Return to Your Skin

by Luz Gabás

  In the square, before one of the stone arches that supported the small homes, Medardo sat at the head of a table he had ordered brought to hold the meeting. His brother and Jayme stood beside him. The townspeople, with sleepy faces, were arrayed in a wide semicircle, as if waiting to watch a play at this ungodly hour, but they had kept a passage clear in the middle so the count, Pere, and the owners of some other noble houses could approach. Father Guillem had decided to remain in the church. The rest of the count’s men spread themselves in the streets that led to the square. Johan and Nunilo, to the south; Surano and Corso, to the north.

  “Have you noticed?” Johan asked Nunilo. “It’s all old people, women, and children. Where are the men?”

  “I certainly don’t believe they’re all with the livestock in the lowlands,” answered Nunilo. “I’m afraid this won’t end well.”

  In a loud, clear voice, Pere addressed the townspeople: “As bailiff of Aiscle and justice of this county, I have convened you here so you can listen to what Count Fernando has to say.”

  Insults and shouts against the count rang out and only stopped when Medardo stood and said, “As your representative, chosen by you and not appointed by a count or king, I have a special interest in hearing the words of someone who only comes to this land when he needs our money.” Many applauded. “The count claims he has a credential from the king addressed to this council.” He held out his hand toward Count Fernando. “So give it to me.”

  The count stood up.

  “I will read it, but I will not let it out of my hands,” he said in a loud, even voice. “I won’t risk you destroying it.”

  “I understand then that you doubt the validity of this council?”

  More insults and indignant voices were heard, now at a higher pitch. Johan and Nunilo moved their horses forward a little. From his post with Corso, Surano waited for a signal to intervene. He was amazed that the count kept his calm before Medardo’s provocations.

  “It is not I who has prevented this meeting from being held for so long,” said the count.

  “In that, you are correct,” responded Medardo. “For the sake of justice, I have prevented the holding of the council until the land is at peace—”

  “It’s you who’s been disturbing it!” shouted Pere.

  “And I will continue to do so until His Majesty responds to a dispatch I wish to present to him!”

  “And who are you to communicate with the king?” inquired Count Fernando.

  “I have other documents signed by him!”

  Now the count did lose his temper, saying, “The only and last document that has validity is that which I am carrying! His Majesty has signed in his own hand that I be given possession of the county peaceably—”

  “Where are the royal envoys to support your words?” shouted Medardo. “And the general bailiff of the kingdom, or the viceroy? I don’t see anybody! If no royal representative has attended, it would be logical to conclude that the king is not willing to facilitate you taking possession. Besides, how do we know the document isn’t false? Does anyone here know His Majesty’s signature?”

  “In the name of the king, the rebels shall be pardoned! Things past will be forgotten! The death sentences against Medardo and his accomplices are suspended!”

  The crowd roared, preventing them from hearing the final words of the count.

  Satisfied by this, Medardo approached the count and whispered, “Who do you think you are to pardon my life in the king’s name when I’m dealing directly with him and his ministers?”

  Pere, red with rage, spat, “Traitor and villain! You gave your word that the council would be held in peace!”

  “And I kept it, but today it is the people who reject you—”

  Pere took out his sword and raised it against Medardo. The sound of an arquebus was heard, and Pere fell at Medardo’s feet. In the seconds of silence that followed, Johan and Nunilo raced to protect the count. When Nunilo saw the listless body of his friend, he raised his arquebus and aimed at Medardo, but Medardo’s brother stepped between them. Medardo had time to briefly hold his brother’s inert body. Then, he raised his arquebus and shot it in the air.

  “Now!” shouted Medardo.

  From the streets around the square came dozens of shots and shouts of attack and terror. Over the heads of the women, old people, and children flashed the swords of the count’s men, who were disconcerted because they could not clearly identify who the enemy was.

  Johan spotted Jayme, who had observed the scene from a distance. He took out his sword and approached, but Jayme was quicker, grabbing the count and putting an arm around his throat. He pulled a dagger from his belt and pushed the tip against the man’s neck.

