The Necklace

by Carla Kelly

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Over her anguish, Hanneke heard Antonio speaking low to others. He eased his arm out from around her, even as she cried and clung to his comforting presence. “Later, Ana,” he said in her ear. “We have a matter of considerable importance to discuss soon, but I am being actively threatened by the women of Las Claves. Take pity on me, dama.”

  He backed away and she found herself looking into the calm eyes of the old woman, La Vieja, from the great hall at Las Claves, who had told her to spread around the straw. Besides her knelt the young widow big with child that Hanneke had coaxed away from the body of

  her husband.

  The widow held out a bowl of something hot. Hanneke swallowed down saliva and realized how hungry she was. How could she even think of food now? She tried to turn away, but the fragrance compelled her to pay attention.

  “That’s better, dama,” La Vieja said. “No one needs to starve, even if she is sad. Here is a spoon.”

  Hanneke sat up and took the bowl on her lap, relishing the warmth to her hands. She took a bite and it was bliss. Another bite confirmed her belief that wheat porridge was the finest delicacy found in Spain. She ate and cried at the same time, until the level was half down in bowl, then looked around.

  She saw familiar faces, kind ones, the women she had helped in the courtyard after the gate was shut, the women she had smiled at during visits to the village. Some had lost their husbands, like her; others, their sons. She saw great pity in their eyes and she felt their sorrow at her loss, which, in the scheme of things, was no more than their own.

  A little boy crouched nearby, his eyes following her spoon from bowl to mouth. He said nothing, but he watched, dignified in that manner she had learned to recognize as Spanish. She knew he was hungry. They all were, but the women hid it better. She could hide it, too.

  “Here, niño. I can’t possibly eat another bite.” She held out the bowl to him. He took it without a word. Hanneke watched him eat, wondering who his mother was, because no one sat close by him.

  “Where is his mother?” she whispered to the old woman.

  “Dead many years,” La Vieja whispered back. “His father died this morning in the retreat from the battle.”

  “But who will…”

  “All of us,” La Vieja said proudly.

  Tears filled Hanneke’s eyes, more tears. She let them flow as she watched the child. We have all lost our dear ones, she thought and wept.

  Soon they were all crying, some silently, some with great gasping sobs. Two of the women swayed from side to side in their misery. Another raked sharp fingernails down her face, leaving bloody tracks. Others raised pleading hands to the cold, impersonal heaven overhead. As the business of sorrow filled every empty space in her heart, Hanneke wept in sadness and unity.

  The great storm of lamentation finally tapered off and Hanneke was left drained from the terrible exertion of mourning. She leaned against the cold stones, tired down to the marrow of her bones. She made no objection when La Vieja covered her with a blanket that smelled of mice droppings and horses. She felt a firm hand on her shoulder, then more gentle fingers making the sign of the cross on her forehead.

  She was nearly asleep when she heard many horses. She gasped and tried to leap to her feet, but the old woman held her there.

  “It isn’t El Ghalib,” La Vieja assured her. “Listen.”

  She listened, and it was worse. “Santiago! Santiago!” she heard.

  “I have to go to him,” Hanneke begged. “Let me go!”

  “No, no, señora, do you not remember that Santiago is the great victory cry of Spain?”

  She put her hands over her ears. “I can’t bear it,” she said. “There is no victory tonight.”

  “There is! We are still alive. Stay here. I mean it.” The old woman left her side and spoke to someone standing there. Time inched along, until she heard another shout. She sat up quickly, her heart hammering in her breast, when Pablo ran into the room.

  He took her hand, and she felt his excitement. “Dama! Thirty more soldiers.”

  “See there, señora?” La Vieja said. “Go to sleep. We are safe enough.”

  She slept, whether they were safe or not. As in all things, she had no choice, because her grief had rendered her unable to do anything but sleep. Was this what Antonio had planned when he left her with the women? She did not doubt it.

