by Luz Gabás
Corso, his face distraught, pointed to Nunilo.
“I have no intention of leaving him here.”
Surano heard the determination in his voice, so between the two of them, they picked up the body and threw it over the saddle of his horse. They used the same rope he had been hanged with to secure him. Then Corso helped to seat Pere in front of Surano.
An hour later, they passed near Tiles. Corso looked up toward Beles Peak and his sadness turned into disquiet. Some place to the west of that mountain was Brianda. He wondered if she was safe, if he should leave Surano and continue to Lubich on his own. As if Surano had been reading his mind, he said, “We have a job to do. We’ll get to Besalduch as quickly as we can, then you can come back.”
They continued and ran into Marquo with the apothecary, but Surano refused to dismount with Pere.
“If he’s made it this far, it’s best if we take him to the monastery.”
They rode in silence for another hour until the path entered a dense pine forest. Soon afterward, they heard the babbling of a river and crossed a steep stone bridge. The noise of hooves alerted several monks to their arrival.
“Warn the abbot and the count!” shouted Surano. “And the rest of you, help me with my brother!”
One monk started off at a run and another pointed behind the church.
“Go that way until you reach the abbot’s house. We have an infirmary there.”
Surano did as he was told, and the count, Johan, and Abbot Bartholomeu, a bony man with reddish hair, met him there. Johan rushed to the immobile bodies of his friends.
“Nunilo is dead,” Surano announced. “And my brother is close to it.”
The abbot gave orders for the monks to take charge of the bodies, and Maria and her servant went off with Pere.
Johan, crestfallen, stayed beside Nunilo, his hand resting on his friend’s back, until the body was taken away. Then, Surano planted himself in front of the count.
“Look at what your soft approach has led to! You have lost two of your best allies!”
Johan stepped forward to restrain Surano, but he stopped because he agreed with him. He felt a knot in his chest. How could he tell Leonor about her husband’s death? How lonely she would be! And how lonely he was! Nunilo was his dearest friend. Brianda would also be upset, he thought. Thinking of his daughter, he felt a wave of worry for her, his wife, and Lubich. He prayed that they would be safe until he returned. Even though he had left, several men guarding the house, now nothing was certain.
“If it had been up to me,” continued Surano, “Medardo would have been hanged days ago and Nunilo would be alive!”
The count reddened at the deserter’s insolence. Surano was a brave man and useful for his cause, but that did not give him the right to question a count.
“Do the rest of you agree?” he inquired.
Silence.
“Well?” he asked again. “Speak, Johan of Lubich!”
“Now that you have asked me, I must tell you, sir. You will write to His Majesty asking for a firm hand in the repression of the insults we have suffered today, and the answer will take long to come, if it ever does. Meanwhile, our honor remains tarnished, our families imperiled, and our friends slain.”
The count clenched his teeth.
“You are asking me to go to war.”
“We are asking you to impose your rights by force,” Marquo said. “Your position is difficult, but so is ours. Our houses and our families are here. Either we openly confront Medardo or—” He stopped before saying that they could not swear fealty much longer, but it was clear to everyone.
Count Fernando swore.
“For that I need a lot of men and time!”
“We could wait until spring,” said Johan, “so that they think we have forgotten, and attack when they least expect it. In terms of the number of men we need—”
Two horses were galloping toward them, and a woman’s voice shouted, “Johan of Lubich!” He recognized Brianda and his stomach dropped. She was accompanied by one of the house’s servants.
“What are you doing here? What happened at Lubich?”
Brianda threw her arms around him.
“Father! Thank God I found you!” Without letting go, she began explaining as fast as she could. “A messenger came with an important letter for you, and I sent him to Aiscle.” She pointed to the servant. “He didn’t enter because in Pere’s house they told him what had happened. Why didn’t you send word?”
She paused to catch her breath, and Johan scolded her.
“Do you know the risk you ran, coming here? Damn it! You are my daughter, not one of my men!”
“I had to come! We heard they hanged an important lord!” she exclaimed. “I looked everywhere for you!”
Johan was furious at Brianda’s recklessness, although at heart he admired her bravery and was moved by her worry for him.
“Is it true?” she asked, looking around. “Who have they killed? I see Count Fernando, Marquo, Surano—” She noticed Corso, sweaty and grieving, but she did not name him. Her heart jumped for joy to see him safe. “Where are Pere and—?”
“Where is that important document?” Johan asked.
Brianda put her hand in her chemise, took out a document, and gave it to him. Johan broke the seal and read in silence. When he had finished, the lines on his forehead were even deeper.
“It is signed by three lords of the eastern valleys. The villagers who graze our livestock between Monzon and Zaragoza have been attacked by Moors, they say. A few are dead, among them our servant Gisabel’s husband. They are forming parties of armed men to avenge these deaths and writing asking for our help. In exchange, they promise to help us in the future. They have arranged to meet in Monzon the day after tomorrow.”
“There are the men you need!” said Surano to the count. “I’ll take forty men to fight the Moors and will come back with twice that. You round up the rest of the troops.”
The count looked at Johan. “Do you still have dealings with that French captain, Agut?”
