The Crown of Valencia

by Catherine Friend

  He held up his hand, then shook his shaggy head. “You think I’ve joined Anna.”

  “You’re pretending to be al-Rashid. Willingly. I heard your speech outside the mosque last week.”

  He grinned. “That was one of my best. But Mom, I can’t believe you. You think I’d give up on what we set out to do just for life as al-Rashid? What about the wave heading for the future?” He spread his hands in agitation, frowning at my apparent stupidity. “I’m acting, Mom. This is the role of a lifetime. I pretend to like this life. Anna trusts me. I stay close to the action. Then come June 15, maybe I can do something.”

  Now it was my turn to look astonished. “Acting?”

  “Jeez, Mom, I can’t believe you’d think I’d be such a jerk.”

  Now we both grinned at my stupidity, and a huge boulder rolled off my chest. Suddenly I could breathe again. “My mistake,” I said. “One I won’t make again. But now that I’ve found you, I know we’ll make it back to the future. Hang on just—”

  “Go back? Mom, until I thought you’d died, I was having a blast!”

  “But that night before al-Saffah, you were really unhappy. You couldn’t wait to get back.”

  “Yeah, well, I hadn’t found my groove yet. But you’re okay. And I got my groove now, and I’m kicking ass, Mom. I love this time period.”

  I shook my head. He was still so young and had no clue what a bad idea it would be to stay, so I’d have to be the adult for both of us. “We’ll discuss that later. First we have to figure out how to get you out of here. There are two guards—”

  “Yes, but—” When Arturo grabbed my hands, he noticed my wince. “What’s wrong?”

  “Our future is unraveling. It’s affecting both me and Grimaldi. Every joint aches.”

  Arturo nodded. “That would explain my knees. I felt thirty when I got up this morning.”

  I let the ageist comment pass. “You’re younger, so you probably aren’t feeling the effects as strongly as we are. A few more days and I may not be able to move.”

  He cupped my hands gently. “All we need is one more day, Mom. That’s why I can’t come with you.”

  “What?”

  “I am al-Rashid. The guards are outside my door to keep Ibn Jehaf and his men out, not to keep me in. I can leave whenever I want. I need to play this out until the end.”

  “But you’re in danger. Ibn Jehaf—”

  “I can’t leave now, Mom. Tomorrow’s the day.”

  “Rodrigo’s men have sent an ultimatum. Open the gates tomorrow, or they’ll swarm the walls. It’s too—”

  “I have to, Mom. When I thought you were dead, it took me days to accept that restoring the timeline was now my responsibility alone. I can’t just let go of that.”

  My mouth dropped open. My fourteen-year-old son driven by responsibility? Sticking to something he started? When two thumps and a groan outside turned us toward the door, Elena and Rabi’a entered, dragging the unconscious guards behind them. Oh oh. “Arturo, I should tell you that Rabi’a—”

  “Rabi’a!”

  “Busaybah!” She flung her arms around Arturo’s neck and was suddenly more intent on kissing him than on killing him. I had not missed the look of pure joy on his face when he recognized her.

  Elena crossed her arms while we waited. “I thought she wanted to kill him.”

  “Me too.”

  Shaking her head, Elena shifted her silky tunic, revealing her sword belt and a plastic bag of white powder. “I found it.”

  Finally I tapped Arturo’s shoulder. “No time for this, Turito.” Somehow we disentangled Rabi’a, then I explained that Arturo would remain. Even though Rabi’a burst into tears, Arturo assured her he would be fine. He shooed us all out the door.

  “I’ll deal with the guards,” he said. “Go.”

  I don’t know which of us, Rabi’a or I, was more upset to leave Arturo in that palace, but somehow Elena got us both back to the wall. The rope burned my weakened hands and I lost control the last ten feet, sliding onto the hard cobblestones. If anything happened to Arturo in the next twenty-four hours, it would rest on my shoulders since I had left my son in the clutches of a power-hungry mad woman.

  *

  Rodrigo was too far gone to recognize either Elena or me. We fed him a weak dose at first, which he drank, then an hour later I increased the dose to half a spoonful. He drank that as well, then fell into a fitful sleep.

  Elena and I didn’t speak as we took turns sleeping and watching Rodrigo. Two lanterns warmed the dark room, and I slept on a mat in the corner. At one point I woke up to Elena’s voice.

