The Galician Woman

by William Mesusan

  Al-Zahra glimmered in the distance at the far end of a wide boulevard winding its way three miles south, curvaceous as a sinuous snake. This roadway was illuminated by street lamps, dazzling globes glowing like a loose string of luminous pearls while the new city's dark corridors of power continued to suck Solomon into a maelstrom beyond his control.

  He felt slightly lost despite an innate confidence in his own abilities, incapable of escaping this fateful development in his life and unable to put any distance between his emotions and the sense of despair Umar's death stirred in his mortal soul.

  Compelled to look reality in the face, he realized he'd been compromised, pressed into an assignment he originally wanted to refuse. But, there was so much at stake: the future of the Umayyad Caliphate, the well-being of his own people, and an opportunity to realize his deep and private, selfish yearning to write poetry full time.

  At least with the lost manuscript an intellectual challenge presented itself. This unexpected mission and a potential search for an enigmatic, missing woman, in the far off reaches of the savage north, hit Solomon straight in the gut. Even worse, it felt more like a punch below the belt.

  Why so glum? he asked himself.

  These circumstances provided a rare opportunity to consolidate his good fortune.

  Can he be trusted? Solomon wondered if the bodyguard might have been enlisted to spy on him and send reports back to Hasdai and the Caliph.

  He breathed a deep sigh, but it brought no relief.

  Stop this internal chatter and these infernal questions, he admonished himself. He would have to conquer his irrational fears if he wanted to succeed in the investigation. He’d experienced a similar predicament, once before, and emerged unscathed. But that was a manuscript, he reminded himself.

  His walk brought him to the Almodovar Gate.

  Outside these gated walls, buried in the hallowed ground of the Jewish cemetery, lay his deceased ancestors, relatives who had once led vibrant lives inside the walled city, generations who had come and gone for almost a thousand years, since the time of the fall of Jerusalem, seventy years after the birth of the Christ.

  Solomon hoped he wouldn't be joining them anytime soon.

  Gazing out across his beloved Córdoba, Solomon marveled at the city's hold on his soul. This city, the jewel of Europe, sparkled inside his imagination like a multi-faceted diamond: intricate comforting, iridescent, alluring, enchanting, refined, historic, and so much more. He suspected others entertained these sentiments, but he wondered if their emotional involvement ran as deep as his own. The vast, yet intimate city spread out before him like a languid lover. His view included the city inside the old Roman walls and the mushrooming city suburbs beyond.

  Sweet Córdoba, home to a hundred thousand souls. More populous, prosperous, and artistic and scientifically brilliant than any city in Europe and perhaps the entire world.

  Grandmother Córdoba, once home to prehistoric peoples and Carthaginians.

  Mother Córdoba, lavishing gifts upon her spoiled children: luxurious villas along the banks of the Guadalquivir with indoor plumbing; patios, gardens and fountains creating oases of protection against urban congestion and the blistering summers; cool, narrow, paved streets known for their cleanliness and lit at night to dispel the darkness after sunset; five hundred public baths, scattered throughout the city, promoting personal hygiene and bodily cleanliness; trash disposal containers situated at strategic locations throughout the city and massive sewers used to reduce human waste; impressive libraries, both public and private, containing hundreds of thousands of volumes; bookstores to encourage literacy; public schools fostering the mandatory education of children and young adults (as well as private Jewish and Christian academies), the most accessible and distinguished University in Europe; and, tens of thousands of dwellings to house the beneficiaries of all this affluence.

  Compassionate sisterly Córdoba, a helpmate offering hospitals and asylums to care for the sick, feeble, and aged, with well-regulated pharmacies dispensing life-saving herbs, tinctures, barks, twigs, and prescribed medicines made from crushed minerals.

  Divine Córdoba, promoting the spiritual well-being of the city with her five hundred mosques as well as countless cathedrals, churches, and synagogues inspiring peaceful co-existence among an assortment of religious affiliations and multiple ethnicities.

