Return to Your Skin

by Luz Gabás

  Nunilo gestured for him to be quiet. It was one thing to act in self-defense, or in a pitched battle, but it would be very different to kill these men in cold blood, and would only bring terrible retribution on their houses. He trusted Pere’s ability to avoid a fight, although it was also true that, with men like Medardo, you could never lower your guard. How could they know that Medardo was not preparing an ambush?

  As if he had read Nunilo’s mind, Pere said, “Medardo, you are only quiet when you’re hiding something. Perhaps you’re waiting for others and merely wish to gain time.”

  Then Jayme got off his horse.

  “Do you also doubt my word?” he asked, looking directly at Johan. “We fight on different sides, but I am also a noble and my word is worth the same as any other’s.”

  “The word of an opportunist cannot be trusted, no matter where he’s from,” Johan replied.

  Jayme was tempted to ask what Johan would have done in his situation but held his tongue. His father, Johan’s father’s younger brother, had been born in Lubich, and had married for love the heiress of Cuyls, a house in decline. The relationship between the brothers was always friendly, and the cousins had been close until the appearance of Elvira, a temperamental girl from a good family in Besalduch. Jayme and she fell in love and made plans in secret: she would bring a good dowry, and he would work dauntlessly to increase his estate. When Elvira’s parents found out about the young couple’s intentions, they sent her to family in France and they warned him to forget about her. Then they arranged her marriage to Johan, heir to Lubich, a much greater property.

  After that, Jayme developed a deep loathing for the cousin he had once loved. Everything Jayme desired, Johan had: the magnificent house, the lands, and woods of Lubich, and the only woman he had ever loved. He hadn’t even seen Elvira since Johan had cut ties with him for wearing the royalists’ sprig of gorse, a decade ago already. The more Johan was admired by the other lords of the county and by the count himself, the more Jayme detested all of them. Soon the tables would turn. The day would come when these presumptuous followers of the count would lose their power, and he would be there to occupy the privileged position to which he was entitled.

  “We know you are traveling with women,” he said.

  Johan tensed up.

  “And by your reaction, I see it’s someone close to you. Your wife, perhaps?” For a moment, Jayme hoped he could see Elvira. “I wouldn’t mind paying my respects after so many years.”

  “A pity she doesn’t feel the same.” Johan straightened his back, as if wanting to intimidate him with the difference in stature. “And it’s not her. It’s my daughter, who’s ill, and her servant. If you really don’t want a fight, be on your way.”

  “And is the illness serious?”

  Johan’s face went red with fury. He was sure any words of concern from that mouth carried the poison of a thousand snakes. In the case of both his death and Brianda’s, the next in line to inherit Lubich was Jayme of Cuyls.

  “I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you a thousand times: the devil shall have Lubich before you do!”

  The silence that followed was so complete that everybody could hear the rustling of Father Guillem’s sleeves as he blessed himself.

  Medardo noticed him and said, “I do not know you, Father. I presume you are the new priest. I hope you come well trained because I’m afraid that you’ll find it difficult to work out which side the demons are on here.” He snorted. “If you asked me, I could save you the effort of trying to sort it out.”

  Father Guillem went over to him.

  “Satan appears where least expected,” he said in a serious voice that was loud enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t question either his ability”—he raised his index finger—“or mine.”

  Jayme returned to his horse. “We are leaving, and we will do nothing. You decide whether to shoot us in the back.”

  He kicked the animal’s flanks and set off at a light trot. When Medardo went to follow him, Surano blocked his way and hissed, “I hope Lida is as happy as I remember her.”

  Medardo pushed past and rode off, followed by his twelve men.

  Pere and the others did not lower their arms until they had disappeared from sight. Leaving this place was more urgent than ever.

  They returned to Brianda, whom Corso and Cecilia had wrapped up in a blanket to try to stop her trembling.

  “Tell me, Nunilo, what should we do?” asked Johan nervously.

  Nunilo thought for a moment. He finally answered, “We will all ride together until the fork in the mountains. There, Surano will go with Pere and stay with him. The rest of us will continue. The higher up, the less danger.”

