by Carla Kelly
“What should I tell her?”
“Have Engracia packed and waiting in the hall in one hour.”
How do I console the inconsolable? Hanneke thought, wondering why she had offered.
She watched her husband, his arm over his eyes. In an amazingly short time, she heard his deep breathing. Here was a man who took things as they came. She decided she had better learn from him. Right now, in fact. She closed the door behind her and faced Engracia’s mother.
“I must speak to Santiago,” Urraca demanded, and tried to force herself past Hanneke.
“No, you may not. He must get some sleep before we ride out tonight.”
“You cannot stop me!”
“I will.”
“He cannot tear my child away from me!”
Try a different tack, Hanneke, she told herself. Papa always says that if the wind changes, the ship must tack. “He does not wish to tear her away, señora, but think how much better it will be for Engracia in her present state to travel when it is cooler. Traveling at night is a kindness.”
Urrace stopped wailing and wiped her nose on her long sleeve. “How thoughtful of him. I hadn’t considered that.”
Better you not even have a hint there are Almohades and campfires, Hanneke thought. The mere idea terrified her, too, but not as much as Santiago’s displeasure, or even his need to sleep.
She patted Urraca’s shoulder. “Help Engracia finish her packing. Remember. One hour.”
Urraca went down the stairs, and Hanneke took a deep breath.
“Bravo, wife of Santiago,” she heard from the shadows.
Felipe Palacios stepped into view, a bare outline by the light of a few candles.
He bowed to her. “You are a brave woman, to handle my mother so adroitly.”
She wished him elsewhere. “I am a good wife,” she said simply, aware that she stood with bare feet and in a shift. With as must dignity as she could muster, she entered her room and leaned against the door until she heard his footsteps recede down the hall.
“Who was that?” Santiago whispered.
She started in surprise. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Who can sleep with such a racket?”
“It was Felipe. I do not trust him either,” she admitted.
“It appears you have already adopted the Gonzalez family credo. Nullis credito. Dress yourself. That shift will never work when we have to ride tonight.”
She laughed and he joined in. The homely sound reminded her for a small moment of her father and mother in good times, before Mama took ill. It warmed her heart. Maybe things would be different in Las Claves.
Leaving Valladolid was less difficult than Hanneke envisioned. There was one complication, though, perhaps a minor one.
Urraca must have told Engracia that Santiago was riding in the cool of night for her advantage, Hanneke’s little tale. When he helped her onto her horse, Engracia kissed Santiago’s cheek and thanked him for his thoughtfulness.
He took it in stride. “Anything for you, my sister,” he said, then managed a sidelong glance at Hanneke that made her turn away to keep from laughing.
His smile vanished as Urraca resumed her wailing and scolding. Even Señor Palacios started to sniff, too, which meant that Engracia was in tears soon enough. Hanneke remembered infant twins in the house next door in Vlissingen – one would cry, then the other would join in, for no discernible reason.
She gave her husband a nod of approval as he gently shepherded both Palacios away from their daughter. He gave them each a kiss and promised a visit next year. “You can dote on your new grandchild to your heart’s content,” he assured them.
“Thank you for not being a monumental pain in my ass,” he whispered to Hanneke as he helped her into the saddle.
“You told me not to complain,” she reminded him.
“I did, didn’t I?” he replied with a slight smile. “Who knew I had any power over women?”
I could tell you I am now the mistress of small things, but why ruin a good moment?
As Urraca and Señor Palacios moved back, Urraca still weeping, but more softly now, Santiago motioned the others closer. “We will leave a few at a time through a side gate that Señor Palacios has made known to me. When the moon is lower, we will gather at the junction of the Esgueva and Pisuerga. Father Bendicio, you will keep Engr…”
At the sound of someone running, his hand went immediately to his sword. It was half out of the scabbard when a woman stepped forward, out of breath. With a glance at Santiago, she sidled toward Engracia.
