by Carla Kelly
“There is a serving woman in the kitchen with a new baby,” he said. “She assured me she has enough milk for this little morsel, too.”
He answered the question in her eyes. “When Carlos and I were returning only yesterday, we came across a village in ruins.” He settled the little one closer to him. “No, it was not the Almohades. Maybe a family vendetta. She was crying in a dead woman’s arms. I left, of course. It was not my fight.”
He brought the baby to her, settling her in Hanneke’s arms. The child stirred, then made herself comfortable.
“I thought about her all the way here.” He propped his legs on the bed. “I have…we have all seen children like this. They die quickly. Perhaps it is better.”
“Surely not,” she murmured. She breathed deep of the baby’s milky fragrance.
“I rode back for her. Sister Filomena wonders if you would care for this niñita until other arrangements can be made. She thinks she can find a family to raise her as a servant.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Are you strong enough? I have to leave again. Perhaps I should not have assumed…”
“I will manage, Toño,” she said, seeing his smile at her little nickname. “It’s probably the least I can do, you know, to repay the sisters.”
“Of course. It’s only for a little while.”
“Does she have a name?”
“I wouldn’t know it. And look at her. She must have some Almohad blood.” He sighed. “I know the look. It is mine, too. Do you care? It’s an imposition.”
She kept her voice calm, offhand. “I said I didn’t mind. We should name her.”
“You choose.”
She pulled back the blanket and ran her thumb gently across the baby’s toes. They curled against her hand and she smiled at a good memory. “Santiago told me that we would have another baby, and she should be named Liria, after his mother. Liria?”
He smiled into her eyes. “I would like to do that honor for my friend. Yes. Liria. It’s a small enough name for a little scrap.”
They sat together, at peace. He told her about the armies assembling, led by King Alfonso, in the mountains to the west. “All the kingdoms have united for this fight,” he told her. “I believe we will succeed.”
“And women wait,” she said softly, smiling inside now, because Antonio was running a finger down Liria’s arm, then down hers as well.
He nodded. “They do. Will you?”
“We’ll see.”
“It’s only fair. I’m certain Sister Filomena will find someone soon for Liria.” He stood up. “Now I will take her to the kitchen. No, no, don’t worry. The woman feeding her wants her close by at night. I’ll bring her back tomorrow.” He wagged his finger at her. “After you have eaten a substantial breakfast and not a moment sooner. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
The pleasant pattern continued for two days, days when she cuddled Liria and walked carefully around her room, regaining her strength. Antonio spent more time at the window, looking across the plains to the south, as if planning the coming battle. He took Liria to the window once, pointing out the distant mountains and telling the baby how many soldiers were here to protect her. “And your mama…I mean, Ana, too. She will watch you,” he said.
You transparent man, she thought, amused. You think you’re so clever.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” he told her that afternoon.
Hanneke waited for the chill to wrap around her heart again, but it was different this time. She knew he had work to do, and so did she. Someone had to take care of Liria until the nuns of Santa Catarina could find her a home. “Be very careful, Toño,” she said.
“Careful doesn’t win battles,” he said cheerfully.
“I mean it,” she told him, her eyes unwavering on his.
“I will be, dama, for you,” he said. “I’ll take Liria. Come with me to the kitchen so you can meet the wet nurse.”
“Just point me toward the kitchen. I will be fine tomorrow.”
Antonio tucked Liria under one arm and put his other arm around Hanneke. “You’ve never been to the kitchen. I will just walk along with you. You know, for company.”
Even though they walked slowly, Hanneke was ashamed at her weakness. Antonio appeared not to notice, keeping up a steady conversation as they moved at a snail’s pace.
The stairs were a particular trial. She stopped before they reached the bottom. “Toño, I cannot,’” she said, dismayed and in tears.
He held her up. “You can. Wife, you have come this far. You can walk the rest of the way. After all, I looked for you all over Castile.”
