The Necklace

by Carla Kelly

  Santiago plunged in headfirst and Hanneke swam toward him. She looked up at El Ghalib with all the thanks she could muster in a glance. She knew he would not help. El Ghalib had struck a strange bargain with her, one that had nothing to do with Santiago.

  Santiago bobbed to the surface, his helmet still off kilter. He held out his hands as he went under, weighed down by his chain mail, blind inside his helmet. He had fallen into the deeper channel, and she swam toward him, grateful she had nothing on but her shift to weight her down.

  He broke the surface so close to her that she screamed in fright. She grabbed him, tugging with all her strength at his helmet. It would not budge. Santiago’s weight pulled them both under.

  She took a deep breath before the water closed over them and did not lose her grip on his helmet. As he thrashed around, blind, she felt around the helmet until she found a latch. It was jammed, but as they sank deeper, the latch broke and the helmet opened.

  Wishing he were more helpful, she found the strength to tug him toward the surface, where she wrenched off the helmet, scraping his cheek until the blood came, but freeing him.

  “I can’t swim!” he gasped, and went under again.

  She took another deep breath and grabbed his hair. He flailed about in her grasp and pulled her under with him. Desperate, she felt his tunic until she touched his dagger. Yanking it from its sheath, she slammed the hilt against his temple. He sank without a murmur.

  She broke the surface for another breath of air, and there was Pablo, running toward her on the bank, waving his arms. “I cannot swim!” he shouted, but he waded into the Tajo anyway.

  She dove once more and grabbed Santiago’s hair, wishing it weren’t so short. She couldn’t bring him to the surface, but she towed him underwater toward the shallower edge, and reached the surface to see Antonio, wearing only his small clothes, leap into the water and swim toward them.

  He hefted Santiago higher, getting his face out of the water. Between them, they towed Santiago toward the bank, Pablo reaching out. Hanneke treaded water, exhausted.

  Once Antonio and Pablo had pulled Santiago from the river, Antonio went back into the water for Hanneke, grabbing her around the waist and swimming with her against his body. He heaved her onto the sand and she collapsed beside Santiago.

  Antonio grabbed her hair and pulled her around to face him. He let go of her when he was satisfied that she was breathing, then pulled Santiago on his side. Water drained from his mouth, but he did not open his eyes. Antonio pounded Santiago’s back until he began to gag and cough. He breathed in gasps that gradually slowed, even as water continued to pour from his mouth.

  “Dear God, where is Ana?” he managed at last.

  “Right beside you,” Antonio said. He sat back on the sand and let his breathing slow, as well. “She saved your life.”

  Still on his side, Santiago felt behind him until he touched Hanneke’s thigh. She heard a sigh of relief. He flopped onto his back and looked at her. “So she did,” he said. “So she did.”

  Hanneke raised herself up on one elbow at the same time Antonio looked down at his near nakedness. “Pablo, my clothes,” he said, and caught the bundle, putting on his surcoat. He chuckled because the sides were open, then shrugged.

  “I fought El Ghalib,” Santiago said. “Did you see him, Ana?”

  “Yes, I saw him.” Hanneke said nothing more. She sat up and tugged down her shift, feeling as bare as Antonio. “Pablo, my dress is just around the bend.”

  He hurried to retrieve it as Carlos and other soldiers ran toward them. Santiago tried to sit up and fell back. “I fought El Ghalib. He threw me in the river. Help me up.” Carlos stared at him. “Yes, yes! He threw me in the river. Why he did not kill me I cannot imagine,” Santiago said impatiently. “Help me up!”

  Santiago blinked his eyes several times when he was on his feet, then retched up more of the Tajo. “I should learn to swim,” he said to no one.

  Hanneke watched him sway and nearly fall, until Carlos grasped him more firmly. He started to walk, then turned back and knelt beside her. He looked into her eyes and she saw only gratitude. He touched her hair gently, so unlike the angry man of several days ago. “Chiquita, thank you.”