  Hanneke woke hours later, sensing that she was not alone in the little room, probably a cell used five hundred years ago by a monk of Santo Gilberto, back when the monastery had a roof and the Rule of Benedict regulated their orderly lives.

  She sat up slowly, quietly, letting her eyes accustom themselves to the gloom. The fire had burned itself down to glowing coals, even as the cold deepened

  “Ana. We must talk.”

  “Antonio?”

  He shifted then, and she saw him leaning against the wall, his sword drawn and resting on his lap. I have another true knight, she thought, touched.

  Another form stirred. Antonio reached over and patted the form. “Sleep, boy.”

  Both my knights, she thought, allowing in a small measure of contentment. She held out her hand to Antonio. “I can share this blanket, you know.”

  He was beside her in a moment, then under the blanket she held out. “My feet are freezing,” he whispered. “Pardon my poor manners.”

  He seemed suddenly shy, and she thought she understood why. An hour ago, he had left her with the village women, and he probably wondered what she thought of his dereliction. As their noisy mourning filled her mind again, she felt only gratitude.

  “Thank you for what you did,” she said. “I needed them, didn’t I?”

  “You did. How do women mourn in your Netherlands?” he asked.

  “Quietly. No one says anything.” She thought of silent funerals, and hollow-eyed women, grieving inside. “Could this be better?”

  “I think it must be.” He found her hand. “We are marching against Las Claves as soon as it is light,” he told her. “We are moving out with every man and boy who can fight, and we will win this time. I know it.”

  “I believe you,” she said, wishing the Knights of Calatrava and thirty more soldiers had taken to the southern plain yesterday with Santiago and his men. She shook herself mentally. What good came of wishing for what would never be?

  “I wanted to put you in charge of the women and children here, as you were before, but Felipe Palacios assured me he was better suited than any mere female.” He gave a snort of disgust. “Have you ever met someone you hated on sight?”

  “Only here,” she said, “and it is the man you speak of. I doubt you will find Felipe el Cobarde before you ride out tomorrow.”

  “Without a doubt. El Cobarde. You’ve already given him a title?”

  She managed a slight smile. “The village women did that. I’d rather even see Father Bendicio in charge than Felipe Palacios.”

  “What happened to Bendicio?” he asked. “Is he dead, too?”

  “Is he not here?” Hanneke asked, startled. She thought of her last view of the priest as he fled, leaving her and Pablo behind as her husband lay dying in the snow.

  “He is not here. Like El Cobarde, our priest vanishes when a challenge comes.”

  The room grew lighter. She didn’t hear anyone stirring yet, but she remembered Antonio had something to tell her, something that Santiago stressed as he lay dying. You told me you had given Antonio an order and I must obey, whatever the consequences, she thought. I hope it is not onerous, for I do not feel brave, either.

  “Antonio?”

  He had dropped into slumber, propped up against the stone wall, his breath coming and going evenly. Poor man, she thought. You shoulder so many burdens. I am one more.

  She touched his arm and he opened his eyes. “My apologies,” he said. �
��Where was I?”

  “Sleeping,” she teased. The light-hearted moment passed quickly. Another breath and she was back on the snowy plain with her husband dying in her lap. “Before he…Antonio, he said I was to do what you said. What did he mean?”

  “Yes. I came in here for a reason.”

  “You are tired. I understand. Can it wait until daylight?”

  “No.” He was awake now, and decisive. “Is there enough light for you to read this?” Antonio reached into his doublet and pulled out a parchment fragment. “He gave this to Carlos before he left to protect our rear. And…and he told me the same thing.”

  “I was watching you both. You seemed surprised.”

  “Read the note.”

  Full of misgivings, she took the note and stood close to the single window high on the stone wall. She read it, gasped, and read it again, after looking back at Antonio, who was on his feet now, too, his eyes on hers. She sank down, her legs unable to keep her upright.

  Antonio crouched by her, never taking his eyes from her face. “In all the turmoil, I have thought of nothing but that note and you. Ana, what do you think? Was he right or wrong?”