Liria began to wail as they neared the kitchen, Hanneke barely moving, leaning on Antonio. The wet nurse came toward them, her arms outstretched. Her own child slumbered in a box by the great fireplace. “I heard her and my milk started flowing! Come, little pet.”
She took Liria and opened her bodice, standing right by them. “This is your lady, Señor Baltierra? She is as pretty as you said.”
“Yes, this is my lady.”
Antonio picked her up, over her protests and tears. “She is tired. I’ll take her back upstairs. She wanted to find the kitchen. You will see…” He stopped, as if the name was new to him, but welcome. “You will see Señora Baltierra again quite soon, now that she knows the way.”
Antonio put Hanneke back in bed and wiped her tears. “You’ll be downstairs again before you know it.” He tucked the covers around her, hesitated a moment, then sat down and took her in his arms. He kissed her soundly, held her off briefly, then kissed her again. A third time seemed like a good idea, too.
“Vaya con dios,” she told him, when he stood in the doorway for a long moment.
“Y tu, esposa,” he replied. “Until we meet again.”
Chapter Fifty-three
The next afternoon, Hanneke made her way to the kitchen without stopping, holding Liria tight and clinging to the wall. As delightful as watching Liria was the pleasure of watching Hernana, who ruled the kitchen. With Liria or her own baby clinging to her nipple like a barnacle on a ship’s hull, Hernana cut up vegetables, shredded meat, and strained milk, talking all the while.
Since Hanneke was now a fixture in the kitchen, Sister Filomena put her to work. “You can scrub vegetables sitting down,” the nun said. “When you feel stronger, Hernana will show you how to make butter.”
“I already know how,” Hanneke said, pleased what her mother had taught her, back when they both thought she would marry a Dutch merchant.
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I was beginning to feel useless,” Hanneke replied, when what she really meant was “lonely.”
“We need your help. The spring planting is on us and we are laboring in the fields. Hernana will instruct you in here.”
As the weather grew warmer, Hanneke found herself on her knees by the flowerbed around the statue of Santa Catarina, plucking weeds while Liria lay beside her on a blanket, waving her arms at the leaves overhead. Hanneke yearned to share each little milestone in Liria’s life with her patient husband who knew, better than anyone, what would bring his wife back from the dead.
“You, who have seen me at my worst, you knew, didn’t you?” she whispered out loud one night after Liria fell asleep in her arms. “Please may you return soon.” She thought of her long-ago conversation with Yussef el Ghalib. “Toño, I choose you.”
She knew she was growing stronger, her body filling out as the signs of starvation vanished. She smiled to think that Antonio would appreciate the heft of her breasts now. When her monthly flow returned, gone since her days of hunger, she rejoiced in this homely sign of her womanhood. She was whole once more.
Or nearly whole. This wasn’t a matter to discuss with the chaste brides of Christ who prayed and worked for the greater glory of God, but she wanted Antonio Baltierra in other ways th
an for his help and good humor. She had to content herself with remembering how truly impressive he looked, wearing only his smallclothes, when he went into the Rio Tajo to help her rescue Santiago.
The only remedy for this new, most-pleasant hunger was work in the gardens and fields, the kind of work that wore her out and kept her thoughts more seemly. The fields soon drew her for another reason, one that set her heart pounding.
The armies from the kingdoms of Spain marched south, some passing by the convent. At first they were little streams of soldiers from the kingdoms of Castile, Aragon, Navarre, Leon and even Portugal and France. Many paused at noon for a drink from the well, or a moment in the shade of the convent walls. One soldier from far away Portugal fell sick and was left with them by his comrades. The sisters tended him until he died, then buried him within their walls without ever knowing his name.
The little streams of soldiers flowed into bigger streams and then a river of men as spring passed into summer. At night, the lights of their campfires winked all about the convent like fireflies announcing summer, the season of war.