“Wait,” he commanded, and she kept moving. He said something harsh and guttural in Arabic, and she stopped.
He rode between the woman and Engracia, forcing her back with his horse. “She thinks to ride with us? Surely not,” he said to Engracia.
“Santiago, she is my new servant, given to me by my brother. Please.”
“I will not allow it. Never.”
Hanneke saw Engracia’s lips quiver. “Surely there can be no harm from Jawhara. Please, brother, I beg of you.” Her head went down and she cried, her tears added upon by Urraca, who threw herself into her husband’s arms and sobbed.
Those thin lips. That muscle in the cheek moving. Hanneke leaned back, waiting for the explosion, then relaxed, knowing it wouldn’t come in front of all these people. Something strange happened to her; she pitied Santiago Gonzalez.
“Engracia…” More tears. How much could a man take? “Dios, I can see you will leave me no peace if I do not allow this,” he said, the words wrung out of him. He forced a laugh. “Don’t get any ideas, wife,” Santiago told her.
On the contrary, she thought. You have my sympathy. She looked from Jawhara to Engracia and knew it was going to be a long journey to Toledo.
“Juana, pull her up behind you,” he said. “Let us be off before everyone in Valladolid knows our business.”
They moved out a few at a time, traveling through quiet, narrow streets where no one stirred. Santiago took Hanneke’s reins and kept her close. “We’ll gather at the river and head for those low hills,” he told her. “We’ll hug them for protection.”
The air was still cool. Hanneke raised her face to the slight breeze, knowing it would turn oven-hot when the sun rose. She silently thanked Engracia for the gift of a linen dress and shift, much better than Dutch wool. Small things.
At the river, Santiago explained the plan of riding deep into the mountains tonight to avoid the raiders, the plan she had seen drawn in the dirt below her window. She looked around the circle of men, not one of them soft, with the exception of Father Bendicio. Even little Pablo looked filled with purpose. My true knight, she thought.
“Hay preguntas?” Santiago asked. “If no questions, let us move.”
He put his hand out to stop Antonio, and the man reined in.
“Antonio, I give you a charge,” Santiago said. “In the event of trouble, you will take Ana’s reins and pull her to the mule train.” He sat back. “As I think of it, she is in your care from now on.” He put his hand to his lips and gestured to Hanneke, then moved ahead.
“I hope I am not a burden,” she said to Antonio.
“Fall in behind me and ride beside Engracia.” He held up his hand and leaned close enough to whisper, “I know! I know! Take pity on us men, dama.”
“You already rule,” she said, easy enough in his company to complain a little, but not enough to get her in trouble.
“Not us,” he replied. He gestured with his head. “Second sons don’t rule, and neither do cast-offs like me. We have no choice.”
“Cast-offs?” No choice like me? Surely not.
“Bendicio will tell you more, when he gets bored. Ride now, and shh.”
They rode all night, stopping once to relieve themselves and stretch. Since it was dark, Hanneke didn’t bot
her with a blanket. Some of the soldiers lay down and slept during the brief pause. They woke without a sound when Santiago walked among them.
Hanneke watched her husband of less than a week. He was tireless, his back straight as he rode, head tipped to one side, as if listening to the very ground. He said nothing, but he was constantly looking about him, riding ahead, or dropping back until he was a distant, solitary figure on the plain that rose toward hills.
When Antonio dropped back to trade places with him, Santiago rode beside her. He reached out several times in the night to touch her leg. It startled her at first, but she decided he was making sure she was awake. She could think of no other reason.
Engracia had long since fallen asleep, cradled in Father Bendicio’s arms. Pablo sang softly to himself, the same tune over and over, until Santiago ordered him to shut up. Juana maintained her angry silence, probably irritated that Engracia’s servant rode behind her, but then, Juana never needed a reason. As for Jawhara, she sat ramrod straight, as if afraid to lean against Juana. Jawhara looked about her, too, much like Santiago. As her own thoughts began to blur together, Hanneke wondered why.
