Hazm hesitated, then cleared his throat. “No, I do not believe you have met. He and his mother have just come to Zaragoza.”
“His mother?” Anna said. “What is your name, young man?”
Thank god Arturo said nothing, realizing that with one word Anna would recognize he spoke using modern Spanish, not an obscure accent from high in the Pyrenees. “Are you unable to speak?” She walked closer and I could see her gaze scanning Arturo’s clothes; suddenly his T-shirt, visible under his tunic, screamed L.L. Bean.
“He is a simpleton,” barked a soldier, and my heart sank into my toes as Rafael Mahfouz dismounted and handed the reins to a groom. “This man has no brains. He stood in the middle of the road at Mirabueno like a fool until a peasant woman threw herself at him.”
Anna’s spine straightened with interest. “Mirabueno? You saw this boy and a woman near the cave at Mirabueno?”
Shit. My head pounded in my ears. Do something. Anything. I whirled and ran into the hall, down the stairs, and out the back entrance. The sheep were gone, probably pastured up in the hills, but one corral was filled with horses. I raced for it, my boots skittering on the wet stones, but when I opened the rickety gate, the horses stood there, blinking those huge eyes, flaring nostrils to take in my scent. I yanked off my shawl and whipped it over my head, then whooping softly, I ran straight into the herd.
Half a dozen horses reared up, eyes white, and the others spun and jumped out of the way. Finally one smart horse noticed the open gate, and the whole herd thundered from the corral, heading in the right direction. Buildings and sloping land would take them around the east end of the palace and straight toward the palace’s front entrance.
I spat out dust, wiped my stinging eyes, then scrambled over the corral fence in the opposite direction, hoping to circle around the palace’s other end and get lost in the crowds by the palace gates. I held up my skirts with clammy hands as I ran, terrified for Arturo. The only way I could think of to rescue my son was to send thirty spooked horses stampeding straight toward him. Great, Kate, just great.
Surprised shouts and screams of terror rose from the front of the palace and mingled with pounding hooves and mad whinnies. Arturo’s only hope was to slip away in the chaos.
People clawed their way to the gates to escape slashing hooves. The army’s horses began rearing up in the mess of running humans and furious beasts. I joined the crowd easily and was swept out into the streets of Zaragoza, where I kept to the back streets until I reached Grimaldi’s. Liana and her children were gone for the morning, so in the inner courtyard I splashed off my face, then paced in agony for half an hour, stopping only when a dirty and ragged Arturo staggered in through the doorway.
Without a word I held him tighter than I ever thought possible. He rested, panting, against my shoulder. Finally he pulled away. “Mom, Anna’s here.”
“I was at a window above you. I saw almost everything.”
“Even the stampede? Man, those horses saved my ass. They—”
“—were set free by a crazy woman waving her shawl around. Were you hurt?”
“No, but you did that?”
“I couldn’t think of anything else, and when Rafael opened his big mouth, I knew I had to do something. Are you sure you’re okay?” His breeches and shirt were torn, his face and hands filthy, but otherwise he seemed to be in one piece.
“Yeah, but I’m sure Anna figured out who I was. She kept asking me about Mirabueno and the peasant woman Rafael mentioned. I didn’t dare speak, but Hazm was starting to get embarrassed because I didn’t say anything, so those horses came at just the right time.” He smiled, eyes gleaming with admiration. “Cool idea, Mom. It worked.”
“It bought us a few hours, nothing more. Anna will figure out quickly where we are. C’mon.” I jogged for the stairs, having heard a few thumps from the roof while I’d paced. “Grimaldi!”
My friend looked up from a pigeon in his hands. “Good heavens. You both look like you’ve been in a fight.”
“Are all the birds back?”
“Yes, but you must make a choice. My Valencia contact pleads for food because they are starving, thanks to the siege, but said he has seen a tall, black-haired man with startling blue eyes participate in negotiations between Rodrigo and Ibn Jehaf. My Calatayud contact says he knows Luis, and saw him there, riding west toward the monastery at Valvanera two days ago. My guess is Luis is either at Valencia or Valvanera.”
