The Galician Woman

by William Mesusan

  "I'm sorry, Solomon," Ahmad apologized. "I panicked. I meant you no harm."

  "Your question is a good one, Ahmad," Solomon responded. "However, I think you can provide the answer to it. I have to admit, it took me a while to make the connection between you and Umar."

  Ahmad's eyes widened. He looked bewildered.

  What are you talking about?"

  Eight pair of eyes bore down upon the investigator.

  They waited for his explanation.

  "I did a little sleuthing, Ahmad, and I discovered you were a frequent visitor to Umar's hilltop estate. Then, it struck me. Your nervousness when I encountered you in the corridor, after we had been given our respective assignments, seemed unusual for somebody who had trained themselves to appear unflappable if the occasion called for it. I sensed then that it wasn't just the journey to Tangier weighing on your mind, but I dismissed this. I was too preoccupied thinking about my own mission."

  Solomon walked over and stood before Ahmad.

  "The lack of rings on your fingers, another of your peculiarities, like wearing your hair long, jolted my memory. I had forgotten what I had observed on that occasion, a little detail easily dismissed because it might be considered trivial. The telltale circle of lighter skin on one of your fingers. This indicated you had worn a ring at one time."

  The sheepish Arab looked down at his finger.

  "It was you who ransacked my apartment searching for your ring."

  "I only did it to protect myself," Ahmad protested. "If I was identified as the owner of the ring it would cast suspicion upon me."

  Solomon took something from his pocket and bent over his suspect.

  "Please hold out your left hand."

  Ahmad glanced back at the Tangerine standing behind him and then quickly turned to comply with the request. The investigator quietly slipped the gold ring on Ahmad's fourth finger. The other suspects, each with a different viewpoint of the proceedings, attempted to glimpse the results of the encounter taking place at the far end of the horizontal row of seats.

  "The ancients believed that a vein ran directly from the fourth finger on the left hand to the heart," Solomon elaborated, indulging in an eccentricity of his own. "Because of this hand-heart connection, they chose the descriptive name vena amoris for this particular vein. Latin for the vein of love."

  Ahmad blushed, an unconscious reaction beyond his control.

  "This is your ring, is it not?"

  "Yes, the ring is mine" Ahmad conceded. "But I didn't kill Umar."

  "However, you and Umar did have a relationship?"

  "Yes," the Arab admitted begrudgingly. "We were close friends. . ."

  "You're not telling us the full truth, Ahmad."

  "All right, we were lovers. . ."

  Solomon allowed the ring to remain on the finger of its rightful owner.

  Meanwhile, Hasdai had walked down to join him, hoping to study Ahmad's emotional reactions now that the secret love affair had been disclosed. The Tangerine lingered behind the suspect, an ever threatening presence.

  "Umar came to me asking for help with his son. Ali was having difficulties with his studies and his father employed me to tutor him. I witnessed Umar's tenderness towards his son and became attracted to him. I found excuses to increase the time I spent tutoring the boy so I could be near Umar. We began seeing each other. Umar and myself. One thing led to another. It just happened."

  Everyone in the room except Roi listened to the confession with rapt attention.

  "You have to understand," Ahmad continued, "Umar slept with men and women. At least he did before we became serious. He gave me this ring as a pledge of his devotion and loyalty to our relationship. He didn't care about his wife or his concubines. Outside of his son, I think I'm the only person Umar ever truly loved."

  "Let me guess," Solomon interrupted. "The Galician woman Lia came into the picture and messed up your plans. Umar was smitten with her beauty. She represented a challenge he couldn't resist and a threat to your future."

  "Stop!" shouted Ahmad.

  "You went to see Umar and you fought over Lia," the investigator insisted, pressing on with his speculation. "At some point you became so infuriated that you removed the ring from your finger and threw it at Umar in a rage of anger."

  "I may have done what you're saying, but I didn't kill Umar," protested the deflated suspect.

  "No, you didn't."

