by Luz Gabás
He was now her future, unknown, but loved and longed for.
33.
As if the heavens had heard Brianda’s wishes, it snowed that night, and continued for days. The fields and roads awoke to a thick covering of snow that made it impossible for either man or beast in the valley to move. Corso and Brianda stayed in their room as much as possible. His wound had indeed reopened on the ride to Lubich, and taking care of it was Brianda’s excuse for not leaving his side.
She doubted she would ever grow tired of Corso’s caresses over every inch of her skin, of his damp kisses and light bites, of his sparkling, sensual, and knowing gaze when with ardent explanations he showed her how to sit on top of him and receive him like that until he could lie on top of her. She had never imagined that contact between two people could cause such a mix of such opposing sensations, strange and pleasant. Her mind, her soul, and her body relaxed and abandoned themselves before she became excited to delirium and then afterward found a calm she had never known.
There was nothing she would not do, she thought one morning at the beginning of February, to continue like that eternally.
Someone knocked insistently. “They are asking for you,” Cecilia said through the door. “Pere of Aiscle.”
Brianda jumped up and began to get dressed. Corso followed suit. They went down to the hall, where they found Leonor in the company of Pere of Aiscle and a man covered in a cloak sitting beside the fire. The floor was wet from the snow that had come off their boots and clothes. Pere quickly came over to them. The position of deputy to the Count of Orrun had not sat well on him. His shoulders were hunched, and he had lost a lot of his blond hair. Looking into his eyes, Brianda could not avoid thinking of his brother, Surano. She greeted Pere warmly and asked about his wife, Maria, whom she had not seen since that day in the monastery in Besalduch, where Maria had been brought by Corso and Surano to look after her injured husband.
“How good it is to see you, Pere! I also wanted to talk to you, but the snow has delayed my visit to your house. Also, my husband has been convalescing. Do you remember Corso?” She watched Pere’s face. “You are not surprised—”
“I’ve heard, Brianda. What the servants haven’t told other servants in the tavern, at the oven, or at the washing area, Leonor has explained to me. I’m sorry about all that has happened. Before you learn about the reason I am here, tell me: Why did you want to see me? Does it have something to do with Lubich?”
“You also got a letter—?”
With a firm gesture, Pere motioned to her not to continue. He pointed to the quiet man who hid behind the cloak and said, “Pardon me, Brianda, I didn’t tell you who was with me.” He crossed to the fire. “Sir, Johan of Lubich’s daughter and the heir of Nunilo of Anels are here.”
The man took off his cloak and got to his feet. Brianda held back a gasp as she recognized the Count of Orrun. Instead of a tidy mustache, he had an unkempt beard. He was not wearing ruffs and his clothes were dirty and torn. She found him much thinner, and his poise and haughtiness had abandoned him completely. He seemed a man sunk by exhaustion and adversity.
Reading the dismay in her eyes, Count Fernando said, “You are puzzled by my appearance. I have come from France. The snows have delayed my return and made the last part of the journey difficult, but at least I didn’t meet up with any soldiers.”
Brianda gave a quick curtsy.
“Sir, I know from Marquo of Besalduch that you went there to organize a force with which to take control of the situation in the county. I hope your efforts have been rewarded. I cannot speak for Lubich now, but be assured that this house is still with you.” She looked to Leonor and Corso, and both of them nodded.
Count Fernando gave a deep sigh and turned to the fire. Then he said, “If only there were more like you, but they get fewer with each passing day. As for the French, six hundred will come when I ask but not yet.”
“Then what’s next, sir?” Brianda asked, eager to know his plans. The loyalty owed to him by men like her father could not erase her worry that it would now be Corso who would have to lead the men of Anels in battle. Six hundred against three thousand were too few.
“I have accepted a truce. The king has requested me at court. The council that should have been held in Aiscle last week was postponed because of the snow and will now be held next week. I will not be there, but in any case, there won’t be any confrontation because for now the same posts are being kept.” He smiled bitterly. “I am counting on Jayme of Cuyls to ensure that.”
