by Carla Kelly
Santiago helped her stand, steadying her until she nodded that she could manage. She saw Engracia, her face white and terrified, already on horseback, and Juana, with the servant Jawhara behind her again. Pablo was stowing away the shovels in the dowry wagon.
“We buried them by the threshing floor,” Santiago told her as he washed his face and hands. He pulled on his surcoat again, the one he had removed to cover the mother and child. She turned away, unable to look at the rusty stains.
He put his hands on her shoulders and spoke to her alone. “We are too far away to return to Valladolid. We are going to ride all night and tomorrow through those mountains. We’re going to skirt the towns and stay high. Can you do it?”
She knew there was only one answer, so she nodded.
“One of my soldiers is from that village…”
“…poor, poor man,” she whispered.
“I know.” He pointed toward the rising hills. “He tells me of a shepherd’s path through those hills.”
She stared where he pointed. “Hills? Those are mountains.”
He smiled for the first time all day. “Maybe to you Low Country people who live below the level of the sea. Hills now. They’ll turn into mountains soon enough.”
“If you say so.”
“Skeptic,” he said mildly. Then his expression changed, becoming the thin-lipped, intense-eyed man who married her. “If we can shake El Ghalib, we won’t be that far from Toledo. I can get more soldiers there for the rest of our journey, and we’ll travel faster without the dowry.”
She said nothing. Did he expect her to argue?
“Ana?”
“It’s a wonderful plan. Words fail me,” she said, then regretted her flippancy.
She looked at him, afraid, then remarkably not afraid. Could there be anything worse than the threshing floor? “Certainly I will follow.”
To her relief, he pulled her close. She had never put her arms around him, but she did now, holding him closer.
Chapter Ten
As much as she knew that the threshing floor would remain lodged permanently in her mind and heart, Hanneke felt a reluctance to leave the place. They were heading toward what her husband called hills but still crossing the broad plain, with not even a bush large enough to piss behind, and for certain no protection from raiders who thought to return.
Or who might even be watching them now. One could think that, looking at Jawhara, who continued to stare toward the south, as though waiting for the Almohades to return and smite them, too.
Antonio ordered the servant back onto Juana’s mule, which suited neither woman. “God spare me from disagreeable females,” he muttered as he passed Hanneke. “Not present company,” he said. “You are wiser than they.”
“I don’t feel wiser, and certainly not braver,” Hanneke admitted.
“You hide it well, dama.”
But Jawhara, dios mio. Her face set in a scowl, she leaped off Juana’s mule. Pablo dismounted and grabbed her as she fought him.
Hanneke heard the thunder of a horse behind her. Santiago rode down on the pair of them, lifting Pablo off his feet, then turning his big gray to knock down Jawhara, who drew herself into a ball.
He set Pablo down carefully enough. “Is there not enough worry without a childish fight?” he asked.
Pablo never took his eyes off Santiago. “Señor, it is Jawhara. She wants to leave us.”
“And you thought to keep her here?” Samtiago asked, his voice calmer. He glared at the servant, who shrank away this time and ran toward Engracia. He pointed at Jawhara. “Engracia, if there is one more sound out of her, I will kill her. I told you I did not want Almohad trash along.”
Engracia began to wail, adding her tears to Jawhara’s. With an oath that even made the teamsters gape, Juana leaped off her mule and slapped Jawhara, then bent her arm back until she cried out. Fierce in her wrath, Juana gestured to Pablo to mount his mule. When he was in the saddle, she forced Jawhara up behind him.
“Engracia, control your servant,” Santiago ordered. “No more of this.”
His sister-in-law glared at him out of mutinous eyes. “I will tell Manolo what you have done. Don’t think that I won’t.”
“I know you will,” he replied, sounding so weary. “I don’t care.”
He turned toward Hanneke. “Try to keep them in line. I cannot deal with Engracia. I do not dare.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” she whispered for his ears only.
