed Santiago to the bed. “At least lie down for a few minutes, husband. I will see if I can get rid of her.”
“Señora Gonzalez, that is worth more than you can imagine to me,” he said as he lay down. “Good luck.”
