by Carla Kelly
He walked to the door, looked out and listened. “It’s quieter now. I will stay tonight in Don Díaz’s camp. Right now, I had better make my careful way to the soldiers’ hall.”
“What is careful about that?” she asked, half in exasperation, half in amusement. “Can you become invisible? There is only one way downstairs.”
“Not quite. Two doors down is an unused room with a window I can barely squeeze through. There is a vine from roof to ground. I believe it will hold my weight.”
“Antonio, you amaze me.”
He hugged her again, gentler this time. Don’t let me go, she wanted to say, but knew better. “The last thing I will ever do is whisper any suspicion that we are married,” she assured him. “It may have seemed like a precaution, but the game has changed, hasn’t it?”
“I fear so.” His exasperation was probably visible to the distant moon and stars. “I should have known Felipe would worm his way in through Engracia.”
“I will be watched closely enough, but there is no reason to draw a target on your back, Antonio Baltierra.”
“I appreciate that, believe me I do.”
She remembered the marriage lines Father Anselmo had given her at Santo Gilberto, and drew them from the front of her dress. “You are to keep this,” she directed. “I have a copy. So does Father Anselmo.”
“What a strange venture this is,” he said, looking at the little paper. He kissed her cheek this time. “I will see you in two weeks.”
She watched him stand so silent in the darkening hall, then sidle two doors down. The door closed quietly behind him and she returned to her room. She closed her own door, wished it had a bolt and a crossbar, in addition to the key. She turned the bracelet around and around on her wrist.
Two weeks. Fourteen days. Twenty-four hours in a day. And one bracelet.
Chapter Thirty-nine
That first night alone in the bed she had shared for too few nights with Santiago left her tossing and turning, seeking for a warm spot, and in tears because the warm spot was cold and lying in a grave. She considered Antonio Baltierra and wondered at his thoughts. She knew he held her in high regard – a woman has a way of knowing things even she can’t explain – but was he regretting their sudden marriage?
No matter the outcome of the next few weeks, and even the coming season of war, she knew better than to mention the marriage to anyone. She knew enough about her world to know life could be brutally short, woefully unfair, generally both. Santiago’s plan to protect her and the dowry might appear unseemly, provided Felipe turned out to be a thoughtful and wise regent for Manolo’s infant son. Was Santiago too distrustful? She knew all signs didn’t point that way.
She finally rose from her tangled sheets, dissatisfied with herself and sensing all was not well, and never would be, not while Felipe and his henchmen roamed about Las Claves. She dressed warmly and threw one of Santiago’s short cloaks around her shoulders, even as she wondered how long the garment would smell of woodsmoke, and around the neck, the odor of the man she married in reluctance, and came to love.
The hall was not entirely dark because the moon shown through the Moorish latticework that opened onto the garden below. She could see her breath, but at least there was no snow. The stairs were stone and silent, the great hall partially cleared of the debris of death and suffering. The battle flags hung there still. She sniffed the remnants of the fire and breathed in the fragrance of coal and ash.
She took a side door, one she knew Santiago had to stoop to get through, but which allowed her simple passage standing up. She closed it quietly behind her and walked along the path leading to the cemetery, shaking her head over the new graves. Before she went to bed, she had heard Felipe arguing with Antonio about the burial of ordinary soldiers and villagers among the family dead.
“Where else do those good men deserve to lie?” Antonio had said. “They gave everything for Las Claves. What have you given?”
That had ended the argument, to Hanneke’s relief, but she worried. Felipe had a long memory. She counted on him not having the courage to do anything about men dead and buried.
She knew there would be sentries and guards, because Antonio had placed them in and around Las Claves. She recognized the first one, a shepherd who had marched with Santiago.
“Dear lady, what are you doing out here at this hour?” he asked so kindly.
“I want to see Santiago’s grave and that of our daughter,” she said.
He bowed and reminded her that it was a raw night and she mustn’t catch a cold, then continued on his steady way. Finding Santiago’s grave took her a moment, because of all the new mounds, some twenty lives gone.
There it was, raw and new, with Santiago’s shield stuck at the head. A cross would come later, when spring arrived and there might be time for niceties. She looked to his left to see Manolo’s eternal piece of Spanish ground, wishing he had not forced Santiago to take him into battle. “You have set off a dreadful turn of events, brother-in-law,” she said out loud. “There is now a usurper who I do not doubt will find a way to wrest your land from little Rodrigo, something your brother never would have done.”
She looked to Santiago’s right to see Fermina’s little mound. “I wanted you so much,” she said softly. “Now your father will keep you company.” In another moment she lay prostrate on Santiago’s grave, her hand reaching out to Fermina.
“Ana, you’ll turn into an icicle.”
She had no idea how long she lain there, but Antonio’s arms were around her now. She let him sit her up and leaned against him when he knelt beside her.
“I have so many regrets,” she said, then, “By the saints, why are you here, too?”
“My sentry is the father of a daughter about your age. He apologized to me for not scolding you himself, but that didn’t stop him from waking me.” His arm went around her. “We little people all look out for each other at Las Claves. Please remember that.”