Great, just great. Valencia was east of Zaragoza. The Valvanera Monastery was west of Zaragoza. “Grimaldi, Anna knows we’re back in this century. You can no longer help us without endangering Hazm. There can be no connection between us and the crown prince, but we need one last favor—two horses and a week’s supply of food.”
Grimaldi’s jaw tightened. “I will do this for you.”
“Where are we going?” Arturo asked, face bright, already past the stampede and ready for the next adventure.
Grimaldi sketched a rough map. “Valvanera is to the west, four days’ ride. Valencia is down here, to the east, at least five days’ ride.”
I chewed the inside of my lip. Elena had a history with Valvanera. It was not unusual for her to visit the priests who had taken her in and trained her to fight. But why during a siege? It must be important. “Valvanera,” I said. “Then Valencia. Carlos will get there before us and can be my eyes until then.” When Anna had a few minutes to sort out why we were here, she’d send someone after us and we’d never have the chance to restore the timeline, or to stop Rodrigo from killing Elena.
“When do we leave?” Arturo asked. “I have some...people I need to see before we leave.”
“There is no time to say good-bye to anyone. We leave now. Get your things.”
“But I must—”
“Now.”
Grimaldi left to find horses, I sent a scowling Arturo to pack our knapsacks, and I stood, glaring at the heavy sky settling like a heavy shawl around my shoulders. Nothing about this visit to the eleventh century was going to be easy. Nothing.
Chapter Thirteen
Most of Zaragoza lay on the south shore of the Ebro River, and its massive stone walls opened to the outside world through four gates, one in each cardinal direction. We were mounted and heading for the city’s north gate within fifteen minutes. Traffic was brisk, and we joined the wagons without notice. Even though our destination was west, that gate was too close to the Aljafería—and Anna—for my comfort. Our only hope was to get well on the way to Valvanera before Anna started looking beyond Zaragoza. The oppressive weather pressed me hard against my saddle, and I prayed it would break soon, since it would take us four days of hard riding to reach Valvanera.
We spoke little as we left the road and turned west, snaking our way through the dense forest that bordered the Ebro. The underbrush pulled at my skirt and thwapped against the horses’ flanks until they were jumpier than I was. An hour out of Zaragoza, we found a narrow, quiet stretch of river to cross. The horses swam easily, then we joined the road heading west to Burgos, falling in behind a small caravan of donkey carts.
Only then did I stop looking over my shoulder every five minutes. Several times an odd feeling that someone was watching us snaked up my back, but if Anna’s men had found us, they certainly wouldn’t hang back. Once I even imagined a flash of red in the craggy rock outcroppings in the distance, but I sighed with relief when it turned out to just be deep red streaks in the exposed rock.
We soon passed the donkey carts, nodding pleasantly to the simply-dressed men driving them. Arturo barely spoke all morning and into early afternoon, and I sensed he stewed about a problem, much as he’d done back in Chicago when his friends had plotted to drug their dates.
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” I finally said. “Still shook up by this morning?” He shrugged. “Arturo, what’s up?” Another stubborn shrug and I exhaled rudely. Why had the universe created teenagers?
Late afternoon when we stopped in a small clearing by the rive
r to rest, Arturo jerked his head toward the woods. “I gotta go,” he mumbled.
“Good idea,” I said, then followed him behind the wide live oak tree he’d chosen, its leaves hanging around us like lace.
“Mom?”
“Go ahead.”
“For Pete’s sake! I don’t need an audience.”
“Tell me what’s bugging you, and I’ll give you some privacy.”
Frustration fought with some other emotion. He folded his arms. “Maybe I’ll just pee anyway.”
I folded my own arms. “Go ahead. I never changed your diapers, but you were only six when we formed a family. I gave you hundreds of baths, so I seen you nekkid, boy.”
His eyes closed, his lashes two wide feathers brushing his cheeks. “You are a cruel mother.”
“Spill it, Arturo.”
He scrunched up his mouth, glared at me, then sighed. “It’s really nothing. I gotta pee first.”
