The Crown of Valencia

by Catherine Friend

  “A supply wagon comes down the river from Zaragoza,” Nugaymath yelled. “We can use whatever they have.”

  Elena looked over her shoulder. “I must go.”

  “What about Solana? You’re her mother. You must do whatever it takes to keep her safe.” Elena shook her head again and ran across the clearing to her horse.

  “You are still upset with her?” Rabi’a came up beside me, tying on her cloak, red side out.

  “Yes.” Desperation helped me focus. “Rabi’a, why did your mother leave your father?”

  Rabi’a frowned, tucking her quiver under her cloak. “There is no time for that now.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “My father wanted more than one wife. Nugaymath want to be only wife. We do not like to share.”

  “You share Arturo.” She stopped. “Arturo is living in Valencia as al-Rashid.” Her coffee eyes widened. “He has been given horses, jewels, and a harem.”

  “A harem?” the young girl bellowed.

  “Yes, full of young, beautiful women. He can have them whenever he wants.”

  Her nostrils flared across her cheeks. “After what he said to me? I was his first, and his last, he said. I will kill him.”

  “Help me get free, Rabi’a. I’ll stop him.” Rabi’a watched the others gather their gear. I touched her arm. “He’s probably with one of those harem women right now.”

  “Get in the tent.” She pushed me in. “Allah as my witness, I will kill him for this. Stay here.”

  In minutes she returned with a chisel and a mallet. Oh, the fury of a woman scorned, and all that.

  “Where is the key?” I asked.

  “Navarro has it. They are still preparing to leave, so will not hear this.” She stretched the chain across a flat rock she’d dragged into the tent, lined up the chisel, then with a sure, strong hand, shattered a link with one blow. I sat back, still wearing the manacle and five links, but my arm felt pounds lighter. She tossed the chisel aside.

  “Rabi’a, my dagger. Your mother took it when you stole Arturo from me. Do you—”

  “Wait here.” She returned in minutes with my dagger and sheath, which I strapped to my thigh, relieved to be armed once again. Rabi’a squatted by the tent’s opening. “We stay here until they leave. They won’t notice I’m missing. Then while those left behind to guard the camp are busy elsewhere, we shall sneak away.” Her jaw tightened. “I will kill him.”

  Within the hour we were able to sneak along behind the tents, saddle two horses, and make our way down the rocky trail. Rabi’a knew exactly where she was going, which saved my ass. Nothing looked the same as it had on our approach. The howling wolf rock looked like a turtle from this direction. Without Rabi’a, I would have been hopelessly lost. She said nothing during the three-hour ride down the mountains toward Valencia. At dusk we reached the Roman ruins, where we camped for the night. I curled up in a tight ball while Rabi’a tossed restlessly under her blanket and worried a thumbnail.

  I counted the days in my head. I’d been back in this century for twenty-five days. I only had two left. I didn’t know what I’d find when we rode into Valencia, but I’d do whatever I had to do, and I’d do it without Elena.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When dawn broke, Rabi’a and I mounted and headed down the dusty road toward Valencia. Not only did my heart ache over Elena, but hot flames licked at my hip joints, my elbows, my knees, my wrists. Until I spoke with Grimaldi or Arturo, I couldn’t confirm my theory, but I suspected no pain reliever in the world would touch the source of this pain. That wave was rolling through history, decimating my ancestors, and breaking down my body. I only hoped that Carlos and Anna suffered the same agony. The short chain on my wrist clinked as we rode.

  Groups of disgruntled Christian soldiers passed us, the horses loaded with tents and bedrolls and the supply wagons driven by exhausted camp women. Rodrigo’s mercenary army was breaking apart. Was I too late?

  In fact, we didn’t even reach the outskirts of the devastated suburbs before we ran smack into over one thousand Christian soldiers spilling out from the main tent camp, all gathered around a large, rocky rise. The men and horses created such a din we were able to ride close to the edge of the crowd unmolested. But still we couldn’t see, so Rabi’a pointed to a live oak nearby, and we soon stood on its sturdy lower branches, our horses tied below. I forced the pain into a dark corner of my mind.

