"Did you know Arabs refer to a certain kind of white colored bean as Saqalibiya which translates as Slavic."
"I've heard that," responded the mercenary. "No idea why."
"They say the bean reminds them of the color of a Slav's hair."
"Like mine," came the reply. "Makes perfect sense."
The soldier wasn't offended. They we're off to a fine start. His vocabulary sounded rudimentary, but his diction was excellent. Solomon munched on a ginger slice while pondering the direction in which he wanted to steer the conversation. He opted for simple comradery.
"How are you known?"
"My name is Jalal."
"I'm called Solomon Levy."
Solomon judged Jalal's age as late twenties or possibly early thirties. He reflected on what else he and the Slav might share in common. Slavs were thought to be courageous and violent. Solomon didn't think he possessed those traits himself. Maybe there was something impersonal. A moment of concentration and then it came to him. The Caliph's personal guards, the silent ones, were despised by other segments of Andalusi society because most were illiterate and made no attempt to learn Arabic. Even though Jalal didn't fit the mold, as a Slav he would have been stereotyped.
Solomon was acutely aware of his own people's history and how Jews had often been denigrated by others. Perhaps there did exist a mutual bond between the two of them. Meanwhile, Jalal was doing some sizing up of his own.
He'd been briefed by General Naja.
Solomon was a city man, a translator whose life was full of books and poetry. However, he didn't appear to be a weak man, either mentally or physically. He presented a stark contrast to the mercenary with his olive-toned skin and everything dark: thick black eyebrows, curly brown hair, and pupils the color of roasted peas. He didn't appear apprehensive and actually looked quite comfortable out in the woods close to the natural world.
Jalal could've done worse than this assignment. If the mission proved successful a bright future might be on the horizon. Thousands of Slavs had been brought into Andalusia from eastern Europe. Despite their unfree legal status, many attained wealth and became influential members of the ruling class, some gaining the status of freemen. And, freedom, above all else, was the mercenary's primary goal.
"Where are you from, Jalal?"
"I have no memory of it."
"What about your family?"
"I suppose they're all dead."
"You're a Slav, but you wear your hair long. You don't appear to be . . .I mean, you're probably not. . ."
"Castrated? No. I was brought to Andalusia as a boy and put to work in the army barracks right away. I've always been around soldiers. It's the only life I know."
"They groomed you for the military?"
"I've been circumcised, and I have a girlfriend." Jalal added, ignoring a question whose answer he deemed self-evident. "Anything else you want to know?"
An awkward beginning and Solomon held himself responsible.
He was one of a small number of professionals who translated Arabic into Latin while working alone; the usual modus operandi was two scholars working in tandem. The basic procedure had one scholar translating aloud from the Arabic text into the vernacular and for the second to translate this into a Latin draft.
Solomon completed this process by himself and also encountered opportunities to translate texts from Latin into Hebrew. His desire to work alone deprived him of a social contact during the process and he suspected this might be one reason he sometimes felt uncomfortable at social gatherings. Another explanation might be a certain receptiveness to his poetic soul which generated a passion for exploring unique ways of experiencing and expressing his impressions of the world.
He stole a glance at the mercenary.
Solomon felt himself trespassing, entering an emotional no man's land. Perhaps he'd been prying too deeply into his escort's personal life. He certainly didn't appreciate it when the process was reversed. He decided to end the conversation before any antagonism developed between them.
"We should be going."
Chapter 16
They took a short detour, a side path leading them into a forest clearing. Jalal had been there once before on maneuvers and decided it would be a good place for them to make camp for the night. A circle of small boulders, with dry ashes scattered about inside its center, formed a fire pit they could utilize for their own needs. The mercenary dismounted and began to look around. Solomon climbed down out of his saddle and joined him.
"There have been deer through here," Jalal said as he sank to one knee. "See these droppings? I see undigested seeds in the pellets. Probably red deer. We saw small herds of them when we were here on our drills."
