The Crown of Valencia

by Catherine Friend

  Hazm shrugged. “Aunt Walladah says the same, but Paloma de Palma comes soon to ask for our support of al-Rashid. I could return with her to Valencia.”

  My heart skipped about a dozen beats. “Paloma de Palma? Here? When?”

  “In two days, maybe three. That is all I know.”

  I tried to smile as an elderly woman seductively waved a silk tunic to tempt me toward her booth. Paloma de Palma, or Anna, must not know I had returned.

  I stopped at one stall of daggers, but Hazm shook his head. “A crook,” he muttered under his breath and led me to another stall with a black cloth draped across the cart bottom, a chaos of daggers piled on top. The merchant hastened to show off the jeweled handles.

  “Arturo, pick one that fits your hand.” I selected a medium-length dagger with a simple leather-wrapped hilt. “How about this one?”

  When he didn’t respond, I looked up to find he had locked eyes with a young woman, no older than seventeen, standing at the next stall. Great, first he charms Tayani, and now a total stranger. Had time travel somehow set off my son’s pheromones? Because she wore a white hooded cape lined with red, only her face showed, but I could see why Arturo stared: flawless deep ebony skin, wide almond eyes with ridiculously long lashes, full lips, and a look of such confidence, such desire that I flushed as deeply as Arturo. I pulled my gaze away and poked Arturo’s arm. “Enough, Romeo. Back to the knives.”

  But he didn’t move, and the young woman, an inch taller than Arturo, glided toward us, her eyes never leaving Arturo’s. The woman touched her chest, then his, then said something in an Arabic dialect I didn’t understand. Hazm chuckled. “She says Arturo must go with her.”

  She took both his hands and pulled him with her; he followed, still drowning in those burnt sienna eyes. Because I didn’t like how she put her hands all over my son, I stepped between them. “Look here,” I barked in rusty Arabic. “My son will not go with you.” She smelled of sweat and horses and ignored me, pulling harder.

  “It’s okay, Mom, she won’t hurt me. She’s so beautiful,” Arturo finally spoke, stepping past me.

  To hell with modern parenting practices. This woman wanted my child. “Training wheel,” I snapped in English.

  Arturo stopped, shaking his head to clear it. “You’re right. Hazm, tell her I can’t go with her.”

  The prince, still amused, translated. “She says you are the one, and she will have you despite this...I guess ‘meddling woman’ would be the nicest way to translate it.” He smiled weakly in my direction.

  “Busaybah,” the young woman murmured, stroking Arturo’s cheek.

  “She called you ‘Little Kiss.’” Hazm’s shoulders shook with the humor of it all.

  “No,” I snapped. “Leave him alone.”

  The woman stepped closer to me, tight with a sudden fury I didn’t understand. She growled something at me, jabbed my chest with a slender finger, then whirled on her booted heel and faded into the shifting crowds. I turned to Hazm, who had sobered up. “She says she’ll come for her beloved while you sleep, and that she will slice you open from neck to...” He gave up, unwilling to say the rest out loud to a woman his mother’s age.

  “Christ,” I muttered.

  “Sorry, Mom. Don’t worry.” Arturo threw an arm around my shoulder. “Training wheel, remember?”

  “We have work to do, mister, so until that’s done you keep it in your pants, got it?”

  “Mom!” Arturo blushed and Hazm turned away, biting his lip. I bought the dagger and scabbard, then worked my way toward the outskirts of the bazaar, followed by my training wheel and the amused prince. I was furious at both Arturo and myself. If lust had no place in this mission, then why did the flutter of every returning pigeon weaken my knees with hope and possibility?

  “Kate?”

  I turned toward the voice and nearly stumbled right into the tour guide from the Aljafería, a man I’d barely met over eight years ago, but who recognized me. “Carlos?”

  The now elderly man clasped my hands, his grip still strong, so his health must be good. His fuzzy white hair formed a halo around his balding head. “What a miracle this is. Eight years I watch for you. I say, keep your eyes open, Carlos, and you’ll see her one day.” The poor man trembled with excitement, and Carlos’s enthusiasm fueled my own. What were the chances we’d run into each other? Fate was surrounding me with support.

