by Carla Kelly
“I wore him down,” Carlos said, and she heard his pride. “I reminded him that I should be where you are, when he is not. What could he do then?”
“Carlos,” she said again, touched. She nodded to the woman who waited to help him.
“You have your champions, Señora Gonzalez,” she heard from the shadows when Carlos left.
Not them. Why them? She turned around to see Felipe, flanked by Baltazar and Amador. I will be safe at Las Claves tomorrow, she thought, and reminded herself that Carlos thought she was a warrior. “My champions? Yes. I am grateful,” she said, hoping she sounded serene, the last thing she felt. “Excuse me.”
They didn’t move until Carlos roused himself at the doorway to growl at them to respect a widow in mourning. As she joined the women and children, she prayed that Engracia would see the need for her brother to escort her and her infant son home to Valladolid for a lengthy stay, the sooner the better.
Pablo was the center of attention in the hall, as the women made sure his bowl of stew was full, and there was wine. She sat close, listening to his story of a battle quickly won, with no more loss of life.
True to her practical self, La Vieja wanted to know what the village looked like, and Las Claves itself. “The enemy rampaged a bit and threw things around,” Pablo said.
The widow with the new baby asked the question on everyone’s mind. “The dead in the great hall? What of them?”
“Buried, all of them,” he said. “We saw to it.”
He hesitated. Hanneke knew there was more, but she took him by the arm. “We are grateful for what you have told us, Pablo. Rest now, while we prepare for tomorrow.”
She took him aside when the others left to pack. “What else happened?”
“Dama, the Almohades had put their own wounded in the hall, and thrown our people into a pile outside,” he whispered. “Antonio and the others had just finished sorting them out and burying them, when I rode out.”
“And the Moslem wounded?” she asked. “Did they…suffer the same fate as our wounded?”
He nodded. “The worst wounded were killed before we could retake Las Claves.”
She put her arm around her true knight. Hanneke heard Engracia’s baby wailing in the distant cell, as her mind went back to the terrible sight of Manolo breathing his last as he drowned in his blood. She thought about the Christmas before this one at home with Papa and her stepmother, and Father Bendicio, teaching her Castilian.
“Next year, Pablo, next year,” she said, keeping him close. “We will have a peaceful Christmas with our loved ones around us.” She looked at him, wondering why she had never asked. “Do you have family?”
“Only you,” he replied with a grin, his usual optimism resurfacing.
“The honor is mine, dear one,” she told him.
With Pablo as everyone’s true knight and guide, the villagers left the ruined monastery at daybreak, moving slowly because many were on foot. The little ones rode in the wagons. Pablo had tucked the mother cat and kitten inside his doublet again, which made the children laugh to hear protesting meows, then loud purrs.
Hanneke rode beside him on Carlos’s big horse, feeling her first measure of contentment in days to hear the women’s laughter and excited murmurings, eager to see their husbands again, and their sons. Carlos had protested his incarceration in one of the wagons, but it wasn’t much of an objection. His kind villager had worked her own miracle on him, cleaning his face and applying a better bandage.
Felipe rode alongside the wagon carrying his sister, nephew and Juana, but his henchmen, probably at his command, rode beside her. Don’t look at them, she told herself. You will be in Antonio’s protection soon.
La Vieja had no qualms about offering her opinion of them as she kept up the slow but steady journey on her mule, close to Hanneke. “I wonder why two big, strapping fellows like you didn’t ride with the army to retake Las Claves?” she asked Baltazar, who swore at her, and told her to mind her own business.
“The safety of the village of Las Claves is the business of everyone around you,” La Vieja insisted. Hanneke admired her persistence, even as she feared for her. “Was your master afraid to be alone?”
That’s enough, Hanneke thought in sudden alarm. To her surprise and relief, Baltazar sawed on his reins and pulled his horse out of the line. Amador followed him as they retreated back to Felipe like querulous children eager to tattle and whine about their treatment.