“In all my lifetime, I have never seen so many armed men,” Sister Filomena said one afternoon as they stood by the convent gate, watching soldiers ride past, eyes to the south. “They fly so many different flags, but they are united in this effort as never before.”
Liria in her arms, Hanneke watched them, wishing Antonio were among them, wishing he would swing out of line for at least a kiss. Sleep never came easy on those nights.
One afternoon, the terrible beauty of Spain came home to her, forcing her to admit that to leave Spain would tear the heart from her body.
A knight and his son had stopped for water, as many had before. Stiff from long hours in the saddle, they dismounted and shared the dipper of water Hanneke offered them.
“Where are you from, señores?” she asked. Dressed in chain mail like his father, the boy fingered Liria’s curls as Hanneke held her.
“Salamanca,” the knight said. He touched his son’s shoulder. “We must ride, hijo.”
They were reserved and reticent like so many Spanish men, with a certain sadness that humbled her. Out of curiosity, she asked, “Why do you ride, señor? So many have marched south already. Surely it is enough.”
He smiled at her and touched Liria, too, as if for good luck. “We have confessed. We have left our affairs in order. We are not afraid of what is before us.”
She understood at last. The expression she assumed was sadness was that particular dignity of brave people who knew their destiny and did not tremble before it. Tears came to her eyes, so she shifted Liria to hide her weakness. Some had called her brave, but as she watched the knight and his son, Hanneke knew that their brand of bravery was bred in the bone. This was their country and they wanted it back, all of it.
Standing by the well, holding Liria close, Hanneke knew she would never again yearn for Vlissingen. Compared to the exaltation that was Spain, everything else paled into insignificance. As the horsemen rode by, she realized with stunning ferocity that that she wanted this strength for her children, waiting to be born if their father returned.
Summer arrived, hot, fierce, and windy. Liria grew fretful, crying for no reason. Desperate to know what was wrong, Hanneke despaired until Hernana pointed out the little tooth that was about to break through her swollen gums. “She is already starting to chew on my nipples,” Hernana said with a laugh. She nudged Hanneke. “When your man returns, Ana, you will have babies to gnaw on you!”
“Antonio, it is a tooth. Nothing to worry about,” she said out loud as she prepared this child who was now her daughter for bed. “We have heard that soon there will be a battle. I know you are busy, but I thought you should know.”
No one answered. She nestled against Liria and prayed that the battle, when it came, would be swift.
News of what the soldiers called the battle of Navas de Tolosa seemed to come to them on the wind that blew hot from the south. The sisters did not know where Navas de Tolosa was, beyond the speculation that it might be in Andalucia, the mighty stronghold of Caliph Muhamad al-Nasir of the Almohades. That news sent Hanneke into the flower bed where the statue of Santa Catarina stood. She weeded with ferocity, remembering Antonio’s cheerful words that battles weren’t won by being careful.
News trickled north, a word here, a whisper there, and all the words and whispers spoke of victory. Official news came in late July from a courier heading to Valladolid. He came walking up the road because his horse limped.
“Have you nothing I can ride?” he asked Mother Abbess.
“My son, we have not,” the gentle lady told him. “Our animals are plow horses. A little further on toward Toledo, there is an estancia of fair size. You will have better luck there.”
Mother Abbess motioned to Hanneke and Sister Filomena, who joined her at the well, where the courier poured dippers of water over his head, matted down by his helmet in all this heat.
“But tell us, sir, please, what news?”
He stared at Mother Abbess. “Everyone knows!”
“We do not,” she apologized. “The official traffic around here usually takes the closer Toledo road. We know there was a victory, but that is all we know.”
“It was a great victory,” he said. “We fought deep in Almohad country. I do not think they will recover.”
Hanneke propped Liria on the well’s lip. “Tell us, señor, were there many wounded and killed?”
“It was war, señora,” he said. He whistled to his lame horse. “Some died, some were wounded. On the whole, we were fortunate. I must go now.”