  Arturo moved closer so Hazm couldn’t hear. “Mom, is this guy from...you know...?” He jerked his head, I suppose to indicate the future.

  “Carlos, this is my son, Arturo.”

  “Ahh, we meet at last.” He gripped Arturo’s shoulders gleefully. “I’m so happy to see you both.”

  At last? “Carlos, we just arrived a few days ago, and here you are. Do you live in Zaragoza? Why did you come back in time?”

  He moved us out of the crowded street. “So many questions. No, I don’t live in Zaragoza, but Walladah seeks a new Jewish administrator, so I’m here to meet with her. I prefer to live under Moorish rule, where the life of a Jew is much easier.” He smiled warmly, then spread his arms to take in the bustling scene around us. “As for why I came back, how could I not, once I knew the cave existed? Kate, the joy of living my country’s past is intoxicating. Pinch yourself. This is real. It’s 1094. I can watch, but only watch, and marvel at the history unfolding before me.”

  He sounded as giddy about time travel as Anna. Personally, I found it exhausting. While Arturo and Hazm walked ahead of us, I told Carlos everything. Why we had come back. What I must do to restore the timeline. He shook his head, shocked at the news. “This is terrible. What can I do?”

  “Carlos, you understand that by restoring the original timeline the Jews will eventually all be driven from Spain.”

  The short man nodded. “No one should disturb history. How may I help?”

  For a brief second I wondered what course I would choose if I knew I could erase centuries of gay and lesbian oppression, but then I shook off the thought.

  I asked if he had heard of Paloma de Palma. “Of course. She’s a major force behind al-Rashid. But I don’t run in the same circles as she. Let’s go back to your lodging to talk.”

  Then it came to me. A brilliant idea. “Carlos, how would you like to visit Valencia?”

  His eyes widened. “A city under attack by Rodrigo? A city where Jehaf and al-Rashid wrestle for political power?” He shook his head. “Sounds dangerous. Remember, I’m sixty-seven.”

  I turned on my persuasive charms, knowing I could never manipulate people as Anna did, and feeling relieved I couldn’t. “I don’t want you to do anything that would put you in danger, Carlos. I just need you to listen, to pay attention, to get a sense of what’s going on.”

  He contemplated the toes of his scruffy boots as we walked, then straightened. “I think I know what you have in mind. I will do it. Now, where are you staying again?”

  “A spy, Carlos. You could be my spy. Get to the edge of the fighting, but stay out of danger. See what you can discover. Find out what Rodrigo is up to, what Anna is up to. Arturo and I will be close behind you. Look me up at Rodrigo’s camp. Ask for Nuño Súarez.”

  His forehead beaded with perspiration in the warm spring sun. “I am new to this spy business. Can we discuss it more?”

  “No, Carlos, please leave now for Valencia. Be my eyes until I get there. Find out what’s going on. And thank you.”

  I hugged the kind man whom I’d first met in the twenty-first century when Anna and I had toured the Aljafería. As a palace tour guide, he had spent the afternoon sharing stories about the palace inhabitants, and when I had disappeared, Anna had turned to Carlos for help. I ran to catch up with Arturo, my heart lighter. Grimaldi would help me. Carlos would help me. Maybe we could pull this off after all.

  *

  The next day five more birds returned: Duañez, no. Cordoba, no. Burgos, no. Miranda, no. Toledo, not since Rodrigo’s appearance there two years ago. That evening Grimaldi an
d I sat on the roof, contemplating the stars overhead. Hazm, Tayani, and Arturo did the same, but as far away from us as they could get without jumping onto another roof. In the last three days, Arturo had learned to drink goat’s milk, eat root vegetables he’d never seen before, and, with Grimaldi, use the public bathhouse daily. I barely recognized the teenager who refused to eat asparagus or wash behind his ears. Arturo exclaimed as a shooting star streaked across the southeastern sky then faded.

  Grimaldi smiled. “Muslims believe shooting stars are really missiles thrown by angels at devils who come too near to the heavens.”

  “That’s lovely,” I said.

  Voices murmured from across the rooftops as couples and families enjoyed the unseasonably warm spring night. I caught snatches of Spanish, Hebrew, and Arabic. Everyone got along, more or less, but if I was successful, the Christians would, in four hundred years, drive out or murder every Moor, every Jew, in the peninsula. Mournful Arabic music, double lutes, flutes, and drums, drifted up from an impromptu concert in the street below.

