by Carla Kelly
“It was my wedding,” Hanneke said. “Don’t be disagreeable, Juana. It’s hot, I’m anxious about the bankers, and you know I am deadly with a dagger. Come to my chamber with your needle and thread, if you dare.” Think about that, you witch.
She paused at the balcony to watch small birds dipping and bobbing in the fountain below. She smiled as they ruffled their feathers, and wished for the cool waters of the Rio Tajo.
In her chamber, Santiago and Antonio sat on the bed, their heads together, deep in discussion. She stood a moment, noting the contrast of her husband’s blond hair with Antonio’s dark hair. Now that she had seen El Ghalib up close, she wondered about Antonio Baltierra’s origin. Perhaps if he was bored enough someday, he might tell her.
Santiago looked up as she stood there. “I can wait outside,” she murmured. She asked herself if there would ever be a time when she didn’t hesitate to bother him. She had learned Spanish from Father Bendicio, and wariness from Santiago.
“No. Come in. Antonio and I were discussing how many soldiers we can find between now and Christ’s Mass.” He stared into the distance and she saw his lips tighten. “And wondering how much interest the bankers will charge to mortgage your dowry.”
“But I thought…”
“I cannot spend it? There is nothing in your father’s cursed contract that says I cannot mortgage it and make a reckoning after a year of marriage. I will get my money and I will get my soldiers, even if it costs me my soul.”
She crossed herself. “Please don’t say that.”
“My soul is a small matter, compared to the larger matter of our independence from the caliphs.”
“Not to me.” I mean that, she thought.
“Then you are more generous than most.” He looked to the door. “Here is Juana with needle and thread.”
“I will see to the men and their lodging,” Antonio said.
“They’ve probably already scattered to the whorehouses.” Santiago laughed. “You can, too.”
Hanneke felt her face grow hot. There was nowhere to look but down at the dress in her hands.
“You know I do not stand in line for women,” was all Antonio said before he left the room, closing the door with a decisive click.
“Should I apologize?” Santiago asked, after a moment’s reflection.
“Probably,” Hanneke replied. Mama had told her once that men were simple creatures. She was wrong. This man she was yoked to until death was a man of light and shadow. He was also fixed in his purposed and determined, which were not flaws to be repented of, unless taken to extremes. She has seen him in battle. She thought of last night, so tender. She didn’t understand him. Would she ever?
“Have a care this enterprise does not consume you, husband,” she said without thinking.
He gave her a sharp look, narrowing his eyes. He could strike her, but she didn’t care. She knew she was powerless and small and too young for the enormity of the battle before them.
I will not look away, she thought, as serenity filled her heart. With no hesitation, she touched her husband’s face. To her gratification, he turned his head and kissed her palm. I think we could make something of ourselves, if this enterprise does not consume us.
Juana cleared her throat and Santiago stepped back. “This dress will not hem itself,” the servant announced.
“Then get to it.”
Would the day never cool off? Why had she thought a wool dress was the best idea? At least she wouldn’t trip over it, as she had in the chapel, thanks to a deeper hem. She tried to overrule Juana’s insistence on her matron’s cap, but the servant would have none of it. “How can you impress anyone, especially a banker, if you cannot follow custom?” Juana snapped. She placed the cap on Hanneke’s head. “No more of this nonsense. One would think you wanted to ruin this entire attempt.”
“I would never do that,” Hanneke said, weighing each word. “It’s this heat.”
“You can cool off in the winter, when the wind cuts through everything and sometimes it snows,” Juana told her. “Remember your duty.”
My duty, Hanneke thought. My duty is to look charming enough to strike a better bargain for my dowry, which is going to end in misery and death for some. She sat on the bed, unwilling to wish for something better because there was nothing better, not now and not later.
Santiago came for her too soon. “Are you ready to face the lions?”
“No,” she answered honestly, “but I know I must strike you a good bargain.”
“If all goes well, things will be different in a few years, and we will have precious time,” he said. “Come, wife.”
He ushered her out the door, into the full heat of a Toledo afternoon, the siesta over, and people in the streets again. Women swept doorsteps; children ran alongside those on horseback, offering oranges and sweetmeats for a price; Muslims wrapped from head to foot squatted by the wall, looking at everything and nothing. The scent of fruit competed with odors that seemed to crawl from ancient walls, odors that made her cover her nose with her hand.
They passed a grand and curious building that looked more Muslim than Christian, where swarms of beggars crouched on the steps, then rose like locusts when horsemen passed. Hanneke noticed priests at the entrance and shook her head in confusion.
Antonio must have noticed. “You will see this in Spain,” he told her. “When Toledo was reconquered, an earlier King Alfonso turned this into the cathedral.” He shrugged. “We live in a half-Muslim, half-Christian world.”
The blind, the lame, the confused surrounded them, lurching and hopping, exposing their wounds for sympathy, holding out their hands for coins, some mumbling, others pleading with their eyes only.
Antonio unsheathed his sword.
“Don’t hurt anyone,” she pleaded.
“I won’t, but we must get through.” Using the flat of his sword, Antonio kept the beggars at bay.
“The children, Santiago, the children.”