  Solomon left Ahmad and circled behind the line of suspects, buying himself time to collect his thoughts. He walked around the Tangerine, came to the end of the row of chairs, and turned the corner. He decided to pass by the next suspect so he could stop in front of Roi. The powerful Galician farmer sat mute, staring into callused hands clasped together tightly in his lap. Roi took notice of his presence and looked up to engage the investigator eye to eye.

  "Let's skip Nuzha for the time being," Solomon began. "I'd rather concentrate on our least likely suspect. This may seem odd given that Roi is the one person physically capable of overpowering Umar."

  Hasdai soon joined his cousin.

  "Noela, please help us," the Foreign Minister requested. "We need for you to translate Solomon's words into the Galician's native language."

  "As for Roi, I admire his courage," the investigator declared. "He journeyed to Andalusia not knowing a word of Arabic. He came south with the sole purpose of convincing his older sister to return to the family farm. His rather untimely arrival at Umar's apartment coincided with the night in question. These things sometimes happen."

  Solomon paused, allowing Noela time to share his thoughts with Roi.

  "At first, I thought the man dear to Lia was her lover," he continued. "This was a mistake on my part. The man dear to Lia is her younger brother. Roi had followed his sister to Umar's apartment. When someone came running out, he ventured inside where he discovered Umar gasping for breath. By then it was too late."

  "That doesn't explain how they managed to escape to Galicia." Hasdai pointed out.

  "I couldn’t grasp that myself," Solomon confessed.

  "Well?"

  "They tricked us by packing their horses' saddlebags with heavy stones and sending them down a side trail knowing that probably wouldn't follow. My escort believed two heavy men were riding those mounts. Roi and Lia waited for us to pass, and then disguised as pilgrims they followed behind us all the way to Galicia until our paths parted ways."

  Noela shared the story with Roi.

  "What they couldn't imagine," Solomon continued ". . . is that Bishop Sisnand of Santiago had no interest in their well-being. They believed he would protect their whereabouts and keep the location of their farm a secret, but he had his own plans for their farm. He wanted to evict them so he could dole out the property as a reward to his followers. The old Warlord saw an opportunity to further his cause against the Caliphate and to consolidate his hatred of Muslims so he revealed the general location of the farm to me in hopes that we'd find it, along with our missing murder suspect, and bring her back to Andalusia."

  "Is he that vile?" wondered the Foreign Minister.

  "Oh, yes, cousin. They are merely pawns in his dream of Reconquest."

  Solomon waited for his words to be translated before offering additional thoughts regarding the farmer's innocence or guilt.

  "Roi admitted to killing Umar, but a guilty conscience got the better of him. We now understand he was only attempting to take the blame for his sister. What amazes me is that he believed his own sister capable of such an act."

  The Caliph's concubine translated the words into Roi's native tongue. The Galician lowered his eyes from the investigator's gaze. For all his physical strength, his emotional stamina weakened. Muttering something inaudible to himself, he buried his head in his hands. Noela gently stroked the big man's back and then returned to her station nearby.

  "However, I do not believe Roi is our murderer. He may be fierce when it comes to protecting his family," Solomon asserted with conviction. ". . . lit
tle else provokes him. Deep inside I sense a gentle giant."

  The investigator retreated back down the line and stood before Umar's widow.

  "Time we consider Nuzha."

  Solomon saw her dark eyes searching his face, wondering what he intended to say.

  "Muslim laws of inheritance provide a widow only a tiny portion of the total inheritance; but, Nuzha had easy access to the entire fortune through her son. Either way, she's a wealthy woman. She also possesses her marriage dowry which is rumored to be the size of a king's ransom."

  Uncomfortable at having her family finances subjected to public scrutiny, Nuzha pulled the folds of a smooth silk tunic tightly around her bosom before letting out a deep sigh to release her tension.

  "We have to consider that she may have grown impatient with Umar because of his many liaisons although she had probably grown used to the situation. As much as Nuzha may have detested Umar, I believe she loved her son far too much to deprive him of his father, a man who actually treated the boy in a kind and gentle manner. "

  "Thank you," said the widow, knowing she had just been exonerated.

