by Carla Kelly
She looked across the water as it rippled and whitened over rocks, then flowed smooth, heading west. She turned toward Antonio. “This is silly of me, but during the first few days of our journey, I tried to stand looking west and north, as if I could imagine myself by salt water again, or home.”
“And now?”
“Now I am more practical, maybe like you Castilians. Here I am, and here I must remain.”
He laughed. “We are practical? There is another side to we Castilians, one I think you felt at your wedding dinner.”
“You were watching me?” she asked, surprised.
He didn’t seem embarrassed by her question. “I was. We will agree the day did not start out well. Maybe I worried.”
“No, señor, it did not begin well.” If he wasn’t embarrassed to speak of personal matters then why should she be? “What is this other side you speak of?”
“You’ll see.”
They rode slowly back through a different gate of Toledo. As they dismounted, she saw the usual hangers-about that any city seemed to accumulate: beggars, traders, tax collectors, young people.
“Listen.”
To what, she nearly asked, and then she heard it – great gusts of sound, punctuated by hands clapping rhythmically but just off the beat. The rhythm surged over her, and she hurried inside the gate, Antonio following and leading their mounts.
One small girl whirled and stomped to the sound of an oud and clicking bones. Unmindful of the crowd growing around her, the child raised her hands above her head and twirled. Her patched skirt flared out from her thin body, then wrapped around her legs when she changed direction suddenly. Her eyes closed, she threw her head back and sang, the tune sad and exultant at the same time.
When the jarring note ended and resolved, the child sank to the ground, her sides heaving. Antonio handed her a coin and spoke to her. She got to her feet in one smooth motion and nodded to the equally youthful musician. Shaking the dust off her skirts, she approached Hanneke and held out her hand.
Hanneke turned to Antonio, a question in her eyes. “She wants you to dance with her,” he said.
Hanneke took her hand. The boy strummed his guitar and watched Hanneke’s first attempt. He smiled, then slowed his tune. Hanneke tried to imitate the steps of her partner in the dusty dress. She beckoned Antonio with her eyes and he joined her, holding her other hand and dancing as the boy picked out a faster tune and begin to sing.
The child joined him, pitching her song to the empty sky, giving herself to the melody. Hanneke let the beautiful blending of voices soak into her like rain on dry ground. She closed her eyes and danced until she was filled with the pleasure of it.
She opened her eyes when the girl’s hand turned into Santiago’s. She laughed in delight and danced between the two warriors, one tall and blond, the other nearly as tall, but dark.
The music ended, and the three of them stood there holding hands. “The scamp who watched my horse told me where I might find you,” Santiago said. He raised Hanneke’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “If we are cast out and left destitute by El Ghalib, we can at least dance for our supper.”
In pleasant accord, they traveled down the side streets to the inn’s corral, where Santiago’s soldiers had staked out their tents. A few men guarded the dowry, but the rest were nowhere in sight.
“The business is accomplished,” Santiago said. Hanneke heard the quiet triumph in his words. “I will have my army. Tomorrow we take the dowry to Don Levi’s underground storehouse. Antonio, find the men by morning. Take Pablo to help you.”
“I would never take such a tender soul as Pablo, where I will find your soldiers,” Antonio said with a shake of his head. “They are rubbing their stomachs raw on all the whores in Toledo. Perdóneme, Ana, but it is the truth. Adios for now.”
Dinner was an awkward business. Engracia sniffed and made sad comments to the ceiling about leaving Toledo so soon. Juana muttered about Manolo’s probable anxiety at seeing his wife so worn down, and Pablo spilled his soup.
Santiago bore it in silence. Hanneke marveled that he could tolerate their nagging, and wondered what life was really like for him at Las Claves. Her head began to ache from their complaints.
Engracia dabbed at her eyes all through dinner. “Some people think they have all the power,” Juana muttered, “when all they are is second sons and never should have...”
