Return to Your Skin

by Luz Gabás

  Though his features, build, and movements corresponded to those of a young, strong, attractive, and healthy man, there was a sinister sense of unease in him.

  The first soldier asked, “Could you explain to us who you are and how you got into this mess?”

  Brianda told him what had happened. Out of pride, she tried not to shed a single tear, but ended the tale sobbing in rage.

  “And they threw me on the street as if I were garbage—”

  The man burst out laughing and, turning to the other, said, “Haven’t I told you, Corso, how beautiful are the women from my mountains? But don’t trust their tears. If she has inherited even a drop of Johan of Lubich’s character—”

  Brianda did not let him finish the sentence.

  “Your mountains? Do you know my father?”

  “I’d bet anything that today he is with the master of Aiscle.”

  “Do you also know Pere?”

  “You could say that. He is my brother.”

  Brianda’s jaw dropped. So, that was why the face looked so familiar! She had heard incredible stories of this spy, bandit, and assassin wanted by the court of justice. She was talking to the very devil of the mountains, hero to some and villain to others. She did not know why he had disappeared for so long, just that something had happened between him and his brother.

  “But then—you are—”

  “Now I’m Surano, got it?”

  She nodded with certain mistrust. If he had changed his name, it was because he was hiding something.

  “Are you going to meet Pere?”

  “He doesn’t know I’m here yet,” Surano said, then deliberately changed the subject. “Why don’t you tell me what they were talking about inside?”

  Brianda related the discussion.

  Frowning, Surano said, “It sounds as if there may be war, depending on whether Count Fernando and his lords get satisfaction.” He turned to his dark friend. “We shall be much occupied.”

  “What do you mean?” Brianda asked in alarm. Until now, she had lived in peace, protected by her parents in a fortified home. But from the little she knew about history, she was aware that mightier men had fallen when people took up arms in open war. Could mighty Lubich and her family truly be in danger?

  Surano did not answer. Something had caught his eye, and he pressed himself against the wall as if to avoid being seen. Brianda turned and saw two men headed up the steps to the church. The first was young and good-looking despite his hawkish nose. The second, a little taller and with a head of abundant brown hair, chewed a small branch from which some small white flowers hung. An angry, mocking smile was affixed to his face.

  “From the gorse flower, I deduce they’re county men from the opposing side,” observed Brianda. “Do you know them?”

  Since the county had split into two factions, those in favor of the king often wore a sprig of flowering gorse and those of Count Fernando a sprig of boxwood.

  “You don’t?” replied Surano, surprised. “The one with the curved nose is Medardo of Aiscle—”

  “Medardo!” she exclaimed, finally able to put a face to the leader of the rebels, the one responsible for her nearly being dishonored the previous day. She had imagined him as a horrible being, and yet, despite his nose, his appearance was pleasant.

  “And the other is Jayme of Cuyls—” Surano was about to add something, but stopped himself and eyed Brianda uncertainly. He gestured for her to remain quiet. Then he turned to Corso. “Follow those two inside. See if you can hear who they talk to and what they say. If you take too long, I’ll wait for you at the back.”

  Corso immediately obeyed. And Brianda, who had felt the Italian’s presence as though she were being crushed by his weight, even though he hadn’t even touched her, sighed with relief.

  16.

  Stationed behind a column inside the church, Corso tried to follow the count’s final arguments without losing sight of the men he was spying on, but his mind was distracted by the enraged girl he had left outside with Surano. Her vivacious eyes and expressive lips had captured his attention from the first moment. For someone like himself with no scruples—accustomed from an early age to screaming and blood, to following orders to sack or kill—the unexpected sense of calm that had overpowered him when he saw the girl had caught him unawares. For the first time in a long while, his thoughts had slowed and his reflexes had relaxed.

  Perhaps he just needed a woman, Corso thought. Surano had decided that it was safest not to stop in any brothel until they reached Orrun, and the journey had been very long. The less suspicion raised by the two deserters, the better. Things would change, Surano had told him, when they got closer to the mountains. There, they would go back to doing as they pleased. And indeed, as they had gotten closer to Monzon, his friend had become more daring, almost forgetting the fear of being captured. But then he’d spotted the two men Corso now watched.

  The pair had found seats in one of the back benches on the left of the church. Medardo ran his eyes over the faces of the nobles at the other side of the altar and, every now and then, saluted one with an imperceptible nod. Jayme of Cuyls, with a crafty smile, did not miss a word the count said—speaking far too cautiously, in Corso’s opinion, for someone defending what was his by right, according to what he had understood from young Brianda’s explanations. He focused on Jayme and, for a moment, it seemed as if the man was not smirking at the count but at one of the men with him, a tall man whom Brianda resembled.

  A profound silence filled the room when the count finished speaking, and the monarch sat up straight in his chair. He meditated for a few minutes that Corso found too long until, at last, he spoke. “What an inconvenience it would be for the safety of the lands and lives of people like yourself, Fernando, Count of Orrun, who has always been loyal to the Crown, if we were to reward men for disobedience. Therefore, we are approving an ordinance that we name De rebellion vasallorum, in which we order that vassals who rebel against their lords ipso facto incur the penalty of death. Furthermore, we establish that all those vassals who do not defend and serve their lords will be treated as rebels and traitors. Tomorrow afternoon, you will have my resolution in writing.” King Philip gestured to his secretary. “The Count of Chinchon will write it up.”