“Teresa, be careful with those two,” Hanneke warned. “I trust them not in the least.”
La Vieja smiled at her. “Señora, when you reach the advanced age of fifty years, you may say what you want.” She spat in the mud, which had followed the snow. “Worthless ones.”
Fifty years. As they jogged along slowly, she thought about her own seventeen years, wondering why she felt even older than La Vieja. To her dismay, her five months with Santiago Gonzalez had already begun to shrink into mere seconds, when measured against a lifetime like La Vieja’s. How soon would it be before she forgot what Santiago looked like? Hanneke turned her head, not wishing to exhibit the weakness of tears.
La Vieja understood. “Dama, you will know joy again,” the woman said, keeping her voice low, because this was their conversation only. “Joy and woe go hand in glove in Spain. Joy always comes around.”
Hanneke wiped her eyes with her dirty sleeve, longing for a bath and clean clothing, and a fireplace. She looked around her again at the women and children, the old men, the animals. Here I am, she thought, hoping for luxuries, and you are wondering if there is still a roof on your house or a well unpolluted.
The journey was not a long one, in terms of distance. Hanneke rode back and forth among the villagers, seeing their serious faces and long gazes at nothing. In terms of emotional toll, she saw the strain on young and old faces alike. How much can people take? she asked herself. How much can I take?
Restless, longing for Antonio’s protection, she continued circling among the travelers, ignoring the pointed animosity of Felipe and his thugs, and the fierce dislike of Juana, as she held Rodrigo. Engracia looked as beaten down as a horse whipped to continue a journey, and trying to decide whether to bear it or collapse under the weight. In spite of herself, she felt her heart go out to the bewildered woman.
Her balm was the kindness of her fellow travelers. La Vieja touched her in particular when she said, “Dama, you are doing what Señor Gonzalez would have done if he were here. God rest his soul and make short his time in Purgatory.”
Hanneke looked back at her little train of stragglers. “Señora Gomez, you have all been so good to me, a foreigner.”
La Vieja shrugged. “Una extranjera? You are one of us. Never forget that.”
I am, she thought. I belong here. And so she was smiling when they arrived at Las Claves, where the massive gate was under repair. She motioned for the villagers to gather around. “Let us all go first inside the gate and see what Antonio and the others would like us to do.”
No one objected except Felipe Palacios. She should have thought he might. He shouldered his horse past the little ones and old women, scattering them, and held up his hand. “I will tell you what to do,” he ordered. His withering glance at Hanneke went nowhere, because La Vieja spit on the ground by his horse’s front legs.
Hanneke tensed when his hand went to his dagger. He kept the weapon sheathed when the old men crowded close in front of Teresa Gomez and Hanneke. She could hardly imagine a less menacing group, but Felipe seemed to fear them. He looked about for Baltazar and Amador, who had already ridden through the gate. He followed them.
“Such a pup,” La Vieja said. She pointed. Mira, dama! Here is Antonio!”
Thank God, she thought, thank God. I am so tired.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Antonio walked to the gate, his arms outstretched. “You are a welcome sight,�
� he told everyone, who gathered around him. He looked at the young widow with the new baby. “Here we have another villager?”
He put his arm around the widow and admired the sleeping baby. Hanneke stood close enough to hear what he whispered to her. “Your man is buried in a good place, among the other defenders of Las Claves. We have all paid a terrible price.”
“None more than the wife of Santiago Gonzalez,” the widow said. She blew a kiss to Hanneke. “We are in this struggle together. She is one of us.”
Hanneke fought to control her emotions. Antonio helped her from the horse, saying nothing because he didn’t have to. His eyes spoke volumes.
It comes down to this, Hanneke thought, as sorrow and joy warred inside her. She looked around and pushed sorrow farther away. “You honor me, señora,” she said. “And you, Antonio.”
