by Luz Gabás
“Stay for lunch, Marquo,” she said. “And together we will talk to my mother. I’ve already waited too long.”
“Why are you setting the table for four?” asked Brianda, puzzled by the extreme care Cecilia was taking. She had used Elvira’s favorite tablecloth and laid out the best china, the silver cutlery, and the glass goblets Johan had brought from France.
“Mistress Elvira told me she was expecting a second visitor,” Cecilia responded nervously, “and if I got something wrong she would lock me in the cellar.”
Brianda found it strange that her mother hadn’t mentioned anything. She silently straightened the forks. Elvira followed through on her threats, especially if they involved the young gypsy, whom she had never liked.
The door opened and Elvira entered, wearing her best dark skirt and accompanied by a man. Brianda felt herself go weak and leaned on the table for support. For a second, she had imagined it was her father who smiled at her mother. Something in his gestures and build had caused that fleeting sensation. But the man who was approaching was not Johan. He was tall, but not that tall. He had abundant hair, but it was brown rather than black. And he smiled too much, as if showing off his satisfaction at being there, in the great hall of Lubich, at Elvira’s side.
Jayme of Cuyls. Johan had warned her about him. “Watch out for that man,” he had said.
Jayme approached Marquo and held out his hand, which the young man shook without much enthusiasm. His face had also darkened.
“Today is a day to celebrate,” said Elvira, showing where each should sit, she and Jayme together and her daughter and Marquo opposite them.
Brianda balked. Celebrating? The last thing she wanted was to share a table with one of the rebels who had murdered her father. She could not understand what had gotten into her mother to smile at this man in such a forward manner. She did not know if it was just her imagination, but it seemed like Elvira was even blushing slightly. She looked to Marquo for help, but he only shrugged.
“Sit down, Brianda,” Elvira ordered her. “You too, Marquo, if you are eating with us.”
Both remained standing.
“I don’t know what we can celebrate with a rebel,” said Brianda, “if not the death of—”
“Brianda!” Elvira interrupted her. “Mind your tongue, or you’ll regret it later!”
An uncomfortable silence followed, during which Jayme looked for something in his pocket. Slowly, he took out a document, unfolded it, and placed it on the table.
“Signed by Count Fernando. From now on, I am the new bailiff of Orrun, only reporting to the deputy, Pere of Aiscle, in civil and criminal matters,” he addressed Marquo, “and I am your superior in matters of public order.”
“But—how?” Marquo could not hide his disgust. He took the document and read it carefully. “It’s true.” He sat down. “How did you manage it?”
“I would ask you for the same respect that I show you, Marquo.” Jayme took a long pause, as if waiting for the young man to reflect on his words. “The post became vacant after Johan’s death. The count, with good and wise judgment, understood that someone like me would be useful in keeping things calm in his absence.”
“Playing both sides … ,” murmured Brianda, letting herself fall into her seat. Jayme of Cuyls now occupied her father’s place at the table in Lubich and in the county.
“Was it not the count himself who asked that the past be forgotten?” Elvira began pouring the wine in the goblets and rang a bell to have the meal served. “What better way than this? Jayme only wants the best for this land.”
Jayme responded with an enchanting smile, and Brianda felt like throwing one of her knives at him.
“Does Pere know?” she managed to ask.
“He’ll soon be getting a letter from the count,” answered Jayme. “And for his own good, he’ll let it be. As I know you will, Marquo.” His tone of voice became enigmatic again. “Soon, Pere will be able to retire to his house in Aiscle and stop going to those villages where they want to do nothing more than attack him.”
Gisabel and Cecilia came in carrying trays of roast suckling pig. Brianda could not remember the last time they had served such a feast in Lubich, which could only mean that Elvira had planned it. Brianda could not rid herself of the sense that an axe was hanging over Lubich. She wanted lunch over with as quickly as possible. She could not eat. She could not think.
