by Carla Kelly
“Read it out loud,” Santiago demanded.
She cleared her throat in a room where silence reigned. She read it silently first and felt the blood drain from her face.
“Out. Loud.” Santiago spoke distinctly, but this time it was not a thoughtful kindness.
“Santiago…” Alfonso cautioned.
The writing wasn’t going to magically change or disappear. “’N…n…not until Hanneke Maria Aardema and Santiago Gonzalez de la Victoria have been married for one year will said husband be at liberty to disburse any of the funds of said described dowry as he chooses.’”
She shivered. How could a room be so cold suddenly?
“Read on,” Santiago said, his expression neutral, his eyes boring into hers.
Unnerved, she continued. “’an…and should my daughter die before that year is up, the dowry will return to me in its entirety, with interest.’”
That was not the end. Too frightened to look at anyone, she stared at the document and noticed a small arrow. She turned over the parchment and read silently.
“There is more?” Alfonso asked.
She nodded, wondering about men and ambition.
“Well?” he coaxed. “It can’t be worse.”
“I suppose it isn’t, sire,” she told Alfonso. “Not for a man, at least.”
“Read it and be done,” Santiago said, resigned.
She took a deep breath and another, wondering how many deep breaths she would have to take in Spain to navigate her life. “’Should Santiago Gonzalez de la Victoria die before the year is out, the dowry will go to the next man who marries her.’”
“That is logical,” the king said, then joked, “Watch your back, cousin. This woman is a prize.”
No, I am a person, she thought. “I’m not quite done, sire,” she managed.
“How could it possibly get worse?” Santiago murmured.
Some demon drove her on, or perhaps a guardian angel. “‘If she survives everyone, the dowry is hers.’” A spark of something she didn’t recognize yet made her slap down the document on the table and step back, her face calm.
Santiago perched on the table in front of the king, which made the others in the room whisper to each other. Some men even laughed. “Cousin, what do I do? How can I raise an army when all I have is a promise? The fisherman might as well have put sand in that strongbox and offal in the crates!”
“It’s only a year,” Hanneke said.
He rose and towered over her. “Only a year! Dios mio! For five hundred miserable years we have been pushing back the Moorish dogs inch by inch to Africa!”
“Santiago, don’t frighten her,” Alfonso said.
He ignored Alfonso. “The Almohades and their miserable caliphate have been weakening. If we could have raised an army this winter, we could have pushed them out! We were so close!”
He shouted those last words in her face. She gazed back with all the serenity she could muster, yielding nothing.
“Not one more word that you will regret, Santiago,” Alfonso ordered. “I speak as your king and not your cousin.”
Santiago softened his voice. “If we do not have an army by next spring, it might be too late. You know that as well as I, sire. El Ghalib will marshal his forces – God, I hate that man – and he will push us back to… to the caves of Cavadonga!”
“He forced me to sign. I didn’t know. I had no choice,” Hanneke said, determined not to show fear. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Antonio nodding to her from his window seat.
“Stop.” Alfonso stepped between Santiago and Hanneke. “Marry her this afternoon, Santiago. Take the dowry to the Jews in Toledo. You can make a deal with them. It remains for Ana to stay alive.” He chuckled. “And you, apparently, or someone else gets the dowry.”
“Or the Dutch woman herself,” someone added.
“The Levis will charge cruel interest,” Santiago shot back to his king and cousin.
“So they will, but you will have your army,” Alfonso countered. “You are not alone in gathering troops. We are all in this together, I would remind you.”
The king rose and stood beside Hanneke, to her relief, because her courage was draining fast. “We have waited here too long, child, and I am busy. Marry this noisy man quickly.” He touched her shoulder. “You may be small, but I would never underestimate you.”
You are busy. Santiago is angry. I am a dowry, she thought, all courage gone, done in, somehow, by Alfonso’s tiny kindness. She stifled her tears and straightened her back. “Please, sire, may I have a bath and a clean gown at least before the wedding?”
The king nodded. “Santiago, arrange that. Santiago?”
Santiago was gone, the door wide open. The king looked around. “We’ll find someone to…”
“I’ll help her.”
Antonio was on his feet and gesturing to her. She walked toward him, humiliated but determined.
“It’s a small moment in God’s eyes, little one,” he whispered to her. He looked closer, and she wondered what he saw. “I believe you are equal to this small thing. I will be your friend.”
Chapter Four
“Santiago is usually better than this,” Antonio said as he walked her down another corridor and stopped. “We have been waiting here in Santander for weeks now, spring has come and gone, and he is anxious to get back to Las Claves.”
Go ahead and say it, she thought. Anxious to get my dowry and raise an army. She knew she should say something, but nothing came to mind. All she wanted to do was open a door and have the room magically turn into Vlissingen, with the raucous noise of seabirds, the chill of the North Sea and the odor of fish.
No such thing happened. Beyond the door was a chamber with white walls, an ebony cross, a travel chest and a bed. The smell of leather, and armor stowed in one corner proclaimed it as Santiago’s room. She hesitated to enter.
Antonio pushed her forward gently. “Look over there,” he said, pointing her toward a wooden tub. “I told you he was better than that.”
