by Luz Gabás
Nunilo dismounted, and Corso and Cecilia did the same.
“It’s been a long time, Elvira,” said Nunilo. “I’m delighted to see you.”
“Thank you for looking after Brianda,” she replied. “I’ve written a letter for Leonor that I’ll give to you before you leave.”
“That’s very good of you. You know that your daughter is well loved in our house.”
Brianda took Cecilia by the arm and presented her to Elvira.
“Mother, this is Cecilia. She was my servant in Monzon, and I brought her here. She has looked after me as if we were sisters. Gisabel has used our time at Anels to teach her the customs of our house and has become fond of her.” She paused to remember the arguments she had practiced to justify hiring Cecilia and that no one could verify or question. “She was born in the south, became orphaned, and the owner of the house we stayed in was going to give her position to a niece.”
“Mistress.” Cecilia curtsied as she had practiced dozens of times, making some of those present laugh, as they were not used to such formality.
Elvira thought that Cecilia had very dark skin and strange features, but in front of so many people she refrained from making any comment. She would discuss it with Johan later. She asked Gisabel and Cecilia to accompany Brianda to her room so she could change her clothes.
After the young women left, her husband introduced Corso.
“And this is the soldier I talked to you about, the one who carried Brianda to Tiles.”
“He now works for me,” Nunilo added, trying to differentiate Corso from a normal servant. “And he is an intimate friend of Pere’s brother.”
Elvira bent her head and mumbled a few words of thanks. She felt uncomfortable at having to thank strangers who had intervened to help her family because of a journey that she had always been against. If Brianda had not gone to Monzon, she would not have gotten ill. It was that simple.
Johan looked toward Beles Peak. From the way the sun’s rays fell upon one of the gullies, he was able to tell it was close to midday.
“Let’s go to the hall,” he proposed. “Marquo will be here soon.”
Intimidated by Elvira’s cold elegance and the dimensions of the room, richly adorned with tapestries and bear and wolf skins, Corso kept himself apart beside an enormous stone fireplace while the others spoke together around the big wooden table located in the center of the room. A short time later, Brianda entered. She had tied up her hair like her mother’s and put on a tight bodice. Corso did not like how it forced her to keep her back and her neck too straight.
Elvira instructed the servants to tell the kitchen that the food should be served immediately. When the first stews appeared on the table, Marquo entered dressed in an elegant outfit that hid neither his thinness nor his sad and tired appearance.
He greeted Elvira first, and then Johan and Nunilo. He ignored Corso, looking puzzled to see him there. He went over to Brianda and bowed his head to her.
“I’m pleased that you have recovered,” he said. “We’ve all been terribly worried.”
Brianda was shocked by how much older Marquo looked. His brown hair was cut short and his gray eyes had lost their shine. She paid special attention to his lips as he spoke, because those lips had kissed her several times and yet she could not remember them. When she thought of kisses, she could only feel Corso’s black hair brushing against her cheeks and his strong mouth over hers. In front of Marquo and her parents, she was unable to look at Corso, standing there by the fire, taking up so much space in the main hall of her home. If she looked at him, she would become distressed. And he would realize she could not get him out of her head and the others would suspect something was awry.
“I’m very sorry to learn about your parents and your sister,” she told Marquo sincerely.
Elvira signaled everyone to sit.
When Marquo saw Corso accept the invitation, he asked Brianda under his breath, “Why doesn’t that one eat with the servants?”
She was quite sharp in her reply. “Because he is Pere’s and Nunilo’s friend and he saved my life, so now he is our friend as well. The doors of my house will always be open to him; I hope you don’t mind.”
Marquo did mind, but he did not want to cast a shadow on Brianda’s mood on this particular day, so he said nothing more on the subject. When he was master of Lubich, he thought, his opinion would be respected and he would choose her friends.
A servant served bowls of thick pumpkin with mutton sauce, goat milk, eggs, cinnamon, and sugar. Afterward, they ate roasted leg of pork and stewed hare in a liver, garlic, and hazelnut sauce.