“Please, señor, what of Antonio Baltierra of…of Las Claves?”
“I have heard the name. A big tall fellow? Brown hair and one arm?”
“No.”
He gathered the reins in his hands, ready to move on, then looked back and noticed her tears. “Señora, there were many at Navas. You will hear soon. Why, any day now, your man will return. Adiós.”
But she did not hear. While the nuns spend their free moments praying in the chapel, she watched the road.
The armies returned finally, borne in like the tide, carrying in triumph the battle flags like ones in the great hall of Las Claves. Smaller flags and scimitars bristled from their saddles. The soldiers rubbed down their horses with prayer rugs.
Hanneke feared at first to venture among their campfires to ask of Antonio. Clutching Liria to her like a talisman, she finally gathered her courage to face the dirty, bearded men.
“He was killed.” “He is wounded.” “He is missing.” “I do not know.” “Antonio Baltierra?” “A tall man?” “A man with no teeth?” “Dama, you may come with me. I have land now.” “Come with me.” “Or me.” “Or me.”
Some of the soldiers rode directly to the convent, bearing their wounded. In a fever, she ran among the injured as they lay on pallets in the chapel. They all looked like Antonio, every one of them.
Mother Abbess and Sister Filomena forced her to leave the chapel and forbade her from entering until the wounded were dead or gone. “Ana, you cannot do this to yourself,” Sister Filomena said, her own eyes filled with anguish.
She knew she could not. Hanneke plopped Liria on her hip and hurried down to the kitchen, where she scrubbed pots and hauled water and muttered to herself.
Through the rest of the long summer, the Christian warriors, the Knights of Calatrava and Salvatierra, and even adventurers from France returned from war. Hanneke questioned knights and vassals, hearing so many stories that she was convinced that if someone actually told her about Antonio, she would not know it.
She endured their boasting of land to the south, theirs now, granted from the rulers of their kingdoms. They had only come north again to gather their boldest villagers to follow them south, where life, while hard, meant property that many of them, as younger sons, would never
have had without Navas.
She spent a quiet time that evening after Vespers in the field where the grain was ready to harvest, remembering Santiago’s promise to her that he would have land for their children to come, and orange groves. She made herself stay awake long into the night, unwilling to dream of their final moments together in the snow, and cry because time ran out. Others owned his promised land now.
Gradually, the armies vanished. August passed and September came and still she stood by the convent gate, shading her eyes and watching to the south for more soldiers. She stood there until one evening Sister Filomena linked arms with her and pulled her away to walk through the wheat field that was now partly harvested.
Sister Filomena said nothing as they circled the field, watching the sun go down, listening for the night birds. They stood close together for the sunset, their arms around each other. The nun raised her face to puffs of wind that carried the scent of grain. “Autumn is in that breeze, Ana, my dear.”
“Yes, sister.” Tears slid down Ana’s face.
“Will you…will you return to the Low Countries?” Sister Filomena asked quietly.
“No. Somehow it isn’t right anymore. And there is Liria.” She made herself smile. “Sister, you and Mother Abbess made a poor attempt at finding a home for Liria.”
“I thought we did rather well,” Sister Filomena said. They laughed together, as Ana sniffed back more tears.
“You may stay with us. You know you are welcome.”
“I know, sister,” Hanneke said, “and I am grateful. I will decide soon.”
As they circled the field again, Hanneke stopped. The dowry. “Sister, I need to go to Toledo,” she said. “Immediately.”
“I don’t understand.”
Hanneke started in motion, moving faster, thinking ahead. “The condition of my dowry was that I had to live until…let me think…late July, I believe.”
“You’ve done that,” Sister Filomena said with a smile.
“And…and if I outlived Santiago, someone else could claim me and the dowry,” Hanneke explained. She took several deep breaths, thinking of Antonio Baltierra, wondering where he lay in death. “Antonio did that and now…it’s so hard to say.”