They sat in silence as the stars turned overhead and the faint light of dawn made tentative motions to do something. Still saying nothing, Antonio got to his feet, stretched, and held his hand out to her. “Up you get, dama. Don Díaz must be away today, and those soldiers waiting for me north of Toledo are probably wondering where San… someone from Las Claves is.”
“It never ends, does it?”
“It will. Come with me. I want to see Carlos. I want him to understand what needs to be done here while I am gone.”
“Please let me ride with you,” she asked again.
She could tell he hesitated this time. Please, please, she thought, wondering what he would do if she ran alongside his horse as the Knights left Las Claves.
“I should, I know I should,” he told her, his arm around her shoulder. “If I knew with any certainty where El Ghalib and his army are right now, I might, but I do not know that. You have a gallant defender in Carlos.”
“I wish you would change your mind,” she said, unwilling to yield, as he led her to the soldiers’ hall.
She drew back at the door. “I should not be here.”
“Carlos is in the infirmary. You won’t be troubled by any of the men.”
He opened the door and she saw two beds, Carlos in one and a man with no left hand in the other. She took a closer look at the other man, sighed, and covered his face with the blanket. She pulled back the blanket for another look, then covered him again, thoughtful.
“Was this Almohad here and alive after you retook Las Claves?” she asked Antonio.
“Yes. We did what we could for him,” Antonio replied.
“Would El Ghalib have done as much for you?” she asked, curious. She had her own opinion on the matter.
“Well, dama, you are still alive, aren’t you?” He took her by the shoulders and pulled her close for a brief moment. “Now is not too early to decide how to treat our
wounded, and theirs. How is this madness ever to end if we continue thinking of each other as less than human?”
She gave him a quick hug before he could release her. “Antonio, you are a good man.”
Carlos sat up and watched them both, his face less swollen, his eyes certainly brighter. “I will keep a good eye on this one, Antonio,” he promised.
“It is your only eye!” Antonio teased, then turned serious, a man in charge, even though Felipe Palacios had decreed he wasn’t. “See that you do, my friend. Between you and Pablo, keep her in your sight.” He came closer to Carlos. “I truly trust only the villagers. Are you well enough to get up?”
“Claro, Antonio. I am not wearing any pants, so I will wait until you leave. Watch for me, dama, after the soldiers leave. I’ll be in your sight.”
“You relieve my heart,” she said, wondering why she had thought him so uncouth and rude earlier. “I will be in good hands,” she told the man by her side, even as doubt assailed her.
It was easy to say, in the company of two brave men, but harder to believe when, after Mass and bread and meat, the Knights of Calatrava and many of Santiago’s soldiers left Las Claves, Santiago’s men to rendezvous with other troops from Castile and Navarre. Enough men remained behind for protection, but many of them, like Carlos, were recovering from injuries.
With Pablo at her side, she watched them leave, her hands pressed tight together. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Felipe and his thugs. None of them looked sorry to see the warriors ride away. Was Felipe actually gloating?
Suddenly it was too much. She ran alongside the soldiers until she came to Antonio. To her relief, he reached down and pulled her onto his saddle. “I’ll take you to La Vieja,” he said, “but no farther. I want a word with her.”
She had to be content with that. “I am uneasy, too,” he said, “but how much damage can a coward do in two weeks or so? He might try ingratiate himself with the villagers, but they are no fools.”
She knew he was right. This part of the fight was not hers.
Antonio left the line of march and rode closer to the grand master Knight. Head to head, they conferred quietly, then he took her down a side road. “I’ll catch up with them.”
He stopped before a house barely elevated beyond a hovel, handed her down, and then dismounted. La Vieja opened the door immediately.
“Come in! Antonio, you are not thinking about stealing away this little one?”
“I would if I could,” he replied seriously.
La Vieja’s face grew solemn. “Do you not trust El Cobarde either?”
“I do not. If Carlos were not here, and Pablo, I would be more afraid.”
“Then why are you here?” Teresa Gomez asked, sensible as always.
They seated themselves at La Vieja’s rickety table. Hanneke smiled to see chickens pecking about. One had laid an egg in a saucer.
“Should I tell her?” Antonio asked Hanneke.
“I already did,” she said, “but please strengthen my words.”
“I thought you might,” he replied.
Hanneke watched La Vieja’s face as he quickly described their early-morning wedding and the reason for it. “I trust Felipe not at all – neither did Santiago – and thought that might be a prudent precaution,” he finished, glancing out the door as the last of the soldiers passed. “Now that Felipe has proclaimed himself Rodrigo’s regent and made it perfectly clear that he is interested in Ana, this kind lady fears for my safety.”
“As well she might,” La Vieja said with a nod. She covered Antonio’s gauntleted hand with her hand. “Be careful! We’ll keep an eye on la dama, too.”
“That’s all I ask,” he told her. “I must leave. See me out, Ana.”
She followed him from the hut. His arm went around her again. “I can do no more than this,” he told her as they walked to his black horse. “I won’t be long.”