Solomon took a look at the scat before smiling at his escort. It gave him a comfortable feeling knowing his escort possessed an intimate knowledge of the local terrain and helped dispel any fears he might have harbored about spending so many nights sleeping under the stars.
They unloaded the pack mule and took the saddles down from their horses. As the Slav pitched a small one-man tent, ten yards out from the trees, the investigator carried his portable lodging closer to the canopy. Neither of them paid much attention to the other.
Solomon wondered if his escort relished this assignment as his mind entered a mental territory Jalal had visited earlier, A successful mission meant a possible promotion and the opportunity to move up through the ranks, maybe even freedom from slavery though he couldn't imagine Jalal had been treated badly by the army. The Muslims maintained a strict code regarding the treatment of slaves, and they fared well when their master's adhered to it. Jalal's master, the entire Caliphal army hierarchy, had probably been generous so it would be natural for him to cherish dreams and personal ambitions.
One day, Jalal might even be commissioned a general and command his own men. This wasn't too far-fetched an idea. Berbers, Christians, and other non-Arabs had often been selected to lead the Caliph's powerful armies into battle. Loyalty to the Caliphate garnered substantial rewards; and, the army taught its men this virtue from the onset.
Solomon was pitching his tent under the canopy when he heard Jalal shouting at him.
"What?" he yelled. He looked over at Jalal and gave his escort a questioning look.
"Stay away from the trees. There are ticks in these woods," explained the mercenary. "If one latches onto you, turn its body counter-clockwise to disengage the sucker."
A quick burst of laughter as Solomon played with the image in his mind.
"Is the pun intended?"
"Of course," the Slav replied, joining in the laughter. "Everyone knows ticks feast on blood."
Hence, they're suckers, thought Solomon concurring with the assessment. Jalal possesses a very clever mind. To look at him, one might think he was a muscle bound cretin. Don't judge the contents of a book by its binding was advice Solomon had been taught since childhood.
The soldier helped the investigator pitch his tent out in the clearing before each of them began to engage in separate duties. Jalal gathered wood for a fire while Solomon pitched stakes to tether the animals more securely for the long night ahead
"We need to keep them close to us," Jalal instructed. "Our lives depend upon them."
Jalal had mastered the placement of twigs and small logs, the architecture of building a useful fire. The Slav worked with a quickness and dexterity Solomon had seldom witnessed. The investigator took a fresh opportunity to observe his movements more closely after the mercenary returned with some things he'd retrieved from his saddlebags.
His escort removed a handful of dried fungus from a pouch and tucked it gently into the dried grasses and tiny pieces of kindling gathered at the base of his construction. He took a flake of flint in the fingers of one hand and a piece of mild steel--iron with charcoal added when it had been heated in a forge--in the other. He struck the flint against steel and directed the sparks to the tinder to create a yellow and blue flame inside the fire pit.
F
ascinating, but there was more work to do.
Solomon left to go unpack food provisions. By the time he returned dry wood had ignited inside the circle of stones and flames licked the logs like a dog's tongue working a bone. This gave rise to smoke.
"There are bears and wolves out here."
"Bears and wolves," Solomon repeated.
"Don't worry," Jalal said reassuringly as he placed a small log on the fire. "The flames should keep them away."
"Glad to hear it," replied Solomon with a smile on his face. He wasn't terrified of the prospect, but he did maintain a healthy and cautious respect for wild animals.
"Others have been here before us."
"Others? You mean the droppings you showed me earlier?"
"I showed you some droppings, but I've also seen tracks and other signs. Rabbits and squirrels. . . and hawk feathers. The raptors swoop down into this clearing to snatch an occasional meal. Especially this time of year when they're feeding newborns and fledglings."