When morning was only a suggestion, Hanneke started to sag. When she shook her head to clear her brain, she struggled to stay on the mule’s back.
Before she could pull herself erect again, Santiago lifted her onto his own horse. “Stubborn, stubborn woman,” he said, his mouth close to her ear.
She closed her eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned against her husband. He dropped back, and through a haze of sleep, Hanneke listened as he conversed with Father Bendicio.
“Perhaps I was wrong, Father. No one follows us. It seems there was nothing to fear after all.”
Content with that news, Hanneke drifted into deeper sleep, her husband’s arms strong about her.
She woke with the sunrise, but it wasn’t the light that made her open her eyes and look around. It was the smell of smoke, and something more. She sniffed the early morning breeze. She saw the entire company bunched closer together now, moving slower and then stopping.
For one fanciful moment, she thought it was smoke from the sun. She shaded her eyes with her hand, wondering as she did so why Santiago had suddenly stiffened in the saddle. His sword came out of its scabbard quietly and he rested it across her lap. He leaned forward, his face close to hers and looked.
He gasped. “Dios mio. He was in front of us all the time!”
Chapter Nine
The smell grew stronger. Hanneke sucked in her breath as she remembered such smoke when plague struck Vlissingen. She was young, but who can forget corpses stacked in the street and the smell of burning bodies?
Santiago called for his soldiers and they came up quickly, Antonio leading them. “Let us go forward slowly,” he said.
The smoke increased as they walked their horses, but she saw no village. The unforgettable odor of burning flesh increased and she coughed.
It was then that Santiago realized she was with them. “Mierda!” he swore. He looked behind him, but the mule train was no longer visible through the smoke. She looked, too, wondering where Father Bendicio and Engracia were. He took the sword from her lap and shifted in his saddle. “Hang on. I’m putting you behind me. Wrap your hands through my belt and don’t let go, no matter what happens.”
He pulled her around until she sat behind him. She tugged at her dress, but it would not cover her legs as she straddled the big war horse now.
“Don’t squirm,” he said. “Hang on.”
She put her hands through his sword belt. Her vision was blurry from the smoke, but she saw a village, or what was left of it.
From the mill near the river to the small church, where the roof suddenly collapsed in a shower of sparks, she doubted it had ever been more than a place to stop when there was nothing else nearby. Hanneke clung tighter to Santiago’s belt, putting her face against the surcoat that covered his chain mail.
Lances ready, swords drawn, they rode slowly through the burning village. The small huts were already reduced to ashes and curious smoking mounds she recognized immediately. The small ones brought more tears to eyes already streaming from the smoke.
There were no signs of life as they traversed the village. No dogs barked, no mules brayed. She was starting to breathe easier when they left the village and came to the threshing floor.
Santiago sucked in his breath. He pulled Hanneke’s fingers from his belt and dismounted with great effort, as if he weighed five times more. He walked to the threshing floor and stood there, looking down. He walked from body to body, then raised his arms and wailed.
Hanneke leaped off his horse and ran to him. The paved stones of the threshing floor were gluey with blood and chaff from wheat already winnowed before the raiders struck. She looked down and put her hand to her mouth.
They had once been women, flung like dolls to the threshing floor in a terrible winnowing. Hanneke clutched Santiago’s arm, dizzy and disoriented, as if she stared from a great distance.
One of the bodies stirred. Not knowing how she got there, Hanneke found herself on her knees, cradling the head and shoulders of a woman covered in blood and chaff. Hanneke looked into the glazing eyes of someone her own age.
Santiago knelt next to her, running his fingers lightly over the girl’s cheeks that hung in bloody tatters. Her dress was bunched around her waist. Hanneke looked away, horrified at the damage.
“Can…can she tell us who did this?” Hanneke’s voice didn’t sound like her own. She pulled the girl’s dress down.