Santiago stood up in awful silence. He pointed his finger at Juana. “Someday there will be an end to this,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I do not know how it will end, but it will end, Juana.”
He set down his wine cup. “Listen, you two. We leave tomorrow. Don’t complain to me about the Almohades.” His voice, so low, frightened Hanneke more than shouts. “I can do nothing about your discomfort. What I can do is get you safely back to Las Claves. I will be months in the saddle this winter, trying to raise an army so we aren’t burned out of our beds next spring.”
He turned on his heel and left the silent room. Hanneke did not hesitate to follow him down the stairs and into the night.
“Wait, Santiago,” she called. “Please wait.”
He slowed. The grief on his face broke her heart.
“Please,” was all she said.
With no hesitation, he tucked her arm into his and started walking, but slower this time. Soon they were strolling almost leisurely, as if they were a burgher and his Dutch wife out for an evening with no cares.
As they walked, he kissed her hand as he had done earlier. “Thank you for not complaining at any moment on this journey.”
She was wise enough not to mention that in Santander, he had ordered her not to complain.
“Why haven’t you railed against me? I believe - I am certain - you have been more put upon than those two harpies.”
Hard lessons, nothing more, she wanted to tell him, but it was true: she was wiser. He nudged her shoulder, and the intimate gesture made her smile.
The gates were still open. They walked through them toward one of the campfires where she heard the same haunting music of this afternoon. His arm around her waist now, they stopped to listen.
“When I was a child, I wanted to run away with the gypsies,” he said.
She laughed, not wanting the disturb the peace. “And I wanted to go to sea and fish for cod and herring - anything to avoid embroidery.” She watched his eyes. “I am not much of a seamstress, and you cannot run away.”
That earned her a ruffle of her hair, and then a sigh. “No, I cannot. You cannot. I have the money for an army. Don Levi made me a loan - a good one and I thank you, wife - against that time when your entire dowry is in my control. I must cover Castile, Asturias and Leon - maybe Navarre - convincing soldiers, felons and younger sons to join me. I will promise them land, water, sheep, cattle, women, anything, to join the attack against the Almohades in spring. My thanks will be land of my own for me, for you, for our children.”
He had never said so much to her before. It was as if darkness freed him to speak his mind. “That is my goal.” He looked toward the campfires “Oye. This is what I like best about Toledo.”
They sat on the ground as a woman sang to the darkness around her, her voice uncluttered by any accompaniment. Her song was long and stretched fine, her voice full of warbles and ripples like the majestic Rio Tajo. Hanneke thought of beggars and dancing girls, Raquel Levi’s dreams for her baby, and Juana’s implacable hatred. She wanted to ask Santiago about his contradictory country, but she said nothing, too shy.
“So sad are the songs of Spain,” he told her.
“What does she sing of?”
He cuddled her close. “Love and sorrow, joy and woe. In Spain, they are companions.”
“Will she ever sing of happy things?” Hanneke asked.
“Yes, but they will sound sad. That is the way we are, Ana. Come now.
The lamplighters are out and soon the gates will close. Let us leave the night to such as these.”
She was not afraid to sleep beside Santiago Gonzalez this night in Toledo. She reached for him first.
Chapter Twenty-one
Santiago Gonzalez and his little army left Toledo by noon, after seeing the dowry safely stored in Don Levi’s underground vaults, protected constantly by ferocious dogs and guards that Hanneke knew her husband would like to recruit for the coming season of war. Still wary, she waited to take her place at the head of the army until Santiago gestured to her.
Antonio had gathered mercenaries – a hard, silent lot – from the whorehouses of Toledo, men at loose ends and eager to fill saddles emptied by El Ghalib in the mountain pass. Assembled and ready, they rode south from the safety of Toledo’s walls, unburdened now by the dowry, every man looking to the right and left continuously.
The first attack came near dusk, after they had pitched their tents by one of the streams that flowed into the Tajo. Hanneke had removed her shoes and was sitting with her feet in the water when she heard the warbling war cry and felt the thunder of horses.