  While a murmur of approval spread along the benches, Count Fernando and his followers, visibly stunned by how quickly the monarch had closed the matter, allowed themselves to be ushered toward the exit.

  Corso noticed that the king’s secretary discreetly signaled to Medardo and Jayme to follow him to a small chapel. Corso snuck over as close as he could.

  “I will prepare an offer,” he heard the Count of Chinchon say. “When things become more difficult, Fernando will sell the county.”

  “You’ve said that before,” responded Medardo. “Your only concern is to acquire the territory in a way that is not too onerous to the king’s purse. But what about us? Our men are tired, and they worry that you won’t keep your promises.”

  “All will come in due course, and when it does, His Majesty will not forget your services.”

  “He must remember them now. If I don’t get something today—”

  “Don’t you have more power now than ever?” the Count of Chinchon asked Medardo.

  “An uncertain power. We get more in booty from the skirmishes than from your commission, which is poisoned. The count’s followers are many and they don’t surrender. If in the end they won, what guarantee do we have that the king would protect us? I’ll remain here until you give me some proof that you support our rebellion. Otherwise, I make no guarantees.”

  “You’re looking at it all wrong,” replied the secretary. “You enjoy the favor of the people. They are tired of this Count Fernando, who spends more time in his distant lands than in Orrun.”

  “Do you know what some of the people think?” Jayme of Cuyls spoke up at last. “That the king doesn’t live in Orrun either. They fear simply exchanging one absent master for another.”
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  After a few moments of silence, the Count of Chinchon said reluctantly, “Come back this afternoon. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Corso hurried outside. He saw the group of men from the mountains walking off with Brianda beside the tall man Jayme had stared at. At the other end of the square, some footmen brought a horse for Count Fernando, who rode in another direction. Just as they had agreed, Corso went around the back of the church, where he found Surano and repeated everything he had heard.

  “My brother would like to know this,” murmured Surano.

  “The men from Orrun have already gone off toward the east. I don’t think it will be difficult to learn where they are staying. They stand out a bit.”

  Surano felt the urge to go looking for Pere but restrained himself. His brother had always helped him, and now he had the opportunity to return the favor. However, it meant he would have to explain the reason for his premature return, which he had planned to do in Aiscle, calmly, just the two of them. He had not reckoned on a chance meeting here in Monzon.

  His mind went to that night, four years ago, when he’d fled after being unjustly accused of two murders. The king and the Inquisition had put a price on his head. If not for Pere, who’d advised him to seek refuge in France while he negotiated with the monarch to have Surano spy on the Huguenots, he would be dead now. In gratitude for his services, the king had commuted Surano’s death sentence but forced him to enroll in the Tercios Imperiales and serve in Sicily as an infantry captain. Without a doubt, Pere would need time to understand his brother’s desertion, his breaking of this contract. Who knew what false conclusions he would arrive at when that girl, Brianda, told him of their meeting.

  “You say, Corso, that they’ll have the king’s resolution in hand tomorrow. So, we’ll wait until tomorrow.” Surano gave a roguish smile. “Both you and I could do with a night of fun before things get complicated.”

  Pere stopped before a three-story adobe house, simple but large, located on a narrow street in the upper part of the town.

  “I hope the owner doesn’t dare object,” he told them. “The rascal has asked me for three hundred reales in rent for a month for a house that is worth forty reales per year. With the General Parliament held here, the city has gone crazy.” He wiped the sweat that had beaded on his forehead. “This blasted heat. There are already some cases of typhus. All we need now is an epidemic.” He let out a sigh. “How I miss the fresh air of home! Is it true that it snowed at the end of August? From here, the mountains looked white, to everyone’s wonderment.”

  Johan put a hand on his shoulder.

  “We’re all tired, Pere.”

  “It’s not tiredness, Johan. It’s mistrust. The king appears to have come down on the side of our count, but I don’t trust it.”

  He called brusquely into the house. A young dark-skinned boy called Azmet appeared and took charge of accommodating them. Johan and Brianda had a sitting room and two separate bedrooms on the top floor, near the rooms given to Bringuer and Marquo. From her window, which looked out on a courtyard, Brianda saw that Pere and Nunilo were lodged on the middle floor, near the common room where they would all eat together. On the ground floor, the servants and soldiers shared a large single room.

  Brianda couldn’t remember when she’d been so exhausted. Helped by an orphan gypsy girl named Cecilia, she had a bath and spent the rest of the day in the house. Azmet and Cecilia, who were the same age as she, pestered her with questions about life in the mountains: the bears, the wolves. They could not understand how a girl could live in the middle of the woods and yet possess the elegance and manners of the nobility. Marquo was not amused to see her waste time with this olive-skinned pair: Azmet with his suspiciously Jewish features and the orphan gypsy with her strange habits and language. Brianda enjoyed their company, delighted to find them so different from the mountain people she’d known her whole life. What most attracted her was their spontaneous laughter and carefree attitude.