  She nodded, too tired to say anything, and wondering about chiquita. In one of his endless language lessons, hadn’t Father Bendico told her that ita or ito on the end of a noun meant affection? And what was chica? Perhaps she had misheard him. At least he wasn’t angry at the moment.

  Carlos and the others led him away and she remained on the sandy beach with Antonio and Pablo, who held out her dress. With his help, she pulled it on, too tired to do up the bodice, too tired to do anything except sit there. And where was her surcoat?

  “Can you walk, señora?” Antonio asked, holding out his hand. He had found his clothes and put them on, except for his chain mail, which he handed to Pablo.

  She shook her head. “Leave me. I’ll come in a moment.”

  “Oh, no!” Over her protests, he picked her up and settled her against him. “Dama, you weigh nothing. How in the world did you manage to drag Santiago out of the channel?”

  “I don’t know.” She touched the little necklace, wondered about enemies, and closed her eyes.

  It was dark when she woke. She was lying on a pallet with a sheet and blanket, a far cry from her bed of shame by the mules. She sniffed her nightgown, grateful Engracia had felt enough kindness to share. She burrowed deeper into the pallet, then turned over.

  Santiago lay beside her, close enough to touch, had she wanted to. She didn’t. Still, it was nice to know he had thanked her for saving his life. Maybe in the morning he would let her ride closer to the front; even a little closer would help. She was tired of breathing dust in and out, running her tongue over gritty teeth, and feeling everyone’s rancor because she had committed an awful act of mercy. A little less unkindness would be enough.

  He looked so peaceful, breathing evenly. She closed her eyes, ready to return to sleep.

  “Please forgive me,” he said.

  Hanneke had somehow wormed her way close to her husband, her head on his bare chest, his arm around her shoulder. Maybe there was water in her ears. She couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “For what?” she asked, honestly curious. Did he mean his anger over Papa’s terms in the dowry, the awful wedding, his utter disregard for her safety, the heat, the thirst, her harsh kindness to Jawhara?

  “Name it. I am guilty,” he said. “Did ever a husband make a worse beginning?”

  “I doubt it,” she told him honestly, and felt his little laugh more than heard it.

  “Listen to me, please.”

  She wanted to return to sleep rather than carry on a midnight conversation. Better hear him out so she could sleep. “I’m listening.”

  “Would you try to forgive me?” he asked.

  She considered his question, not of a mind to trust him. He had told her on their wedding night that his whole life was war. After the threshing floor, she understood. She knew there would be no peace in this land until either the Almohads or the Spaniards were vanquished. Her dowry was a means to an end, and she came along with it.

  “Does it matter whether I forgive you or not?”

  She winced at the sound of that, but she knew in her heart that her treatment of the past few days had given her more strength than weakness.

  “It matters to me.”

  He said it quietly at the same time he ran his hand down her arm, which felt, not merely comforting, but something more exciting. Maybe she wasn’t as tired as she thought.

  She fingered El Ghalib’s necklace, wondering if she should tell him what had happened on the bank of the Tajo. Was the necklace going to mean more trouble or less? No, it was her secret to keep, at least for now.

  “Ana?”

  She couldn’t answer
him; it wasn’t in her. His hand moved to her breast, then to her stomach, and she liked the feeling. She would change the subject.

  “What does” – gracious God, something was happening to her voice. He was so distracting. She cleared her throat as his hand went lower and he moved closer. “What does chiquita mean? I don’t know the word.”

  “Someone small with a big heart, like you.”

  That was all he said for many minutes. She forgave him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  His space on the pallet was empty when Hanneke woke up, but still warm. She moved into his warm spot and stretched, alert to her body as never before.

  There was no one to talk to about how she felt. She knew Engracia was not bright. Juana was unpleasant and evil. Perhaps some quiet evening in the autumn, she and Santiago could sit close together, she might talk about what she had discovered last night about herself. Quite possibly she didn’t know even part of what had happened when he took her, except that despite all her uncertainties, she wanted to love this man.