  “Don’t struggle or you’re a dead man!” he threatened Fernando while making his way through the crowd, using the count’s body as a shield. “You too, Johan. Come any closer and I’ll kill him!”

  Johan froze, though his blood boiled with hatred toward this traitor, his cousin who had once been his friend, his companion in mischief.

  “You’ll pay for this, Jayme!” Johan threatened with his sword upheld. “You’ll be sorry for your betrayal!”

  “And I’ll be waiting for you!” Jayme shouted. “Watch your back because I won’t stop until I finish you!”

  When Jayme thought he was far enough away, he hesitated. How tempting it was to have the count’s life in his hands! He would never have another opportunity like that. He pressed the knife a little harder and felt hot blood. But there he halted. As much as the king wanted this land, he would never permit the murder of a noble. On the contrary, he would probably put a price on the killer’s head to satisfy the other nobles. Jayme withdrew his knife, threw Count Fernando to the ground, and took off running, shielded by the townspeople. The count, stunned, ran back to Johan and Nunilo. One of his soldiers brought him his horse just as Surano and Corso galloped up.

  “They’re everywhere!” Surano shouted. “All through the upper part of town! And they’ve hired Catalan bandits! They took advantage of our followers looking after the count to ransack their houses! Cowardly traitors! They planned it all!”

  “Surano! Corso!” shouted Nunilo, trying to lift Pere up. “Help me carry him! He’s still breathing!”

  “Pere!” Surano jumped down and examined his brother. He found the hole in his stomach where the blood was coming from, tore his shirt, and plugged the wound with cloth. “Who was it? I’ll kill him with my bare hands!”

  The count addressed Surano. “Tell me, what options do we have?”

  “Frankly, sir, your nobles are more interested in saving their houses than in saving you. But those of us left have fought in worse situations.” His tone turned furious. “Give the order and we’ll charge against the rebels until there are none left!”

  “We can’t risk something happening to you, sir,” Johan intervened. “We should go now.”

  The count called one of his men and told him, “Quietly go around and tell everybody that we are going to the Besalduch monastery.”

  Worried about Pere’s family, Nunilo spoke to Corso. “Accompany Surano and his men to Pere’s house. They will need help. Find his wife and bring her to Besalduch. I’ll carry Pere there.”

  “I should go with you,” said Corso, thinking how he’d never forgive himself if Leonor lost her beloved husband. “Surano can look after his brother’s family.”

  ‘‘I’m not the one who needs help now,” argued Nunilo firmly. “Anyway, we’ll all meet at the monastery.”

  Corso obeyed, but decided to steer the group to the monastery as swiftly as possible. He had a feeling the day would only get worse.

  The town had gone mad. In the streets where homes were burning, cries of fear mixed with those of elation from men who had filled their sacks with gold, silver, and jewels. For the first time in his life, Corso was on the other side of this situation. Used to pillaging after taking a town, he now regretted that the friends of those who had treated him so
well were suffering the violence of men maddened by greed, vengeance, or mere loyalty to the opposing side. He saw the soulless men chasing terrified women and was devastated to realize he had been one of them. Now the thought of such men getting their hands on Brianda nearly drove him mad.

  Pere’s house was on the outskirts of town. It was a sober, simple building with a stately appearance. The main door was destroyed. In the central patio, they saw nobody. Surano, followed by the three men from the house, began to call out. From one of the sheds came the sound of a woman’s sobbing. Surano found Maria, Pere’s wife, curled up in a corner naked in a pool of blood. He ordered one of the men to get a blanket to cover her. Despite her age, she looked like a child, horrified by what had happened to her.

  Corso noticed that she was pressing one of her hands tightly against her bosom, but would not let any of them see her wound.

  “They wanted everything,” she said, “and what they couldn’t carry they destroyed. The wine from the barrels on the floor, the furniture chopped up with axes. They fled to the mountains. They burned the county’s archives and registries that Pere kept. My clothes. They couldn’t take off my ring—”

  She looked to her right, and they saw an axe and a finger on the floor. One of the house servants vomited.

