The Lords of Time

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The Lords of Time Page 30

by Eva García Sáenz


  I hastened to the ramparts, Chipia at my heels.

  “I’ll send a rider to Tudela. Alfonso has seized his advantage, knowing that his cousin Sancho the Strong has been in the Muslim lands since spring. But the court will get word to King Sancho and he will send reinforcements.”

  “I trust we won’t need to await the king’s reply,” I said, frowning. “The message will take a month to reach him, and another will pass before we receive his decision.”

  “You are right, the situation requires urgency, and custom must be bypassed. The court will obey the king’s orders, given to me by his advisers: ‘Victoria must under no circumstances be surrendered to my cousin.’ They will send troops to help us defend the gateway to the kingdom. We need only hold out until tomorrow. Our first concern is to determine which direction our enemies will take. It will augur well if they arrive from the south,” he said, gesturing toward the horizon.

  There was nothing to see as yet. All was quiet: green expanses of wheat, the odd oak tree, and a few oxen plowing the land.

  “If they approach the South Gate, the sloping terrain and the height of the town wall give us the advantage. If they choose that route, they’ll have come to parley, not to attack directly,” the lieutenant reasoned. “But no matter their approach, they will soon be here. I’m off to fetch my weapons and armor. I suggest you do the same.”

  I nodded and rushed to the forge, where Lyra and her men were at work. Every furnace was blazing, and it was devilishly hot inside.

  “Here, Brother,” she said loudly for everyone to hear. She presented me with my chain-mail snood, helmet, and breastplate. Then she beckoned me over to a secluded corner. “We must leave the town and search for Yennego. Kings can fight over fortresses and frontiers, but we must fight for our lineage.”

  “Nobody wants that more than Alix and me, Lyra. But Alix came back empty-handed. And neither Nagorno, Gunnarr, nor you have found any sign of him inside the walls. You realize what this means.”

  I leaned against my sister. I was weary after my lengthy vigil, weary of searching for my son, and weary of thinking about the impending battle. I was able to let down my guard with her, and I felt better for it.

  “Just say the word, and I will brave the arrows and the lieutenant’s wrath to take Nagorno’s horse and search for him,” she told me.

  “I cannot let you venture alone into territory where almost every town and fortress has been taken by the enemy. It is too dangerous. You’d never make it back alive.”

  Clanging bells heralded the retreat. One, two, three…Some were right above our heads, others farther off. Chipia’s men were closing all the gates of Villa de Suso and Nova Victoria.

  Lyra went back to her companions and started giving orders. I walked outside, leaving the armor my sister had fashioned for me on the floor. Full carts bearing sacks of fruit, firewood, and suckling pigs were crowding the streets, as were the cutlers and their families who had abandoned their dwellings outside the walls. They bore scythes and sickles and carried small children.

  I looked for Alix. She was directing the flow of people entering the town.

  “Head for the fort! And the church!” she cried.

  Amid the clamor and chaos, I bumped into Onneca as she came out of a courtyard. She seemed agitated and looked surprised to see me.

  “What are you doing?” she asked nervously.

  “Preparing for the arrival of the enemy troops. Is anybody taking care of Grandmother Lucía?”

  “With all this turmoil, I’m afraid she might have been forgotten,” Onneca replied.

  “I’ll bring her to the church with the others,” I said, and hurried off to the old woman’s house.

  * * *

  —

  “Grandmother, I’m here to take you to the church,” I said.

  “But I must stay here, in case Yennego returns. I don’t want him to take fright if he arrives and finds the house empty,” she replied, gazing out the window as she spoke to me.

  “You needn’t worry. Yennego is much cleverer than you and me. He’ll know to look for you at the church,” I assured her. “Don’t upset him by refusing to take shelter. Come along.”

  She let me carry her to the church on my back. When we arrived, I put her down on the steps beside the altar. I ran back to the forge to fetch my armor and made my way home.