“Promise you’ll tell?” He nodded, so I returned to the horses. After I unpacked some dried meat and two oranges, he joined me on a low, flat rock, which was moss-covered and cool. I bit off a piece of salty meat and chewed, waiting.
He cleared his throat, and played with the loose hem of his pants. “It’s my fault Anna saw me.”
“Nonsense. You didn’t even know who she was until Hazm said something.”
He shook his head, flinging up his hands in disgust. “I saw this incredibly rich woman ride up, surrounded by amazing horses with silver hanging all over their bridles and saddles, and those soldiers’ lances and capes and turbans looked so cool. It flashed through my mind this might be Anna, but then I heard the stirrups clanging, and I just couldn’t leave.”
“All you had to do was step inside the palace.”
‘I know, I know.” He tugged at his bangs. “But I didn’t want to miss anything. And then everything started happening so fast.”
“It usually does around here.”
“Besides, I was still reeling from Hazm’s apartments. Man, that guy has the life. He has seven rooms just for himself, and so many servants they’re falling over each other.”
“Hazm is the prince of a wealthy state.”
“He said al-Rashid is a hundred times richer, and his clothes are made of spun gold. Hazm has heard he wears jewels on every finger. He doesn’t have to do anything for himself. Al-Rashid even has a harem.”
I glanced sharply at Arturo, a bit alarmed at the awe in his voice. “Don’t get too carried away. We’re supposed to be defeating al-Rashid, not worshiping him.”
“I know, but I can’t help but imagine what it’d feel like to be so filthy rich. Or have my own harem.”
“I thought I raised you to be a feminist!”
He threw up his hands. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I know it’s a bad scene for the women. But Mom, remember, I am a guy, even if I am a feminist guy.”
This conversation was making me nervous. My salary kept us both comfortable, but I’d never been able to give Arturo everything he wanted—not the most expensive skateboard, not every computer game he desired, not the trendiest sneakers, and certainly not his own harem.
In the eleventh century, the best clue that someone was traveling in a hurry was pounding hooves, which we both heard at the same time. But before we could move, a coffee-skinned Moorish soldier, wearing a saffron cape but no turban, galloped around the last bend we’d taken in the road, curly brown hair streaming behind him. He nearly passed us before he saw us, but then reined in his horse, whirled around, and approached us, grinning broadly. Rafael Mahfouz leapt off his horse, tossed the reins to Arturo as if he were a servant, then rested gloved hands on two sword hilts, one swinging from each hip. Talk about overkill. “I have found you,” he said, so pleased with himself I thought he’d pop. Perspiration beaded on his wide forehead and at the edges of his thick brown moustache; his chest rose and fell with the excitement of the chase.
“What do you want with us? I am a simple peasant woman traveling with her son.”
Rafael laughed with delight. “Señora Vincent, your clothes are peasant, but your bearing is not.” He squinted slightly. “In fact, you’re quite beautiful.” The last thing I needed was a compliment from a near-sighted fool. “But no matter. Come. Señora de Palma wishes a word with you.”
I’ll bet she did. Arturo and I exchanged a quick glance. He draped the reins over a nearby branch and came to stand beside me. I shook my head. “No, thanks. Tell the señora we do not wish to speak with her.”
Rafael’s eyebrows shot up but he recovered quickly. “You will not return to Zaragoza with me?”
“You’re catching on.”
He started chuckling. “This is amazing. You resist me?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
This cracked up the handsome soldier again. “I am a soldier of the great caliph al-Rashid. I wear two swords. You are a woman and a boy. You will come with me.” He wiped his eyes, still chuckling, and suddenly I wanted to shut him up more than I wanted to escape.
“Get lost, buffoon,” I snapped. “Tell your Señora de Palma to fuck off.” Arturo grunted in surprise. I rarely used the ‘f’ word, or in this case, in Spanish, the ‘c’ word.
Rafael rolled his eyes, then shook his head sadly. He stepped back, pulled each sword easily from its scabbard, then sliced the air in an impressive pattern of circles and figure eights, the massive swords humming softly. He finally stopped, the swords held at the ready. “Come with me or I’ll slice your heads off.”