  Tahir and a handful of his goons stood on the flattest rock, a gray-haired Christian soldier crumpled at his feet. “This man is weak! He is sick. He has lied to all of us.” Tahir kicked the man in the belly, rolling him over. Rodrigo Díaz, the only link to saving my future. “He promised us great wealth, and we have been given only hunger.” The Christians stood silently as Tahir motioned to a short, squat renegade Moor, who drew his sword.

  “No,” I whispered. “We must stop him.”

  In one smooth, silent arc, Rabi’a slid an arrow from her quiver and drew back her bow. “Dead or wounded?”

  I gulped. “Dead.” We were too far away. I knew the al-Saffah women were good, but there was no way she was going to hit her target. On the rock ledge the angry Moor standing over Rodrigo raised his sword high over his head. Rabi’a released the bowstring, and with a soft twang, sent the arrow arching across one hundred yards into the belly of the short Moor. He toppled over backward, sword clattering on the rocks. Holy shit.

  A thousand heads turned in our direction, but before we could even think about dropping down onto our horses and fleeing, four riders plunged into the far side of the crowd. Men shouted and flung themselves out of the way.

  “Stop!” the first rider yelled. I squinted. Elena. She barreled through the crowd, followed by Nuño, Enzo, and Fadri, only stopping once she reached the rocks. “Let him go, Tahir.” She had listened to me. She’d heard me. Hope for Solana’s future, and my own, surged through me like a drug.

  The ugly man threw back his head and laughed. “Look, a woman comes to save the great Rodrigo Díaz. You are as weak as this donkey dung at my feet.”

  Elena stood in her stirrups, surveying the army she once led. “Rodrigo has made wealthy men of all of you. When he takes Valencia, your wealth will double, yet you stand here and watch this?”

  “Be gone, you worthless bitch,” Tahir shouted. “I do not waste my time with weaklings. You—”

  “Your best warrior!” Elena roared. “Now!” She leapt off her horse, drew her sword, and scrambled up the rock.

  A green-turbaned Moor had already drawn his sword. When he approached, she attacked with a fury that stunned me as well as the Moor. Every man watched the battle, and even the camp women and children at the far tents stood silent. In less than two minutes, Elena raised a bloody sword in triumph. Tahir began bellowing a command but stopped when he felt Nuño’s sword at his throat.

  Elena faced the men. “We have a job to do. Tonight the people of Valencia will know terror because tomorrow the great Rodrigo Díaz and his fearsome army will attack Valencia and batter down its gates if the city does not surrender.” She scanned the crowd. “Diego, Sanchez, and Menendez! You and your men—”

  A rude guffaw from the crowd cut her off. “We do not take orders from a cunt like you.”

  Elena hopped off the rocks and slashed through the crowd to the outspoken soldier. I could see little but the tips of swords flashing in the sun, but heard the clashing, the grate of metal on metal, then silence. The men parted and Elena climbed back onto the rock, her dagger now as bloody as her sword. Awe and revulsion collided in my belly.

  And then it happened. While it was true Luis Navarro, El Picador to his men, was dead, someone else was rising in his place.

  “La Picadora,” a few of the men murmured. “La Picadora,” the chant grew. Elena stood there, letting the sound build as her cape snapped back in the breeze, revealing the heart of a leader and the body of a woman. I wiped away the tears streaming down my face and was so proud of her courage, all I could do w
as hug a surprised Rabi’a. Finally Elena held up a gloved hand.

  “You are mercenary soldiers,” Elena roared over the dying chant. “Do you want wealth?”

  “Yes!” came the cry.

  “Do you want power?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then we stay together. We take Valencia as planned. Menendez, take your men and begin harassing the walls of Valencia. Diego, prepare for an assault of those walls tomorrow at noon. Everyone else clean your gear, bed your women and say your prayers. Jorge, where are you?”

  “Here, Navarro!” A hand waved from mid-way back in the crowd.

  “When a house has vermin, what do you do?”

  “Drive the vermin out, Navarro.”

  Elena swept her sword toward Tahir. “These vermin have crapped among us long enough.” Energy pulsed through the crowd and faces glowed with relief to have something to do. An army needed a leader, and now they had one. I was so moved I nearly leapt onto my horse to join her men.