  “Drink it all, Rodrigo. Your body needs what is in this ale.”

  Rodrigo coughed, then the blankets rustled as he sat up. I didn’t move. “Navarro. What the hell are you doing here?” The drug was working. “Are you trying to poison me, bitch?”

  “Not today, Rodrigo. Some day, perhaps, but now I need you strong and healthy.”

  “I am dying. Go away.”

  She chuckled softly. “You are not dying, and I do not give a damn what you want. Tomorrow, against all that I believe, I am going to make you a hero, may the saints forgive me. So shut that hole in your face, old man, and listen as I tell you what you must do.”

  I closed my eyes. In a few more hours, it would be over. History would either reshift itself, sending a new wave through time, restoring what must be. Or nothing would change, which meant everything would.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I woke the morning of June 15 to a high-pitched whine that no one else seemed to hear. Even when I pressed my trembling palms over my ears, I failed to muffle the insistent sound of time coming apart. My stomach churned so violently I could take nothing for breakfast but a small hunk of bread Enzo offered me. Water tasted so metallic it grated against my teeth.

  I ran my grimy, aching fingers through my hair. The instant this day was resolved, I was heading for the nearest Valencian bath house. I would soak so long even my fingernails and toenails would wrinkle. I wouldn’t drag myself from that tiled heaven until every grain of dirt, every molecule of scent from this century had dissolved in the bath salts.

  Enzo and I fastened each other’s mail, then he found me an extra pair of metal gauntlets to strap onto my wrists and forearms. Neither of us expected a battle, but it felt better to look prepared. Enzo tugged on his polished helmet, the nose-piece jutting down into his stony face. He tied on his black cape, transferring himself from middle-aged man to fierce warrior. “Ready?” he asked. The others had already left.

  “No, but I have no choice.” I tucked my dagger into the sheath. “Let’s go.” The rain had slowed to a mist, but heavy clouds lumbered across the sky, bringing with them the smell of salt water.

  Valencia’s closed main gate was constructed of towering timbers that stretched nearly to the top of the wall itself. To use the term “city wall” was misleading because half of the city now stood outside the protective Roman walls, yet it was still a wall separating me from my son.

  Outside the wall was a plaza of sorts, where half a dozen side streets emptied themselves in a spoke around the gate. Christian soldiers, armed to the eyeballs with swords, daggers, mace, and hatchets, stood ten deep in the plaza behind me, stretching as far as I could see. Ahead, Elena and her generals waited by the closed gate, their saddled horses kept down a side street by a few young boys. When Enzo and I joined the circle, Elena was too deep in a discussion with Jorge to look up. Grimaldi held one palm over an ear, and we exchanged grimaces as I did the same. The whine dulled a bit, but continued, so I was pretty sure we didn’t have much time left.

  Enzo muttered an Arabic curse under his breath and pointed up the wall, where fifty Valencian archers appeared, bows drawn, arrows nocked and pointing down directly at us.

  A few Christians then turned and pointed to the buildings behind us ringing the plaza where Nugaymath, Rabi’a, and dozens of al-Saffah lined the roof tops, their bows pointed at the men on the wall. The
Valencian archers raised their own bows until the two groups aimed at each other.

  “This could get ugly,” Fadri said cheerfully. Just then the great wooden gate swung open, creaking and groaning like an old man who has remained in one position too long. Anna, dressed in a brilliant blue tunic and trousers with a heavily embroidered cape, rode out from the city with an armed escort. Where was Arturo? Carlos and Rafael Mahfouz rode beside Anna, and I watched Carlos carefully. He winced as he shifted in the saddle, and he repeatedly stuck a finger into one ear. Good. I felt no obligation to tell him why he hurt.

  Anna’s gray mare, mane braided with silver cord, pranced in place before Elena. “You?” Anna said in surprise. “I thought we were rid of you days ago.”

  “I’m like a bad dream. It’s hard to get rid of me.”

  Anna waved a slender hand. “No matter. Your supposed leader, Rodrigo Díaz, had the audacity to demand our surrender, yet I know Rodrigo is no longer here.”

