The Necklace

by Carla Kelly

  Baltazar shrieked and pulled Hanneke in front of him. She tried to take a deep breath and another, but ended up draped over his arm, coughing more bubbly saliva.

  Baltazar jerked her up by her hair to shield him, as other horsemen thundered up behind him. He looked over his shoulder and laughed. “Señor Palacios, look what we have for you.” He pushed Hanneke toward Felipe Palacios as Engracia’s brother leaped from his horse.

  “No, no.” She tried to scream, but it came out in a whisper and another rush of froth.

  Felipe yanked her from Baltazar as Antonio and Carlos backed up, moving closer together, all expression gone from their faces. She sobbed to see Amador, too, and four soldiers, men of Las Claves, one of them the soldier from Rincón. Felipe pinned her arms at her side, holding her in front of him, shielding himself, a coward to the end, even though they were seven against two.

  “Kill them,” Felipe said. “It is two men to your six. Why are you waiting?”

  No one moved. Felipe swore when Hanneke coughed and turned her head to dribble froth from sorely tried lungs onto his surcoat. He let go of her to wipe his hands, fastidious to a fault, except this was not the time or place.

  She sank to her knees as Antonio and Carlos backed their horses closer to the trees. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

  She sank lower until she sat in front of Felipe, unable to rise. Out of weary eyes, she watched as Amador and Baltazar led the four soldiers toward Antonio and Carlos, the horses in a line, moving slowly as if in a nightmare. Still they waited.

  “Please, Antonio, please,” she said, then noticed something remarkable. He was smiling. So was Carlos.

  “Felipe, she is my wife,” Antonio said, sounding most conversational and reasonable. “Santiago ordered me to marry her, just to keep her from you and your greediness.”

  “No ecclesiastical court in all of Spain will honor such a marriage. No betrothal was announced. No banns were called. It was done in secret,” Felipe spit out. “You have lost, Antonio, you bastard of many Almohad warriors who had their fun with your mother! Kill them, you men of Las Claves! What are you worthless soldiers waiting for?”

  How could Antonio smile like that? Hanneke pleaded with her eyes.

  Antonio motioned with his hand. “Don’t rise, Ana. Not an inch.” He crouched lower in his saddle, and she did the same. “Stay there. Hold still.” He straightened up.

  She heard sudden hoofbeats behind her, a warbling cry, and a whoosh as a blade swept by, ruffling her hair. She glanced behind her, horrified, in time to see Felipe’s head drop and roll down the slope toward his startled soldiers.

  She crawled away from the carnage, looking back once to see Felipe Palacios lying on the slope slightly above her, minus his head. Behind him on horseback sat the man who had gone far beyond the bargain they made last summer. “Yussef,” she whispered. “Yussef.”

  El Ghalib dismounted and picked her up. She rested her head against his chest, his arms tight around her. “Help them,” she whispered. “Please help Antonio.”

  “Antonio and Carlos don’t need my help,” he said. He turned slightly so she could watch, as Antonio, moving fast, kneed his horse forward and sped an arrow directly into the middle of Baltazar’s forehead. Amador turned to flee. His hands flew up and he fell from his horse, a knife in his back.

  With all the calm of a professional killer, Carlos surveyed the bloody wreckage before him. To Hanneke’s horror, Amador still moved.

  “Antonio, a little more to the left would have been perfect.” Carlos rubbed his shoulder and winced. “A few more weeks will see me in better form.”

  “You were good enough,” Hanneke heard Antonio say. “Amador will writhe and suffer, ojalá. I have no objection to that.”

  Hanneke turned her attention to the great-hearted man who held her. There was so much to ask him, but all she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep, if her lungs would let her. She patted him to get his attention. “Why? You have already exceeded all the bargains for the necklace.”