Santiago’s men ran toward the picketed horses. Engracia screamed and screamed as Juana dragged her to the river, pushing her down beside Hanneke. “Do not move!” Juana hissed.
Hanneke put her arms around Engracia, shielding her body with her own. They made themselves small as the Almohades raided through the camp, scattering supplies, knocking down tents, and challenging the soldiers briefly as they guarded the horses.
The raid ended almost as soon as it began, no one injured except a wounded horse, puncture with many arrows, that tried to rise. A soldier killed it quickly and walked back to camp. Others searched for arrows to add to their depleted quivers.
Hanneke dusted off Engracia’s dress and set her cap on straight. Her sister-in-law babbled about dangers until Hanneke wanted to slap her. Instead, she crooned to her, reminding her that soon they would be safe at Las Claves.
After a meal of barely cooked goat, Santiago knelt by Hanneke and his sister-in-law. “We will not use the tents tonight.”
The fear returned to Engracia. “The soldiers have put up the tents, brother,” she said, her lips quivering.
“So they have. There they’ll stay. You, Ana, and Pablo will sleep by the river. The Almohades will come again. Don’t look so terrified, little mother! Antonio or I will be close.”
Engracia sniffled, but she did not cry. Santiago sat by them, his bow across his lap, arrows lined up near to hand. Engracia lay on her side, propped up on one elbow.
“Do you know what I am going to do, Santiago, when we reach Las Claves?”
“What will you do?” He sounded absentminded, staring into the gathering darkness.
“I will go to bed, pull the covers over my face, and know I am safe.”
“Engracia, you are a goose,” he said, and Hanneke heard his affection. “What about you, Ana?”
“I think Engracia’s idea has enough merit to try,” she said honestly. “I hope I never see another Almohad.”
“With luck, you won’t.” He leaned closer. “I’ll be there with you, under those covers,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her cheek.
She slept well, but woke when Santiago left and Antonio sat in his place.
“Antonio?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“Go to sleep,” came his quiet reply. “I am here.”
In silence this time, the raiders swept down just before dawn, sneaking almost to within sight of the horses. Alert, Hanneke watched as Antonio rose to his knees, an arrow nocked and ready. She tried to rise, but he patted her down.
She saw nothing but vague shadows, and then a tent burst into flames. She put her hand on Engracia as Antonio stood and fired one arrow after another at targets she could not see. His face was calm in the glare of the fire.
The enemy left two dead men behind. Santiago cut off their heads. He picked up one by the hair and tossed it to Carlos. “For our collection. This one, too.”
Hanneke looked away, wondering what he meant, wondering why she wasn’t as horrified as she would have been a month ago.. You have seen too much, she told herself.
They traveled fast that day though dry land as before, dotted now and then with trees. Hanneke wanted to rest under each one, but she did not complain, remembering her husband’s pride in her. Even Engracia and Juana were more subdued, especially after Santiago gave them a fierce stare when they complained.
Even in the heat and glare, Hanneke knew better than to wish for sundown, because she knew the Almohades would try again.
El Ghalib struck as soon as shadows lengthened. Antonio pulled Hanneke from her mule and sat her down. He rode after Santiago, who had grabbed up a lance from one of his dismounted soldiers.
They returned in only a few minutes, the lance bloody. Hanneke held her breath, but this time there was no head dangling from Santiago’s saddle. She sighed with relief, then pitched forward and fainted.
Her faint lasted no more than a few seconds. Through an odd fog, she saw Santiago drop the lance and dismount. He carried her into the shade of a tree, then set her down. Her head seemed filled with little drums, all of them beating a different rhythm. She wanted to close her eyes and wish them away, but Santiago looked so worried.
“Really, husband, I am well,” she said, wishing her voice did not sound so far from her ears.
“Lie still. I have spent so much time worrying about Engracia that I have ignored you.”