“Brianda and I also have something to tell you,” she heard Marquo began to say. “Remember, Elvira, that in this very room we talked about marriage plans. We had to postpone our wedding because of the terrible events that befell this house, but it is now our wish to take up the matter again and marry as soon as possible. Your husband believed that I would make a good master of Lubich, and I hope not to disappoint either him or you.”
The silence that followed Marquo’s words increased Brianda’s anguish. In contrast to the previous time, when Elvira immediately had begun drawing up the guest list, now her face had gone pale.
“You have nothing to say, Mother?” Brianda asked.
Elvira and Jayme exchanged glances.
Finally, Elvira spoke. “I hadn’t thought of telling you yet, Brianda, but this news forces me to do so. Jayme has proposed that, when the period of mourning is over, in spring, we marry.”
Brianda was dumbstruck and disgusted. The cousin her father had hated so much occupied his seat, his post in the county, and now wanted to occupy his wife’s bed. And Elvira, why was she doing this? It was not out of need, so it had to be for love. She felt short of breath. How could her mother have forgotten Johan so quickly? It was not even a year since his death. The familiarity and complicity of their gestures revealed that their relationship was not new.
“I know it seems strange to you, Daughter, but I’m still too young to renounce a man’s company and limit myself to being Marquo’s mother-in-law and the grandmother of your children. What sort of life would that be for me? Think of all the widows you know in Tiles. Even those with children are alone.”
“And you’ll go with him to Cuyls.”
Brianda had never imagined her mother living anywhere except Lubich. She wondered what madness had possessed her.
“What? No, Brianda. We will live in Lubich.”
“Marquo and I will live in Lubich, Mother. I am the owner of this house.”
Elvira lowered her voice.
“No, Brianda, you’re not. Johan didn’t sign over anything to you. According to our marriage agreement, I have the right to dispose of all goods as I see fit, respecting, of course, that which legally corresponds to you.”
“Then it’s only a question of time.” Brianda pronounced the words with a rage that came from deep inside her.
“Provided we don’t have a child,” Jayme said, looking at her with false humility. “If God wills, it will be my firstborn who will inherit Lubich.”
Brianda rose brusquely, knocking her chair to the floor. Suddenly, it was not Elvira in front of her but a stranger.
“You cannot agree to this!” she shouted, pointing her finger at her mother. “You know I am the legitimate heir to Lubich, direct descendent of the first Johan! You can’t ignore my father’s wishes!”
Elvira’s chin began to tremble. For a second, Brianda thought her resolve would crumble, but Jayme squeezed her hand and her conviction returned.
“I’m only thirty-five, Brianda! Still, Jayme is committing himself to me without knowing if I will be able to give him a child. I know he will be a good master of this house.”
“And what will happen to me?” Brianda shouted wildly. “And Marquo?”
Brianda looked at Marquo. Without saying anything, Marquo stood up, collected his sword, and left. She quickly understood, and after a few moments of shock, Brianda ran after him and caught up with him near the front door.
“Wait! This makes no sense! They won’t get away with this!” She grabbed his arm in desperation. “Why won’t you look at me?”
Marquo r
ested his hand on hers, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground.
“This changes everything, Brianda. I have nothing to offer you.” He gently released himself from her fingers. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s it?” Brianda let her arms fall by her sides, completely dejected. “You won’t even confront him?”
“The second most powerful man in the county, supported by the count and with friends at court?”
“I’m not asking you to put yourself in danger. You are the justice here in the county. You could help me appeal to the justice of the kingdom.”
“You’ve seen how much that has helped the count. He thinks the county is his and now he has one of the king’s lackeys in control.” He leaned over her, intending to kiss her on the cheek, but stopped. “This is not how it should be, but—” He shook his head, crossed the entrance hall, and went out to the patio.
Brianda’s eyes filled with tears. This couldn’t be happening. Marquo was a coward. Her mother had betrayed her father’s and her ancestors’ memory. And Jayme—her instinct had not failed her. The enemy was within.