  As Anna spoke, I became aware of Rafael’s concerned stare at me, and at my shoulder, as he searched for signs of a wound. I surprised myself by letting a smile escape. He nodded, and his chest rose as he inhaled deeply, relief relaxing his brow. I was oddly touched by his concern. He’d shot me, but was still rattled that the metal stick had done such damage to human flesh.

  Anna’s speech was well-rehearsed, and Carlos didn’t even seem to be listening as he stared straight ahead. Anna then motioned to the Christian soldiers surrounding the walls. “Rodrigo has tucked his tired tail between his legs and fled. So the rest of you might as well leave. There will be no surrender. We have enough food to last for months. Can you say the same?” She gazed over the crowd, smiling when she saw me. “All of you, go home to where you belong. Leave us in peace. Without Rodrigo, you aren’t an army. We’ll only negotiate with Rodrigo.”

  “So be it!” boomed Rodrigo’s voice from a side street. The crowd parted like grass in a breeze, and Arturo himself could not have wished for a more dramatic entrance. Pale, gaunt, but upright for the first time in days, Rodrigo took his time approaching our tense circle. I knew he was too wobbly to walk any faster, but he gave the impression of a man in control, unhurried, heightening the tension unbearably. He looked as fierce as Enzo, only twice as large. His beard had been cleaned, re-braided, and spread across his chest like a badge of courage.

  This was it. Anna’s mouth dropped open, but by the time Rodrigo reached us, she had recovered. When she dismounted, a brief second of pain flashed across her face, so she, too, felt the effects of the unraveling timeline. The rest of her party also dismounted. “Rodrigo, you look well. The rumors, then, were false.”

  Rodrigo stopped, tucking his thumbs into his sword belt, which hung lower without his ample belly. “Never felt better. So let us discuss surrender. But as I believe I mentioned earlier, I do not negotiate with women. Where is al-Rashid?”

  “He cannot be bothered with trifles such as you. He—”

  “—would not miss this for the world.” The shout came from inside the gate, where Arturo appeared on a pure white stallion, both of them so loaded with gold and embroidered cloth it was a wonder either could move. He rode into the circle, head high, but I was his mother and recognized the shadow of worry and fear in those brown eyes. He was likely tormented by the same incessant ringing.

  He turned and faced the archers on the wall. “Lower your bows!” he cried.

  “No,” Anna snapped. “Do not—”

  “Silence, woman! Lower your bows.” The men did so. “Arrows in quivers.” They complied. Then Arturo turned toward Elena, waiting until she issued the same command to Nugaymath. The al-Saffah women grumbled, but obeyed, and a collective sigh of relief issued from every chest. No matter what went wrong down here, at least death would not rain down on us immediately.

  “My lord Rashid.” Anna moved toward him, frowning. “Remember what we discussed last week?”

  Arturo dismounted with a flare, handing off his reins to a guard. “We discussed resistance. We discussed refusing to yield to Rodrigo Díaz.”

  Rodrigo stepped forward, wobbling slightly. “Surrender now, al-Rashid, or lose everything.”

  “He is but a child,” Anna said. “He—”

  “Silence! I am the caliph al-Rashid, the spiritual leader of Valencia and all of al-Andaluz. The great Allah speaks through me, and Allah sees the wisdom of this Christian’s request. I have prayed every hour for Allah’s guidance, and I have received his word.” Murmuring Valencians inside the gate pressed closer at his ringing shout.

  “Rodrigo Díaz of Vivar, leader of the most powerful army in all of Iberia, if I surrender will you spare my people?”

  “I will, my lord.”

  Anna shook her head so violently her hair came undone. “No, you—”

  “Will you feed them?”

  “Until they can hold no more, my lord.” I caught Elena’s eye. Whatever she’d told Rodrigo, it was working.

  “Will you spare my most precious jewel, the sparkling city of Valencia?”

  A split second pause, then El Cid’s reply came. “As if it were my own home, as God is my witness.”

  When Arturo strode around the circle, stopping when he reached me, Anna could not miss his message. He had chosen me, and her precious creation was about to bite her in the butt. My son then raised his arms and spoke in the firm, clear voice that his drama coach had helped him develop these last two years. “Then I, as the caliph of Valencia, and as Allah’s messenger here on earth, do hereby surrender Valencia to Rodrigo Díaz of Vivar, the one who from this day forward shall always be called ‘al-Sayyid.’”