“You honor all of us, Señora…” Antonio hesitated. “Gonzalez.” He spoke to them all. “El Ghalib was surprisingly kind to us,” he said, which made them chuckle. “He didn’t burn us out. I know! Who can understand an Almohad? Go to your homes. I believe you will find matters much as you left them.”
He nodded to one older man who looked to Hanneke as if he had been a soldier in his youth. “Señor Rubio, you are in charge in the village. Let me know tonight what people need, and we will see how we can work together to provide it.” He put his hand to his heart. “Go now and God bless you all.”
In a matter of a few minutes, the villagers left. Soon it was just the two of them, as Pablo followed the wagon carrying Engracia and Juana through the gate.
“Well done, Ana,” Antonio said. “Come inside.”
She looked up from habit, relieved to see no Almohad heads on spikes. “Were there…did they?”
“No, and neither will I do that,” he said, “not ever again.”
“Why didn’t El Ghalib destroy the village?” she asked.
“I don’t know. The great hall is a mess, but nothing upstairs was touched, either. You will find your room as you left it.”
Except there will be no Santiago, she thought. “I don’t think I can go up there.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said. “Actually, there is something in the room you need to see.”
They started to cross the courtyard though the surviving soldiers Santiago had recruited, and the Knights of Calatrava, but were stopped by Felipe Palacios, who stood beside an uncomfortable-looking Don Ruy Díaz of the Knights of Calatrava.
“Stop, Antonio,” Felipe ordered.
Antonio waited. Almost without being aware of it, Hanneke moved slightly behind the man at her side.
“What is it you wish, Señor Palacios?” he asked most formally. “There is much to do.”
“I am relieving you of any leadership you think you might exercise here at Las Claves,” Felipe said.
“By whose authority?” Antonio asked kindly enough. “I was the close companion in battle to Santiago Gonzalez, and these good soldiers are used to me. We never saw you riding out to save Las Claves.”
Felipe took a step forward, flanked by his goons Amador and Baltazar. Hanneke held her breath, then let it out slowly. “Someone had to remain behind to protect the women and children.”
“Señora Gonzalez did that quite well, didn’t she?” Antonio countered. Hanneke heard all his wariness. “Before the warriors rode out” – he emphasized warriors – “the three of us circled Las Claves. Santiago told his wife precisely what to do, and she did it. You were nowhere in sight.”
The soldiers chuckled and nudged one another, which brought out angry red spots in Felipe’s face. The villagers remaining inside laughed.
“She did, Antonio,” Don Díaz said, after a withering glance at Felipe. “She also had the wisdom to get a message through to me and the Knights. In a struggle where every sword and lance counted, you were among the missing, Señor Palacios.”
“It is my right to take charge here!” Felipe declared.
“By whose authority?” Antonio asked again. The courtyard was so quiet that his voice carried.
Felipe pointed a shaking finger to the wagon carrying Engracia and her son Rodrigo. “My sister Engracia told me that since Rodrigo Gonzalez is an infant, and she a mere woman, I am in charge here at Las Claves. Damn you, Antonio, you, the son of a woman who whored with the Almohades.”
“No, no,” Hanneke whispered. There was nothing to lose. She took a deep breath and walked toward Felipe, a man she knew she now feared above all others. She looked around her at men tested in battle.
She heard murmurs at the gate and turned to see the villagers had returned. She saw widows too young and mothers who had lost sons. She saw her friends.
“Be careful, Ana,” Antonio told her. “His words don’t wound me. People know the truth about my mother.”
She nodded, but this was her fight, too. “Felipe, you would lead the people of Las Claves?” she asked. “Are you strong enough?”
He flinched, but moved closer to her. She stood her ground, hands clasped in front of her to keep them from shaking. When he stood too close to her for comfort, he spoke so everyone could hear.
“I am also determined to protect your dowry, Señora Gonzalez,” he said. “Who knows what would happen to you if you fell into unscrupulous hands? Women cannot think for themselves in these matters.”
“So that is it?” she said, speaking clearly. “Does everything in the universe revolve around gold?”