She listened to the hooves of Marquo’s horse as he rode away. She threw a glance toward the hall. She did not know what to do. If she went back to her mother, she would only shout at her. Shout at her and hit her. Her and her future husband. How she hated her! How she hated them both!
She put a shawl around her shoulders and, over her damask slippers, a pair of old leather boots that were on a wooden bench. Then she opened the door and went out. The wind lashed against her body. With no fixed destination, she crossed the patio, went through the gates of Lubich, and began to run through the fields. She heard Cecilia call, but paid no heed. The ground was wet from the rain and sleet of the previous days, and her boots sank into the mud. The damp wind clawed at her hair, turning and twisting it over her face and shoulders.
At the end of a field, she came to a stone wall and climbed it to jump onto the hidden path. The uneven pebbles nearly tripped her. Thorns cut her face, ripped her clothes, and pricked her skin. The wind seemed to strengthen by the minute and forced her to walk looking downward at the rotting red leaves covering the path. Then, the path died.
She looked up and recognized a small gully in the middle of the wood where that blond-haired man had tried to have his way with her when she was waiting for Nunilo to return from France. Only a few months more than a year had passed, but, since then, her whole world had come tumbling down. Over the gully, she spotted a narrow aqueduct she used to visit with her father to check that nothing had blocked the water. She would balance over the chasm while she waited for him. The sight of the small bridge, barely two hands wide, brought a moment of relief. She flung herself to the ground and began to crawl. She wanted to straddle the top of the narrow waterway. Her hands felt the viscous dampness of centuries-old moss. The icy raindrops slid down the orange rocks before falling into the chasm below. She felt like she had as a child, with her lower legs swinging in the air, holding the stone on either side of her thighs to prevent herself from being knocked over by the wind. She looked down, toward the immense hole that opened its jaws at her feet, and jolted at the vertigo. She lowered her head and began to sob. Everything she most loved in life was disappearing bit by bit. Nunilo, Johan, Corso, Lubich …
Nobody would miss her if she disappeared too.
Suddenly, she heard the drumbeat of hooves. Then, a whinny. She looked up and saw a magnificent black animal rearing at the edge of the gully and pitching its rider forward. The body hit a rock and landed facedown, too close to the freezing water. The horse began to paw nervously.
Brianda climbed carefully down the sharp rocks, her only objective to reach that body.
It was as if all the water in her clothes and the heaviness of her mood had evaporated. She knelt beside the man, moved aside the cape that had fallen over his face, and rested a hand on each shoulder to turn the heavy body around. His face was covered with blood, but she recognized him immediately.
“It’s you!” she whispered.
She said his name, repeating it over and over again as she cleaned his cheeks and stroked his wet hair, trying to convince herself that Corso really was there.
30.
Corso slowly opened his eyes, certain that his mind had played tricks on him in transferring him from that hospital, where time had stood still, to this familiar wood. Blinking, he slid his gaze along the dusky sky, the trees, and the rocks, until halting at the face of the woman crying out his name. He closed his eyes again and reviewed his situation. His body hurt all over, especially his head, and a sharp pain in his side warned him that his wound had reopened. He could not understand why he saw trees from the bed he had been lying in for weeks. He did not know what type of spell could make him confuse the face of the lad who looked after him with Brianda’s. He wondered why his body felt damp, why the wind was blowing so hard, and why he did not hear the sounds of the hospital.
“Corso!” Again, that voice he remembered from his dreams. “You’ve come back to me!”
He slowly remembered his flight, his singular goal. He had succeeded. He had found her.
“Corso?” It was Brianda. “Where have you been?”
“In hell—” he managed to say. He moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue and drew a weak smile. “But I promised you I would return.”
Brianda leaned down and hugged him tightly.
“I thought you were dead!” She felt so happy to have him beside her that all she wanted was to keep hugging him and to tell him everything that had happened during his long absence, but she came to her senses. “I have to get you out of here.”