  Industrious Córdoba, whose denizens enjoyed access to an unsurpassed variety of goods, a seemingly endless supply provided by domestic and import markets. A vast, enterprising city where thousands of looms clattered, spinning cloth into cotton, linen, silk, and brocade, velvets, and felts; where world famous leather craftsmen created everything from shoes to wall-sized tapestries; where ceramic and porcelain warehouses sold exquisite merchandise; where glass-blowers, ivory carvers, bookbinders, woodworkers, and metalworkers flourished. A thriving metropolis where street markets offered shoppers a cornucopia of imported goods, dominated by those arriving from China and India: textiles and teas, spices and dyes.

  Generous, abundant Córdoba whose variety of agricultural goods, introduced by the new regime, was astonishing: oranges, lemons, limes, watermelons, figs, pomegranates, almonds, bananas, artichokes, eggplants, spinach, sugar-cane, and more. Herbs and spices abounded: cumin, caraway, coriander, fennel, mint, parsley, cloves and nutmeg. There were cash crops such as cotton, flax and silk. Vast wheat fields fed a growing, healthy populace feasting on dietary staples like couscous and pasta.

  Córdoba, the lover, opening her arms wide to embrace the artistic and learned elite of the world, drawing them to her bosom and nourishing them with unsurpassed mental and monetary stimuli. All valued and appreciated for their contributions to the cultural life of Andalusia and forgiving the Umayyad Caliphate a reputation renowned throughout the world as the intellectual and scientific center of the European Continent. Córdoba, lover of poets and patrons, a city where the finest wordsmiths and translators were honored with lavish stipends from the Caliph's personal coffers as well as private patronage.

  Regal Córdoba, Queen of Europe, one of the greatest cities of its epoch, rivaled in splendor only by Bagdad, Constantinople, and upstart al-Zahra. A multicultural magnet attracting intelligent, industrious, and intrepid individuals from London to Paris, from Mumbai to Beijing. They came and went, attracted by the magnificence of Rahman III's court and the opportunities for upward mobility, increased social status, successful careers, and the accumulation of wealth. Solomon, and many of his educated, well-traveled countrymen understood this splendor existed at a time when most of Europe wallowed in filth and illiteracy. It was the same throughout much of the world, and this only served to enhance the city's reputation and its allure for citizens and outsiders alike.

  Solomon guessed he'd never unravel the mystery of Córdoba, and this didn't seem to matter. He found his love affair with the city emotionally and physically satisfying and he never ceased enjoying an aesthetic appreciation of her bounteous and pleasing nature. He told himself maybe one day he could shape these impressions into a poem to satisfy his secular soul, composing a paean to his beloved city.

  Maybe one day if he actually returned safely from the savage north.

  Not sure if he would return to the city he cherished, Solomon found himself soaking up impressions like a sponge. The crisp night air, the aroma of grilled mutton wafting up from below the wall, the sounds of footsteps as guards policed the streets providing security to local residents, all these sensations filtered through a full moon's soft yellow lens.

  That same moon, floating directly overhead in a cloudless sky, cast a magic spell over the city; but, Solomon remembered how the dark power of the moon becomes strongest when the lunar sphere is wholly round. He thought of how passions and crime rise like ocean tides when this phase of the moon positions it directly opposite the sun, its waning inevitable. An ominous sign or merely a coincidence, his journey beginning during this inauspicious time.

  Solomon wondered if any of these th
oughts would be useful to him in the savage north. He possessed too many reservations with too little time to analyze his options or properly prepare for the journey. Even though he tried to muster his courage for the morning departure, he still felt uneasy. Descending the steps of the Roman Wall, he wondered if he could sleep.

  Lying in bed with eyes half-shut, Solomon's thoughts turned to Sara. He found the Christian woman attractive and her spirituality struck him as quite refreshing, almost soothing to his earthy, profane soul. He began to speculate about the roommate, the mysterious Galician woman. What was her name. . .Lia? Would he find her attractive as well? Would he find her at all? Knowing the need for sleep was imperative, he turned over on his side and closed his eyes.