  “And Brianda?”

  “We will have to carry her, as Corso did, at least until we reach my house in Tiles.”

  Soft murmurings arose. Everyone knew that, in order to take charge of the young woman’s body, one not only had to be strong but unafraid of her illness. Johan understood that no man would offer himself for such folly. Not even Marquo.

  “She’s my daughter. I’ll do it.”

  “And I’ll help you, Johan,” said Nunilo, “but it won’t be enough.”

  Corso came over. “I’ll carry her,” he said firmly. “I only need a faster and stronger horse.”

  Nunilo and Johan exchanged a quick glance. Nunilo pointed to the newly purchased horses being watched over by the servants and said to him, “Choose any you desire.”

  Corso went to look.

  A few minutes later, he returned riding a magnificent black Friesian.

  20.

  Brianda stayed at Anels House in Tiles until the middle of November. At first, she was looked after by Cecilia and Leonor, Nunilo’s wife, a woman with curly hair, a long face, and a kind heart. When the risk of infection had lessened, Johan finally returned to Lubich and sent their servant Gisabel to look after his daughter. He insisted that Elvira wait until Brianda was fully recovered before seeing her. He had learned that others in Tiles and Besalduch had caught the illness, and he wanted to protect Lubich at all costs. Bit by bit, the cloths soaked in hot vinegar that Cecilia ceaselessly applied to Brianda’s body brought down the fever; the brews of mullein, thyme, pine buds, and dried elderflowers prepared by Gisabel cleared her chest; and Leonor’s poultices of olive oil, wax, plantain, and marigold healed the ulcers on her lips.

  During all that time, there was no word from the rival factions. As the people of Orrun apprehensively awaited the inevitable, chilling north wind, so the count’s men awaited news of his visit. Meanwhile, Corso became the messenger between Pere and Nunilo, Aiscle and Tiles. His new task allowed him to ride, visit his friend Surano, and, most important, learn of the progress of Brianda, whom he had not seen since he brought her to Anels. He had never lived better. In exchange for his simple services, he was given the best food he had ever tasted and his own straw mattress in the servants’ wing. His appearance had improved, not only because of the food and the rest but also thanks to the attentions of Leonor, who, since learning what he had done for Brianda, took special care of him. In fact, she had insisted he get a bath and a change of clothes every week. Corso could not remember the last time his hair had looked as bright and silky as the horse’s he combed every morning. Nobody had told him to stop riding it, and he felt more the Friesian’s owner each day. Nunilo could surely have gotten a lot of money for the animal, but for the moment, nobody except Corso dared master him, to the admiration of the servants and peasants, who were getting used to seeing the solitary foreigner racing across their lands each morning.

  Corso was surprised that in such a cold, hard, isolated place where nothing grew for months, the men were sturdy and the women were healthy and vivacious, always with several children stuck to their skirts like pups. When he saw the peasants herding the livestock, chopping firewood, or putting away the tools from the last grain harvests, he supposed that their physical build and their bright, hardworking character had been molded by t
he hard climate and the intense cold. He wondered if someone not born here could become used to it, if someone not born a peasant could learn the secrets of the land, if such a person could live at the pace of mallets beating wool, at the mercy of harsh weather and uncertain harvests. He wondered if he could live in this place to be near Brianda.

  One sunny morning, Nunilo sent a servant to Lubich to let them know that Brianda had begun to take short walks inside the house and wished to return to her home in a few days. Corso positioned himself beneath the windows of her room hoping to talk to her before she left, but Brianda did not look out. The following morning, he combed his horse in the yard, alert to any movement from the main door. It finally opened and Brianda emerged with Cecilia, Leonor, and Gisabel.

  Corso could not take his eyes off her.