She helped him sit up. He was thinner and his hair and beard had grown so long that he looked like a bandit. Brianda decisively got to her feet and held out her hand. With difficulty, Corso got to his knees and stood up, but his body remained bent.
“What’s wrong with you?” Brianda asked, running her hands over his chest looking for a wound.
She undid the ties on his jerkin, lifted his shirt, and saw a wound half the size of her palm and open like a ripe fig. With no hesitation, she ripped some material from her underskirt, folded it, and placed it over the cut, motioning him to apply pressure. All that time, the black Friesian had waited quietly a few paces from them. Brianda approached carefully and took the reins, whispering kind words in a low voice. But without warning, the horse tensed up and opened its enormous dark eyes in fear.
“Brianda—”
Very close to Corso, a black wolf bared his sharp teeth and let out a guttural growl. Man and beast stared at each other, and Brianda’s mind sprang into action. Corso was wounded and unarmed. He could not defend himself. She could not stand losing him again.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Corso’s sword sticking out of the horse’s tack. Stealthily, she tied the reins to a tree beside her and grabbed the sword. Then she let out a shout to get the wolf’s attention and began to advance. The animal forgot about Corso and growled at her instead.
Brianda stopped three or four paces away but continued shouting. She made sure her legs were properly positioned to keep her balance and waited for the wolf’s next move. She knew that wolves did not always attack, but it was also true that they rarely came so close to a populated area. The unusually harsh winter must have driven it down from the hills. She held the hilt with both hands and kept the sword slightly raised. Suddenly, the wolf pounced. Instinctively, Brianda raised the sword above her head and brought it down in one stroke. The sharp blade opened an easy path through the flesh of the beast. She heard a howl of pain and the wolf fell at her feet. When she realized that she had killed it, she began to tremble.
She stood there, clutching the sword, until Corso got to her and hugged her in silence. A strange sensation took hold of her. If only she had showed the same bravery in confronting that foul beast who wanted to rob her of Lubich.
It was getting dark when Brianda finally made out Anels House. She had not
been back since Nunilo’s death. Leonor had visited her on a couple of occasions, but her own pain had prevented her from offering solace to Brianda.
After Lubich, Anels was the best estate in the valley. All the good memories in her life away from Lubich belonged to that place.
The yard was empty. She shouted for help and waited in the saddle, still supporting Corso. Two servants came out from the stables. At the same time, the door to the house opened and Leonor appeared, protecting her head with a black cloak.
“Blessed be to God!” the woman exclaimed. “Isn’t that horse—?” She brought her hand to her bosom. “It can’t be!”
“Corso has returned, Leonor,” said Brianda. “He is weak and badly wounded. My first thought was to bring him here.”
“Where else would you go?” Leonor motioned to the men to take care of Corso, and they got him down from the horse and brought him to one of the rooms above the hall. “This is his house.”
“Then, the will—” murmured Brianda.
“It was Nunilo’s wish and mine too.” Leonor’s eyes filled with tears. “I give thanks to God for this day. The son I thought was dead has returned home.”
Brianda dismounted and followed Leonor inside, limping. She raised her petticoat and found that the wolf had sunk its fangs into her. She had been so worried about Corso that she had forgotten about herself. Now she felt so exhausted she could barely stand and so stiff with cold she could not stop shivering.
Leonor promptly took charge. She ordered the servants to stoke the fire, heat water, bring clean, dry clothes to Brianda and Corso, and prepare a hot broth. She sent a lad to Lubich to let them know that Brianda would spend the night at Anels and ordered him to then go to Aiscle for the apothecary, although she feared it would be the following morning before he came, as only bandits were on the roads after sunset. She left Corso in the hands of two servants, and she herself looked after Brianda. She helped her to undress in the kitchen in front of the fire and to sit in a tub of hot water. She allowed the girl to rest a few moments and then she asked, “How did this miracle occur?”