She knew she should feel better. At least she could pretend. “I know. I have two brave knights to protect me.” But what if they can’t, she wanted to ask. Pablo is a boy and Carlos is wounded.
He stood beside his horse for another long moment. “Try to put a thought into Engracia’s otherwise empty head that she and her baby might be more comfortable in Valladolid with her parents.” He chuckled. “You should have heard her so sweetly browbeat Manolo last summer. I am certain he let her go to Valladolid to maintain his sanity. You will, of course, insist that Felipe El Cobarde must escort her there.”
“I can try.”
“Good.” He patted his leather pouch under his surcoat. “I have our marriage lines secure. Where are yours?”
“In a chest in San… my room.”
“Wear it around your neck. Do it when you get back to your room,” he said, in a voice of command that told her he had learned much from Santiago.
“I will.”
She waited for him to mount his horse. Instead, he held her close and kissed her. “Don’t forget me, dama,” he whispered in her ear. “I have already assured you that once this matter is settled, you are free to do what is right for you. All the same, don’t forget me.”
He mounted his horse and gathered the reins, started out, then turned back. “One thing more. If matters go terribly wrong, do not hesitate even a moment to leave. I have observed that most women like to make certain all is in place before they act. Don’t be that woman.”
“I won’t,” she said, trying not to show her fear. He had to leave, after all.
She watched until he was out of sight, then squared her shoulders and returned to Las Claves. It was a short walk. She stopped several times to visit with villagers who had become infinitely dear to her, now that she had fled with them, worried, suffered and returned. She knew Antonio was right. She could trust them.
But what was this? The carpenters from the village had finished repairing the gate. They had clustered together, talking and gesturing, looking over their shoulders. As she approached, her heart dropped into her shoes to see Baltazar cramming a freshly cut Almohad head onto a spike.
“Dios mio,” she whispered. It was the man from the infirmary, the one she had covered in death.
Shocked, she looked away. “Be careful,” one of the villagers told her as she passed.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back, she told herself. She forced herself to walk across the courtyard and enter the manor where Santiago and Manolo no longer lived and offered her protection.
Felipe sat inside the great hall, booted feet propped on the low table near the fireplace, a wine bottle in one hand. He gave her his most unctuous smile.
“You didn’t need to put that head on a spike,” she said, not caring if she offended him, angry with herself for not demanding that Antonio take her with him, no matter the hardship of the journey. She knew hard journeys.
“Yes, I did, widow of Santiago Gonzalez,” he countered. “You will see some changes here. Are you ready for them? I am.” He laughed and turned his attention to the wine.
Her every thought now centered on getting to her room, where she could at least turn the key in the lock. She hurried up the stairs, praying to God and all the saints that Felipe was not behind her. She ran to her room, relieved to lock the door. She knew it was puny protection, but better than nothing.
She made herself relax when she heard no sounds. She knew Santiago had a small pouch where he kept odds and ends. She pulled it from his chest, dumped it out and opened the smaller chest that had belonged to his mother.
Her heart nearly stopped beating to see the marriage document resting on top of everything. “Mother Mary protect me,” she said in Dutch. Her knees failed her and she sat on the floor. She was certain she had left the parchment folded at the bottom of the chest, out of sight. There it lay, visible to all. Someone had searched and found it. Numb, she plucked the document from the chest, and stuffed it i
n the pouch, which went around her neck.
She was too late. Someone knew.
Chapter Forty
By the end of the week, Hanneke took Antonio’s parting advice. She ran for her life.
In the days that followed her discovery of her out-of-place marriage document, she did what Antonio had warned her against at first: nothing. I know I hid the paper waged fierce battle with, I probably left it carelessly on top, until she couldn’t decide which was right.
Nothing happened of an alarming nature, which calmed her. Servants from the village continued to clean the great hall. She and Pablo helped, shoveling the mounds of bloody straw onto a single-wheeled cart, which others dumped outside the walls and burned. The day spent in that labor had led to a nightmare of prodigious proportions that left her wide awake and staring into the dark, terrified she would see Father Bendicio walking from pallet to pallet, offering absolution then Extreme Unction, or Santiago kissing his mortally wounded soldiers’ foreheads then knifing them, rather than risk torture. She found herself fearful of every noise.
There were sounds no nightmare could explain, mostly footsteps in the upper hall near her room. It must be Carlos, she told herself. It has to be. He was up now and watching out for her when Pablo worked in the kitchen. When life at Las Claves started to resume its usual course, Hanneke began to relax.
She feared Juana was the light-fingered person who had pawed through her belongings. Perhaps she was wrong, because Juana had not changed. She continued to mete out her usual scowls and sour comments, no more, no less.
To Hanneke’s relief, Engracia seemed to be gentling her stony unkindness. A surprisingly mild Juana had knocked on her chamber door one afternoon to urge Hanneke to visit Engracia.
Making sure she had her key, Hanneke locked her door behind her and followed the servant around the upper hall to Engracia’s room, where Rodrigo was napping and her sister-in-law contemplated a half-finished sampler in its frame.
“Threads seems to knot themselves of their own accord,” she said with a smile.