  “Kate, travel may be dangerous. Rodrigo’s looting this last year has attracted hoodlums, thieves, and all sorts of riffraff, hungry to pick from the bones Rodrigo leaves behind.”

  “With my son, the Tae Kwon Do King, what do I have to fear?”

  “Al-Saffah.”

  I sat up, brushing tiny pebbles from my back. “The merchant who brought us to Zaragoza mentioned them.”

  “No one has gotten close enough to engage them in battle. Their Almoravide arrows do so much damage that armies and caravans and travelers retreat.”

  “Why would they bother a lone woman traveling with her son?”

  “Why not? They kill without reason. An arrow could hit you before you even knew they were there.”

  I desperately wished Professor Kalleberg were here with his dusty history books, his lanky calmness, and some clue as to what I must do next. “Will all the birds be back tomorrow?” Grimaldi nodded. “I cannot afford to wait any longer, since Anna will be here in two days.” And Elena? She could be anywhere. She could be with Rodrigo outside Valencia. Actually, she might already be dead.

  *

  I saw her standing by Matamoros, arms crossed, jaw set, eyes glacial. “You left,” she said, voice thick with anger and pain. I ran to her, clasped her hands to my breast.

  “I did, but I raised a beautiful son. And now I’m back, but only for awhile. I love you, Elena. Let’s not waste our precious time together being angry.” I stroked her cheek with the ball of my thumb, feeling her muscles relax.

  Anger fled as she saw the truth of my words, so she opened her arms, pulling me close. Our first kiss was greedy, hard, pushing my head back against her waiting hand, my mouth an open flower seeking Elena’s nectar, her flesh, her heat.

  I jolted awake, stretched out on the mat in Grimaldi’s home. I shifted on the hard floor, reliving my intense dream and listening to a drunken argument down the street. When Arturo and I returned to the twenty-first century, maybe I could write romance novels, really bad ones.

  Arturo barely stirred when I poked him with my toe. “Hey, lazybones. Up. Hazm’s coming to show you the palace.”

  He sat up, hair sticking out in alarming directions, rubbed his eyes, then flashed me the most satisfied smile. “I love this city. Who cares that there are no flush toilets.” He yawned. “Or that everything we eat tastes like old goat.”

  I frowned, suddenly wary. “After I went to bed last night, you and Hazm stayed on the roof, right? You didn’t go anywhere?”

  Arturo lay back on his thin straw mat. “I love this city.”

  Before I could say more, Hazm thundered into the courtyard below and hollered up to us. When I finally got Arturo up, and we staggered downstairs for bread and cream, Arturo and Hazm exchanged sly grins. At this, Grimaldi and I shook our heads. The only thing worse than one teenaged boy was two of them together.

  The morning’s drizzle finally ended, but the sky remained heavy with moisture as Hazm nearly danced ahead of us, excited to show Arturo the Aljafería. The city felt freshly-scrubbed, the stone streets shone, and the trees danced in the slightly cool breeze. The bazaar slowly came to life in the puddled square, selling everything from fresh fish and sheep carcasses to glass vases and iron tools.

  As we neared the palace, the boys nearly had to run to keep up with me. Once inside the palace gates, however, I stopped Hazm. “It’s too complicated to explain, Hazm, but Arturo and I must not use our real names here. In a few days my...an old friend arrives, and I do not want her to hear we are in Zaragoza.”

  “Have you done something wrong?”

  “No, but...” I worried my lower lip. “...but Arturo will be in danger if she knows we are here. That’s all I can say.”

  Hazm shrugged, remarkably unbothered by the mystery of it all. “Do not worry. You can be my servant, and Arturo will be my personal attendant. Busaybah.” He chortled and ducked when Arturo swung playfully at his head.

  “Meet me here at the front entrance at late morning prayer,” I said. We stepped inside, where I recognized the fountain spouting gaily in the central courtyard. The orange and almond trees were thicker around the waist than eight years ago, but then, so was I.