Brianda’s face filled with disgust when she heard the name.
“Do they know you are here?” Corso asked.
The count looked at him with curiosity. Pere had told him about the new master of the house and the circumstances behind the changes in his life.
“I see you still retain your soldier’s instinct, Corso of Anels,” he answered. “The king’s troops didn’t come only to guard the crossings to France and halt the entry of foreigners, but also to watch me, as if I were another foreigner. But you needn’t fear. Your hospitality will allow my men and me to regain strength today. We will leave tomorrow. I will have an audience with the king, but on my terms. I will not go with his soldiers.”
“And why does the king want you?” Brianda asked.
The sharp look Pere gave her made Brianda regret her question.
Leonor hurriedly intervened. “I will accompany you to your room, sir. You need to rest.”
The count agreed and followed her.
Brianda sat beside the fire and repeated her question to Pere. “If he leaves again,” she added, “it will be months before he comes back. His absence will only lose him more supporters and further weaken his cause.”
Pere poured himself some wine from a jug and sat down beside her.
“If he doesn’t go, he will be accused of heresy. He is now under investigation by the Inquisition. They’ve raised suspicions that Jewish blood might run through his veins. And not only that. There is also an order to accuse him of the murders that occurred in Aiscle when Medardo died and of allowing the entry of the French Huguenots. They know that Captain Agut helped him then and that he’s asked for his help again now.”
“That makes no sense, Pere!” she exclaimed.
“When the Inquisition gets involved, nothing does.”
“I don’t mean that. The accusations are absurd, but given the danger he faces, I don’t understand why he came back. He should have stayed in France!” She frowned. “Is there anything else?”
Pere kept quiet. Corso came over to him.
“You have also been offered money to abandon the count. They want to buy everybody. And him? Have they made no offer to Count Fernando?”
Pere emptied his goblet in one gulp and rested his hands on his knees while fixing his eyes on the floor.
“His brother is in Madrid,” he said at last, “negotiating the conditions of sale of the county. The count will renounce all his rights in exchange for monetary and territorial compensation—”
“And how much is that?” Brianda asked. “What is the loyalty of our ancestors and our freedom worth?”
“They are talking of fifty thousand escudos in one payment and twenty-five hundred escudos of gold in rent. The king will also give him another title in lands near the Mediterranean Sea worth eight thousand escudos annually.”
Brianda felt her eyes fill with tears.
“Very tempting. And if he accepts, everything will have been in vain,” she said. “The deaths of Nunilo, my father, your brother—why didn’t he sign two years ago?”
“Precisely because he had men like them. Now he doesn’t.”
“Here he has only lost Lubich,” Corso intervened. “He has you, me, the House of Bringuer of Besalduch—”
Pere shook his head.
“No one from Besalduch. Marquo’s brother changed sides weeks ago, and Marquo has stated his wish to give up arms, as he considers them incompatible with his post as justice. Also, his futu
re father-in-law is not one of ours.”
Brianda raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Who is he going to marry?”
“Alodia.”
“He didn’t waste any time,” she murmured, remembering the puffy-eyed girl who had given her a dirty look in the church. “Of course, neither did I.” She smiled at Corso. “And you, Pere? What do you think of all of this? What would you do if you were the count?”
Pere rubbed his temples with his hands and closed his eyes for an instant, as if freeing himself from an internal battle.
“The loyalty of my house cannot be bought—not even with a pile of gold,” he answered. “I’m too old to accept these changes, Brianda. I can understand them, but I don’t respect them. There is no honor in this. The king’s power over us will be much greater now. And you must fear those who have the most power, especially if they reign from afar.” He took the girl’s hand and looked her in the eye. “You’re asking me what I would do if I were Count Fernando. His only alternative is to send us all to a certain death. What would you do?”
