by Carla Kelly
He nodded.
“Then what?”
When he turned around, she saw disbelief in his eyes. “What did you find, Pablo? Tell me.”
The words tumbled out. “I found scraps on every twig and bush, by every rock!”
“She betrayed us.” Hanneke shook the dust off her dress, a futile attempt. “We knew she was doing something. We might have stopped her.”
“No one listens to us,” he said, and she heard her practical knight returning. He grabbed her hands. “I didn’t like her, dama, but what terrible things they are doing to her now! I don’t care if the cook beats me. I want to go back.”
Hanneke looked up the slope, where shadows lengthened. “Come, Pablo.”
He shook his head and refused to move. “My priest told me never to look on evil, if I could help it. No.”
Should I? she asked herself, fearful. She hurried up the slope, willing her feet to move forward, even as her mind begged her to stay where she was.
She paused near the top, hungry, thirsty and dizzy. She looked over the valley far below, peaceful in late afternoon. She doubted any of the inhabitants in distant villages had any idea what had happened there in the mountain pass.
If Jawhara hadn’t screamed, she would have returned to Pablo. She held her breath, listening to the scream carry on and on until it died in a whimper. She forced herself to walk to the path, where Juana, Engracia and Father Bendicio crouched.
The priest grabbed her skirt. “Before God and all his saints, stay here with us.”
They sat staring out at the valley, Engracia’s hands over her ears, Juana frowning so deeply that her eyebrows met, Bendicio clicking his beads as if it meant something to him. She looked toward the commotion to Santiago, who sat by the still-smoldering pyre. She looked closer and saw Jawhara.
“Bendicio, what is he doing?” she whispered, even as Jawhara screamed again, writhing in his lap. One of the soldiers held her down.
“Remember that she is a traitor and an enemy to God,” the priest said. The words came from him as if part of a recitation he had memorized.
“No one should be in such pain, no matter what,” she replied and walked toward the pyre. Her face must have looked deceivingly calm, because the soldiers parted before her without a word.
She stared down at what was left of Jawhara’s face as her mind took her back to the threshing floor, and the woman with strips of skin dangling, no eyelids and no tongue. How could he do this?
Santiago ignored her presence. “Have you nothing more to admit, puta?” he asked, so calm, almost serene. Hanneke shuddered.
When Jawhara said nothing, but only moaned and tried to twist away, he pressed his hand to her forehead and peeled another layer of skin off her cheek, this one exposing the bone beneath.
“Stop!” Hanneke cried, digging her fingers into his shoulder. He slapped her hand away and she sank to the ground beside him, unable to stay on her feet.
Jawhara opened her eyes. “Ana, Ana, please help me,” she begged, in perfect Castilian.
It was all a lie. Jawhara had understood everything they said and betrayed them. But this? “Santiago, I beg you to stop.”
Santiago wiped his knife on Jawhara’s hair. “This whore betrayed us. She left bits of your dress all the way down the mountain, messages for El Ghalib. Eleven of my men are dead because of this one, and you think I should stop?”
She put her hand on his arm and he shook it away. “She should die, but not this way. No one should die this way.”
“Then explain what you saw on the threshing floor,” he said, taunting her now. She sucked in her breath as he touched the knife to her cheek.
“You are no better than El Ghalib, if you do this.”
He shoved her away, and returned her attention to the servant in his lap. He raised the knife again, then lowered it. He moved out from under the servant and got to his feet, his surcoat covered with blood. “That will do. Men, she is yours. Remember this: I want her alive when El Ghalib finds her.”
He held out his hand to Hanneke, but she moved to sit by Jawhara. He touched her shoulder. “Stay then, but you will not like what happens.” He turned away.
“Leave, Ana,” Antonio said. “It is the men’s turn.”
Why had she thought Antonio was different? Some demon drove her on. “What will you do?”
Antonio’s eyes did not waver from her face. “Me? Nothing. I don’t stand in line to punish women.” He reached for her, but she moved closer to Jawhara. “Unlike you, I know why he does this. Come away.”