Johan nodded. Agut had been the main buyer of his horses for many years now.
“Now is a bad time to cross the snowed-in passes to France, but in previous years, we have crossed as early as March.”
“Very good, then,” said the count. “We will have everything ready by the end of April. We will meet up here, if the abbot has no objection.”
Abbot Bartholomeu shrugged and opened his hands in resignation. Count Fernando had always been his greatest benefactor.
“In the meantime,” said the count, “look after Pere or pray for his soul, as the need arises. And celebrate masses for Nunilo on my account.”
“For Nunilo!” exclaimed Brianda, and began to cry. One misfortune after another. Gisabel’s husband would never meet his child. Kind Nunilo was dead. The men talked of weapons, fights, and revenge …
The time of peace had ended.
23.
In the kitchen, Surano and Corso ate the pottage of cabbage, chickpeas, and bacon offered to them by the monks. Corso was quieter than ever.
“Aren’t you looking forward to the fight?” Surano asked.
All Corso wanted to do was run to Brianda. He had no desire to follow Surano into an uncertain adventure or to kill strangers, but he had no choice. He felt responsible for Nunilo’s death. If he ever returned to Anels House, he was sure that all he would see in Leonor’s eyes was recrimination. And that was something he could not bear. She was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had.
And if he could not go back to Tiles, he had no other place to go. So, he would follow Surano once again, facing all types of dangers, paying no heed to fear or pain, punishing his body with cold and hunger and compensating it later with booty and prostitutes, without any yearning for the past or expectation of more than a restless night’s sleep.
Maybe it was for the best. To leave and accept that his stay in Tiles and the recurring image of Brianda in his arms had only been a
pleasant dream, impossible for someone like him. She would marry Marquo and forget about what had happened between them while he roved under the stars of other lands.
Corso pushed his bowl away, stood up, and went outside.
The dull gray light of afternoon guided the solitary figures of the monks from one building to another. The skeletal trees stood out against the rocky surroundings. At this time of year, not even a miserable bird broke the silence.
He walked toward the river and sat down on a rock. He noticed the ice that had formed in some spots, halting the flow of water, petrifying its freedom and muffling its sound. He thought of Father Guillem’s sermon and smiled bitterly to himself.
As far as he understood, only living souls could be saved. And without Brianda’s warmth, his soul was like the water trapped in an ice floe: mute, frozen, dead.
A voice took him from his thoughts.
“Corso!”
He stood up and saw Brianda walking toward him. Her eyes were red, her chin was trembling, and she nervously rubbed her cheeks with her knuckles.
“Corso,” she said again. “My father told me everything. It’s terrible. I—I don’t know what Leonor will do without him, all alone in Anels House. It’s not fair. Why him?”
Corso kept his eyes down. “He didn’t want me to go with him. If I had been with him, he would still be alive.”
“Or you would also be dead!”
Corso shrugged. “And who would care?”
Brianda forced him to look at her. “I would. You know that as well as I do.”
“Right, of course, that’s why you rejected me.”
“I can’t and won’t discuss that again.”
Corso, irritated, clicked his tongue. “Tomorrow I leave for the lowlands with Surano.”
“I heard that Surano was going, not that you were—” There was fear in Brianda’s voice. The parties of armed men meant danger and death. And more so in Surano’s company. The last time he got into trouble, it took him years to return. What would she do without Corso?
“Wherever Surano goes, I go. Unless you ask me not to.”
“Well, I’m asking you now. Don’t go!”
How unfair, Brianda thought. How could she ask the man she loved not to go when she would soon enter a marriage of convenience with another?
“It’s not enough.”
“I can’t give you any more.”
Corso leaned over her, slid his gaze from her eyes to her lips before encircling her waist and drawing her toward him. He perceived the heat of her cheeks on his chest, the beating of her heart through the palms of his hands on her back, and the heat of her skin seeping through the thick clothes. He savored those moments of stillness as if they were the last flickering of an ember before going out, took a deep breath, moved away, and made to leave.
“Wait!” Brianda cried. “I’ll think of something. I promise I will.”
But Corso did not turn back. Brianda felt sick. She couldn’t stop thinking about how brief, sad, and unfair life was. That very morning, Leonor had embraced to Nunilo, and now she never would again. A few hours ago, Nunilo was championing his cause, and now he was a motionless bundle that would rot in the ground. And for what? This time it was for the count’s war, but if people did not die in war, they died from illness, like Bringuer, his wife, and his daughter; or from unexpected violence, like Gisabel’s husband; or from hunger when the harvests were bad. So why should she renounce what she most wanted if either of the two of them could die at any time?
There was only one way to convince Corso of her true feelings.
“I’ll refuse to marry Marquo!” she shouted.
Corso stopped. “You will?”
“Yes.” With a sob, Brianda threw herself into his arms. “Oh, but now there’s more reason than ever for you to leave. Otherwise, they would realize you are the cause of their dishonor and would pursue you. They would see it in the way we look at each other. Now I’m not asking you to stay, I’m begging you to return!”