She sighed to see steam rising from a bath, with soap and a towel on the floor beside it. She sniffed the air. “Is that lemon?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t have thought you knew lemons,” he said.
She dabbled her hand in the water. Perfect. All it lacked was her sitting in it, which would happen as soon as Antonio left. “One winter, fishermen from the south brought my father a lemon. We passed it from hand to hand and sniffed it.” The memory made her smile. “Papa took a bite out of it, made a face, and threw it in the fireplace.”
“Nothing quite prepares you for that first lemon,” he commented.
“Perhaps not, but I wanted the lemon,” she assured Antonio. “After everyone was asleep, I took it from the ashes, wiped it off, and tucked it under my pillow.”
“I know where there are vast groves of lemons and oranges,” Antonio said.
“Around here?” she asked, interested.
“No, alas. In the land of the Almohades, to the south of Las Claves,” he said, “land that El Ghalib controls.” She heard the wistfulness in his voice. “With an army, we can push them back beyond the groves and south into the sea.”
“It always comes back to the army,” she said.
“It must, until we regain our country,” he told her. “But here is a bath, and time is passing.”
He turned to leave her at the same time a thin woman with deeply etched frown lines burst through the open door and pointed at her. Hanneke instinctively stepped closer to Antonio.
“Here she is! Santiago, here she is.”
She wanted him to be some other Santiago, but no, it was the same man who had stormed out of the king’s presence. He nodded to Antonio and spoke over Hanneke’s head. “The wedding is in one hour. This is Juana. She will help you.” He backed out of the room with Antonio and closed th
e door.
Who was this woman? Should she curtsy? Hanneke looked her over and decided no, but what now?
Juana clapped her hands impatiently. “One hour! Get in that tub. Must I wash you?”
“No. Leave me alone,” Hanneke said, not caring how she sounded. Leave me alone to figure out how I can escape a high-walled monastery and vanish into a crowd of Spaniards. And while I am at it, teach me to fly.
“Hurry,” Juana said, as she shut the door.
Hanneke hurried from her dirty dress and filthier shift and sank into the water. She washed her hair three times, breathing in the tang of lemons, then scrubbed until she was clean.
She considered the feeling as a wise lesson, hopefully the first of many. The pleasure of cleanliness was a simple one, a small thing she had never considered before the voyage to Spain. Although certain her future husband was unaware, she decided Santiago Gonzalez had given her a wedding gift of low expectations, one that would suit her well, all things considered.
Mindful of time passing, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her, wondering what to wear. She was reaching for her old dress when the door opened without a knock and Juana returned, Santiago behind her, dressed in a dark blue tunic with a scarlet surcoat, the color of royalty. No one else could afford those dyes. However unwilling, he looked like a man ready for a wedding.
She felt her face grow hot, not wishing anyone’s scrutiny as she stood there wrapped in a towel, her hair in tangles. All she could do was plunge ahead.
“I have clothes somewhere. Everything is in crates. I don’t know what to do.” She spoke quietly, her eyes lowered.
“Juana, you could have told her to look in the chest,” he said.
From lowered eyes, Hanneke watched them glare at each other, and wondered if Juana was angry at everyone, or only a select few. Hanneke already knew the woman had no patience.
Hanneke said nothing until Juana picked up her discarded clothing and shook it, her face a mask of revulsion. Hanneke swallowed down tears of shame when Juana held out her stained shift, and demanded, “Tell me it is not your time of the month.”
Hanneke sobbed out loud and reached for the garment Juana held just out of reach. “Please,” she begged, ashamed, as she stood in front of Santiago, her head down. “There was no place to wash or bathe.”
“Disgraceful,” Juana muttered.
“That’s enough!” Santiago exclaimed. He grabbed the shift from Juana, who stepped back, alarm replacing scorn. “How dare you treat this woman so shamefully? Get out.”
She heard the door slam, and turned away, ready to sink into the tiles underfoot. So far this was the single worst day of her life, and she wasn’t even married yet. “Forgive me.”
“It’s not your fault,” he told her. “We can burn these.” He opened the chest. “It is our custom for the groom to provide the clothes. Take a look.”
She did as he said because she had no choice. Besides, she was getting cold, wearing a towel, with her hair heavy and wet on her back.
He looked from her to the chest and back again. For the first time since his angry outburst, she felt something from him besides ill will. He almost looked amused.
“We have a problem. My brother Manolo assured me that all women of the Netherlands are tall and fat, and you are neither. Find something that fits, if you can.” He looked toward the door. “Do you need Juana?”
“No, no,” she said hastily. “I will manage.”
He managed a self-deprecating sort of grin. “Wise of you.”
“Who is she?” she asked, brave enough to ask him because of his smile.
She watched a range of emotions cross his expressive face. “She is the devil.”
Wearing a green linen dress that only stayed on her body because of a leather belt, her thick hair braided but still damp, Hanneke was married an hour later by the bishop of Santander. Her shoes fit because they were her own, scuffed, but covered by the too-long dress, with its graceful sleeves she had to tug back during the ceremony. At least she had found a silk scarf to match the deep green of the dress, and a circlet to hold it in place on her head.