  She was pale and baggy-eyed, thin and fragile, dressed in a simple skirt and a sky-blue bodice, wrapped up in a thick blanket and with her hair loose over her shoulders. He watched as she looked at the sky, closed her eyes in a gesture of pleasure, and took a deep breath of fresh air. She then slid her gaze around the yard, as if discovering it for the first time, and then laid eyes on a tall, tanned man with his shirt undone, standing beside the biggest and strongest Friesian she had ever seen. She recognized Corso immediately. She searched for his eyes, remembered the images from her delirium, and blushed.

  “See?” Leonor said. “You’re scarcely out the door, and you already look better. We’ll just take a short walk to build up an appetite. We won’t go too far today, and when you get tired, we’ll come right back.”

  They crossed the patio and, so as not to warmly greet Corso, which was, in fact, what she wanted, Brianda asked him, “Are you not Surano’s friend? You look different!”

  Corso understood that she referred to his white hemp shirt and tight-fitting breeches held up by a brightly colored sash. The only thing remaining from his previous outfit was his leather boots.

  “Mistress Leonor gave me these clothes,” he said, staring into Brianda’s eyes. “I have to admit that I am more comfortable without my breastplate, backplate, and pouch.”

  Leonor laughed. “I was keeping them in the hope that one day Nunilo would fit into them again, but it doesn’t seem likely. If we had—” She halted before saying out loud that she had also kept the clothes in case they ever had a son. That would not happen now. “They look good on you.”

  “I’m pleased you’re better, Brianda,” said Corso.

  Gisabel, a small girl with fair hair, frowned at this stable boy, footman, soldier, or whatever he was, talking to the heiress of Lubich with such familiarity. She gently tugged at her mistress’s arm, but Brianda did not move.

  “I haven’t had the chance to thank you,” said Brianda. “I know what you did for me. I’m happy that you didn’t get sick. Not you or anybody else, from what I know. Everyone took such a great risk.”

  Leonor and Corso exchanged a look. Brianda had not been told that the illness had taken two of Pere’s men and been especially virulent in Marquo’s family.

  “What’s wrong?” Brianda wanted to know.

  “Others have not been so fortunate, Brianda,” responded Leonor.

  “Who?” Brianda went weak in the knees.

  “You shouldn’t think about that now—” Gisabel intervened.

  “I want to know!”

  “Bringuer and his youngest daughter have died,” Leonor told her. “Nunilo has gone to the funeral. Bringuer’s wife is still ill.”

  Brianda’s eyes filled with tears. She felt a strange mixture of relief knowing her father was well and sadness imagining the suffering in Marquo’s house.

  The sound of horse’s hooves announced someone was coming. It was Nunilo. He wore a serious expression, but he made an effort to talk cheerfully to Brianda.

  “What a good sign to see you out of the house!” he exclaimed. “You will soon see how quickly you’ll be back to your old self.”

  “If only you could say the same about Bringuer and his daughter.” Tears rolled down Brianda’s cheeks. “I just found out.” She worriedly asked, “And Marquo?”

  “He is fine,” Nunilo answered. “You’ll see him tomorrow.”

  Corso scrutinized Brianda’s face, looking for any reaction about Marquo, or about her return to Lubich, but she seemed unmoved. Perhaps the same thoughts went through her mind as his: once she returned to Lubich, they would not see each other or be close to each other. Instead, Marquo would return to her life. Would she remember when Corso had held her in his arms and kissed her? Would she put it down to delirium from the fever? If only they could be alone for a few minutes.

  Nunilo looked at Leonor, and she understood that he had something to tell her, so she suggested that the others walk ahead.

  Leonor rested her hand on her husband’s arm.

  “What news do you bring?”

  “Bringuer’s wife has also died.” He took off his cloak and handed it to Leonor. “She didn’t even survive a day. The apothecary didn’t have a chance to do anything—not even apply the remedies Gisabel taught him when he attended Brianda.”

  Leonor blessed herself.

  “How sad,” she said. “The poor family.”

  “Bringuer’s funeral was a lonely affair,” her husband commented.

  “People are afraid of the typhus.”