  There I put on a leather breastplate, followed by one of metal. Over that I slipped a long-sleeved cuirass and a tunic emblazoned with the Vela coat of arms: a mountain cat on an azure background with our family motto, Vela, he who watches, in sable lettering. I donned the chain-mail snood to cover my head and shoulders and finally put on my helmet, despite the heat on that ill-fated day.

  * * *

  —

  The enemy army arrived from the south, but as they neared the town, they circled around and approached the North Gate. Chipia, Nagorno, and I mounted the ramparts. A soldier bearing a white flag approached the gateway, halting a few yards away.

  “King Alfonso the Eighth wishes to parley! Will you honor the truce and lower your weapons?”

  “We will!” Chipia replied. At his signal, the archers aiming at the advancing guard lowered their arrows.

  “They are four hundred strong,” Chipia calculated. “There are fewer than three hundred in the town. But we have nothing to fear, for I see no siege weapons, and without them they cannot enter. We have the advantage, and the king knows it.”

  Then, let this be over quickly so I may continue to search for my son, I was tempted to say.

  We only had to hold out for a day before the army from Navarre would arrive with reinforcements and my family and I could continue our search for Yennego. We could at least find out what had become of him, so that we could find peace.

  “These men look rested. Their tunics are clean, not bloodstained,” I observed. “They haven’t seen battle yet nor lost any comrades-in-arms. They are keen to fight and are at their most dangerous.”

  “They’ll be even more battle ready after forgoing the siege of other towns,” Nagorno added.

  Several men on horseback approached. A man on a magnificent white stallion came forward, escorted by two riders.

  King Alfonso VIII was a fine figure of a man. His shoulders were muscled like an archer’s, and he had a regal bearing, evincing a certain disdain and an ease of manner. He had been king for three years now, and he wore it well.

  When he removed his helmet, his hooked nose was slightly flattened, possibly the result of a blow sustained in battle. His square face had flowing whiskers, but he was otherwise completely bald.

  “I do not seek a bloody conquest,” he said, his commanding voice ringing out. “I come here to reclaim what was endorsed in the year of our Lord 1174. These lands are mine by right, and yet when the treaty was signed, I was a mere novice, incapable of holding my own against the expert diplomacy of my uncle, King Sancho the Wise. Now I am a man, and I am here to demand that you surrender the town, open the gates, and let me enter. I will respect your charters and tax exemptions. Unlike the Navarrese, I promise not to seize fortresses and depopulate the estates of the counts and local lords. I will not impose lieutenants from far afield, who are not of your lineages—”

  “Before you trouble yourself further, my lord,” Chipia cut in, “I must inform you that, on the orders of your cousin, Victoria will not be surrendered to you.”

  “You must be his lieutenant. And you the town’s noblemen.” He greeted us with a nod of his head.

  “Count Vela and Count de Maestu,” I shouted, returning the gesture.

  “Count Don Vela, I’ve heard the sad tale of your son and heir. It’s being told in the inns we passed through along the way. It is a shame that the gates are closed; you must be eager to search for the lad outside. Surrender the town, and you may go. I won’t try to stop you.”
<
br />   Nagorno made to raise his crossbow, but I restrained him. I, too, could have hit Alfonso with an arrow at that distance and committed regicide. But there was too much at stake….

  Instead I replied, “You are a king and are therefore presumed to be noble. I find it hard to believe you would play with the life of a child, even if he is your enemy’s heir, to force the surrender of a town.”

  The king raised his head and looked straight at me.

  “Yours is a grave offense, but I forgive you. I, too, am a father, and if anything were to befall my daughter, Blanca…I understand your pain.”

  All I saw was an arrogant man holding my gaze.

  “Since we speak as one man of honor to another, do I have your word that this tragedy is not of your making?” I asked.