  “What if they do not leave?” Jorge called.

  “Will you let a few hundred rats stand between you and Valencia?”

  “No!” roared the men, and many had already drawn swords and surrounded the nervous Moors.

  Elena whistled for attention. “When we take Valencia tomorrow, we take their wealth, not their lives. There has been enough killing. Any man who kills needlessly tomorrow will die by my hand.”

  “La Picadora,” someone cried.

  “Tomorrow we conquer. Today we prepare. Now go!”

  “La Picadora!” chanted the men as the pumped soldiers began running to do Elena’s bidding. I lost sight of her and Rodrigo as her men milled about them or pursued the scattered bands of Tahir’s men.

  “Come,” I said to Rabi’a, and we climbed down and made our way slowly through the men, horses, and wagons. It took us an hour to reach Villanueva. Luckily we encountered nothing but a few stares and harsh questions and no one stopped us. Soldiers milled through the streets, shouting orders, running. After a week with an ill, unavailable leader, the men were willing to follow Elena’s orders, even if she lacked a penis. My god, she was going to be okay. I could leave this century without having totally ruined her life.

  I shouldered my way into Rodrigo’s villa, going from room to room until I discovered Elena and about twenty men standing outside Rodrigo’s bedroom. She looked up, neither surprised nor pleased to see me. Grimaldi turned and gave me a weak hug.

  “You’re safe,” I whispered, aware of Rabi’a at my shoulder.

  “Yes, but I grow old,” he murmured as the others talked among themselves. “My bones ache like an eighty-year-old’s.”

  “Like you haven’t moved them for years? Hot pain every time you move?”

  His shaggy brows fluttered high into his forehead. “You as well?”

  I nodded, then exhaled. There could be no doubt. I pulled Grimaldi closer. “Our future is unraveling, so we are, too.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “May Allah give us strength to face the end.”

  “The end isn’t here yet,” I replied, then stepped toward Elena. “How is he?” I asked her.

  Elena shook her head and turned away, so I raised my voice to call her back. “He needs a substance Paloma de Palma has been slipping him in the ale sold him by the old man.”

  “I knew letting that old Jew in was a rotten idea,” Fadri muttered.

  “She likely increased the dose over these last weeks until Rodrigo’s body needed more and more,” I said. “He’s been cut off, so his body’s suffering. It’s not his fault.”

  “What is this substance?” one of Elena’s generals asked.

  “I don’t know. Paloma will have it with her in the palace.”

  The men moved as one toward the door. “No!” I turned to Elena. “Arturo is in the palace. Because she will use him as a shield to stop any attack, it should be a small party.”

  Elena nodded. “Chavez, spread the word to the others along the north, west, and south walls. At the next call to prayer, create a diversion with arrows, curses, whatever. I and a small party will slip over the east wall.”

  “Yes, sir.” The men filed out, glowering to be denied a chance to storm the gates and the palace.

  “I know the area of the palace where Paloma lives,” I said.

  Elena said nothing, but considered my filthy clothes, my dagger tucked into my boot, and my determination. “You may go, but Rabi’a—”

  Rabi’a stepped forward, chin out. “I shoot arrows. Plus, I must kill Turo.”

  Elena’s eyebrow arched at me. “He has a harem,” I said. “She’s offended.”

  “Ah.”

  “Let Rabi’a accompany you,” Nuño said. “She’s the only one of the three of you who will blend in.”

  We all stared at the young girl in her billowing trousers, long flowing tunic, and headdress that could be swept across her shoulder into a veil. I chuckled, then looked at Elena. “I have an idea.”

  “No,” Elena said.

  “Fadri, can you borrow two more outfits like Rabi’a’s from the camp women?”

  “No,” Elena said.

  “I can,” Fadri crowed happily, having obviously forgiven me for smashing a pot against his head. “Be right back.”

  “No,” Elena said.

  “Yes.”

  “Who is in charge here?”

  I grabbed a stick of charcoal from a nearby hearth and headed for the nearest white wall. “This is what I know of the palace layout.” Apparently, at least for a few minutes, I was in charge.