  “I thought I had, but I can put no price on your humanity to my sister Jawhara.” He gave her a brief smile. “I started following you, after I learned of Rincón. Before Allah, you were hard to find.” He sighed and held her closer. “I must turn you over to another because he has a prior claim. Let us wait a moment and see what happens.” An interested spectator, Yussef watched the remaining soldiers. “If they are wise…”

  Antonio sat with his bow and arrow in his lap, his eyes on the soldiers before him. Carlos tapped another wicked-looking knife against the pommel of his saddle.

  “Soldados, it is your choice,” Antonio said. “Do not doubt that Carlos and I can and will kill you.” He looked each man in the eye.

  “Señor Baltierra, do not be hasty,” said one. “He…he gave us no choice.”

  “As I said, Marco, the choice is yours. If you wish to live another day, throw down your weapons. Return to Las Claves. Tell whomever Señor Palacios left in charge what has happened here.”

  “What then, Antonio?” another one asked.

  “We need an army, Salvador,” Antonio said simply, after a glance at the Almohad who held Hanneke in his arms. “I will never speak of this day again, if you join us in the cause of Spain. As for now, go to Las Claves. I am done with you.”

  Salvador looked down. “These corpses?”

  “Leave them. It’s been a harsh winter. Perhaps the wolves and wild boars aren’t too particular.”

  The soldiers rode away with no backward glance. Antonio dismounted and in a breathtaking move, prostrated himself before the great enemy of Spain. “I will never be out of your debt,” he said. He stood up. “May I have her?”

  El Ghalib kissed Hanneke on the forehead. “If you do not treat her well, I will know.”

  “I imagine you will. Farewell.”

  Hanneke wanted to pat El Ghalib’s cheek, but her arm didn’t seem to belong to her. She tried to thank him, but nothing came out.

  “She is fading fast,” Yussef said. “Mount your horse. I will hold her up.”

  “You’re so light,” Antonio said, when she was in his arms. “Too light. Dios mio, Ana.”

  El Ghalib mounted his Arabian and put his hand to his head and chest. “If we meet in battle, Antonio Baltierra, you have no promise. As for you, Ana, well, no man wins everything.” He smiled. “Choose wisely, habiba.”

  Hanneke remembered nothing more.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  The bells of Santa Catarina raised her from the dead.

  When she was coherent weeks later, she considered her survival as she lay peacefully on her back in a quiet room. She watched the play of sunlight across the coverlets, and knew the credit really belonged to Antonio Baltierra, the man who never left her side through the great trials of her life.

  She didn’t make things easy, forcing him to pummel her shoulders, then lean her over the bed with his finger down her throat until she vomited gluey matter from somewhere inside her. The black-robed women who glided around trying gentler cures had objected. Dimly, as if from some other room, she heard him snap at them in a voice unfamiliar to her. They let him alone to continue his torture.

  The hot wheat poultice covering her breasts came as a relief, because then he left her alone to allow the heat to work its particular magic on her lungs. She wanted to kick him when he rubbed her legs and declared her how scrawny she was. She tried to tell him about Milagra and Velardo who only fed her hot water, and how could a woman to be anything but thin on such a diet, but the words weren’t there.

  With no control over whether she lived, Hanneke had vague memory of watching from a curious distance while a priest touched oil to her forehead and hands and Antonio cried. It had taken an age, but she managed to put her hand on his head, which stopped his tears. Maybe it even gave her hope, because she didn’t die after all.


  She couldn’t die, not with someone working so hard to keep her among the living. Antonio didn’t seem to understand how weary she was, how exhausted. Never really strong since the death of her daughter, living was simply one more torture. She tried to explain this to him, until she became aware that she was speaking in her native language. No wonder he wouldn’t let her go; he didn’t understand. In that case, what could she do but live?

  Perhaps she wanted to live, after all. The moment came after a day of struggling to breathe, when Antonio lay down beside her, gathered her close, and made her breathe along with him. That must have been his last resort, with his arms around her. She felt his heartbeat as his chest lifted and fell. She compelled herself to breathe with him, in and out, steady. She never looked back after that moment.