  Servants bowed to the crown prince as they passed, but the young man barely noticed. “Come, Arturo,” Hazm said. “I’ll show you the throne room. The gold statues are worth thousands of dinars.” With that, the two boys left me and I wandered the main floor, running my hands over cool yellow tiles, carved cedarwood arches, graceful double columns, marble benches, gold-encrusted panels. The boxwood hedges lining each courtyard had recently been trimmed; the sharp scent spoke of sun and rain and the roots running deep in the soil of Spain.

  Afraid I would encounter Walladah, I kept my head down whenever anyone passed. I wasn’t ready, and too many memories boiled within me. Besides, if she was to meet with Paloma de Palma, I didn’t want either woman knowing I was here.

  Of course, I ended up in the room Elena and I had shared, now filled with broken window grilles, extra baskets, brass pots, gardening trowels. I wove my way through the mess to the round window and watched the activity below. But because I couldn’t stop thinking about Elena, I looked around the room. I could still feel her here. I could still feel us here. I prayed that Elena was in this time, somewhere, alive and breathing, with those eyes that could melt me in an instant, with that brash confidence that wrapped itself around me and cushioned me from the rest of the world, and often from my own stupidity.

  Would our reunion be private or in front of dozens of soldiers? Would Elena, serious and strong on her horse, catch sight of me riding toward her? Would she recognize me with my short hair? She wouldn’t faint, not my Elena, but she’d leap from her horse, and I from mine. Our eyes would lock, our hands would tremble, we would approach slowly, deliciously, stunned at the love pulling us together like magnets.

  She would stop, a delighted smile tugging at her lips, then we’d both lean closer, each afraid the other might break apart like a dandelion puff in the breeze of the moment. Our lips would be the first to touch, soft and needy, while the world roared in my ears and the fire re-ignited in our eyes, and our knees melted and we collapsed in each other’s arms.

  People began to shout. A crowd had gathered outside the palace gates, but all I could see were the tips of soldiers’ helmets and a blue and white standard snapping in the breeze. Someone scattered coins for the peasants, so the crowd’s roar increased as the standard moved closer to the palace grounds.

  The crowd parted at the gates, and a Moorish entourage rode into the palace yards. I scanned the faces for only a second before I saw her. The woman’s blond hair was swept up off her neck, and her midnight blue dress draped elegantly down one side of the black horse as she rode side-saddle. She tossed handfuls of coins to either side. Damn it. Anna was early.

  Chapter Twelve

  Heart racing, I searched the palace yards below me, then moaned weakly as Ha
zm and Arturo came out the main entrance to investigate. “Arturo!” The crowds, flowing onto palace grounds with the army, chanted for more coin so loudly my words barely reached my own ears. “Arturo!”

  Anna spotted Hazm and waved, so the boy nodded, hands clasped regally at his waist, now a crown prince waiting to receive his guests. Arturo stood beside him, totally unaware that it was Anna who rode straight toward him. I’d never shown him a photo of her, and he’d only seen her once, when he was five and still in the orphanage. I gripped the windowsill, terrified she would recognize Arturo. Although his face had narrowed, it was still distinctly his, with those same round brown eyes. His face glowed with the same wide innocence. My heart stopped pumping, my blood ceased to circulate. Dear Goddess, how could she not? All I could do, and that in almost slow motion, was to swing the window grille shut, disguising my presence with the lacy, open carving.

  Anna held up her hand, and the throng eventually quieted. “Greetings, Prince Hazm. I trust your father is well.” Her manners were polished and confident, her skin tanned from the long ride to Zaragoza.

  “Very well, thank you. We extend to you and your party our welcome and praise Allah for the honor of your visit, Señora de Palma.” Arturo froze as Hazm spoke Anna’s name. “We are pleased to receive you.” Hazm snapped off a command, and turbaned grooms came running from the stables. Other servants hurried to bring refreshments, leaving Arturo doing nothing, clearly not a servant.

  “My lord prince, who is your friend?” Anna asked, dismounting. The whole group was so close I could have dumped a basket on Anna’s head. “He looks familiar. Have I met him before?”

  By now Arturo knew who he faced, but short of running back into the palace, there was nothing he could do. My stomach twisted as he felt for his back pockets, something he always did when nervous, but the breeches had none. He finally stuck them awkwardly under his arms. Please don’t recognize him. Please.