  She looked at the note again, seeing the purpose in every word, as well as the desperation. “I didn’t think he loved me,” she said softly, “certainly not at first. Neither did I love him.” She felt the tears gather, even though there wasn’t time to weep. “That changed. His last words to me were of love and regret.”

  She said it quietly, her feelings so intimate, so bound up in the man who either lay dead under a shroud of snow at the mercy of winter, or was now interred in the cemetery at Las Claves next to his daughter. Everything depended on the kindness of his enemy.

  “He was right about the dowry,” she said finally, even as her heart broke over and over, like waves on the shore. “I fear that Felipe Palacios will go after my dowry by forcing me to marry him.”

  “Should we do this thing, Santiago’s dying wish?”

  “Do you think my husband knew he was going to his death?” she asked. It was one more hard question among many, but she wanted to know, had to know.

  Antonio nodded. “Five men were never enough to hold off El Ghalib. We all knew it. I told him I would go. You heard me.”

  “I did.” She put her hand on his arm. This time he turned his hand over and clasped hers. “Why did he insist?”

  “I wish I knew. To expiate Manolo’s death? To prove one more time to his dead father that he was worthy?” Antonio leaned closer until they were nearly nose to nose. “I believe it was more than that. He wanted to give you every opportunity to escape.”

  Hanneke knew he was right. She had seen it in Santiago’s eyes, and felt it in their last embrace. “This is hard,” she whispered.

  “I know.” His cheek rested against hers. It was wet. “Will you, Ana?”

  There was only one answer. She had no choice. “Yes. I will marry you.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Hanneke Gonzalez, widow of one day, became the wife of Antonio Baltierra, free man, at dawn in the ruined chapel of Santo Gilberto, in the company of Don Ruy Díaz de Yanguas, and Carlos, as witnesses. Father Anselmo married them, this day of the birth of Our Lord, 1211. Don Díaz nodded his approval, kissed the bride, and told Antonio to get the men of Las Claves ready to retake Manolo Gonzalez’ domain. The matter had consumed one half hour, at a time when every second mattered.

  Don Díaz had been easy to find. He and the Knights had bedded down in the ruined chapel of the old monastery. She paused in the doorway, fearing the all-seeing eye of God etched in stone high on the back wall. Should they do this? Antonio took her hand and she followed after him.

  The Master of the Order of Calatrava made the sign of the cross over them both, then led them aside. “What can I do for you children, or can I imagine?”

  You’re a shrewd one, Hanneke thought, or has Antonio already spoken to you?

  “I spoke to Don Díaz, Ana, but here is Santiago’s message.” Antonio took his own deep breath. “I suppose it was his last will and testament.” Antonio handed him the note and stepped back, watching his expression. Don Díaz read it and handed it back.

  “You are right, Antonio. His final thought was of his wife. It is his will.”

  Don Díaz turned to Hanneke. “Do you see the necessity for this drastic maneuver on the part of your late husband?”

  Would there ever be a time when the mere thought of Santiago’s final moments would not harrow her heart? She swallowed, grateful Antonio had not released her hand. “Nearly his last words to me were that I should agree with what he had already ordered Antonio to do,” she said. “I see the necessity. He does not trust Felipe Palacios to look after my interests.”

  “I believe that worm would do nearly anything to gain control of Ana’s dowry,” Antonio said. He stepped closer. “Don Díaz, there might even be a connection between Felipe and El Ghalib. With your permission, Ana?” Antonio asked.

  “Tell him.”

  With an admirable economy of words, Antonio told the Master that Felipe had brought forward Jawhara, El Ghalib’s sister, as a servant for Engracia Gonzalez when they passed through Valladolid in summer. “We were betrayed by that servant, as we journeyed to Toledo,” he concluded. “Felipe plays a deep game, and I fear for our Christian cause.”

  Don Díaz sat in silence. Hanneke edged closed to Antonio. “We live in chaotic times,” the Master of Calatrava said finally. “We cannot take the chance that if Felipe forces Ana to marry him, her dowry would end up favoring the Almohades.” Ana saw his sympathy for her. “How crass is money, when we are looking at a broken heart.”

