by Carla Kelly
He laughed and did as she said. “Homelike,” he joked, looking around at the high ceiling, battle flags and crossed swords.
The smile left his face as he walked closer. She saw all the exhaustion and worry.
“Something is wrong,” she stated.
“We might have snow tonight,” he said. “Now and then it snows.”
“What else, Antonio?”
He took her hand, which startled her. She grasped it firmly. “Tell me.”
He took a deep breath. “Can Engracia travel?”
“What are you asking?” She said it quietly because she saw servants out of the corner of her eye, bringing dishes to the table.
He pulled her closer and spoke in her ear. “It’s only a feeling, Ana, but I pay attention to my feelings.”
She felt the deep cold that must have seeped into the room when Antonio opened the door. “She can travel if she must. Should we…pack?”
He hesitated a long moment, as if weighing the consequences, then shook his head. “Not yet. Say nothing. I wish…”
“…Santiago would come,” she finished.
He nodded, released her hand and headed for the soldiers’ hall. He forgot his cloak, so she grabbed it and hurried after him, nearly bumping into him because he stood just outside the door, watching the gate swing open, his sword half drawn. Carlos stood at the door to the soldiers’ hall, his sword already out of its scabbard.
“Go inside, Ana,” he ordered. “Now.”
She turned to obey, then heard a sigh of relief. “No, wait. I believe it is Santiago. God be thanked.”
After weeks of waiting – no, months since he had left – Ana hurried down the steps into the courtyard, Antonio behind her.
She stopped because an army followed him, thirty soldiers at least, some wearing chain mail, others cloaked tight against the cold that had deepened in the last hour. They looked at her like predator to prey. When she stepped back, afraid, Antonio’s hand went to her shoulder.
Santiago watched them, looking from one to the other. “And what is this?” he asked.
Antonio lifted his hand and came down the steps. “To say that we are glad to see you is an understatement. Come inside.”
“You, the Arab bastard, are welcoming me to my home?”
What is he saying? Hanneke asked herself, stunned, as Antonio turned on his heel and walked toward the soldiers’ hall. “We…we all welcome you, husband,” she said, wanting to move closer, but fearful. “In half a moment, you will probably see Manolo. Engracia, no, because she is so big. Come in.”
After a longer moment than she liked, Santiago dismounted. He stretched, then noticed Carlos still standing with his sword drawn. “Surely you haven’t forgotten what I look like,” he snapped.
“No, señor, no,” Carlos said. He sheathed his sword. “Shall I show these…your…”
“The army I traveled Spain to recruit?” Santiago gestured to the mounted men. “There are more coming in a few weeks. Get your men here. Show them to the stables and the solders’ hall. Tell the cooks to get busy. Can you do that?”
What is wrong with you? Hanneke asked herself.
She knew Carlos well enough now to know he had been offended. She admired his restraint as he sketched a small bow to the man he had never bowed to before, as far as she knew, and gestured to the men to dismount. She watched them and did not like what she saw.
“What rough-looking men,” she said, when Santiago came closer.
“Thieves, murderers, rapists - the best I could find,” he said.
He clapped his own hand on her shoulder, a gesture so proprietary that she almost – not quite – feared him. She decided to lean into him, but his arms did not go around her.
They walked up the steps together. He looked around the great hall, with a smile. “I leave you alone and what do I see? Improvement. Thank you. Engracia never even thought to turn this hall into something grand. How have you been?” He peered closer. “You look a little fine drawn. Were you hoping for something better from our winters here on the plateau?”
She tried not to stare at him, but she couldn’t help herself. “Santiago…husband… I miscarried.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “Manolo wrote. That was more than a month ago, wasn’t it?”
“Five weeks, to be exact,” Antonio said, coming out of the shadows. “It has been a long and painful time for your wife.”
Santiago put his hand on her shoulder again, claiming her. What was he thinking?
“You’re tired,” she said, as her heart broke. “I am better.”
“I buried your daughter next to your mother and father,” Antonio said, coming closer, standing on Santiago’s other side.
“Cold company,” her husband said, “especially my father.”
Hanneke told herself she was through with tears, but she cried anyway, trying to turn away to hide her weakness in front of this strong man she almost didn’t recognize, but unable to move because Santiago’s hand clamped down harder.
“Antonio, we passed two shepherds on our way here. They told us of raids in winter. How can this be?”
“I named your daughter Fermina. Ana was too ill.”
“Please stop, both of you,” Hanneke begged. “I can’t bear it.”
“Forgive me, Ana,” Antonio said.
Silence. Somewhere above, Hanneke heard Manolo’s halting gait. “Santiago, is that you at last?”
“Yes, brother! Listen to me, both of you,” Santiago said, trying to keep his voice low, because he heard Manolo, too. “What could I have done, had I been here?” His whisper turned fierce. “I need an army! Don’t either of you understand that? What could I have done?”
“You could have been a husband.”
Santiago pushed Hanneke away and pulled out his dagger. Before Antonio could move, Santiago pressed the point against his neck. “Damn your impudence! What do I see when I ride in, hungry and weary, but your hand on her shoulder. Your hand! I am her husband. Not you. You forget who you are!”