  Great cheers arose from both sides of the wall and laughter bubbled up inside me. Nice touch, Arturo. Over the years language changes would convert al-Sayyid to al-Cidi, to al-Cid to El Cid. History would have its El Cid.

  But then something prickled up my neck, and I looked at Anna. Her eyes held resignation, not panic, and a cramp of fear gripped me. She’d expected this. She had something else planned. Only I seemed to notice when she reached inside her wide belt and pulled out, unbelievably, the gun Rafael had thrown away into the woods. Caquito. He must have retrieved it for Anna, since Rafael hated it too much to touch it again.

  Anna raised the gun toward Rodrigo, and I read the future in her eyes. First Rodrigo, then Arturo, then Elena, then me. Four bullets was all she needed to bury the original timeline forever.

  I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Elena saw my face but did not understand. Luckily, Arturo, Carlos and Rafael did.

  Carlos, standing off to Anna’s side, flung himself in front of Rodrigo as Anna pulled the trigger. The shot was nearly silent in the celebration around us. Carlos dropped to the street, blood already blooming across his arm. Rodrigo gaped at the bleeding man at his feet.

  Time does slow down in a crisis. That had to be why Arturo began, in slow motion, to cross the circle toward Anna. Tae Kwon Do versus a gun? Elena’s sword flashed at my side, but neither Arturo nor Elena would ever reach her in time. Anna gave me a languid, triumphant glance, then pointed the gun at Rodrigo’s chest. Furious, Rafael saw me, saw he stood in the way. He took one side step and my path was clear.

  Pain forgotten, I drew my dagger out. Without thought, without fear, I sent it spinning, slicing through the morning air. The only thing that stopped its endless, flashing flight was Anna’s heart. She straightened, and looked at me, her eyes wide with surprise. She swayed, staggered a step, then collapsed.

  Only the inner circle of men knew what had happened. They tightened around us protectively as the celebration continued. I scraped my knees against cobblestone as I reached Anna’s side. I cradled her head in my lap, crying as blood pumped from the wound, the dagger still buried to its hilt. “Anna, Anna. Oh my god. Oh my god.” Arturo knelt beside me, pried the gun from her hand and tucked it into his boot.

  Blood gurgled up from her throat and began running out her nose. Christ, I must have hit an artery. What were the chances? />
  “Anna, oh my god.” I rocked her, half-relieved, half-horrified at what I’d done. This was happening too fast. “A doctor,” I managed to croak hoarsely. “We need a doctor.”

  Elena, Rodrigo, and the others encircled me, a forest of steel and strength. Elena shook her head. “No, Kate. She bleeds out. There is nothing anyone can do to save her, not even a Moor surgeon.”

  Everything around me blurred as I held her, Arturo’s warm hand on my shoulder, his head pressed against mine, the three of us together for the first time, the family that never was. There were no last minute regrets or apologies or forgiveness in Anna’s eyes, only surprise, then something calmer. Peace? Oh please, let it be peace. Her startled frown relaxed as my clothes grew wet and heavy with her bright blood. “I’m here,” I whispered. She blinked twice, then left. One second I held a living woman in my arms. The next second, I held a body.

  I bent my head, pressing my lips against her hair. “Anna,” I whispered into a deaf ear. “I had to. I had to.”

  “Mom?” I looked up at Arturo, his face pinched at my pain. “I’m sorry, but we’re not done. There’s one more act left to this play, so I need to leave you here for awhile.” I nodded, wiping my tears with a bloody hand.

  Arturo stood. “Al-Sayyid, allow me and my men to escort you into the city.”

  Rodrigo nodded and motioned for the horses. Elena opened her mouth, but I shook my head. I couldn’t bear whatever she had to say.

  I lowered Anna’s body gently, stood, then watched everyone mount and line up. Arturo and Rodrigo rode side by side, followed by Elena and Rafael, then Nuño and Enzo. Fadri still crouched on the stones near me, aiding Carlos, who lay on his side, conscious but in pain.

  The sun had come out, shining on the procession of helmets and mail heading through the gate. Wet cobblestones glistened like jewels scattered across the ground.

  Arturo swept his arm wide as they moved through the gate and up the hill, calling to the people of Valencia to rejoice. The siege was over.