And to think I wanted that at one time, she thought, glad he was beside her, even if briefly. She knew someone or something would soon demand his attention. She did have a question, even as she did sound like a querulous child.
“Are we almost there? Tell me we will see Las Claves soon, even if it is a lie.”
“No need to lie.” He sat her up and made her drink from a flask Antonio handed him. “We will be there by noon tomorrow. I had thought to ride all night, but no, better we arrive tomorrow, for Engracia and for you.”
Her tiny moment with Santiago ended when one of his men called to him. “I am coming.” Still he knelt beside her. “What is it Ana? The heat?” He wiped the sweat from her face. “Or is it just too much?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, which was just as well, because she couldn’t explain. She was content to rest against the tree and watch the soldiers set up camp. High above, a hawk wheeled on the air currents. She wanted to join it, anything to be done with this journey. She closed her eyes.
When she woke, Antonio sat beside her, his back to her, his sword in his lap. He leaned slightly forward, no relaxation in him. Without thinking, she touched his back. He tensed, and then gave a short laugh, as if embarrassed to be surprised.
“Antonio, you should have wakened me,” she chided, but gently. “I would have moved closer to camp.”
“Santiago ordered me to do that, but you were sleeping so peacefully I could not.” He gestured with his sword. “I’ve been watching the hawk. There is a family of really stupid field mice.”
“Growing smaller in number by the minute?”
“How wise you are. Shall we go, before the hawk starts to eye us?”
She let him help her to her feet, surprised at her dizziness. She hoped it did not show, but the look on his face suggested he was watching her more closely than the hawk spied on the field mice.
She fell asleep right after their meager meal of wheat mush, curling up right by the fire, her head pillowed on her arm. When she woke in the morning, she lay close to Engracia in a small ravine. As she lay there, half awake, half asleep, she felt horses again, even more horses than before. She scrambled to her knees, then yanked the back of Pablo’s tunic as he stood there watching someone she could not see. “Get down!”
He shook his head and pointed. “Come look! See this.”
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“There is no danger?” she asked, her heart beating so loud she knew she would see it jumping about in her breast if she looked.
“No. Over there.”
She stood up, relieved to see Santiago’s soldiers watching, too, their swords loose in their hands. Santiago and Antonio were already riding bareback toward an army of men in white surcoats with red Greek crosses embroidered on them.
Who are you? she wanted to ask, wishing she weren’t so disheveled, hoping she didn’t stink as bad as her traveling companions.
Father Bendicio stood like all the rest, gaping at an army not worn down by fierce winds, Moslem attacks, or exhaustion. “Praise to God,” he said. “El Ghalib will not attach us now.”
“Father,” she called, “who are these men?”
“These are the Knights of Calatrava,” Father Bendicio said. “They are a military order of the Cistercians.”
“Calatrava? We do not have those in the Low Countries,” Hanneke said.
“Neither do you have Moors, Berbers, Almoravides and Almohades harrying and tormenting your nation for five hundred years,” the priest said. “These men have taken a vow of silence like their brethren the Cistercians. They pray, as we all do, and abstain from food for three, sometimes four, days of each week.”
“It is a wonder anyone joins,” Hanneke said, wishing for something to eat besides everlasting meat and mush. She longed for bread.
“The zeal is strong here,” Father Bendicio said. She heard some wistfulness, as if he wished for zeal of his own. “They sleep in their armor, so they are ready at a moment’s notice to fight.”
He crossed himself. “Alas, their castle fortress was captured seventeen years ago by Almohades. They have temporary quarters not far from Las Claves, but they are always ready to ride anywhere, if needed.”
She stood by the priest, mindful that her shoes were still in the ravine. Santiago and one of the knights rode toward the encampment, the others trailing along behind. “Ana, let me introduce you to our nearest neighbors,” he called to her, and dismounted. “Wife, make yourself known to Don Ruy Díaz de Yanguas, grand master of Calatrava.”