  “If any of my subjects were to resort to such a vile ruse, they would receive the harshest punishment. I regret the loss of your son. Your family’s renown extends as far as Castile, and you do not merit such a tragedy. But let us discuss the conditions of your surrender: open the town gates and we will respect the good folk within its walls.”

  “Alas, it is I who speak on behalf of King Sancho the Seventh,” Chipia spoke up once more. “And we will not surrender the town. Indeed, we are awaiting reinforcements that will arrive at any moment. The battle will take place outside the town’s walls. There is nothing left to discuss, as your attempt at usurpation is unlawful.”

  “You speak of laws? Make no mistake, the pope has excommunicated my cousin because of his unlawful pacts with the infidel. He abandoned his territories and his vassals months ago to reside with the Saracens. He now stands alone, for neither Aragon, León, nor Portugal support his claims. What good is paying the yearly tithe to a king none of you know and who shows only contempt toward the nobles of his realm? Why should you give him an ox every March?”

  I glanced sideways at the mayor, who shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other.

  “You have no answer? Then will you open the gates?” Alfonso insisted.

  “We shall not. You will camp outside the walls tonight, and tomorrow when our reinforcements arrive, you will lose many men in battle. Is that how a just king treats his soldiers?” retorted Chipia. The parley was at an end.

  The king and his escort turned their horses and headed toward the cemetery square, close to the well.

  As we descended the tower staircase, Nagorno held me back.

  “While the king was parleying, some of the rear guard were chopping down trees.”

  We looked at each other in alarm.

  “This doesn’t bode well,” I muttered. “Tell Lyra to free up a furnace to heat the powdered limestone from the quarry.”

  Nagorno stalked off while I made my way to the main square.

  The townsfolk from both neighborhoods were gathered there, nobles and craftsmen alike, all of them armed with swords, lances, bows, and hammers.

  “Has everybody outside the walls managed to seek refuge in the town?” the mayor asked.

  “All but the folk at La Romana Inn. They say they’re staying put, that they’ll have work and protection with the soldiers,” replied the royal bailiff.

  “We will defend the gates of Nova Victoria,” declared Mendoza. “Deploy your men on our turrets. If they attack from the west, our walls and streets will be the first to fall.”

  “The lance makers, cutlers, bakers, and grocers will defend the east wall, the North and South Gates, and Portal de la Armería,” said Alix, and the townsfolk murmured their approval. “We are higher up and better protected, yes, but the king will want to bring down Villa de Suso and the Sant Viçente fortress right away. If he attacks, he will start with us.”

  “Very well, I’ll place one of my men on each of the twenty-four turrets,” Chipia agreed. “They don’t have enough men to surround both neighborhoods. But they will send scouts to see if anyone leaves the town. Go to the forge and ask for arrows, and bolts for those with crossbows. Take any weapons they’ve been able to make. Bring out your pitchforks, knives, and hammers, anything that might help you defend yourselves.”

  “Is there news from the southern forts?” asked Yñigo, the furrier’s son.

  “No, you fool. The town gates are shut and we’re surrounded by the enemy. Why would I send scouts to bring tidings from the south?”

  “Are we to fight them, then?” asked Mendoza. “Shouldn’t King Sancho be leading the rescue mission?”

  “I’ve sent a message to Tudela requesting help,” Chipia interjected impatiently. “Tomorrow or the day after, reinforcements will arrive from Pamplona. But remain at the ready lest something go awry. If the bell tolls, those who are unable to fight should take refuge in the churches of Sant Michel and Santa María, and in the fortress of Sant Viçente. Meanwhile, return to your homes and wait for help to arrive.”

  The crowd dispersed slowly, some cursing quietly as they gazed up at the clear blue sky.

  I went in search of Alix, who had disappeared. Beneath my helmet, my hair was dripping with sweat.

  I found her giving orders to the latest arrivals, and together we slipped inside Grandmother Lucía’s courtyard. We hadn’t seen each other properly since we’d started the search for Yennego.