Once again, Solomon felt fortunate to have such a skilled companion accompanying him. He also realized how unprepared he'd been for the journey north. He would've laughed at his apparent naivety if he hadn't felt so pitiful. He couldn't believe he'd considered making this trip by himself. He suspected Jalal could survive alone in this wilderness by living off the bounty of nature. Solomon knew he would've been easy prey for some hungry bear or a pack of wolves.
They broke open more provisions and devoured their meal. A liter of wine helped them to relax. After dinner, they cleaned up and made ready to settle in for the night.
"This will keep us quite warm," Solomon said as he stepped in closer to enjoy the heat of the fire.
"More importantly, it will keep wild animals away."
He repeats himself, thought the investigator.
"You said you’ve been here before."
"Last autumn," Jalal said. "We were on maneuvers near Magacela."
Solomon added another layer of clothing, his favorite leather vest, as the sun set and the darkening night brought a distinct chill to the air. He sat down to rest in front of the crackling fire. Sometime later he allowed his gaze wander up to the night sky, a black backdrop for bright planets and millions of milky white stars. The night sky, an eternal presence. An immense and captivating mystery. Something one could count on like the rotation of the planets and the changing of the seasons.
Jalal pointed out the North Star and explained its significance in navigating long distances through the wilderness. He remarked on how lucky they were to be traveling to a destination in that very same direction.
"You're a free man," Jalal stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "What's it like to be free?"
Solomon had never given much thought to this question because being born free he imagined he would always remain this way. He took a moment to reflect upon the question and then he offered his thoughts to a man who didn't share his social status and didn't take his freedom for granted: "I suppose it feels good. I mean it does feel good. . .you can do what you want, when you want, and you can go wherever you want. Sometimes you understand it's best if you sacrifice your personal ambitions for the general welfare of your people and the continued success of the Empire. In that case, you know you've given up a bit of your freedom. That's about all I know about the nature of freedom."
Solomon decided not to elaborate any further and the conversation soon turned to the assignment at hand.
"Had this been an assassination attempt the Asturians might be helping our suspect escape to Galicia," Jalal ventured. "Maybe they're assuring our safe passage as a ruse."
"Good point." Solomon acknowledged.
"Then again, maybe she fled by sea."
"No easy answers."
"Cádiz is the most logical port, but the navy would've been alerted by carrier pigeon. I don't think they had time to make their escape by boat."
"All idle speculation. . ."
The Slav soon realized Solomon had little interest in pursuing a conversation he couldn't close without resolution so he stopped sharing his ruminations and opted for silence.
"Better get some sleep." Solomon suggested, but when he looked over he found his companion already slumbering. That's when he realized a languor created by the day's ride, along with wine and the warmth of the fire and the light of a full moon, had conspired to keep them from crawling inside their tents.
Solomon stretched out on his bedroll and gazed up again at the immensity of endless space. His thoughts soon carried him elsewhere and he began to wonder if maybe he should've taken Layla up on her generous offer.
"I can ease your burden," he remembered her saying.
Layla spoke the truth. Given another chance he might not make the same choice. You're stupid and crazy, Solomon told himself as he sought the solace of sleep.
Sometime, during the middle of the night, Solomon was awakened by the cries of wolves howling somewhere in the distance. As much as the investigator loved nature, and romanticized it in his poetry, this intrusion of wild nature was disconcerting. He experienced a tremor of fear as his mind conjured up a disturbing vision of him and Jalal fighting off an attack by a pack of vicious wolves.
The wolves quieted down and so did Solomon's overactive imagination.
He looked over to discover his mercenary escort hadn't budged an inch. He was amazed anybody could sleep through the yowling. Solomon soon fell back asleep himself, grateful for the soldier sleeping peacefully nearby.
Long past mid-morning, closer to noon, they arrived at a fork in the road. A narrow side path, perhaps an animal trace, caught Jalal's attention. He reined his horse and slid down from his saddle in a single fluid motion. Kneeling down, he studied two sets of tracks veering off towards the south.
"What's wrong?" asked Solomon.