The little ones crowded as close as they dared, some naked and sunburned, others covered with rags masquerading as doublets and tunics, each one clamoring for attention.
A young mother stepped in front of Santiago’s horse and he reined in sharply. Shriveled and scalded by the sun, her baby sucked at her breast that hung like an empty sack.
“Milk from dry udders,” he murmured. “How sad is Spain.”
He motioned the woman back. She bared her teeth at him, muttered something low in her throat, and vanished into the crowd.
As they left the plaza, Hanneke turned to watch the beggars as they slowly drifted back to the cathedral steps to roost again and wait to show others their misery.
Antonio sheathed his sword. “Santiago, I see these pitiful people and I think of old soldiers. Do you?”
“Always. One-armed, one-legged. Better to die in battle than to have to fight each day for food.” Santiago shrugged. “What good is a one-armed man on the frontier?”
Antonio nodded, then crossed himself.
They rode through the stultifying heat until they came to another gate and wall within the walled city. When Santiago sighed, Antonio leaned forward to get Hanneke’s attention, his eyes merry.
“Dama, I have never seen your husband cower in battle, but here he is before La Judería, the Jewish quarter, in agony as if from a mortal wound.” He leaned back to regard Santiago with some sympathy. “Will it be so bad, friend?”
Santiago shrugged. “Don Levi admires pretty women. He married one, and he appreciates beauty.” He gave a little bow. “Thank you for being so lovely, esposa mia.”
What could she do about that, except blush, which made Santiago give his low, nighttime laugh.
“Here we are. Courage.” Santiago dismounted before a tall, narrow house no different from the other houses on what looked like the ghetto’s main thoroughfare. With a glance a
round to make sure no Jews lurked on the street to see him, he crossed himself, then knocked.
Antonio helped Hanneke from her mule. “That cap becomes you.”
Still rosy from Santiago’s compliment, she knew she wasn’t any redder than before. “Juana insisted. She said I must be a proper Spanish matron. Oh, dear. That sounds so old.”
“A worthy custom, señora,” he said. “It should ward off the riff raff and remind the rest of us.” It was his turn to blush. “I mean...well...”
He was spared further explanation when the door swung open and a servant beckoned the three of them inside. Hanneke followed her husband into the cool interior, her ears immediately tuned to the gurgle of bubbling water and bird mutter.
She admired the green courtyard inside the house, wondering what it told her about the character of Spain: reserved on the outside, with the sweetness within. She glanced at her husband, thinking of last night, wanting more of his intimacy. She tried to move closer and say something - what, she wasn’t certain - but he was staring down at the leather case she knew contained the document he found so pernicious, Hans Aardema›s cleverly worded marriage document.
She looked at it, too, and saw it for what it was - a parchment dealing in death. The idea took her breath away.
She spoke so softly that no one heard her. “Don’t.”
The servant left them on the patio. Hanneke moved toward the blue-tiled fountain and rainbow-colored parrots, perching on wooden stands and grousing to each other, their beaks touching.
“Look at the old gossips,” she said, fascinated. She slowly put out her hand. Someone behind her reached out and gently swatted her fingers.
“Nein, baheft froy, they are not gossips but watch dogs. Have a care, or you will never point again.”
Hanneke put her hands behind her back like a small girl. Santiago laughed and looked around. “David Levi. So we both live to see each other again?”
There stood the shortest man Hanneke had ever seen. His voice, low and deep, in no way matched his frame. He was dressed in black, with a gold necklace looping down the front of his long robe, where it roped into his belt. She saw a smaller necklace inside it. He did not look old, but glints of gray appeared here and there in his long beard. Curley ringlets framing his face danced as he nodded to Hanneke.
She returned his gaze as he cocked his head to one side. “Santiago, she is beautiful. May you have many fair sons and dark daughters. She will bring you good luck.”
“I need it.”
“Claro,” Don Levi gestured down the hall. “Come with me. We in Toledo have heard of your recent troubles.”
“From whom, may I ask?”
The banker shrugged. “A word here, a word there. Who can say? Join me, you three.”
Antonio waved them off. “I would rather watch the birds fight,” he said, grinning at them. “Ah, the peaceful life of a man with no land and no prospects: I have all the fun and none of the worries.”
Hanneke and Santiago followed the banker from the patio into a chamber lined with books on shelves far too high for the little man to reach, except with a moveable ladder.
Santiago seated himself where Don Levi gestured. Hanneke look around for a cushion. Instead, the money lender pointed toward a stool and bowed slightly, his hand to his chest.
“Señora, my wife does not think ladies should be lower than men. Is this not right? Adam without Eve would be a dull dog indeed. Please be seated.”
Hanneke perched on the stool, arranging her skirt around her, fascinated by Don Levi. He walked to his desk, with its little steps to his chair. “You wonder how we know, Señor Gonzalez? Only yesterday, the watchmen saw an Almohad army circling Toledo and heading south. Many horses had no riders. I would venture that it was El Ghalib.” He coughed politely into his hand, his eyes merry. “But how is a poor Jew to know?”
“You know everything you need to know, don’t you, Don Levi,” Santiago said, and it wasn’t a question.