  “He is lost to us,” she said, heartbroken. “We won’t find him inside or outside the town amid this chaos.”

  I embraced her, feeling powerless. She was right. And with King Alfonso at our gates, we could expect no solace, only more danger.

  “We won’t stop searching for him. If I disappear and you find no trace of me in the coming days, I will have gone through the blockade to look for him. Trust that I will return. I know your instinct will be to follow me, but you must protect our unborn child. For now, you are safer looking for Yennego inside the town. Keep questioning the villagers, and take advantage of the chaos to search the houses of Nova Victoria. Use any pretext you can think of.”

  “Do you think the soldiers will arrive from Pamplona in time to—?”

  But before she could finish her sentence, we heard a massive thud at the North Gate.

  A battering ram was pounding at the wooden door, threatening to split it in two.

  39

  THE OLD BURIAL GROUND

  UNAI

  October 2019

  “It’s good of you to bring me back to the tower,” murmured Ramiro Alvar, who was sitting in the passenger seat of my car. “I could have asked someone from the village.”

  “I know,” I said, parking next to the moat. “But long stints in the hospital can be disorienting. It’s good to get away every so often, even if it’s just for a few hours. I’ll take you back in a bit. How do you feel?”

  “To be honest, I have been longing for home, even though they won’t be discharging me for several weeks. It’s taking me a long time to recover.”

  To be honest echoed in my head. It was ironic to hear Ramiro Alvar talk about honesty.

  “I thought you had come to arrest me. I thought you were going to take me from the hospital to the police station and then to prison. I’m glad you removed the armed guards. I found their presence quite intimidating.”

  “We can’t prove you threw Inspector Ruiz de Gauna over the balcony,” I said, my hand automatically gripping the steering wheel tighter.

  “You know what I mean,” he said.

  “I don’t. Tell me, I want to understand.”

  “Even I can’t be sure my alter didn’t do it.” A blond curl fell in front of his eyes as he adjusted his glasses.

  “You have a low opinion of your alter.”

  “If you only knew….”

  “That’s why I brought you here today. I want to find out all about him. Let’s go.” I opened the passenger door and lifted him into a folding wheelchair.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

&
nbsp; To the Nograro family burial ground.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  I headed for the low wall alongside the family chapel. An iron gate barred our way.

  “You can push it open,” Ramiro Alvar said. “It isn’t locked.” He sounded tense.

  The place had a desolate atmosphere that I found surprising. For a family so proud of its lineage, they hadn’t done much to honor their dead. The ivy on the cemetery walls was barely alive, and the cypress trees at the entrance appeared to be shedding their bark.

  We stopped in front of a line of headstones, all bearing the name Alvar. This was one of the few cemeteries I’d visited that had no niches. Instead, the graves had been dug into the ground and were all marked by headstones.

  I gave Ramiro a sidelong glance. He swallowed hard.

  “You know whose grave we’re here to visit, don’t you?”

  “Why are you doing this to me, Unai?” he implored. He made as if to wheel himself to the gate, but I held him back.

  “Because I’m committed to solving this case, and I need to see the whole picture. You’ve only shown me fragments. I’ll never understand you if you only show me certain pieces of yourself, and Estíbaliz others. We’ve reached a dead end. Even you don’t even know whether you’re guilty. But together we’re going to solve this puzzle, Ramiro. Which is your brother’s grave?”

  Ramiro shuddered. The burial ground was certainly dismal, but this was something more than a sudden chill.

  “That one, on the left,” he said, signaling toward one of the headstones.

  I wheeled him closer, until his chair was opposite the grave.

  Alvar Nograro XXIV

  Lord of Nograro Castle

  1969–1999

  Although this headstone was newer than the others, the granite was cracked, as if someone had hit it. It was interesting that Ramiro Alvar hadn’t had it fixed or replaced.

  “Is the grave empty?” I asked.

 

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