“Don’t you like the food?” Johan asked Corso, who was picking at his plate.
“It’s delicious, sir; I’m just not used to eating so much.”
Actually, he’d never tasted such elaborate stews and would have loved to accept second and third helpings, but there was a knot in his stomach. He was uncomfortable having to share a table with Brianda without being able to talk to her.
The arrival of the cheese, preserved fruit, and fritters announced that the important moment was at hand. It was Marquo himself who spoke. “Brianda, you know why I’ve come, apart from wanting to see you?”
She nodded.
“Remember in Monzon when you asked me to wait to talk to our families? I think the time has come. I hope you haven’t changed your mind.”
“I haven’t,” she said, “and I hope my parents are pleased, and I see they are, as they have prepared this feast.”
Elvira stretched out her hand and took her daughter’s.
“Your father and I think that it is a good choice and the wedding can be held as soon as spring comes. This winter we’ll be busy preparing.”
“Yes. We have to draw up the papers detailing Marquo’s contribution and my arrangements for the future,” Johan said. “Marquo, I’m sorry that your father, my friend Bringuer, did not live to see this day, but I know he would agree because we had spoken about it. And I would be pleased,” he said, turning to Nunilo, “if, in the absence of more family on my side, you would be witness to this engagement.”
Nunilo raised his glass of mulled wine. “May it be for the best,” he said flatly.
Corso got to his feet and left without saying anything.
Johan asked for paper to outline the marriage agreement, and Elvira suggested they make a provisional guest list. Brianda pretended to stifle a yawn.
“Might I be excused? I need to lie down for a bit.”
“Of course,” Elvira consented.
Brianda gave them a grateful smile and went out. Rather than sleep, what she really needed was air and space to think about what was happening, so she wandered around the stables before going to the back gardens. She loosened the stays of her too-tight bodice, which hardly let her breathe.
Who was she trying to fool? She was looking for Corso.
She wanted with all her heart to talk to him and the prospect excited her more than the formalizing of her engagement to Marquo.
But Corso was nowhere to be found.
Behind the main house, where the gardens ended, a narrow, rocky path that bordered the tower began. One needed to walk practically holding on to the rocks in the wall, because the other edge was a deep chasm. From a very young age, she would sit down there with her legs dangling over the abyss. She could spend hours following the shapes of the clouds and the shadows of the birds.
She sat down on the ground, took off her shoes and her outer bodice, and let her hair loose. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and realized how much she had missed this place, especially during the last days of her illness, when each hour seemed eternal. She gave thanks to God for making her well enough to enjoy Lubich again and she asked Him to bless her with a good marriage and strong, healthy children. She also asked that her memories of Corso not prevent her from leading a quiet and happy life.
“You are very pretty like that.”
Brianda recognized Corso’s deep voice. S
he looked up and daringly patted the ground beside her, but he stayed on his feet.
“What would your betrothed think if he saw us?” he said with irony.
“I have never come across anyone here,” Brianda insisted, and he sat down. “Did you follow me?”
“I haven’t been able to speak to you alone since—”
“Ah, yes, since I asked you to save Cecilia,” she lied and her cheeks reddened. “I don’t even remember how I got home. They told me that you brought me. I think I’ve already thanked you.”
Corso smiled.
“Well, it’s a pity the fever clouded your memory—”
“Why? Is there something I should remember?”
Brianda’s heart began to pound. She could not believe her daring.
He put an arm around her waist and drew her toward him. He raised his hand and caressed her cheek, as he had done when she lay fainting in his arms, not taking his eyes off hers, as if this was the last time he would see her so close. Brianda closed her eyes, and he kissed her, trying to imitate the feverish kisses of that day on the back of his horse.
When they separated, she held his gaze and said, “I hadn’t forgotten. I wanted to feel it one more time, and I didn’t know how to ask. That was our last kiss.”
Corso shook his head.
“You heard me.” Brianda freed herself from his embrace. “I will marry Marquo in the spring.”
“That is still months away.” Corso came closer and tried to kiss her again. “I have all winter to convince you of your mistake.”