  Solomon positioned himself in front of Hasan, relishing the opportunity to engage Umar's belligerent brother on neutral grounds. This wasn't the dead man's love nest, and it wasn't Hasan's beloved stables. The spacious office of the Foreign Minister deprived Hasan of a certain advantage he had previously held over the investigator.

  "Hasan also possessed strong motives. Under Muslim law his business venture with Umar, those beautiful Andalusian horses he adores, will remain in his hands. He's admitted investors are lining up for a piece of the action so continued funding for the operation is practically assured."

  Beads of sweat formed on the Arab's forehead.

  "No, it was jealousy that stoked his fires, unrequited passion for his brother's wife. Fratricide is as old as Cain and Abel and has continued unabated down through the ages."

  "You have no proof that I killed my brother," Hasan blurted out. "You're bluffing."

  "Am I?" Solomon asked. "All of al-Zahra and Córdoba are aware that you are in love with your brother's wife."

  Hasan spat on the ground directly at Solomon's feet. The Tangerine quickly moved to intercede, but the investigator held a hand up to stop his forward progress.

  "Don't worry. I can handle this," Solomon declared. Tangerine lowered his scimitar. "All the new wealth you might generate with your business will make you an ideal suitor for Umar's widow. Marrying Nuzha would also give you a rather devious entry to her son's untold riches."

  "You can't prove a thing," Hasan sneered.

  "However much I detest you, Hasan, you're correct. I have no proof you killed your brother. As much as you're infatuated with your brother's widow, Nuzha has made it clear to you on many occasions that she doesn't desire your attentions. Why would she?"

  Hasan's face reddened and his beady eyes bulged in their sockets, but he endured the insults without offering a challenge. Solomon approached closer. He bent down on one knee and grasped a piece of the Arab's floor length tunic in his hand to wipe a splat of saliva off his shoe.

  "I suppose you think I should apologize," Hasan grunted.

  Solomon ignored the comment and trained his eyes on Lia.

  Solomon walked over and stood in front of the woman from Galicia. He bent down, placed hands on thighs, and stared directly into her eyes. It was time to confront his worst fears which meant it was time to share his deepest suspicions with the others present inside of the room.

  "There's something you all may be forgetting. Although each of you may have had personal reasons for disliking Umar and his aberrant behavior, nobody hated him enough to commit an act of premeditated murder; and, we discovered that political enemies of the Caliphate didn't perpetuate this crime. As it turns out, this was simply a crime of passion, evil and destructive perhaps, as the drive to aggression usually is, but at least understandable given the circumstances." The investigator resumed standing. "This leads us to one final suspect, a woman I literally traveled to the end of the earth to find and was beaten for my troubles. A woman whom I refused to believe in my heart was capable of murder."

  The woman from the North looked up at Solomon with tears in her eyes. She looked stronger now, at least physically. Perhaps she had been eating since he last saw her.

  "Tell us why, Lia," he coaxed her. "How did it happen?

  His eyes bore into hers.

  Everyone in the room sensed the change in Solomon's demeanor, but even a resolute voice couldn't hide his feelings of keen disappointment. He tried hard not to overreact, to find compassion in his heart.

  "I didn't want to believe it, Lia. I was so hoping you were innocent. Naive and unsuspecting, you actually thought you could tame a man like Umar with your voice. A voice like an angel, but you were dealing with a devil."

  Tears streamed down Lia's cheeks and wet her clothing.

  "Why don't you tell us about it."

  "You're right, Solomon," she began as she spoke to him in Arabic. "I went to Umar's apartment hoping to sing for him and to explain to him my personal circumstances. I had hoped that he would help me. Reward me with enough gold to return to my family and rescue our farm from Bishop Sisnand. I missed my homeland so terribly."

  Solomon shot a quick glance at Noela.