There were few people attending the ceremony, but there was the kitchen boy, looking none the worse for wear after two dousings at the dock. Enrique was conspicuously absent, probably still sulking over his ruined finery.
Bless that kitchen boy. As she had hurried toward the chapel in Father Bendicio’s wake, he ran up to her, holding out a piece of cheese. “I found this,” he said, which made her laugh, even as she reached for it, famished. “No, I did find it.” He pulled out a hunk of bread from his doublet. “Hiding behind this piece of bread.”
She ate it quickly, brushing off crumbs, ignoring Father Bendicio’s frown. “I’m hungry,” she told him. “It has been hours.”
He hurried ahead. “We’re going to be late,” he warned her.
Did it matter? This day had been one blunder after another. “Go ahead and tell him I’m dawdling,” she said, out of patience with the man. “This boy will be my escort. By the way, what is your name?”
“Pablo,” he said.
“Pablo what?”
“Just Pablo. I am to escort you? I’m not very clean,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter. This is just a business transaction,” Hanneke explained, thinking of her father haggling for fish, declaring what he would pay, slapping his forehead, cursing, stalking away, then allowing himself to be cajoled back to the bargaining table. She almost smiled to think what would happen if she carried on like that before the bishop of Santander.
“I thought it was a wedding,” Pablo said.
“It is.”
The sun had nearly left the sky by the time the bishop finished his business of yoking her forever to a man she did not know. When the rings were exchanged and she had pledged fealty, obedience and devotion, the bishop declared them married.
Santiago helped her to her feet and held her hand. The bishop placed his ringed hand over theirs and looked at Santiago. He leaned close and spoke softly to him. “Santiago Gonzalez de la Victoria, I give you a wife, not a servant. Treat her well.”
They knelt next to King Alfonso, pledging more fealty and obedience, then followed him to the monastery’s refectory. With a shrug, the king apologized for the spartan dining hall. “My hall in Valladolid is much grander, as you know, Santiago, but here we are in Santander and I am at the mercy of cousins.” He clapped his hands. “The food is good, and so is the music, my dears.”
The food could have been gall and wormwood, but the king was right about the music. “He is playing an oud, one of our pleasant gifts from the Moors,” Alfonso told her, when Santiago had nothing to say. “His daughter keeps time with palillos, another gift from you-know-who.” He chuckled and looked at the musician’s daughter, who shuffled her feet in time to the rhythm. “She would like to dance for you, but I reminded them both that this is still a monastery.”
Hanneke ate, grateful for a full meal. Santiago and Antonio sat by her briefly, but they were soon gathered in a corner talking earnestly to men about their age.
King Alfonso leaned closer. “What can I do with a cousin who recruits fighters during his wedding banquet?”
The king also looked eager to be away. He finally rose and gestured to his cousin and the men in the corner. “Come, come, gentlemen. Santiago, let me grant this lovely wife of yours a gift.”
Give me the gift of wings, and I will fly away, she thought.
“What would you have from me, my dear?”
“Sire, I don’t understand,” she told him, uncomfortable with the attention focused on her.
“Since you are now my relative, I will grant a wish, if it is within my power. What would you like?”
A dress that fits, she thought. “I don’t need anything, sire.”
“There must be some
thing,” Alfonso insisted. “Santiago, did you find the perfect wife, one who expects nothing?”
He did, she thought, at the same time she heard a loud crash near the door. Hands flew to swords, but it was only Pablo standing among goblets and plates he had dropped. Hanneke left the table and helped him put the dishes back on the tray.
She looked into the boy’s kind eyes, a boy as powerless as she was, and knew what to ask. “Sire, I would have Pablo come with me to Las Claves.”
When Alfonso laughed, everyone joined in. She wanted to sink through the tiles. Could the day get any worse? She glanced at Santiago; it would get worse. “Yes, sire, Pablo. I want a friend.”
“Most brides as for jewels.” He conferred with the abbot seated beside him, who nodded. “Very well, Ana. The abbot says he will free Pablo from his service. Go with Señora Gonzalez, lad.”
The boy in the too-large apron came to her side. “Señora, I will be by your side from now until I die.”
She kissed his head. “I doubt it will come to that. Pack your things and I will see you tomorrow morning.”
“My things?”
“Your possessions, Pablo.”
“I have none.” He grinned and fled back to the kitchen, stopping in the door to bow awkwardly.
Alfonso clapped his hands together. “My charge was easily dispatched. Good night to you all. Santiago, do your duty.”
Her new husband bowed and took her by the arm. They left the refectory to the applause and laughter of the guests.
Now it had come to this. She walked silently beside him to their room. She felt powerless, helpless, and frightened, far from resourceful and brave.
Santiago closed the door and unbelted his sword with a sigh. “I am always happy to take that off.” He looked at her for a long moment.
What could she do? Nothing. Who would come to her aid? No one. In silence, she took off the braided belt, which meant her too-large dress slid down to her ankles. Her camisa large enough for three women slid down next.
She stepped out of them and stood naked. She yearned to shield herself, but what good would that do? She put her hands to her sides and waited.