As Hanneke held her breath, Antonio raised one finger and pushed the blade aside. “I do not forget who I am. I am Antonio Baltierra, a free man.” He made no move to step back, but stared into Santiago’s eyes.
Santiago lowered his dagger. He looked from Antonio to Hanneke. “What happened here while I was gone?”
Antonio’s glance never wavered. “Beyond your wife’s great sadness, nothing at all. Upon further consideration, I think Las Claves is not the place for me. I am not certain it is a place for anyone. Adios, Ana.”
He was nearly at the door when Santiago called to him. “If you leave, do not return.”
Antonio looked back. “Never fear. I will not. But you had better be very careful in the next few days.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“Never. I have too much regard for you, Señor Gonzalez. El Ghalib is threatening you. By all the saints, you couldn’t have come at a better time, and with more fighting men.”
Antonio left, closing the door quietly behind him. The dagger clattered to the floor. “Nothing happened between you and Antonio?” he asked, his back to her, his voice frosty.
“Nothing,” she said, frightened of this obsessed man, even as she understood him better than she thought possible. She waited. She knew him.
When he turned around, his face was as wintry as the weather outside, the weather into which Antonio would soon be riding, going who knew where.
“Then I have done a terrible thing.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“Sit down, husband,” Hanneke said, her fear of him gone, or at least ushered into a dark corner. She saw a weary man, probably hungry, certainly dirty, who had traveled many leagues in the interest of his king and country. She sat down on the stairs, certain that her legs would never carry her to the invi
ting bench by the fire. She patted the tread beside her. Do or don’t, she thought. Our daughter is dead. My friend and yours is gone. I am afraid, but not of you.
She only thought the words remained in her head. She put her hand to her mouth when she realized she had spoken out loud.
He sat down beside her and put his arm around her, but gently this time. “When the first letter came from Manolo, God help me, I knew where I should be.” He bowed his head. “Right here with you.”
She leaned against his arm, relieved.
“I also knew that if I stayed in that miserable village two or three days more, I could convince ten men to follow me. I chose, as it turns out, not wisely.” He looked at the door. “I have lost a friend and a valuable ally.” His glance settled on her. “And frightened you. Forgive me, if you can.”
When she said nothing, he shook his head. “I hardly blame you. Please at least let me hold you close tonight, because I am tired of being alone.”
“I am, too,” she said, in a voice equally quiet. “You need to know something Antonio told me before he… before he left.”
She felt his arm stiffen at Antonio’s name, but continued, because he had to hear it. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “He asked me if I thought Engracia could travel. He said it was only a feeling, but he respects his feelings.”
“I respect his feelings, too.” He slapped his head and leaped to his feet. “Dios mio, Felipe! That rat!” He ran to the door, threw back the bolt and ran out, leaving the door open behind him.
Mystified, she stood in the doorway, trying to see into the deeper gloom that had settled on Las Claves. Felipe? Felipe. Surely not that Felipe.
It was that Felipe. Hanneke watched in growing discomfort as Felipe Palacios emerged out the gloom with Santiago, querulous as ever, eyes darting about seeking some misdemeanor or other, probably finding fault already, then staring at her with that hungry look she had feared in Valladolid and feared now at Las Claves.
“You were unkind to leave me in the soldiers’ hall,” Felipe Palacios said to her husband.
“I forgot you were with us,” Santiago said, sounding not even slightly apologetic. “Manolo can find quarters for you here. Come with me.”
Felipe shrugged and followed Santiago upstairs. He took a long look back at Hanneke, which made her hope this was only to be a short visit. Stupid man, she thought, glaring at him. Las Claves is no place for a coward.
She listened for Engracia’s shout of delight, certain that noisy tears would follow. Ah yes, there they came. Hanneke went to Santiago’s room and lay down, sore to her heart’s core at the loss of a friend over nothing.
Santiago joined her quickly, probably as soon as he could extract himself from the noisy scene. Without asking, she helped him remove his surcoat, chain mail and doublet, then surprised herself by kissing his head when he sat down. He flashed her a tired smile that reached his eyes and took away a little of the sting of his arrival.
“A bath tonight?” she asked.
He shook his head. “All I want is to lie down and maybe kick myself for being unkind to a friend. I’ll look for him tomorrow, although I doubt… Ana, forgive me.”
“I forgive you,” she told him, and sat close as his arm went around her shoulder. “Everyone is tired of the raids and wondering where the Almohades will strike next.” She turned her head into his shoulder. “I wish I felt more strong.”
“I wish you did, too. I can’t think El Ghalib will continue his destruction so late in the season for fighting. I have soldiers now, and more are coming. So is winter. I do know this: no Arab likes snow.”
He crawled in bed with a sigh and held up the covers for her. He fell asleep almost before she settled herself in his embrace, but not before she told him, “I feel safer when you are here.”
“Thank you for that, Ana,” he said. “You won’t laugh at me if I tell you I feel the same way?”