  “So are we, Leonor. But wouldn’t we risk it for our friends? The fear of infection was not the sole reason that only Bringuer’s sons, Johan, the abbot, the new priest, and I were present. By the way, you should have seen Abbot Bartholomeu defending his right to say the final words over the body instead of Father Guillem.” He shook his head. “And now that Bringuer is dead, I’m afraid of losing the support of his house.”

  “Do you doubt the loyalty of his heir?” asked Leonor.

  “It was he who organized the funeral in secret, without warning. Bringuer’s eldest is not like Marquo. He doesn’t want to be associated with us. He prefers to keep his distance until he sees which side is stronger. I heard how he argued with Marquo on the subject.”

  “And what will happen to Marquo now?”

  “Johan spoke with him after the funeral. Tomorrow, Marquo will go to Lubich to talk with Elvira and Brianda about their wedding. He says that she agreed to it in Monzon. Johan and Elvira have asked me to be present. Do you know anything?”

  Leonor shook her head. After a few seconds, she said, “It’s not a bad idea. Marquo could be a good master for Lubich—and loyal like his father. Joining the two houses would make Marquo’s brother really think about where his loyalties lie. But, is it just my impression or are you unconvinced about this marriage?”

  “Well, would you like a coward for a son-in-law?” Nunilo asked her. “When Brianda fell ill, he ran from her. True bravery is not shown on the battlefield but rather when facing death. There you can see the nobility of a man.” He softened his tone before concluding, “Would I abandon you if you got the worst of plagues? You know I wouldn’t.”

  Speechless, Leonor thanked God for allowing her to share her life with such a man. The designs of the Almighty had been very confusing for her. On one hand, she had been punished with never having children, and on the other, she had been compensated with one of the few men in the world who would never reproach her for it and who avowed that he would risk his own life for her.

  The whinny of a horse made them turn their heads, and they realized that Corso had been there all the time. If anyone else had overheard, Leonor would have been ashamed or afraid or both. However, she saw in Corso a young man who—for his age, stature, and disposition—could well have been the son Nunilo and she had not been able to have, the heir to the House of Anels. His hangdog appearance, still sometimes distrusting and indolent, and his habit of clenching his jaw as if growling awoke in her maternal feelings that she materialized into small daily strategies to gain his confidence. Each step in his training she considered a triumph, and each triumph a reason to continue growing fond of him. />
  What Leonor now saw, however, was new. It seemed that the conversation between Nunilo and her had caused neither surprise nor puzzlement, not even indifference.

  In Corso’s face, she saw heartbreak. And the source could not be in the loyalties of Bringuer’s family, or in the devotion between the master and mistress of Anels. Rather, it must be something so impossible, unthinkable, and extravagant as the foreigner having feelings for Brianda.

  The last thing Corso wanted was to hear firsthand the details of Brianda and Marquo’s marriage agreement, but since he had not had the chance to speak with her alone, and since Nunilo had insisted that he accompany him as his personal guard, he had no option but to visit Lubich under very disagreeable circumstances.

  The fortified house of Lubich Manor struck him with its size and the number of its servants. It seemed more like a small castle than a house. As they first rode through the woods and later along the path to Lubich, he noticed Brianda undergoing a transformation, leaving behind the illness and recovering the resolute, vivacious, and slightly arrogant spirit that he had so admired. He also noticed how she surveyed every stone, nook, and cranny of the estate, as if wanting to make sure that nothing had changed in her absence. From the greetings of the workers and servants, shouts of joy from the windows, and the frantic barking of the dogs, Corso saw that the soul of the house had just returned.

  A beautiful, tall woman, dressed in elegant clothes and with her dark hair tied up, came out of the main door. Brianda, helped by Johan, got off her horse and ran to her.

  “Mother! I’m back at last!”

  The woman, who Corso thought seemed quite young to be Brianda’s mother, received her daughter in her arms without losing her haughty bearing, although for a few seconds the severe look on her face relaxed. Then she stepped back and submitted Brianda to a visual inspection, frowning as she looked her over. Brianda was too thin, her hair did not shine, her nails were unkempt, and her clothes looked like those of a peasant. She would need time to turn her child into a lady again. She threw a reproachful stare at Johan.