  “It was my wedding ring.” Maria’s voice began to break. “My husband—do you know where he is?”

  Corso whispered something in the ear of one of the servants and, when the servant left, Surano crouched down beside her.

  “Maria, Pere has been wounded,” he said in a quiet and confident voice, “but he is alive. Nunilo is carrying him up to the monastery in Besalduch with the count’s men, and I have orders to bring you to him.”

  The servant returned with a smoking bucket and tongs. Surano looked at Corso and signaled him to proceed. Corso closed his eyes for an instant and took a deep breath.

  “Now we must heal you, Maria,” Surano continued. “I hope you will be as brave as my brother would wish you to be. He needs you now. I ask you to close your eyes and trust me.”

  Maria nodded and closed her eyes.

  “Help Surano to hold her,” Corso ordered a servant.

  He took the tongs, rooted in the bucket, and picked the most suitable ember by size and color. He knelt beside Maria and, without hesitation, pressed it to the wound. The bleeding stopped and the air filled with the nauseating smell of burnt flesh.

  The woman fainted, and they carried her to her bedroom to rest.

  “Stay with her until I return,” Surano told Corso. “I’m going to look for the servants to let them know that the danger has passed for the moment.”

  Corso remained beside Maria until two servant women appeared. They dressed her and prepared her for the journey to Besalduch through Tiles. Not an hour had passed since the altercation had begun, but it felt much longer.

  Meanwhile, Surano took the opportunity to ride through the center of the town to see if things had calmed down. He verified that the uproar had lessened as the ransacking had satisfied the rebels’ appetites. Suddenly, a woman and child appeared in front of him, and it took a rapid pull on the reins to avoid knocking them down. He recognized Lida immediately, and in the child, Medardo’s curved nose and features. He made a face of disgust and went to spur the horse onward, but she raised her hand to stop him.

  “They told me your brother is wounded,” she said, looking at him sadly with her hazel-colored eyes.

  “It was your husband’s fault.”

  “Medardo is defending what he believes in, just like you.”

  “I see that sharing a bed with him has changed you. And to think that there was a time I loved you!”

  He was referring not only to her defense of Medardo but also to her appearance. Lida was too thin, she looked unkempt, and she had already lost some teeth even though she was not yet thirty.

  “You ran off, and I was lucky that Medardo was even willing to marry me. No one else would have accepted the lover of a bandit in his house. Your contempt is unjust. If you hadn’t abandoned me—”

  “It doesn’t matter now! Let me pass.”

  Lida held the horse’s bridle.

  “Medardo has gone mad over his brother’s death,” she warned. “He has ordered his men to meet in the church. The count’s departure isn’t the end of this.”

  “Why would you tell me this?” Surano snarled. “If it is either to protect me or because you wish for the death of your husband, you are mistaken. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

  Humiliation burned in Lida’s eyes, but she said nothing. She pulled the child to one side.

  Surano dug his heels into the sides of his horse. A moment of pity and regret for his cruelty quickly vanished.

  He had to warn Corso.

  Medardo gathered Jayme and his twelve men at the entrance to the church. He had to avenge his brother’s death.

  “The count has fled like a coward,” he told them. “He was seen going in the direction of the highlands. I don’t know where he will be lodging, but—”

  “I don’t believe he will go to the villages,” Jayme interrupted, looking inside the church to make sure that nobody, not even Father Guillem, was around to hear. “It would be too dangerous for the families of the lords. I’ll bet you anything they are going to the monastery in Besalduch.”

  Medardo smiled cunningly. “No doubt, Abbot Bartholomeu will gladly give him shelter. To maintain his income and not share it with the king’s bishop, he is capable of offering his monks as soldiers. Well, better for us.”

  “Let me remind you it’s not advisable to kill the count, Medardo,” Jayme warned him. “Not even His Majesty will defend you if something happens to him.”