“I know enough.” He tilted his head back, regarding Santiago through partly closed eyes. “I also know of certain marriage papers.”
Santiago took the parchment from its leather case and slapped it in Don Levi›s hand. Sitting at his desk, the little man read the document at least twice through, then looked up. “Your father loved you more than most,” he told Hanneke.
“That marriage contract is the devil’s bargain,” Santiago burst out. Hanneke heard all the frustration and winced.
“It isn’t,” Don Levi contradicted. “How did this herring merchant know what thieves’ den his daughter would find herself in?”
“All he knows is herring, senor,” Hanneke said.
“It is enough, apparently.” The banker bowed to her. “And you, Santiago Gonzalez, are here to talk about an army.”
“I need one. I need it now, not a year from now.”
“You shall have one.” Don Levi clapped his hands. “To work! We will probably shout at each other, and storm and rage, before we part as friends.” He turned to Hanneke. “Should we not spare your wife this ugly scene?”
“She is stronger than she looks.”
Don Levi nodded. “Of that I have no doubt. Other stories have reached us.”
Hanneke looked from one man to the other, mystified. She turned her attention to the banker, and then, to her further mystification, to his smaller necklace.
A master goldsmith with enormous patience and skill had braided and soldered each tiny link. Only with great force of will and sudden fear could she keep from touching her own Almohad necklace, the links smaller, to be sure, but equally intricate, the work of the same artisan.
How did you get your necklace, Don Levi? she asked herself with great unease. What bargain did you make?
Chapter Twenty
Unnerved, Hanneke headed for the door. “Before the estimable Señor Baltierra drags you away, please wait a moment in the patio,” Don Levi said. “Someone else would like to meet you.”
“Very well,” she said, anxious to leave. “Thank you.”
“For what? For an army that will take your husband away? For more bloodshed? That is what you are buying.” He shrugged, his hands out. “If God wills it, you are also buying the peace that follows war.”
“That is what I hope,” she said. “Peace.”
“And land. Don’t forget land,” Santiago interjected.
Don Levi contemplated the warrior sitting by his desk. “How could I forget the ambitions of a second son? Yes, land.” He touched her hand.
“I will strike you a bargain worthy of your dreams and his. Go with God.”
She turned toward the patio, admiring it through Moorish columns, but eager to leave. Antonio sat on the lip of the fountain. She watched the same two birds preening each other’s feathers now and chuckling, as if over some huge joke.
“They seem to have sorted out their quarrel. They have been making up.” He looked beyond her. “And the banker and the warrior are dealing in death.”
She touched her necklace. “In Santander, King Alfonso said this venture is bigger than all of us. I am afraid.”
She knew Santiago might not understand, but Antonio nodded. “So should we all be, warriors, women and children. El Ghalib is no respecter of persons.”
A door opened and a woman taller than Don Levi stood there. She nodded to Antonio, her eyes lively. “Antonio! You do not grace our home often enough.” He bowed. “Who is this who fits so tidily by your side?”
Hanneke blushed, but her companion seemed equal to the blunder. “She is Ana Gonzalez, the wife of Santiago, Señora Levi.”
The woman held out her arms and embraced Ana with a pat on the back and a kiss on her cheek. “I am Raquel Levi. Welcome to my house, which is now yours, should you ever need it.” She looked around Hanneke to Antonio. “I will borrow her a moment. Come with me, Ana.
”
She led Hanneke up a shallow flight of stairs, ushering her into a room where a servant sat, mending socks. Señora Levi crossed to a crib by the window.
“This is our son. He occupies me totally when he thinks he is hungry.”
Hanneke touched the sleeping baby’s curly hair, twisting a curl around her finger and watching it spring back. The baby stretched, extending small fists, then sighing back to sleep again.
“We all have a stake in your army, Ana. It may build us a safer world. When you have little ones of your own, you will dream of such a world, too.”
Raquel took her hand and led her back to Antonio, who still watched the water. Raquel whispered, “Truly good men are scarce, Ana, but he is one of them.” She spoke so he could hear, as they came closer. “Take care of her, Antonio.”
“I was given that charge after we left Valladolid, dama, and I do not take it lightly. Go with God, you and your household.”
Antonio paused outside the house and tossed another coin to the urchin he had already paid to watch their horses and mule. “Stay here, muchacho, and tell the blond man who comes out that we are going to the main city gate. Come, Ana.”
He helped Hanneke onto her mule. “I should ask you. Let it be your choice. We can return to the inn, or I can show you something by the gate.”
“The gate, please, no matter how hot the afternoon. If I am back at the inn, then I must listen to Engracia complain of her swollen ankles.”
He swung into his saddle. “But Engracia whines so prettily. She sighs, sniffles, then cries some more.”
They rode slowly through La Judería, then out the gate of Toledo. The sun had turned the world white hot and smoldering.
They topped the little rise and looked down on the Tajo, winding its way through the valley in the gorge it had cut through centuries, maybe millennia, of meandering. The sun turned the water gold and it sparkled like a molten necklace.
“I like it best at night when the moon is full,” he said, “or just after rain. No wonder Moors and Christians fought over this city.”