“Talk to my worthless priest,” was all he said, as he spurred his horse to the front of the procession, shouting at everyone to pull in close and be prepared to ride.
They led out in their usual order, moving fast, everyone intent on the hills ahead, the soldiers with their heads on a continuous swivel. Hanneke thought they might slow down when they reached the foothills, but no one slowed down.
They stopped briefly when Engracia started to sway in the saddle, but only long enough for Antonio to carry her to Carlos, he of the scarred face and few teeth. In mere moments, they were moving again.
Hanneke found herself riding beside Father Bendicio, who looked vaguely comical, with his black robes hiked up and his legs so pale and spindly. She remembered Santiago’s words.
“How long have you known him?” she asked. She wondered why she had not asked him more during their lengthy time together before Spain. She reminded herself that she had asked; Bendicio had only given her vague answers.
“Known him? All my life. He and I are the same age, at least I think I am twenty-four,” he told her.
“You do not know?”
“I was hidden in an oven and found by Santiago’s father,” he said, and gestured over his shoulder. “It was a village much like that one. My parents were killed by Almohades. I was raised at Las Claves.”
Since he seemed willing to talk, she rode closer. “Tell me about my husband. How long has he been a warrior?”
He changed his mind and said nothing. When the silence grew, she dug her heels into her mule’s side and rode ahead, angry at his silence, into a dusk filled with heat possessing fangs and claws.
She looked around, surprised to see Santiago riding so close to her.
“You’re supposed to ride back there,” he said. “Women never listen to me.”
It seemed so funny that she wanted to laugh. He handed her his leather water pouch, his bota. She took a deep drink, but not too deep.
“Can you keep going?”
She handed back the bota. “I have a choice?”
He shook his head. “No choice.”
“Then why ask?”
“Las Claves will fit you like a glove,” he said finally. “Las Claves offers no choice, either.”
The first horse dropped as they reached the mountains. “It begins,” Santiago said, as they halted. “Fernan, get your gear off that worm meat. Diego, give Fernan your horse, and you take Ana’s mule, because you’re the lightest man I have. Help her down. Ana, ride with Bendicio. You hardly weigh anything.”
She did as he said. With efficiency borne of years of practice, two soldiers on horseback roped the dead animal and dragged it off the trail. Antonio dismounted long enough to help her in front of the priest. He patted her leg, then looked around as if to make sure Santiago hadn’t seen such a liberty.
“My apology. I am tired,” he said simply. “Ride on.”
Wasting no time, they filed past the dead horse. Hanneke hesitated to lean back against the priest until he touched her shoulder and pulled her back. Riding astride was easier, with her dress around her knees.
“Forgive me for my reluctance to speak earlier,” Bendicio said. “Does anyone care to remember a time when they were less than adequate?”
“Father, you would be describing me at any moment since we tied up at the dock in Santander.”
> “Hardly,” he murmured, which pleased her. “You have a surprising facility with Castilian.”
“I like languages and I was unfair to you,” she said honestly. “Father, do not evade my question.”
“Santiago killed his first Moor in battle when he was barely thirteen. I was his squire, his escudero.”
“So young,” she said, sad for the man.
“We were surprised and outnumbered and rode into battle with Santiago’s father, I behind them on my mule.”
“Were you afraid?”
“Terrified. I sobbed until Señor Gonzalez threatened to kill me.”
After her afternoon at the threshing floor, Hanneke could nearly see the conflict in her mind: a sudden attack from nowhere, blinding smoke, shouts, horses milling about.
“How did…”
“…he kill the Moor? He jabbed him with a lance. It broke and then they were unhorsed. Santiago could barely lift that heavy sword, but he didn’t quit slashing away until the Moor stopped moving.”
“God behoede ons,” she exclaimed in Dutch. She must have spoken too loud, because she got a reprimand from Antonio behind her. “Silencio!”