  “That’s rich, especially after you put a dagger to his throat.” Medardo guffawed. “Today, I don’t care a fig about the count or the other lords of Tiles and Besalduch. Their time will come. I want Nunilo of Anels before the body of my brother goes cold. I won’t stop until I see Nunilo’s body swinging from a tree!”

  He mounted his horse, and the others followed. They had traveled a league in silence when the lead soldier retraced his steps, signaling them to stop while pointing toward the lower path that followed the river.

  Medardo and Jayme dismounted and crept over to the edge of the bank to see a group of the count’s men below. To their satisfaction, they could hear the conversation clearly.

  “Pere cannot make it much farther,” Nunilo said. “The best thing would be to leave him here and send for the apothecary.”

  “We won’t leave you here alone, Nunilo,” said Johan.

  “I’ll keep three men just in case, but I’m sure that there is no danger now. A long time has passed and they haven’t followed us. Also, Surano and Corso will soon be here.”

  Johan shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

  “Johan!” Nunilo raised his voice. “We can’t ask Count Fernando to sit around on a rock all day. He needs to write to His Majesty as soon as possible to report what has happened and you must be at his side. Marquo can go for the apothecary.”

  Johan went to the count and exchanged some quiet words. Moments later, the men left Nunilo leaning against a walnut tree while his three men prepared a fire and a bed of blankets for Pere.

  Medardo and Jayme returned to their men and told them they would wait until the count was out of sight before attacking. They retraced their steps, looking for an easy route to get down the bank. Medardo, impatient to avenge his brother’s death as soon as possible, passed his nervousness on to his horse, which stamped and shook its head. Finally, Medardo let out a shout and launched himself down the slope.

  The attack barely lasted two minutes. Medardo’s men killed the three guards in an instant, disarmed Nunilo, and marched him to Medardo. He took a rope from his saddle, caressed it in his hands, and made a noose while speaking to Nunilo. “You didn’t hesitate to kill my brother, and now I won’t hesitate in doing the same to you.”

  He put t
he noose around Nunilo’s thick neck, while the man remained silent and stolid, conscious that his end was near. Sharper than ever, his senses relayed the crunching of the frozen soil under his feet, the mist from the horses’ nostrils, the cold smell of midday, the sweat of his hands, and the bitter taste in his mouth. His mind was filled with Leonor: her face, her movements, her voice.

  They tied his hands behind his back and, joking about his excessive weight, they lifted him onto his horse and led it to the walnut tree. One nimbly climbed the tree with one end of the rope, tied it around a branch, jumped to the ground, and pulled it taut. Then, Medardo smacked the horse hard with a stick and it ran off, leaving its master dangling.

  “Don’t let go of the rope,” ordered Medardo when he saw the signs of death in Nunilo’s face. “Tie it to the other branch so his body is clearly visible.”

  “And what shall we do with him?” asked Jayme, pointing to Pere.

  “Eh, he won’t live long. And if he finds the strength to open his eyes, he’ll just see what’s left of his friend.” He spat on the ground. “Let’s head back. That’s enough for today.”

  From a distance, Surano and Corso made out Nunilo’s body rocking in the air. They had come as fast as they could, given that they were traveling with Pere’s wife and one of her servants, but they soon realized that they were too late.

  While Surano cut the rope with his dagger, Corso used all his strength in holding Nunilo’s body in his arms. For the first time in his life, he felt a terrible urge to cry. That man had done more for him in a few months than anyone else in the rest of his life, including Surano. And he had given him a present of the best horse in the world.

  “Why did they leave you alone with three of your weakest men?” he murmured. “Why did I leave you alone?”

  Surano knelt beside his brother and realized he was still breathing.

  “I’m sorry about Nunilo, but Pere is still alive.”

  Maria ran to him and caressed his hands and his face, moaning his name between her wails. Surano pulled her away, helped her back on the horse, and ordered Corso to help him with Pere.