  Now she lay in peace, enjoying the sun, as she listened to the bells of Santa Catarina. As a sunbeam played across the coverlet, she raised her hand to catch it.

  “Ana?”

  She turned her head to the sound of Antonio’s voice, pleased that nothing ached. There he sat, watching her so intently, the steadfast man who refused to let her surrender to death. He needed a shave and his hair was long and curling over his shoulders. He had obviously not taken care of himself. As she looked at him, she realized he had been taking care of her, to the exclusion of all else.

  “Antonio, you need to shave and get your hair cut. Must I insist upon something so basic?” she asked, teasing him because she had decided to live.

  To her consternation, tears streamed down his face. To her relief, he rested his head on her stomach. She fingered his hair, enjoying the feel of his black curls, certain he was the most handsome man in all of Spain’s kingdoms.

  “I’ll cut my hair for you,” he said finally, and looked toward the door when someone knocked. “Sister Filomena, look who has decided to speak to us. In fact, she is nagging me. Such a wife.”

  Was there something in the water at Santa Catarina that made everyone cry? Hanneke looked from one to the other, and then another sister glided into the room, with the same result. Soon the room was full of weeping people.

  “Really, all of you,” she murmured. She looked to the door and saw Carlos, battered and crude and possessing more lives than most cats. “Well now, here is someone I know is too tough to cry and carry on, simply because I feel like scolding my…my husband. Oh, Carlos, not you, too?”

  By the end of the week, she sat up. She was learning everyone’s names, these dear people who had all worked so hard to tug her away from the land of the dead, some of them cajoling, if memory served her right, and others demanding her survival, Antonio doing both.

  Sister Filomena consoled Hanneke when she finally noticed she had very little hair. “Child, it was so badly tangled, brittle, and full of lice,” the nun said. “Dry your tears. It will grow.”

  “What must Antonio think?” she wailed. “It barely covers my ears!”

  “He told me you are the most beautiful woman in the world,” Sister Filomena said, and she had to be satisfied with that.

  Sister Filomena must have been right. Hanneke loved each night when Antonio stayed with her, getting between the covers and doing nothing more than holding her. She laughed, her face warm, when he hefted one breast and then the other, and whispered in her ear. “They’re improving, Ana. Keep eating.”

  She ate, the nuns bathed her, and she started to walk again, holding onto Antonio, appalled at her weakness. Stairs were beyond her, but she sat in a chair for most of one morning, pleased with something so simple. “Little steps,” Sister Filomena cautioned. “Death banged on the door for you, and who knows if he still lurks about?”

  She laughed at that notion, until the awful morning when it seemed entirely possible.

  Antonio was late coming upstairs with her breakfast. He had fallen into the habit of going to the kitchen to eat his fill and then bringing a tray upstairs for her. She was able to feed herself now, so he propped his slippered feet on the bed and watched her, commandeering a bit of bread or cheese for himself if he felt like it.

  He came into the room this morning, tray in hand, but she turned away in shock.

  “Ana, I…”

  From chain mail and surcoat, booted and with his broadsword clanking against his leg, he was dressed for war. He set the tray on the table beside the bed, then sat down next to her.

  “Ana, I received a letter early this morning from King Alfonso. We are to meet with our armies in a week’s time. I must think of Spain, now.”

  She sank down in the bed and turned her face to the wall.

  “I have no choice, dear heart,” he said. “I nearly left without telling you, but I am not a coward.”

  “No. You are a warrior,” she said, still not looking at him.

  “I will be back within the week, once all my men are gathered, and before we ride south as an army. Ana, look at me.”

  He spoke so gently she had no choice but to give him her attention. He put his hands on either side of her body, leaning so close she smelled the oil on his chain mail. “It comes down to this, as you knew it would. Be honest with yourself.” His voice was soft and deceptively tender, as if he could convince her that he sat with her as usual in his long tunic and soft shoes.

  “Send Carlos. Send anyone else,” she said. “I have already lost one husband to war. I cannot do this again.”