Bendicio sighed. “I thought he would never finish that bloody business, hacking and weeping.” The priest cleared his throat and his tone changed. “Mind you, I saw this from a distance as I ran away. I was a poor excuse for an escudero. This was when I discovered all my desires were centered on a priestly vocation.”
“Then?”
“Soon I was on my way to a monastery in Salamanca, and Santiago was condemned to the courtyard for sword practice until his hands were bloody blisters. By the time I returned, the blisters were callouses and he never cried again.”
“Poor, poor child.”
“That is not all. I suppose I must share what came before.”
Hanneke waited for him to continue, but he was silent again. “You can’t stop there,” she said.
“I will tell you the rest later, when the moon is high, and we are trying to stay awake.”
The moon did not rise until after midnight, and still they climbed higher, picking their way along a path overgrown with weeds and skinny bushes. Groggy with sleep, Hanneke clung to the saddle’s pommel as Bendicio’s mule picked its way carefully among the stones. She held her breath every time it seemed to stumble, imagining herself plummeting to her death.
Another horse dropped, struggling and trying to rise with no success, almost as if it knew its fate. On Santiago’s quiet orders, the animal was dragged to the edge and pushed off. Hanneke covered her ears as it shrieked as it fell.
She blinked back her tears. “Father, couldn’t they have killed it first?”
“No, my child,” he replied, speaking slowly, as if sifting the words through his tired brain. “That would leave blood on the stones for others to follow.”
Santiago rode beside them then, touching Hanneke’s leg and giving her a shake. “Stay awake. Soon the path will divide. If El Ghalib does not know we have come this far, we may get your dowry to Toledo after all.”
By all means, get the dowry to safety.
When Santiago resumed his place in the line of march, Bendicio looked back. “Have you seen Juana or Pablo?”
Hanneke shook her head, remembering that in some faraway place Santiago had told her to watch out for Engracia. Without thinking, she slid to the ground. “I will catch up,” she told Bendicio. His head tipped forward and he slept. The mule moved on anyway.
Unsure, she started back down the trail, saying nothing. She nodded to Carlos when she passed him holding Engracia. He reached out to stop her, but she hurried on, worried now, wondering if Juana and Pablo were in trouble. She heard Carlos leave the line, and sighed. Trust the evil-looking man to tattle to Santiago.
She made herself small just off the path and watched the muleteers move past with her dowry. She edged onto a small boulder that was still warm from the day’s scorching. More soldiers followed the baggage, some as silent as Bendicio, other chatting softly with each other. Maybe they didn’t even see her.
She watched in silence, then drifted into her own dream, as the corpses from the threshing floor rose before her, women and babies. One by one, they fell to the ground then disappeared. Hanneke sobbed out loud and continued down the trail.
She found them around a bend in the trail. Pablo gave her a relieved smile, as if she could do something for him. Juana scowled at her and grabbed her arm. “See if you can hurry that useless puta,” she hissed. “Jawhara says she is tired, or that her feet hurt, or that nature calls.”
“You speak Arabic?” Hanneke asked.
“We all do,” Juana said, looking at her as if she were not too bright. “How is Engracia?”
“She is asleep in the arms of Carlos,” Hanneke said. “I wouldn’t worry.”
“You might not worry. Suppose my lady wakes up, takes fright, and her baby ends up looking like that scarred man!”
“Juana, that is perfect nonsense.”
More scowls, more oaths. Juana beat her tired mule and forced it to stumble ahead over the rocks. “You get Jawhara then! I wash my hands of this.”
More worried than ever, Hanneke turned to Pablo. He pointed down the trail. “There she is. I do not know what she is doing by holding back.”
Hanneke stared where he pointed, and there she was, moving slowly among the rocks, always looking back. “Come, Pablo. There are two of us. We can do this.”
They took Jawhara by the arms and dragged her up the path. She resisted, then must have seen the futility of it all. Cowed and silent, she walked between them, her head down. Pablo swung into the saddle and Hanneke helped her up, even though the servant struck her.