Hanneke did not move, even as one of the soldiers ripped away what remained of Jawhara’s dress and two other pinioned her arms. She looked away, sickened.
“Don’t do this,” she begged.
Someone laughed. Hanneke tried to grab Jawhara, but her hands were slippery with the servant’s blood. The circle of men parted and Santiago broke through, grabbing her around the waist and hauling her away, and she struggled and tried to bite his arm. When she dug her fingernails into his leg, he slapped her until her ears rang.
He plopped her down and clapped his hands on her shoulders as she tried to leap up. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Don’t move.”
He mounted his horse bareback and started down the trail toward the valley. She leaped to her feet and ran to him. “How can you do this thing? How can you allow your men to have her like that?”
He slid off his horse and grabbed her face, holding it tight between his hands, looking deep in her eyes. “You are young,” he said slowly and clearly, so there would be no mistake. “You do not understand us. Stop.”
When she tried to speak, he grabbed her chin and tightened her grip. “Not another word. I don’t want to see you for the rest of this night. Stay far away from me.”
He shoved her down and mounted his horse again. She covered her ears to shut out the sounds of Jawhara’s whimpers now and the coarse laughter, powerless to do anything but sit there as another woman suffered.
No one came near her, not even Bendicio, and certainly not Juana. Hanneke drew herself into a little ball and wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to free her mind of every thought and emotion of the days since she married the angry man who could torture a woman and summon his men like wolves to a meal.
Santiago returned as merciful darkness claimed the endless day. The men were still grouped around Jawhara, using her again and again. Antonio stood to one side, his eyes on Hanneke, as if afraid she would make a sudden move.
Ignoring her, Santiago dismounted and walked toward Antonio. “We will move down the trail. I see no sign of El Ghalib. Call the men off.”
Antonio spoke quietly to the men by the pyre, which no longer burned. They moved away, talking among themselves, laughing. Hanneke pressed her lips tight. She had said enough.
“Is she alive?” Santiago asked Antonio.
“Parts of her. She will live until El Ghalib finds her, if that is your intent.”
“Come along then, you women and Bendicio,” Santiago ordered.
Numb in her soul, Hanneke moved to obey, but her eyes went to Jawhara. The servant lay naked next to the ashes of Santiago’s men. As her husband watched, she walked to the mule train, searching the ground until she found a piece of brocade. She knew the fabric, woven in Delft. She shook it out and started toward Jawhara.
“What are you doing?” Santiago demanded.
“Very little.”
He grabbed at the fabric but she resisted. “This is still my dowry!” she insisted, startled at her own ferocity. Santiago held up his hands to ward her off.
She covered Jawhara’s broken body, bending down to smooth the hair from her dull eyes. The servant tried to speak. Hanneke leaned closer, appalled by the odor.
“Kill me. Please.”
“I dare not,” Hanneke whispered back.
&n
bsp; “Please.” Jawhara turned her head with some effort to allow blood to drain from her mouth. “Please.”
Santiago called to her. Without a word, Hanneke mounted her mule, and followed Bendicio and Engracia, with Juana and Pablo behind. Her true knight glanced back at her, pleading with his eyes. Juana cuffed him, so he turned around.
For my sins, Hanneke thought, for my sins, God forgive me.
Chapter Fourteen
Silence stood sentry over the camp that night, after Santiago growled at Juana for complaining about no water. He sat with his soldiers, ignoring Hanneke. She kept herself apart from them all, humiliated at her rough treatment by her husband, but even more devastated by Jawhara, an evil woman to be sure, begging for death. Carrying a blanket, Santiago came to her as the camp grew silent. He dropped it beside her and left without a word.
She couldn’t sleep, not with Jawhara suffering up the trail. She is probably already dead, competed with Someone should check. She knew what she wanted to do was folly, but the thought wouldn’t go away.