  He settled deeper into his bed, but his sense of anticipation made it impossible for him to doze off. What if he did find her, this Galician woman who seemed more apparition than substance. Umar's death had already overturned the generally peaceful social reality and Solomon wasn't sure he could maintain his composure in this whirlwind of events or find any semblance of inner peace amidst the storm of outer happenings.

  Learn Latin Hasdai had counseled him. It will open many doors for you. It had, but sometimes he wished he hadn't listened to his elder cousin. His knowledge of Latin was opening a door he'd just as soon keep closed, a door leading into the unknown.

  Solomon's feelings were conflicted.

  How could a part of him dread the journey to Galicia while another part of him experienced a compelling sense of excitement about this opportunity for adventure. Perhaps his mind was filled with too many preconceptions about the savage north while his heart felt a certain receptiveness towards this unexplored mystery. Layla always advised him to follow his heart. He decided to take her advice.

  A new mystery had taken hold of his imagination.

  Solomon finally gave in to mental fatigue. He slept for a few hours and then woke up to the night. More thoughts ran through his rattled mind. Better pack warm clothes for the journey north and don't forget your oiled silk rain-proof cloak. It will be cold and dank and dreary. He heard it rained in the lands of the Peninsula's northwest even during the month of May. Might as well leave his cork-soled shoes behind. They would be of little use in the misty, wet north.

  All very shadowy, he told himself. Especially this vanished woman. He wondered if the assignment would take him closer to her or further away. He so desired sleep. Embrace emptiness, he repeated over and over in an effort to entice the words to melt into his soul. Embrace emptiness he kept saying to himself. Allow all worldly concerns to drop away. Easier to tell himself what he needed to do than to accomplish the deed.

  The word empty entered Solomon's mind, only this time as a visual presence. He saw each of the five letters lined up in the correct sequence before they began drifting apart from each other. Soon the letters were floating off into space in no discernable order. Then, the letters began to expand and dissolve, leaving behind only a trail of vapor. Solomon's head sank into the soft pillow.

  The nascent investigator sighed and then he drifted down into a deep dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 15

  They rode together along a narrow path under a cloudless blue sky. The Slav appeared familiar with the rugged terrain so Solomon allowed him take the lead. His new acquaintance guided a powerful, white Andalusian mare up a steep incline while leading a sure-footed Majorcan mule packed with two-week's provisions,.

  The investigator followed sitting astride a second mare, the animal Muslims preferred for warfare because stallions had proven less dependable during the intense heat of battle. Though high- spirited, he found no difficulty controlling the movements of his chestnut colored mount. Solomon wasn't an inexperienced rider, and he had plenty of recent practice on his search for the lost manuscript, a botanical work by Greek physician Dioscorides detailing the medicinal use of herbs in the ancient world. That assignment took him down to Málaga, on the Mediterranean Coast, and then inland to the city of Granada and the home of an old book collector living in the ageless Jewish quarter.

  He remained behind, content to let his bodyguard continue in the lead.

  They'd left Córdoba behind hours ago. Not a pilgrim in sight since entering the Camino Mozarabic pilgrim route to Mérida, a trail whose origins lay to the southeast in the aforementioned Granada. As the investigator learned on his earlier mission, the city, noted for its abundance of pomegranates, was located at the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains, at an amazing geographical confluence of four rivers: the Beiro, the Darro, the Genil, and the Monachil. To the east lay the Mediterranean coast, the Costa Tropical.

  For citizens of Granada and the surrounding countryside there was more to the picture than just the growing of their glorious pomegranates. The fruit, with its hundreds of seeds, symbolized fertility and abundance which is how they viewed the land itself and the local water and the climate. For Muslims, the fruit was also a symbol of beauty for it was said to give attractiveness to those who ate it.

  Solomon had eaten more than his share while engaged in his first assignment. During that mission Solomon had also been rewarded with a stay in the port city of Malaga where he had an opportunity to explore and enjoy "the Old Roman Sea," spending time on a shoreline that robust Empire had once taken sole possession of.