"I've been following two sets of tracks and they've now turned off the main road."
"You didn't think to tell me?"
"I wanted to be sure it was important before worrying you."
"I should be worried?"
A curious Solomon guided his horse closer to have a better look. Was this evidence of the Galician woman and her lover? Why would they head south? It didn't make sense. Unless they wanted to lead their pursuers off the track.
"What do you think?"
"It wasn't them. These horses were carrying two men, heavy men."
Solomon took a second, longer look at tracks gouged deep into the soft dirt of the trail. They were so obvious. How had he missed this telling bit of evidence? He'd need to hone his observation skills in a hurry. He found his initial displeasure at having Jalal assigned to the mission evaporating.
Once again he'd underestimated his unpretentious escort.
Solomon understood now why his cousin insisted on a military bodyguard with impeccable credentials. Not only because they faced unaccustomed physical dangers, but also to provide a down to earth counterbalance. It wasn't that Solomon was incapable of spotting the tracks. He simply hadn't been looking for signs of the escaping couple. His mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of traveling through the Galician mountains, entering Santiago de Compostela, and his audience with the Catholic Bishop.
He felt a keen sense of disappointment in himself.
He'd have to be more sensible and stop anticipating the future, be more present oriented and allow events to come his way more naturally so he could respond from his instinctual core. Only a deeper, more soulful approach would enable him to meet impending challenges head-on.
Jalal remounted.
The mercenary resumed the lead and they rode on through the forest.
They never thought to look back.
An afternoon wind swirled dust on a side path of the Camino Mozarabic as a young woman emptied rocks from a pair of leather saddlebags. Long red hair cascaded down her shoulders as she swiveled her head to have a look at her companion. She smiled inwardly, knowing the man to be both brave and clever. This gave her hope that their escape and the long jour
ney back to her homeland might prove successful.
The man stood hurling stones down a hillside, flinging them far from sight.
He's tall and powerful, she thought. Yet, there's a gentleness about him that adds to his attractiveness. Under her breath, the woman uttered a prayer of thanks to express gratitude to her God for bringing this man to rescue her in that dark moment, a time when all hope seemed lost.
This man orchestrated their escape from al-Zahra and Córdoba.
She suspected he was trying to reassure when he first told her of his plan. Thus far, his ruse had proven successful. They waited and watched and saw their pursuers continue along the pilgrim path without venturing down the side trail. Only then had the woman dared to breathe a sigh of relief.
She wanted to go to the man, to hug him and tell him how much he meant to her, but she understood this was neither the time nor the place for such affection. She needed to conserve her energy and steel her nerves. They still faced many dangers on this arduous journey.
The man turned to smile at her and thought he saw a tear forming in the corner of her eye.
"It's going to be all right," he called to her.
She nodded her head, but somewhere deep inside of this melancholy woman's mind fresh doubts surfaced.
Now what? Lia wondered.
Chapter 17
Solomon and Jalal emerged from the forest into a vastly different landscape of olive orchards, pastures, and agricultural lands that fed a burgeoning, rapidly multiplying polygamous population. Science and medicine and the arts as well as commerce also flourished under the Umayyad rulers while the rest of Europe passively endured a physical and spiritual malaise. This Arab fecundity wrapped itself around Solomon and his fellow citizens of Andalusia like a soft, warm blanket. Now an overriding self-assurance had been challenged, and the murder of the Caliph's nephew felt more like a ripping off of comfortable bedcovers in the middle of a cold, freezing night.
As the two not so self-confident Andalusi citizens continued with their mission. Solomon and Jalal found the ride getting easier. They passed through olive plantations, crossed several shallow creeks, and rode past an occasional watchtower, landmarks commanding a wide view of the countryside. They stopped, chatted up the lookouts, and always came up empty-handed. No sign of the Galician woman or her companion. Was she mocking them, laughing at their inability to find any trace of her whereabouts?
The Galician Woman Page 12