One thought remained: You are being ignored. What harm can come from checking? No one will know. There was one other thought, the kind one, that she had learned years ago from her mother. Mevrouw Aardema’s kindness took them to fishmonger’s huts when there was a new baby, or to deathbeds, to sit in silence, do dishes, fold clothes, or tend little ones until other arrangements could be made. As she stared at cold stars overhead, Hanneke knew how deeply such little deeds of mercy were part of her.
What would she find in the clearing by the funeral pyre? She looked around, silent and watchful, for a knife. Fine, Hanneke, fine, she scolded herself. Tap someone and ask to borrow a knife. When he asks what for, you can say you have dirt under your fingernails – which you do – and you want to clean them. They will believe you. Discouraged, she lay down again.
You probably couldn’t kill anyone, came next. She closed her eyes. Sleep didn’t come. She looked around, knowing she had to try.
She saw a knife, then another and another, all resting in a pile. Other jumbled possessions told her these were the puny effects of those who died in the ambush.
After debating whether it was noisier to crawl or simply walk, she rose and picked up a dagger. No one stirred. She skirted around the mules and horses, stopping when they whinnied, her heart in her mouth. Nothing.
She knew there would be guards placed, because her husband was nobody’s fool. To her amazing good fortune, the guard closest to her rested his hand against his cheek, asleep.
Thinking quickly, she cleared her throat. He rubbed his eyes and stood up, looking to see if any of his compadres were awake to see his shame and tattle.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she whispered. “You must be exhausted. What a day this has been.”
He nodded. “Thank the Blessed Virgin my watch ends soon. Why are you about, Señora Gonzalez?”
“I…well… you know,” she mumbled.
“Be quick about it.”
“I shall. Thank you.”
She remained at the edge of the campsite, watching the sentry return to sleep. When the guard changed soon, no one would know she had been there at all.
She hurried down the trail. Somewhere a dog howled, and then another. She faltered, then grasped the dagger tighter and ran.
The moonlight in the clearing cast a soft light on the unburied Moslem warriors, nosed over by wild dogs who growled at her, but ran off. She heard them pacing back and forth, impatient to return to the clearing, but afraid of her.
Jawhara lay where the soldiers had left her. The brocade had been pulled some distance away, and Hanneke wondered if the dogs had already done her work for her. She shuddered at the thought of animals tearing into living flesh. She retrieved the dirty brocade, arranged it around Jawhara, and knelt beside her.
Hanneke gently touched her shoulder, surprised to find her still warm. Jawhara moved, uttering a low moan that seemed to come from the earth itself.
“Here I am, Jawhara,” she whispered, even though they were the only quick among the dead.
Jawhara opened her eyes slowly, as if a cosmic hand weighed down her eyelids with stones. She tried to speak, but no words came out. Her face was mottled with dried blood. After great effort, she nodded.
Steeling herself, Hanneke pulled back the brocade until Jawhara’s breasts were exposed. She patted the servant’s shoulder, trying to reassure them both. Jawhara closed her eyes. “Allah akbaru,” she managed to say.
Hanneke raised the dagger above her head and brought the weapon down, plunging it deep into Jawhara’s breast. The servant stiffened, then uttered a sigh that went on and on. Her head drooped to one side, and she died.
Spent of all energy, Hanneke sat beside the body until several dogs rushed from the shadows. She stood up and they darted away, but not so far this time. She heard the yip of hungry puppies.
Devastated and sick at heart, Hanneke hurried from the clearing, half expecting the charred soldiers to rise from their warm bed and stumble after her, or for the Almohad warriors to reassemble themselves and follow her, too. She tuned to see dogs quarreling among themselves over the choicest bits, then ran.
Watching the sky for signs of morning light, Hanneke walked back to camp. The new sentry touched his hand to his head, none the wiser. She had succeeded.
As soon as she lay down and covered herself, Santiago stepped from the shadows, yanked away her blanket, and jerked her to her feet. She looked around in terror, as other men stepped from the shadows after him.