“She cannot talk.” Gently, he opened her mouth. “She has no tongue. I know who did this. I already told you about him, the man who killed my father, and who nearly killed Carlos. This abomination is his signature.”
Speechless herself, Hanneke looked away, but that was only worse. A woman lay just beyond them, her skirt ripped entirely away, her arms outstretched as she reached in the rictus of death for a baby folded in impossible directions.
“Yussef el Ghalib did this,” Santiago said softly, as if trying not to disturb the dead and soon-to-die. “I was not wrong. He has come up from the south. He must know about your dowry.”
He stood up, removed his belt and pulled off his surcoat, covering mother and baby. “This would kill Engracia.”
The girl in her arms trembled violently, then died, her eyes never wavering from Hanneke’s face. Shocked Hanneke made a sign of the cross in blood on what remained of the girl’s forehead, then ran her hands down to close her eyes.
They wouldn’t close. Hanneke tried again. The eyed remained open and staring at horror beyond anyone’s vision. She looked closer. The eyelids had been pared away.
Don’t leave me alone here, she thought in panic. Santiago stood with Antonio on the edge of the threshing floor. “Santiago, I need you,” she managed to say, before great sobs tore through her body.
He was at her side in a moment, taking the body from her lap and lowering it to the floor. He pulled up the woman’s apron to shield the perpetually staring eyes.
Hanneke struggled to rise. Her wonderful linen dress had acted as a wick on the threshing floor and was soaked in blood. She held her arms out to Santiago. He lifted her to her feet, put his arm around her waist, and half-led, half-dragged her to the edge of the floor, where he sat her down, facing out. He sat, too, and held her close.
“Why did you get off my horse?” he asked, when her shivering stopped.
“You cried out.”
“Engracia would have run the other way. Bendicio, too. You did not. Why not?”
“I thought you needed me.”
His expression turned contemplative. “I think I do.” He gestured over his shoulder. “You see what we are up against, fighting such an enemy.”
She nodded. She had no energy, but she knew there was much to do. “I can walk.”
&n
bsp; He walked her toward the mule train, where the drivers were coming toward them with shovels and hoes. “Can you stand?”
She nodded and he let go of her, but not before giving her a homely pat on her hip, and whispering, “We must bury these women. Later we will talk.”
He followed his men back to the threshing floor, but not before pointing some of them with shovels toward smoldering mounds. She stood there a moment longer, remembering King Alfonso’s words to her on the steps of the church in faraway, more-civilized Santander.
She turned to contemplate the innocents swept away. “Pray God I will not be numbered among the winnowed,” she whispered. “Not me. Not mine.”
She dreaded to see Juana coming toward her, but there was no animosity this time. The servant sat her down in the circle of the dowry wagons and rummaged for another dress. Hanneke slowly unlaced her bodice. She wanted water to wash her bloody hands, but there was none.
Juana returned with a dark wool dress. “It was all I could find quickly.”
Hanneke stripped off her dress, ignoring what muleteers remained there. Her shift was deep in blood, too, but Juana hadn’t found a clean one. At least the dark dress wouldn’t show blood from the shift underneath.
She sat down, hearing Engracia sobbing somewhere behind her, but too shocked to do anything except tell herself that Jawhara could comfort her; that’s what servants were for.
But Jawhara still sat on Juana’s mule, looking steadily to the south. What is she doing? Hanneke asked herself, before she closed her eyes.
“Ana, Ana.”
Someone flicked water in her face and she opened her eyes. Santiago set a bucket beside her and handed her a shirt fragment burned around the edges. She didn’t want to think where it had come from, but she dipped it in the bucket, grateful.
“We found a well. Even El Ghalib cannot burn water, although he would if he could. Hurry.”
The water felt good on her face, and then her arms and legs as she raised her skirt with no embarrassment and scrubbed them. Whatever standards she had brought with her from Vlissingen had sloughed away in Spain.