Brianda got to her feet and leaned against the stone.
“It’s not a mistake. It must be this way. I don’t deny I like you, but someone of my rank can’t give you anything more. Marrying well is my most important duty”—she extended her hand to the landscape that surrounded them—“for Lubich.”
It was not her refusal but the firmness of her words that irritated Corso. She had warned him that she would never marry a peasant—much less a soldier and deserter. He was wasting his time. He could kill a man, or several, in a battle, and his pulse would not even rise, but against Brianda’s convictions no force sufficed. Or maybe it did? A fleeting and awful impulse crossed his mind. He was used to getting what he wanted. He got to his feet and stood in front of her, imprisoning her with his body.
Brianda felt the pressure of Corso’s flesh against hers and, rather than fear him, she grabbed the cords of his shirt to draw him even closer. She threw her head back and allowed him to smell her neck and her hair.
“If only things were different, Corso,” she whispered. “My body responds to you as it doesn’t to Marquo, but if you feel anything more for me than mere animal instinct, I’m asking you to let me go now.”
“You ask for the one thing I don’t want to do, damn you!”
Corso bent his knees to slide a hand under her skirts.
“I don’t want to either! That’s why I’m asking you!”
Corso stopped for a second, stunned. Brianda stroked his hair.
“You told me that when I closed my eyes I would only see you, remember? I listened to you. If with a few kisses it’s already happening, what would it be like if you took me? Is that what you want? To torment me forever?”
“And you? Don’t you think it will be torture for me knowing you are with him? I’d prefer to—”
“What?” she interrupted him. “You can’t force me to want to be with you, or take me away from here, because I’d die. I could only be with you if Lubich disappeared!”
“Well then, I’ll burn it down!” Corso punched the wall and blood spurted from his knuckles.
“Don’t say such a thing!” Brianda took his hand and blew on the cuts before pressing her fingers against them. “How long have you known me? You’ll find another woman who suits you, if what you want is a family. If not, you’ll continue as you have until now, with one here, another there.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” he murmured.
“And with time, we’ll both forget,” Brianda said with a faint smile.
Corso held up her wrists tightly at both sides of her face. He leaned down and kissed her voraciously, wanting to wound her, convince her, mortify her, and excite her at the same time.
He roughly pulled away and said, “Then live with this, if you’re able.”
He looked her in the eye one last time and left.
After a good while, Brianda sat down on the rock, swinging her legs over the drop. She knew she had done what she had to do. Under no circumstances could she think about having any sort of future with someone like Corso. Houses that flourished did so thanks to a good understanding between solid and balanced couples like her parents, or like Nunilo and Leonor, or Marquo’s parents. And, as far as she knew, all those marriages had been arranged by the previous generation. Corso’s intensity would surely be as ill fated for her as Medardo and his men were for the peace of the county.
Yes, she knew she had done what she had to do, but her eyes filled with tears and the knot in her chest did not loosen even after she sobbed for a long time.
21.
“This is the coldest winter I can remember!” said Gisabel, wrapping herself up in the shawl.
The strong wind that had accompanied them from the house to the church in Tiles was stirring up the thin layer of snow that had fallen the previous night, blanketing the damp fields.
“That’s not true,” Brianda said. “It’s just that you’re more sensitive because you are with child.”
“I don’t know.” Gisabel rested a hand on her womb and again thought sadly of her husband, who would find her in an advanced state when he returned from the lowlands. “But just the thought of having to sit inside that cold church for so long makes me want to pretend to faint so I can go back to Lubich.”
“And I’d happily go with you!” laughed Cecilia, blowing on her hands.
Brianda shushed them, but she could not stop herself from giggling.
“If Father Guillem hears us … !”