“Kie-yap,” Arturo yelled as he assumed a fighting stance.
“Arturo, no!”
In the fastest jumping front kick I’ve ever seen, Arturo’s booted toe flew up and under Rafael’s chin, snapping the man’s head back like a doll’s. Rafael crumbled, swords clattering on the rocks as he fell.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
“Is he dead?” Arturo had gone pale. Practicing Tae Kwon Do and sparring with a partner was one thing, but kicking a man unconscious was another.
“Turito, you just saved our butts.” I felt for Rafael’s pulse, which was strong, so I dragged the swords out of Rafael’s reach, then unlaced his tunic and used the thin leather cord to tie his hands behind his back. I ripped part of my hem and used it to tie his feet together.
“Gag him, Mom.” I ripped more hem, tied it around his mouth, then Arturo and I both stood back, panting.
“Wow,” Arturo murmured.
“It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?”
Arturo grinned, his face brightening despite the circles under his eyes. “I never thought I’d say this, ever, but I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
“That kick was fairly impressive, Señor Vincent. Master Kim would be proud.” I tugged on his ear affectionately.
“Tae Kwon Do, one. Swords and other sharp objects, zero.” He raised his palm for me to slap. “We make a pretty good team, Mom.”
I chuckled. “With Elena we’ll be unstoppable.” Grunting softly, we dragged Rafael, moaning now, behind some bushes.
“Will he be okay?” Arturo checked to make sure he could breathe around the gag.
“Yeah, if no one finds him right away he’ll work his way free eventually.”
“I wouldn’t want to be here when that happens.”
I winked. “Me neither. Let’s take his horse just to be safe.”
We packed up, mounted our horses, then moved back onto the road, bringing Rafael’s horse with us to use when ours grew tired.
In a few hours we took the side road south toward Taragona, which was nestled a few miles away against the foothills of the Moncayo Mountains. When the narrow road began climbing, we slowed the horses to a walk. Other than a few shepherds, we saw no one. Now and then a section of collapsed Roman wall rose from a field, then disintegrated at the next swale. We skirted Taragona itself to avoid advertising ourselves, then headed for the Alhama, a tributary of the Ebro that split the Moncayo mountains like a knife splits butter, providing an easi
er path through the blue peaks.
The air dried as we climbed away from the river. Deer and rabbit appeared now and then, and sharp-eyed Arturo pointed to a lynx sunning itself on a distant rock pile. Fertile meadows still sprinkled the foothills, but exposed rock began to dominate the higher we rode, and purple foxglove and yellow irises bloomed around us, tightening my throat at one point. I’d forgotten how deeply Spain had rooted itself in my heart. These last years, perhaps I had missed more than just Elena.
Dusk settled over the mountains, turning everything a deep violet, the mountains ahead backlit by the pink and orange sky. I stretched my neck and shoulders, then twisted in my saddle to loosen my spine. “What was that?” I said as I twisted back again.
Arturo was nearly asleep in the saddle, but jerked sideways at my voice. “Whaaa?”
I reined in my horse. “I thought I saw something move, back there against that ridge.” I squinted in the fading light.
“Probably just another animal, Mom. You’re making me jumpy. Relax. And please don’t wake me again.” He yawned. “I’m a growing adolescent and need my sleep.”
“So do I,” I grumbled, tired of my sore butt, my aching thighs and calves. My feet had gone to sleep an hour ago. Arturo’s head was bobbing again, so I reached over and slid the reins from his hands, which gripped the saddle’s front bar. This kid could sleep while parachuting from an airplane.
The next two days passed without incident, and in one small settlement we managed to trade our three horses for two fresh ones. Both our butts burned from so many hours in the saddle, but complaining about it grew boring. At dusk on the third day, the smell of the mountains and the taste of the air gave me our position. We were only an hour’s ride from Valvanera, but we would arrive after dark. I was starting to feel a little insane, weak with excitement at the thought I might see her yet today.
The Crown of Valencia Page 13