  Maybe someday, she thought, as she washed and dressed. Sooner would be better, she knew, considering that she never had a choice in the matter. It would be better not to forget that she was the lady of small things only.

  She fingered the necklace, thinking through what little conversation passed between them last night. After he sighed out his satisfaction against her body, and surprised her by keeping her close, he asked, “Why did El Ghalib not kill me? I wish I understood. It would have been so easy.”

  Almost of its own volition, her hand went to the necklace, then dropped away quickly. “Perhaps this is a mystery known only to God,” she had said, then changed the subject by moving closer, knowing that the less he thought about the inexplicable El Ghalib, the better for her.

  She reconsidered the turmoil inside her body, touched now in places she had only imagined. The tumult of her life since the ship docked at Santander, schooled her to not show anything beyond a bland face. Women were to be used; she knew that, but all the same, she felt different. She decided she liked the feeling.

  Why should she feel shy to join the others? To her further amazement, there was no overlooking the shyness on Santiago’s face when she left the tent and looked about, hoping for food. His lingering glance suggested that today she wouldn’t have to wait until everyone else had eaten and pray there was enough. Whether that translated to a better place in the line of march was debatable. Food first.

  Something else came before, also unexpected, something to store up in her heart. As she walked to the cooking fire, hopeful, Santiago took her hand and tucked her close. She wasn’t brave enough to look at him, so she glanced around, surprised to see the entire company waiting, expectant.

  She felt the blood drain from her face as she wondered what she had done this time. Was she wrong? Surely not, especially since he had whispered chiquita to her several times during the night.

  “Listen to me, men,” he said, not raising his voice, his face calm. He never raised his voice with his men. “Please know that I have apologized to my wife for my inexcusable treatment of her, this woman who is my wife and not my servant.”

  They looked at each other; she hoped he did not mistake her stunned look for revulsion. “We’ll tell the bishop of Santander that I was listening when he said that,” he said quietly, as if to her alone.

  He returned his attention to his soldiers and employees, to all who had made this journey so far. “I pledge to you I will be a better leader. Forgive me, Ana.”

  She nodded, too shy to speak. He looked at his men with a smile. “Amigos, always marry a woman who can swim.”

  The company joined in his laughter. Delighted, Hanneke laughed. She noticed Antonio standing beside Pablo, laughing with the others. He touched his hand to his heart and bowed to them both.

  But wariness is something that lingers, Hanneke discovered. Santiago said nothing more to her as they broke camp, so she took her usual place in the rear with the dowry and other baggage. She put her straw hat on, pleased that she could sit on her mule for hours now, happy to have eaten breakfast, and willing to tolerate what came her way. She touched her necklace, wondered where El Ghalib was, and hoped there would be a soft bed for her in Toledo.

  “Ride with me, Ana.”

  She looked around in surprise, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming by her husband, who probably never whiled away his time thinking about small things.

  “You’re certain?”

  He shrugged. “If you prefer to ride with Engracia and be bored to death, or suffer a frosty glare from Juana, I won’t detain you.”

  Was he teasing her? She looked into his eyes and saw something more than the usual hard expression. “If you insist,” she said, keeping her tone light. “I’ll try to manage without idle chatter.”

  He glanced at Engracia. “I insist.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t really want to swallow any more dust. Could Pablo ride closer to the front, too?”

  He nodded. “He can ride beside Father Bendicio. I’m sorry, Ana. You probably have more Castilian dust coating your lungs than someone born here.”

  “Pulmones? That is not a word I am familiar with.”

  He looked around, then came closer on his big horse and touched one breast, hefting it a little. “Where you get your air. What also helps make you so pretty.”

  She blushed.

  The battle-tested army of Santiago Gonzalez entered Toledo when the sun was high overhead, beating down on men and beasts foolish enough to be out of doors.