  Raised eyebrows and a slight angling of the head informed him that not all Gallegas experienced the same nostalgia. But, he remembered Galicia and his personal experience of that deep and authentic longing of the soul. Solomon's attention was interrupted when Lia rose from her seat, standing upright where everyone could see her if they turned their heads.

  She began to share the details of her ordeal.

  "Umar laughed at me. He told me he had already heard me sing and this was not what he was interested in. He came at me and tried to take me in his arms, but I pushed him away. All he did was sneer. It was a mean and vicious look he gave me. He came at me once more. This time he tore open the top of my blouse. I slapped him hard in the face."

  Lia's breathing became rapid and shallow. She ceased her narrative, hoping to catch a few breaths of air and regain some composure. Everyone saw how reliving the events of that horrendous night had made her attempt futile. A torrent of words gushed forth.

  "Umar's face turned sullen and angry. This time he hit me hard with a clenched fist and I fell backwards unto the bed. Before I knew what was happening, he had jumped on top of me knocking the air out of my lungs with the weight of his body. I was terrified, afraid for my life. In desperation I yelled out to him. I told him I would comply with his wishes, do anything he wanted. When he heard my words, he relaxed for a moment."

  Lia began acting out the final scene of her nightmare as she thrust an imaginary dagger into the air and then continued with her harrowing story "That's when I pulled my dagger out from my boot and stabbed him in the side. He pushed himself up off me with fire in his eyes and he clenched his fist again. I panicked. I was afraid he was going to kill me so I thrust my knife deep into his heart. I rolled out from under him and pushed him over and got to my feet and looked down at him lying in the center of his bed with blood dripping on his tunic."

  Lia lowered her arm to her side.

  "Is that when you left the apartment?"

  Yes, I ran," cried the Galician woman. "I pulled my cloak up over my head and I ran madly. I didn't know if Umar was alive or dead. I only knew that my days in Andalusia had come to an end."

  Although he didn't understand the words she had spoken, Roi sprang to his feet at the sight of his sister baring her soul in front of a room full of strangers. Noela rushed over to prevent an altercation while the Tangerine held the farmer at bay with his blade.

  The investigator generously completed the scenario for the other suspects.

  "Roi followed you and revealed himself. It was he that came up with an escape plan that would take you both safely back to Galicia."

  "He had no right to hit me and force himself
on me,"Lia insisted "I was acting in self-defense."

  "I think we've heard enough." said the Foreign Minister. "I remind you, nothing you've heard or seen leaves this room."

  Nuzha rose from her chair and went to console the woman who had slain her husband.

  "I believe her," Nuzha admitted, directing her gaze at Solomon and then turning to Hasdai. "This woman speaks the truth. She had no other recourse."

  With tears in her eyes, Lia turned to Umar's widow.

  "I'm so sorry."

  Nuzha wrapped her arms around the Galician woman and drew her close, offering the foreigner much needed solace.

  "You are all free to go. All except for you, Lia," Hasdai announced. "You will be returned to your quarters to await the Caliph's decision."

  "What's going to happen to my sister?" Roi shouted.

  Noela came over to translate the Foreign Minster's response.

  "Now, go," commanded Hasdai.

  The four suspects and the interpreter left as Hasdai gestured to the Tangerine. The guard took Lia gently by the arm and escorted her from the office.

  "Thank you, Yusuf," the Foreign Minister called to the mercenary before turning to his investigator. "Solomon, I would like you to remain behind. I need to speak with you."

  The door shut leaving the two men alone inside the voluminous office.

  Chapter 35

  Solomon spoke before Hasdai had an opportunity to utter a single word. He had already decided that he would make a simple request although he knew his intentions might be misconstrued. It was a chance he would have to take to salvage his sense of justice.

  "I have a favor to ask of you."

  "That favor is?"

  "Leniency," he implored. "Please, cousin, convince the Caliph it would be in his best interests to spare Lia's life, to simply banish her from Andalusia."

  "Is it in his best interests?"