“Where have you been?”
There was nowhere to turn or run. Everyone was awake and watching her like the hungry dogs at the other clearing. She couldn’t even back up; Santiago had pressed himself against her. He was so calm, so dangerous. She held her breath.
“Antonio, ride back. Tell me what you find. Hurry.”
Antonio mounted his black horse and Santiago walked with him to the edge of the clearing, where he sat, his back to her.
He must have heard her shift her feet. “Stand where you are,” he ordered, still so calm. “Pablo, no closer.”
She stood there, her head bowed, as the whole of her life passed by, taking her right to this place again, this unfamiliar, unkind land. He will kill me, she thought. Hopefully he would not turn her over to his soldiers first, but who knew what an angry man would do with a disobedient wife? Hadn’t he told her their first night together, to obey him always? She had agreed.
Surely he couldn’t kill her. She had to be alive a year from her wedding, so the dowry would be officially his. She clasped her hands together, then put them to her face and let the tears flow silently. Death would be better than this, but she wasn’t allowed to die.
Silence prevailed as the sun rose. No one seemed to breathe. Even the mules abandoned their usual ode-to-dawn brays. Songbirds trilled a few notes and stopped, as if caught in some misdemeanor.
When Santiago rose to his feet, she knew Antonio had returned.
He rode slowly, bending out of the saddle, his eyes on the ground. Never taking his eyes from the ground, he skirted around the camp, staying away from the animals, keeping to the edge of the clearing.
He was tracking her. She could go nowhere so she didn’t try. His horse walked through her blanket and stopped. Antonio straightened up in the saddle, looking down at her from a great height, his face troubled.
Is this how it ends? Hanneke thought in horror. I am only seventeen.
Antonio spoke over his shoulder. “Santiago, por favor. Ask your wife to show us her feet.”
“Do as he says, wife.”
Hanneke took a deep breath and raised her dress to her knees. Her bare feet were the color of the funeral pyre.
Still speaking only to Antonio, Santiago asked in that calm voice. “Tell us what you found in the clearing.”
“I foun
d a dead woman stabbed through the heart with this dagger.”
He pulled out the death weapon and dropped it at her feet.
“Who would do such a thing? Do you know, Ana?” Santiago asked.
Silence. Even the leaves had quit rustling in the trees. The sound of his gauntleted hand against her cheek broke the silence. “Do you know?” he roared.
Before she spoke, she thought of King Alfonso’s words in distant Santander. Some would be winnowed out. She knew he meant her, but this soon?
Tired of everything – the fear, the hunger, the thirst, the sun, the dirt, the thought of one more day in Spain – Hanneke took a deep breath and another. She breathed in and out, knowing that breathing was over for her soon. Santiago would find a way to keep the dowry, whether she was dead or alive.
She dropped to her knees and held out her hands. “I killed her. No one, not even a traitor, should die that way. I do not excuse myself. Do with me what you will.”
Hands still extended – For mercy? For pity? – Hanneke bowed her head.
She heard his sword leave the scabbard. Life was short; hers was over. From a great distance, she heard Antonio shout, “No!”
An eon passed until she heard the sword slam back in its scabbard. No one moved, then Santiago’s boot in her back forced her down to the dirt as he pushed hard. She wanted to cry out, but something inside her refused to yield.
“You will ride behind the muleteers and your precious dowry,” he said, still so calm. “Do you understand?”
She nodded. He walked away.
Chapter Fifteen
No one helped her to her feet. No one offered her bread and cheese. One of the teamsters was kind enough to saddle her mule. She looked around to thank whoever it was, but no one looked at her. The furnace of the sun on her aching back and against her raw cheek became Hanneke’s traveling companions, since no one was allowed near as they left the mountains and returned to the high plains.
Her pretty white mule, the one given to her by King Alfonso himself, seemed to feel the shame, too, there at the back of the baggage train. She plodded, head down, looking neither right nor left, as mule and rider ate dust.