The last sermon the priest had given for Christmas had been so long and repetitive that each night, before sleeping, Brianda could still hear in her mind the warnings about all imaginable sins lying in wait for any man, woman, or child. Father Guillem told them of the threats of heresies, Jewish, Islamic, Lutheran, and more specifically, the Huguenots from nearby France; of the diabolic evil of magic, spells, witchcraft, and popular superstitions; of the sins of pride, greed, and lust; of the terrible consequences of moral offenses and hostile attitudes toward the Church and the Inquisition; of blasphemies, verbal obscenities, and statements about fornication. Brianda was astonished that she had grown up among such dangers and not known it, as the only danger that she considered real was the conflict between the royalists and the count’s supporters.
Following behind Johan and Elvira, the girls crossed the small graveyard, making sure to step on the flagstones over the graves to avoid getting muddy, and entered the dark church, which was already full of people. As one of the most important families in the county, they walked to the right lateral chapel, beside the altar. On her way there, Brianda scanned the crowd. From the bench in the chapel, she would only be able to see the first benches. With a slight nod, imitating her parents, she greeted several neighbors from Tiles. She also greeted Marquo and his family and other neighbors from Besalduch, among whom she noticed a puffy-eyed young woman who turned away after giving her a twisted look.
“Did you see Alodia’s face?” she asked Gisabel in a whisper when they took their seats. “I don’t remember doing anything that could have offended her.”
“You did the worst thing: you got engaged to Marquo.”
“How could I have known she was after him?”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. Alodia is the heiress of her house, but you are a better choice.” She shrugged. “She’ll have to look for another suitor.”
Brianda felt sorry for Alodia. There were few single men like Marquo—good-looking a
nd from a good family—in all the highlands of Orrun. Some noise caught her attention, and she saw Nunilo and Leonor sit down in front; with them was Corso, whom she had not seen in weeks. She knew from her parents’ conversations that he was still at Nunilo’s house, a fact incomprehensible to Elvira, who could not understand how Leonor could have become so fond of a total stranger. Not for one second had it crossed Brianda’s mind that she might see him at church.
Unless he was there for her …
A pleasant heat coursed through her body. Corso looked magnificent, with a new maroon velvet jerkin and his shiny hair tied back with a leather strip, so that his features, normally hidden—the straight, sharp nose, the furrowed brow, the strong jaw—could now be seen perfectly. He turned and looked straight at her as if they were the only people there, as if this were not a sacred place. And she withstood his look—penetrating, unfathomable, and somber—until Father Guillem, on his way to the altar, came between them.
Father Guillem was pleased to see so many people in church that Sunday. Little by little, the inhabitants of the valley had begun to open their homes to his visits, but victory was not his quite yet. There were still people who could not even bless themselves or say a Hail Mary properly; or who blasphemed openly or criticized the bishopric’s tithe; or who, like Leonor, resisted coming to mass every Sunday with the weak argument that the sermon was too long and she had much to do on Sundays; or those, like Johan and Nunilo, who doubted the presence of Christ in the sacrament of bread and wine and questioned Mary’s virginity. And what about the laudable work of the Inquisition of the Holy Office? Some had not even heard of it. Had the carpenter not said that the mission of the Supreme Being was to persecute smugglers and bandits? And Medardo of Aiscle, had he not admitted that he did not believe in the existence of paradise, purgatory, or hell? And the other young man, Marquo of Besalduch, who insisted that voluntary carnal knowledge between two single adults was not a sin?
With a few exceptions, Father Guillem found a huge difference between the pious townspeople of Aiscle, who had grown up beside a big collegiate church, and the inhabitants of these dispersed hamlets in the high valleys and mountains, rustic people who made these sacrilegious comments out of ignorance. It was not their fault that the Holy Office came, at most, once a year—and only to Aiscle, since it had the largest population. He did not suppose that there were many places in the whole kingdom with such difficult access. But he would take it upon himself not to grant marriage licenses if the future couples, like Marquo and Brianda, were not sufficiently instructed in religion; he would teach them that mere fornication was a sin, that it disrespected the holy sacrament of matrimony. He would make Gisabel understand that the tradition of making animal and plant offerings in the church made no sense, and he would repeat the prayers a thousand times until they all were able to recite in their sleep the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Creed, the Salve Regina, and the Ten Commandments.