  “I have delayed and delayed until I am nearly in Alfonso’s black book, Ana. Carlos has gathered the troops and we must join with the other armies. I’ll find a way to return before we move south in earnest. I promise I will.”

  “Then you will ride out no matter what I say or feel.” Her words sounded toneless to her ears, spoken by someone she did not know or even like.

  “I must.” He stood up and she turned away again. He closed the door quietly behind him.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  She left her food untouched that day and the next. She ate something on the third day because Sister Filomena burst into tears, knelt and begged her to eat. When the sisters pleaded with her to at least sit up and dangle her feet over the edge of the bed, she closed her eyes, tired of people telling her what to do, when she wanted to die. She shook her head over anything more than a scrap of bread and a sip of wine. Finally it was too much trouble to open her eyes. She heard the nuns clustered around her bed, praying and whispering among themselves, but she was too tired to shoo them away.

  She was in her now-familiar stupor when Antonio returned. She roused herself slightly, but it was too hard to open her eyes. She heard nuns in the room, and snatches of conversation – “Pining for you.” “She will die without you.” “We are ready to summon the priest again.”

  Leave Antonio alone, she wanted to say. He is busy with war. Just go. Don’t tease me.

  He was speaking too loud. She heard, too close to her ear, “When have any of us done anything except disappoint her? What choice does she have but to do everyone else’s bidding?”

  Husband, don’t try so hard, she thought. Life is cheap in Spain. So is mine. This I know.

  Antonio patted her hip. “Ana, I have an idea.”

  Good for you. Can’t you see I am almost dead? Leave me alone.

  When he left the room, she felt only relief.

  She had no idea how long he was gone. One day? Five hours? Time meant nothing to her anymore. She had started to cough again and her lungs hurt. Antonio was gone. Why bother?

  That day or the next – who knew? – she heard the door open. She sniffed leather and campfire, but she was too tired to open her eyes.

  “No. Not there. Put down a blanket. Yes, over there.”

  The room was quiet again. Hanneke prepared to sink into deeper sleep when she heard a mewing sound, the noise kittens make when they are hungry or lonely. These people of Spain are so inconsiderate, she thought, startled at her anger. Can
they not drown unwanted kittens?

  The crying became more insistent. She opened her eyes, but saw no kittens. With an effort that made her sweat, Hanneke raised herself up on one elbow and stared in the direction of the noise. She sucked in her breath. Was she dreaming?

  Antonio stood in the doorway, making no move to come closer. He watched her, ignoring the baby crying. His eyes challenged her, daring her to do something.

  She could tell from the cry that it was a young one. The naked baby kicked out with its legs, punctuating each wail with a wild movement of the arms. She looked closer; it was a girl. Her hair was dark like Antonio’s, like hers.

  Antonio stared off into space. He glanced her way, then turned on his heel and left her alone.

  She lay down, covering her ears as the baby cried. The afternoon wore on as shadows changed places with each other, and still the baby cried. When she started to whimper, Hanneke pulled back the blanket and hauled herself upright.

  The floor looked so far away. She stretched out her toes, feeling for the cold stone. She slid closer to the edge and pulled herself to her feet.

  The room whirled around and she sat down. Two or three deep breaths, and she tried again. “Hush, little one,” she crooned. “You must be cold and hungry. How could someone leave you like this?”

  She felt ten feet tall and only inches wide, but she put one foot in front of the other, grasping the nearest chair until she could move, then dropping to her knees and crawling until the baby was in her arms. She curled herself around it, shivering more from exertion than cold.

  She heard footsteps. Antonio covered them both with another blanket. She rested her cheek against the dark curls and closed her eyes, content.

  She woke in her bed. She cried out, feeling in the bedclothes, searching for the baby.

  “Over here, Ana.”

  Antonio sat holding the sleeping baby. Someone had dressed her in a gown and she was loosely wrapped in a blanket, sound asleep.