  Hanneke held her head high. “I will do what Antonio says, because my dead husband – God rest his soul – would not wish to see the people of Las Claves ruined and the conquest set back for years. Do what you must.”

  “Very well, child.” Don Díaz turned his penetrating gaze on Antonio. “You will defend and protect this widow?”

  “With my life,” he said, his voice firm.

  “I will summon Father Anselmo.” He put his hands on their shoulders. “There is no time to cry banns for three weeks or indulge in the niceties. Have no fear, though. This will be a marriage most legal. An earlier pope stated in an edict that Spain under the thumb of the caliphs has certain latitudes allowed to none else.”

  He nodded to them. “Give me thirty minutes. Señora Gonzalez, find a better dress and a comb. Antonio, find me two witnesses of your choosing.”

  “You, Master, for one,” he said promptly.

  “Thank you.”

  Antonio walked Ana back to where the villagers were stirring. Hanneke smelled wheat mush boiling. He tugged on her hand and pulled her into an unoccupied cell.

  “Should this marriage be common knowledge for all? What do you think?” he whispered, his lips close to her ear.

  Surprised that someone wanted her opinion, Hanneke considered the matter. “Not yet. There are those who would not understand such unseemly haste” – am I one of them? she asked herself – “and we have no concrete evidence to tie Felipe to such evil.” Another thought struck her with some force. “And you, señor, do not need to be in more danger from such a duplicitous man, if you are announced as my husband.”

  “That’s another thought,” he said. He gave a light-hearted bow that did wonders to her heart. “Antonio Baltierra, free man with a bullseye on his back. Not for me, thank you.”

  “No. You are too kind for that,” she said quietly.

  “Very well. I will inform Carlos and Pablo, if you agree,” he said. “I want Carlos as a witness, too.”

  When did that ugly, vulgar man become so important to her? Carlos was precisely right. “Yes, please.”

  Antonio hesitated, until she nudged him and gave him a questioning look. “There is this, too, Ana, as challengin
g as it might seem: When we retake Las Claves, I am duty bound by Santiago to fulfill his last order. Just north of Toledo, he has arranged for a number of soldiers to join us. I must gather them. When I leave you, Carlos will be your protector.”

  She nodded, aware of Carlos’s courage in the fight, and his uncomplaining suffering in the great hall, all to serve Santiago Gonzalez. “He will be a good protector.”

  Still, the fear remained. She could not shake it. “Please assure me that you will not be gone long.”

  “It is a matter of two or three weeks,” he said. “After I return, we can tell the villagers of our marriage.” He chuckled, but she heard no humor. “Spain is a land of hard choices. Everyone understands that.”

  There was nothing more to say, and time was passing. “We should find you a dress and a comb,” he said.

  Impulsively, Hanneke clutched Antonio. His arms went around her as he pulled her close in consolation. “This is one of those events I would rather look back on, than go through,” she said. “Adventures are not reassuring when they are in progress, are they?”

  “I think not,” he said, and pressed her head to his chest. “Maybe someday we will be old and wise and have brave stories to tell of how we reconquered Spain. Right now, it’s frightening, isn’t it?”

  They embraced another moment for strength, then went about the business of a wedding, and preparing a battered army to march.

  The dress was easily obtained, to Hanneke’s surprise. She also knew she could trust La Vieja. She found the old woman humming as she stirred a kettle of wheat. I don’t even know your name, Hanneke thought, but I trust you.

  No one else stood by. Hanneke helped her take the kettle from its tripod, and sat down with her. With an economy of words she knew she was learning from Antonio Baltierra, Hanneke explained the wedding, the reason for it, and the need for secrecy. La Vieja nodded, taking it all in without a qualm. “Between you and me, dama, I would not trust Felipe with a fart,” she said. “Antonio is a wise and good man. He will keep you safe.”