Santiago and Juana waited for them, silent. He grabbed Jawhara’s hair, speaking low in Arabic, shaking her for emphasis. He cowed her into silence, but all the hate was there as the servant stared back.
“I don’t trust you,” he said in Spanish. “I would kill you here, except for Engracia.”
“You don’t dare,” Juana taunted him.
Hanneke sucked in her breath and watched them exchange long looks of hatred. Santiago’s hand went to the dagger at his side, slowly pulling it from its sheath. Only then did Juana look away. What did I just see? Hanneke asked herself in horror.
“No, she said softly. “Please, husband.”
The spell was broken. Santiago sheathed his dagger and Juana rode ahead. Santiago hesitated, then followed.
“Here, Ana.”
She turned around, her heart still in her throat, but it was only Father Bendicio, holding out his hand to her. Fear made her nimble. She stepped in his stirrup and sat in front again, wondering if she had imagined all that venom between servant and master.
But who was servant? Who was master?
Chapter Eleven
“I must know what is going on between my husband and Juana,” Hanneke demanded, keeping her voice low.
“In a moment,” the priest said. “This is where the trail divides and there is Santiago, our good shepherd, motioning to us.”
Antonio had assumed the lead, ready to relinquish it when Santiago took his place, and fell back to the rear, as they had done all through this night journey. One would think they are brothers, Hanneke thought, feeling an unwarranted sense of security. Two good shepherds.
“Tell me now,” she ordered. “Why does this obviously strong man let a mere servant taunt him? What is she to him?”
“The better question is, ‘What is he to her?’ That is what you need to know.”
She waited. He had to speak, if only for her piece of mind.
“Tell no one.”
She opened her mouth to assure him as Santiago trotted past them on the new trail. “We will rest just ahead,” he said as he passed, and the priest fell silent.
They
paused in a small clearing only slightly less rocky than the path itself. Hanneke slid off Bendicio’s mule and walked on stiff legs to the edge of the path. The air was thick with dust and already strong with the odor of sweating bodies, animal and human. This is what exhaustion smells like, she thought.
Carlos deposited Engracia on a blanket Juana spread out, the servant making soothing sounds as she wiped the dust from Engracia’s face. Jawhara crouched close by, trying to hide herself behind Pablo. She made herself even smaller when Santiago looked her way.
Santiago gave his bota to Juana. “There is only a drop,” he said. “Make sure Engracia understands I am holding nothing back from her.” He turned to Hanneke. “I have no more.”
“No matter,” she said. “I only want to lie down.”
He scraped away smaller pebbles, coughing when the dust rose. “Lie down.”
She did as he ordered, arranging her dusty skirt that smelled of blood from her shift underneath, and rested her head on her arm. With a sigh, Santiago sat down beside her. Her eyes were closing when he pulled her closer until her head rested on his thigh.
“We can’t stop more than an hour, or at least until that star moves closer to the tree,” he told her. “If El Ghalib is following, I think he is far back. If he is ahead of us, we must come out of the mountains where he doesn’t suspect.”
He looked up when Antonio knelt by them on one knee. “Did you do it?”
“To perfection. After you passed, ten of us brushed away your tracks. We took the other fork and went far enough to fool him, then cut across.”
Santiago nodded, and patted Hanneke. “You’ll probably demand that I pay you more, when this journey is done.”
They both chuckled, which told Hanneke that they had this conversation before. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes.
She slept, despite the rocks and heat, her head pillowed on her husband’s leg. It seemed no more than a moment before he touched her shoulder. The moon had risen, its light flowing around the warriors who slept close by. She was conscious of overwhelming exhaustion and thirst.
“You cried in your sleep,” Santiago whispered as he righted her and stood up. He knelt by her again. “I think we still see the threshing floor.” He looked into the distance. “Pray God we can raise a bigger army and end such murder.”