“I am only thinking of you,” Felipe said. “Engracia has already signed papers declaring me regent. You have no say, not you, and not that bastard Antonio Baltierra. You are only the widow of the second son.”
She knew he was right. She bowed to him, even as she seethed. “And you sir, must learn how to lead men who know what you really are. I wish you joy in your victory.”
Hanneke turned her back on him and walked into the house of Manolo Gonzalez. She passed a stony-faced Engracia and a triumphant Juana holding Rodrigo, who would never know his good father. She looked around the ruin of the great hall with the blood-covered straw and buckets of water, bloody and filmy now. Overhead, the battle banners of the Moors and other tribes of North Africa who had conquered this peninsula in the name of Allah still hung, moving slowly, oddly alive.
It grated her very soul that she knew Felipe had the upper hand. Engracia had every right to confer upon her brother all power over Las Claves, to protect her son’s interests. Now Felipe eyed her dowry. It was precisely as Santiago had predicted, even as he lay dying. Everyone in the courtyard had heard him.
She knew she could never reveal to anyone that Antonio had married her. Even the slightest whisper, the smallest suspicion would mean his death, to clear the way for Felipe. She had no doubt that Amador and Baltazar were capable of relieving the world of a good and loyal man, even if their master was not.
She would have to go, and soon, but where? How? It could wait, it had to wait for a day. Exhaustion claimed her. All she wanted to do was lie down on the bed she had shared with her husband, close her eyes, and wake to find that the whole matter had been merely a peculiar dream. She walked up the stairs by herself, grateful to be alone, certain it wouldn’t last.
Antonio was right; the room was untouched. “Yussef el Ghalib, you are a complicated man,” she said out loud. “What am I to make of you?”
“My question precisely.”
She gasped and whirled around, then sighed to see only Antonio in the doorway. “Don’t do that!” she scolded, her voice shaky.
He closed the door behind him. She must have had the same thought he did, because they met in the middle of the room in a fierce embrace. “I’m terrified,” she blubbered into his shoulder.
“So am I,” he said. He held her off to see her better. His eyes bored into hers, commanding her total attention. “There is a massive shouting match going on in the courtyard. Don Dí
az is completely out of patience with Felipe, even though he must agree the foul little fellow holds the winning cards. That’s the only reason I managed to get past the crowd. Felipe will miss me soon, when the argument ends.”
“I must leave,” she said, grabbing his surcoat.
“I know he will find some subterfuge to prevent it,” he replied, loosening her grip, but keeping his hands over hers. “I will ride out tomorrow with the Knights as my escort, at least as far as their holdings. Another day or two will see me to Toledo, where I will, God willing, still find those additional mercenaries. I will be back here before two weeks have elapsed. I must.”
“Take me with you.”
“It is too dangerous. When I return, we’ll find a way to get you to that convent south of Toledo. I have no idea where El Ghalib is. It pains me to say it, but you’re probably safer here for the moment.”
She hoped he was right. She sat down on the bed, defeated.
That was when she noticed the bracelet. She looked at Antonio, a question in her eyes. “This is what you wanted me to see, isn’t it?
He nodded and sat beside her. He picked up the pretty thing, turning it over in his hand. Hanneke sucked in her breath when she recognized the links of the chain. “Yussef left this here, didn’t he?”
“We can only guess.”
Wordless, she held out her arm. He worked the little clasp and the bracelet was hers.
“What game is he playing?” she asked. “I used up more than my share of the bargain. I can’t think he is the sort of man to mock me.”
“I can’t, either. It may be that we are not done with him yet, but not in a bad way. I wish I knew.”
He stood up and looked down on her, then kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry about your personal safety. Carlos is here.”
“Carlos is wounded,” she reminded him.
“I would never discount him for so slight a reason,” he replied with a half smile. “He is a most dogged, loyal man. And there is Pablo, your true knight. Stay close to them. Visit the village.”