“Only a little,” she said, and felt his chuckle. She wanted to tell him she loved him, that she had been listening for him for weeks, that she had called out for him during her great distress. Before her mother died, she had asked her what love felt like. Mama had considered the matter in her thoughtful way. “Sometimes, when your father is out with his fishing fleet, I wish him home and safe with me. I feel uneasy when I cannot see him.” Mama had laughed, until laughing made her cough. “If I had my wish, I would prefer that he always stay within hailing distance, right here with me. You know, in the next room. I almost told him that once, but I did not. He would only have teased me and said there would be no wealth without fishing.”
She wanted to tell Santiago all of that, but he breathed slowly and evenly. Maybe there would be time in the morning. She thought of her mother, who had died not long after that conversation, probably with her words unsaid. I will say something, Hanneke thought, as she snuggled closer to her husband’s warmth. Mama would wish it.
Santiago still slept beside her in the morning, and she hadn’t the heart to disturb him. She dressed quickly and padded downstairs, looking around first to see that she was alone.
The air had a distinct chill. She sniffed the breeze, reminded of Decembers at home, and the anticipation of snow. She hurried into the kitchen and there was Pablo, kneeling by the fireplace, blowing on the coals and adding bits of lint. He gestured broadly.
“Welcome to my kitchen, fair lady, and God grant you a good day.”
She curtsied playfully.
“Usually I am alone at this time of the morning, but you are my second visitor.”
“Hopefully the cook wasn’t first, and you didn’t get a scold,” Hanneke said.
“No.” He pointed to his pallet on the other side of the fireplace, blanket neatly tucked and folded. “Who should wake me this morning but Antonio? He told me he did not sleep well, and I wasn’t to pester him with questions.”
“Is he still here?” Hanneke asked, not certain what response she wanted. Why did friends have to fall out over nothing? It was nothing, wasn’t it?
“He left, but first he asked me for food. He sat right where you are sitting, looking sad, or maybe tired.”
Hanneke stared at her hands in her lap. “Did he leave a message for me or for Santiago?”
Pablo added a larger log to the fireplace. “It was a strange message, but he said you would understand.”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“Only this – if you were to find oranges in the courtyard by the well occasionally, you would know who they came from. Lady, do not cry!”
She stayed in the kitchen until all traces of tears were gone, wanting no one to pester her with questions. She ate bread and toasted cheese as the cook arrived, complaining about more mouths to feed in the soldiers’ hall.
She yearned to visit Fermina’s grave, but she did not, knowing in her heart that hers would be the second set of footprints there this morning. Better to wait here a bit, then go to Engracia. She could sit beside her sister-in-law, let her chatter, nodding or saying yes or no, as appropriate, with an imagine that thrown in occasionally.
Her plan to visit Engracia fell apart immediately, because there sat Felipe with her. For one day and then another, she stayed in the chapel with Father Bendicio, repairing old vestments, listening to the noise of soldiers in the courtyard and the constant rasp of sword blades on the grindstone.
The one good moment of the second day happened in the privacy of their chamber, when Santiago made love with her. She opened her heart as never before, grateful for his particular comfort. When they finished, he chuckled. “I did bathe,” he whispered in her ear.
He was teasing her, a side of him she had not seen before. “So did I,” she replied, and kissed him. She settled herself next to him, wanting to tell him that she was happy for the first time since Toledo. But no, he had other matters on his mind, even as he cuddled her close.
&nbs
p; “I wish I knew what was going on,” he said.
“I thought you had the matter of me and you well in hand just now,” she murmured, pleased when he laughed.
He soon turned serious. “These last two days, nothing from El Ghalib,” he said, and kissed her bare shoulder, moving aside the necklace.
Was this the moment to tell him about that necklace? He was mellow and still awake. Maybe another time. Yes, another time. His breathing became regular, far from the tumults of mere minutes ago. Another time.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Her eyes were closing when Santiago tensed beside her. She started to say something, but he put his hand over her mouth. Fearful where seconds before she had been so satisfied, Hanneke heard footsteps on the stairs. In one motion, Santiago rose from bed and grabbed the dagger he kept on the floor.
Naked, he opened the door slightly, dagger raised, then lowered it when Pablo ran in, breathing heavily.
“What?” he asked, as he reached for his tunic
“Antonio is below,” Pablo managed to gasp.
“I did not expect this, Ana,” Santiago said. She heard the hard edge in his voice return. “Is he alone?”
“Alone, señor.”
“Tell him I will be right down. Dress yourself, Ana. I don’t trust myself alone with Antonio because I do not know what he intends.”
She threw on her tunic and found her slippers. She grabbed a blanket from the bed and ran down the stairs behind her husband into the great hall, where Antonio stood, his sword drawn.
He had left the door open, as if to guarantee himself a quick escape. Snow blew in and turned the hall into a wintry landscape.
Santiago pulled her behind him. “No one comes in here with a bare blade,” he said quietly.
Antonio lowered it. “I did not know what reception I would find at Las Claves. We did not part well.”
“No, we did not.”
Silence, more silence. Hanneke watched the warriors measuring each other. Antonio, for God’s sake, tell him we are only friends, she thought. That’s all. Isn’t it?