  The Camino Mozarabic offered Granada's Catholic sojourners, a tiny minority of the city's population, a shortcut through mountains leading them to Santiago de Compestela where they hoped to encounter a sacred relic, the remains of St. James the Apostle. Legend has it that St. James preached the gospel in Iberia as well as in the Holy Land. After his martyrdom, at the hands of Herod Agrippa, his disciples carried his body by sea to Iberia, landed at Padron on the coast of Galicia, and took him inland for burial at Santiago de Compestela..

  The trail from Granada angled northwest instead of directing these pilgrims due west to Seville, the more popular rallying point for beginning the six hundred and fifty mile test of faith and endurance. It offered Córdoba's Christians an alternative route as well, lopping miles off the arduous trek to Galicia.

  For Solomon, and his bodyguard, it provided a necessary shortcut, one that increased their hopes of overtaking the Galician woman. He still couldn't convince himself to call her Lia. That could wait until he met her in the flesh.

  Still no sign of pilgrims as they continued on a deserted trail.

  Solomon remained at the back of the tiny caravan, bringing up the rear. This gave him an opportunity to observe his mercenary escort. The Slav wears his hair long, unlike Arabs or eunuchs, he noticed. He wondered if this was encouraged by the military, but he doubted it. Maybe the soldier was intent on expressing his autonomous nature, and his superiors turned a blind eye. Hasdai indicated the man was held in high regard. If he did possess an independent streak the two of them might share something in common.

  Solomon began to sense he was traveling with a kindred spirit.

  Perhaps they would make a good team after all.

  He studied his companion's military attire. The Slav's tunic, tight in the body and sleeves, included a full skirt ending at the knees. Over this, he wore a short red cloak, a style the military borrowed from Christians. Wool leggings were tucked into tall riding boots made from oiled leather, a kind of leatherwork which made Córdoba's artisans famous even before the arrival of the Muslims.

  The mercenary didn't wield a scimitar, but rather a broad, heavy sword of tempered steel whose blade rested in a protective scabbard of purple velvet and upon which the military dispensed with the usual filigreed and jeweled mountings. Its well-balanced gold hilt wasn't enriched with colored enamels or set with gems, nor were the crossbars embellished with inlaid arabesques of precious metals depicting floral designs and intricate geometric figures. These absences signaled its military origin.

  Solomon hadn't yet seen the blade, but he guessed an Arabic text would be inscribed along its surface . He wondered if he'd have an opportunity to view the words, to de
cipher their meaning, and to decide if they presented a key to understanding the man's personality.

  They spent another hour traveling through difficult terrain. Solomon began to wonder if overtaking the Galician woman on the trail was a realistic proposition. He decided to keep his misgivings to himself. No sense voicing his lack of confidence in the mission at that early stage of the search.

  The Slav halted their progress so they might all enjoy a brief respite, and the erstwhile translator was grateful because his hip muscles were getting sore from spending so many hours in the saddle. He had the luxury of traveling at his own pace during his very first mission, but he didn't feel comfortable taking the lead in his present situation.

  The two men dismounted by the side of the trail in an area shaded by pine trees.

  They tethered the horses and mule to the branches of a tree.

  Each one collected a soft leather pouch from his saddlebags, loosened drawstrings to open it, and then extracted the contents in small handfuls, nourishing themselves on dried figs and dates. The Slav's pouch also contained candied pumpkin and ginger slices which he shared in exchange for sugared orange wedges and candied cherries.

  Although Solomon knew the swap was sweet for sour, he declined to think less of the mercenary for taking advantage of the trade. They remained on the ground, eating their provisions and savoring delicacies concocted in a wide variety of textures and colors; some of the flavors were quite tart while others tasted sugary to the investigator's palette.

  Solomon took a closer look at his tall, muscular companion whose round face and high cheekbones looked natural beneath smooth, straight blonde hair. His tan complexion accorded with the outdoor life of a soldier. Exposed to the elements, the once pale skin carried more reddish than brown pigmentation, divulging his escort's Slavic origins.

  Solomon seized an opportunity to open a conversation.