  “Do you know that the king was very ill with a fever and gout?” Cecilia asked her. “Several of his party, very close to him, died. They now call Monzon the tomb of his faithful servants. People brought saints’ relics from all over to help cure him, but the only thing that worked was oil from the monastery of Saint Salvador in Fraga.”

  Brianda was pensive. Her family would need many relics to protect them if the king did not keep his word. Perhaps the king’s signed and sealed document would satisfy the count and prevent a war.

  Before retiring for the night, Brianda entered her father’s bedroom. She needed to ask some questions that had been running through her mind all day.

  “Father, why does Chinchon hate the count so much?”

  “A few years ago, Count Fernando’s brother, who was married to a relation of Chinchon’s, murdered his wife when he suspected her of infidelity. Fernando’s brother then fled to Italy, to the states of Ferrara, but he was captured. They hanged him and burnt his servants as accomplices. But it seems this wasn’t enough for Chinchon. He takes every opportunity to slander the Count of Orrun. I fear he won’t stop until our county belongs to the king.”

  Brianda thought about this for a moment. It seemed absurd that anyone would put so many lives at stake for personal revenge.

  “And who is Jayme of Cuyls?”

  “Why do you ask?” Johan raised an eyebrow.

  Brianda explained that she had seen him enter parliament with Medardo when she was waiting with Pere’s brother, Surano.

  “Surano?” Johan gaped. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

  Brianda shrugged.

  “It seemed he didn’t want it known that he was here, but later he asked a man with him to spy on Medardo and Jayme.” She wondered how Surano and Corso had met. Corso had seemed so attentive to Surano’s movements, protective. “Surano found it strange that I didn’t know this Jayme of Cuyls. Who is he? Why should I know him?”

  Johan was slow in replying. He would have liked to protect his daughter from this, but knew that arrogant and jealous Jayme would never stop in his efforts to usurp Johan and take over Lubich. Once, years before, Jayme had made an attempt on his life, but the judges believed it was an accident. Johan thought sadly of how they had played together as children and teenagers, when Jayme looked up to him like an older brother. Then, one day, everything had changed.

  “He’s my cousin. We do not get along, and for that reason we don’t even mention his name in the house.” He tenderly placed his hands on his daughter’s cheeks to ensure that she looked straight at him. “Until yesterday, child, you were too young to understand hate, but now I’m asking you to remember one thing: you must watch out for that man.”

  The following morning, the men of Orrun decided to make the wait for the king’s written decree more bearable by going to the markets. The fact that Johan had not objected to Marquo’s request to entertain Brianda led her to believe her father also planned to close some horse deals. Chaperoned by Azmet and Cecilia, they walked through the packed streets of the city. Brianda enjoyed the rich clothes of those called to parliament, the abundance of products in the stalls, the magnificent horses of the Royal Guard, the shining weapons of the soldiers, and city life in motion. Before lunch, Marquo suggested riding to the old castle that presided over the city and she agreed. Accompanied by two servants, they went to the stables, then up the unpaved path.

  “I wonder if those who lived here were at liberty to visit the city streets,” said Brianda as they rode through the entrance arch of the abandoned grounds, their horses’ hooves echoing on the paving stones. “If not, they must have felt very lonely up here.”

  “Royalty is never alone,” responded Marquo. “Have you not seen the retinue that follows His Majesty? They all want to gain his favor. This is like Lubich, only much bigger. Is it possible to feel completely alone in Lubich?”

  Brianda thought about the people who continuously filed through her house. Apart from the servants, stable boys, shepherds, laborers, a
nd knights, the majority were peasants who came to pay her father dues. Sometimes the bailiff and the justice appeared to resolve conflicts between neighbors. But except for visits from Nunilo and Bringuer, when her father brought out the best wine and the house filled with laughter, Brianda could hardly picture any scenes where Johan did not wear a frown. Her mother frequently criticized him for it in a tone halfway between resignation and contained contempt.

  “Yes, it is possible.”

  Marquo looked at her out of the side of his eye and was puzzled to see the face of the girl darken. He hoped that Brianda’s sadness was fleeting. His father had warned him that the greatest misfortune for a man and his estate was a woman afflicted by melancholy. So, if the woman was young, healthy, pretty, and from a good house, like Brianda, what could await him but a pleasant life? He immediately decided to put a smile back on the girl’s face, as soon as he could shake the bothersome servants.

  They followed the steep ramp through successive entrance gates and looked over the sober, thick-walled, and narrow-windowed buildings before arriving at the upper part of the castle grounds, an extensive yard with several turrets and a stunning view over the city. Marquo asked the servants to hold the horses so that he and Brianda could explore. To his satisfaction, the door of a high tower gave way easily and they entered a square room. A mysterious set of stone steps led up into blackness.

  “Shall we?” he asked, offering his hand to Brianda.

  Without hesitation, she took Marquo’s hand and followed him up the dark passage until they reached a small, unprotected terrace. The earth ceased to exist for a few seconds, swallowed up by the sky.