  *

  When the call to prayer came, shouts and taunts rose up all around the city, so Rabi’a and I were able to follow Elena to the nearest rope on the east wall, the rope some poor starving Valencian had used to escape the city. Rabi’a climbed up, hand over hand, then slid silently over the wall, making it look so easy.

  “You next.” Elena held the rope for me, and I tightened my aching hands around the rough hemp. Physical Education had not been my favorite high school class, and twenty years had done nothing to change that. Nor had the effects of a disintegrating timeline. I looked up at the twisting rope. At least the manacle around my wrist was gone, thanks to Enzo’s help.

  “Keep the rope tight between your feet.” I jumped up, trying to do just that, and somehow found myself five feet off the ground, moaning softly. “Do not look down,” Elena whispered.

  That only left up. Halfway up my arms trembled, my shoulder flamed, and I could no longer feel my feet. Oh why couldn’t I climb like the Zamboni twins? The two redheaded girls in my tenth grade gym class climbed like monkeys. Sheri Zamboni later confessed to me after too much beer that she and her sister were built in such a way they each had at least three orgasms on the climb up. I had no such experience to distract me as I pulled myself higher with trembling arms.

  And then I was over the wall and crouching on the walkway. Elena climbed over the wall right behind me. We found a short stairway, ended up on an empty street, and headed for the palace.

  After all the disasters I’d had, I couldn’t believe we reached the palace without a problem. My heart thumped in my ears as I nodded to Elena, only her eyes visible above the veil. I certainly felt as ridiculous as she looked. She moved like a boy wearing his sister’s clothes, totally weirded out by the feel of the unfamiliar cloth against his skin. “We split up,” I said. “Rabi’a, you go with Elena. The powder will be in a small box or chest in or near her quarters. She should be in prayer for a while.”

  “And you?” Rabi’a whispered.

  “I seek something more important.”

  “When you find him, I kill him. He is Rabi’a’s man, not a harem man.”

  “Of course, dear.” Head down, taking meek but quick steps, I found the stairs. Arturo’s quarters would be near Anna’s but probably not as grand or extensive. I passed a vase of dying flowers and snatched it up. The first guard I met set my pulse hammering through my veins, and I stopped. “For my lord, al-Rashid.” Th
e guard nodded, unconcerned, and stepped aside.

  At the only door with two guards, I stopped and repeated my act. It was as easy as that. They stepped aside, unlocked the door, and let me in.

  Arturo, wearing silky trousers and long shirt, sat on the edge of his bed, bare head in his hands. My breath caught in my throat when I realized he struggled to regain his composure. He had been crying. “Go away,” he muttered. “I can’t discuss politics or my next speech today.”

  Even though he’d chosen Anna and the life she could give him, I had to believe he would be happy I hadn’t died. “Arturo, it’s me.”

  He straightened as if yanked up by an invisible cord. Disbelief rounded his eyes and mouth. He shook his head, blinking rapidly, then when he rose to his feet, I dropped my veil. “Mom?”

  “Yup, and my head is still attached to my body.”

  “Mom!” In three steps he closed the distance between us and crushed me to his chest. Sobs wracked his body as I held him. My own eyes were none too dry by the time he let me go, sniffling. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered.

  “Because of what you read in Kalleberg’s book.”

  “Yes, and because of this.” He reached under his wide braided belt and pulled out my pearl necklace. “Anna gave it to me. She said she’d tried to intervene with the mullah on your behalf.” He clenched my necklace in a tan fist. “I was trapped in a tower, kidnapped by Ibn Jehaf. I could do nothing. I had planned all along to save you, but I couldn’t.”

  He latched the pearl back onto my neck, then I took his face between my hands. “Oh, but you did. You told Grimaldi, who told Nuño, who told Enzo and Fadri, who told Elena.”

  His wide grin brought a deep shuddering sigh up from my chest. “Elena saved you,” he said. I nodded. “She still cares for you.”

  I shook my head. “No, but that’s not important now. Arturo, I know you’re enchanted with your new life. You have money, horses, and even a harem, I hear.” He had the grace to blush. “But you aren’t safe. As al-Rashid, your life is in danger. Anna will protect you only as long as you serve her. I want you to consider—”