  Her white mule from King Alfonso seemed as relieved to be safe again as she was, and proved it by keeping up with Santiago’s war horse. Or perhaps, just perhaps, Santiago had slowed the march to make an easier journey. He looked back at Engracia often, as if measuring her exhaustion. His own face turned grim when he intercepted Juana’s look of bald loathing. It’s not my husband’s fault that Engracia insisted in coming along, Hanneke thought. Stop, Juana. Leave him alone.

  Father Bendicio rode beside Engracia, but Pablo stayed near her, looking about as they passed through the gate into the old city. “What do you think of this place, dama?” he asked her.

  “I have never seen anything like it,” she replied, admiring the architecture of Islam, with airy porticos and elaborate carvings on walls, oddly shaped windows and soaring arches. She pointed to a massive fortress on the city’s highest point. “What is that?”

  “The Alcázar,” Santiago said. “Some say the Romans built the first fort. It has traded hands in recent years – Moors, Castilians, Berbers, Almoravides, Castilians, Almohades next, until more than a century ago.” She heard his quiet satisfaction. “Now it is in our possession and will remain so.”

  Hanneke saw the resolution on his face. He means it, she thought, and felt a tug at her heart, a timely reminder that this was now her land, too, whether anyone knew it yet. Did she?

  He leaned over to touch her thigh. “As much as I know that Toledo means I am closer to home, now begins the difficult part of our journey.”

  Hanneke stared at him in amazement. After all they had been through, now was the difficult part? Unmindful of her mule, she allowed it to bump into Santiago’s war horse, whose ears went back. Santiago expertly steered his mount away as she gaped at him.

  “Now comes the hard part?” she couldn’t help asking. “Now?”

  He laughed when she frowned at him. “Yes, now, chiquita. Now I must deal with the Jewish bankers. I would almost rather fight El Ghalib again.”

  “Don’t say that.” She reached for the necklace, then lowered her hand. “It frightens me.”

  “I, as well,” he admitted. “Antonio, what should I do to make this bargaining session remotely palatable?”

  Antonio moved closer. “Take Ana with you.”

  “God in heaven, why?” Santiago asked. “T
his is a man’s business.”

  It’s my dowry, Hanneke thought, irritated. Isn’t that enough reason?

  “She’s shrewd, and she looks better than you do,” Antonio said.

  “No doubt, friend. Put her in a pretty dress?” Santiago turned his attention to Hanneke. “And wash her face. Comb her hair. I believe you are onto something, Antonio.”

  “Even the Jews will not resist a pretty face,” Antonio said. His face reddened. He rode ahead.

  Santiago watched him, his expression inscrutable. “I believe you have an admirer, wife. Should I watch my step around Antonio Baltierra?”

  Hanneke watched Antonio, too. “He is a friend,” she said quietly. “We saved your life together.”

  “That’s no answer,” he said.

  Wary, she glanced his way, relieved to see his smile. He smiled back. She had no other answer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Not far from the cathedral, Santiago stopped at an inn on a quiet street, its rooms opening onto a garden with flowers and a fountain. Hanneke helped Engracia lie down and tugged off her shoes, dismayed to see her feet swollen.

  “I wish I had not begged Manolo to let me make this journey,” Engracia said, as Juana loosened her dress.

  “Why did you?” Hanneke asked.

  “Las Claves is so isolated, so lonely sometimes. No one laughs,” her sister-in-law said. She gave the servant a sidelong glance. “And there is occasional meanness.”

  I believe that, Hanneke thought. It doesn’t take a wizard skilled in divination. She watched as Juana passed a damp cloth over Engracia’s face, murmuring and scolding.

  “Don’t stand there like a lump,” Juana said to her, when Engracia’s eyes closed. “Look in the trunk for a dress to charm the Jews. I will hem it. Do something.”

  It was the wedding trunk with the clothes that did not fit, jumbled into Engracia’s room by mistake. The green wool dress on top suited her. She had worn it for her wedding. “This one.”

  “I should think you would want to forget,” Juana said, as Hanneke pulled out the dress. “Such a wedding.”