Corso caressed her hair slowly. Minutes ago, he thought, he had doubted his own soul. Now he felt it beat with the strength of a bird that takes flight again after falling dazed by a blow. For her, he would fly quickly and return before the fields sprouted their shoots of wheat and rye; before the swallows, sparrows, and pigeons chose the place to weave their nests; and long before the bees buzzed over the spring flowers.
“I will,” he promised, “because you are my Lubich.”
Weeks passed with little change in the mountains of Orrun. At the beginning of March, neither the men Johan had sent to France nor the soldiers promised by Surano had arrived or communicated.
Pere recovered in the monastery, as it was not safe to return to Aiscle until it was clear who ruled. Marquo and Johan tried to lead as normal a life as possible, hoping no one would suspect an impending attack.
By the end of March, the count had managed to gather a hundred men, who came to Besalduch in small, discrete groups, and he was confident that another fifty were on their way. Johan’s man finally returned and reported that Agut was delayed by snow along the mountain border, but in a couple of days the French captain and thirty more men would arrive with artillery.
Everything was coming together, except for Surano and Corso, who hadn’t been heard from since their departure at the end of January. Brianda, still grieving for Nunilo, was beside herself. Tearful, she wandered the paths of Lubich and Tiles, not even noticing the effects of early spring on the landscape. At least the preparations for war had delayed her marriage to Marquo until the summer. Sooner or later, she would have to tell her parents that she renounced the engagement, but as time went by without word from Corso, she was assaulted by doubts. What if he never came back? Or if he’d changed his mind? She repeated to herself that the only thing that could prevent his return was death. Then her anxiety turned to anguish and desperation, because if he were dead, should she not marry Marquo?
One day in April, a few days after the arrival of Agut, Pere and Marquo arrived at Lubich bearing a letter.
From Pere’s downcast eyes, Johan understood that it was bad news. He leaned against the enormous fireplace in front of which Elvira and Brianda were seated and unfolded the thick paper. After a while, he sighed and said, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, my friend. It’s a great loss, for you and for all of us.”
“What has happened, Father?” whispered Brianda, pale with worry.
“What was meant to be a rapid intervention to avenge the death of the herders got complicated. First, our men launched several isolated attacks against the Moors. But the Moors gathered together between Monzon and Zaragoza. Surano and his men attacked with fire and steel. Hundreds died, among them Surano. It says here that beside him died the one who was always with him. I suppose that refers to Corso.”
Brianda felt the world around her cease to exist. The words she had heard were not real. The fire did not crackle. Her lungs did not inhale air.
“How—do you know—it’s true?” she managed to ask.
“The survivors came home two weeks ago,” Pere answered. “The same ones who asked us for help told us about what had happened and apologized that they don’t have any men for our cause after all.” He hit the arm of the chair with his fist. “It’s out of control, damn it! Surano never knew when to stop.”
Elvira sighed loudly. “Poor Leonor. First Nunilo and now Corso. Such a large estate and no heir.”
Pere and Marquo exchanged glances.
“Excuse me, but I don’t understand,” said Marquo.
“In his will, Nunilo left his estate to Leonor, and his wish was that, on her death, it would pass to Corso,” explained Johan.
“That can’t be,” exclaimed Marquo and Brianda, one out of envy, the other out of pain for Leonor, the bitterness of her own loss, and for the misfortune of Corso, who, if he had known his new situation, would never have left Tiles.
Brianda swallowed a sob. To think that she herself had told him to go! She
would never forgive herself.
“We must inform the count immediately,” said Pere. “If we cannot expect any more soldiers, it makes no sense to wait any longer to attack Aiscle.”
A week later, at three in the morning, the silence in the monastery in Besalduch was broken by the hooves of two hundred horses stampeding over the stone bridge. They were led by Count Fernando and the lords of Orrun. It was still night when they descended on a sleepy Aiscle, attacking the houses of Medardo and his followers. The count and his men were right: they were not expected. The rebels had been overconfident after Pere’s long absence and the count’s flight in January. The expert artillerymen of Captain Agut, a thin man with a wrinkled face and a short beard, aimed their copper cannons at the doors of the rebels’ houses and left them in splinters. They entered house after house, demanding Medardo’s whereabouts.
After a half hour offensive, the group led by Marquo found the house where they believed Medardo lodged. The soldiers broke down the door and searched all the rooms, but found them empty. They heard arquebus fire coming from outside and ran to the street.
Outside, they saw it was Medardo firing from the roof. Marquo sent a soldier to go and look for the count.
“We have taken the town!” he shouted. “Give yourself up!”
“And who is ordering me?” yelled Medardo.
“Marquo of Besalduch, future lord of Lubich!” He felt great pleasure in shouting out these words.
Medardo fired at him and only just missed him.
The count, Johan, and Pere arrived.
“He doesn’t want to come down,” Marquo informed them. “And anyone who nears him from the inside is an easy target. He has picked off four of our men already.”
“Medardo!” shouted the count. “If you come down, you have my word that you will suffer no harm!”
A guffaw was heard, followed by another shot.
“Burn the house,” suggested Marquo. “We’ll see how long the weasel takes to come out.”