Pere returned to Aiscle that very day. The count and his men left the following morning. When she saw the count ride under the gate of Anels, Brianda felt certain that she would never see him again and a strange sensation overcame her. The footprints the last Count of Orrun left at his tired back would disappear quickly like Elvira’s grief for Johan; like Marquo’s love for her; like the memories of Bringuer and his wife and daughter, Nunilo, Gisabel’s husband, Surano, Medardo, and Johan; like snow with the first temperate breeze of spring.
She wondered how much of the fault was the count’s and how much was due to the times he lived in. Like her, Count Fernando had inherited a responsibility from his father, and he saw himself forced to be witness to its loss. She had grown up convinced that her father’s words were sacred, unmovable, unquestionable, certain that he would defend the path set out for him from the thorns, wolves, and vermin that he encountered. That was how life had been for centuries, with no more change than that reflected in the features of the ancestors who watched over rich families from their portraits on the walls. Then, one day, the chain linking the past, present, and the future began to twist until it broke.
She did not know what was happening in other worlds beyond Tiles, Aiscle, and Monzon. She wondered if the count had fought hard enough, if he was not also at fault. She had often heard criticism from the lords of Orrun about his leniency and his long absences. She had a nagging doubt. If one day she had an heir who asked her about Lubich, how would she explain the way it was lost? Would he shrug in knowing resignation and understanding or would he look at her with reproach?
She heard footsteps and a familiar arm encircled her shoulders.
“What are you thinking about?” Corso asked.
“About Lubich. I’m going to fight to get back what’s mine.”
“Where do you want us to start?”
She slapped him gently on the chest.
“Weapons won’t work this time, soldier. I will appeal to the courts.”
“It will be a long process.”
“Time doesn’t frighten me.”
“It does not frighten me either, as long as we are together.”
Corso leaned down and kissed her.
34.
During the following years, a wintry, tenacious, and cruel climate hammered the region. Not even the oldest villagers remembered such chilling gales from the north, late spring frosts, unexpected hailstorms, intense rain that rotted the harvests, and copious snow that covered the fields below Aiscle. The harvests were insufficient and late, wine was scarce, the cows barely produced milk, children died. The faces of the peasants clouded over with a sadness and a deep fear that could not be alleviated even by Father Guillem’s Sunday sermons on man’s fortitude when facing the trials set by the Lord Almighty.
Sitting by the fire in Anels House on a rainy autumn day with Leonor, Brianda watched her son, Johan, playing with some ash twigs. In a few days, he would be four. He had inherited Corso’s black hair and indomitable character, but the frankness in his eyes came from his grandfather. She wondered what the future held for him. There was bad news everywhere. Military disasters abroad translated into new taxes that neither the nobles nor their peasants could bear. In distant parts like the Kingdom of Castile, the harvests were also poor; the nobles complained about being undervalued, the knights about the dearth of favors received, and the clergy about the new taxes they had to pay. In nearby Catalonia, there were endless conflicts over the king’s supposed violation of their laws. The peasants in some nearby baronies, taking a cue from the revolts in Orrun, were trying to free themselves from their lords. And to make matters worse, the threat of plague, the damned plague, had extended above Fonz in the south and to the borders with Catalonia in the east. The towns were closed, forbidding the entry of travelers, and all festivals had been suspended, not that the people were in any mood for celebration.
In the highlands of Orrun, it was a strange time as well, a false calm imposed by more than just scarcity. The long absence of the count and the presence of the king’s soldiers had, at first, brought more pillaging by both sides. But as time passed and the number of royal soldiers increased, it seemed Captain Vardan was achieving his goal of keeping the area under control.
However, that apparent ceasefire did not mollify Brianda. Even though her childhood had been happy, she had learned that moments of peace did not last long. And since becoming a mother, her worries had become more intense. Her love for Corso grew every day, but her feelings toward her son were of a different kind. Her soul belonged to Corso, her blood to little Johan. As her father Johan had done with her, she had to inculcate in her son a sense of honor and lineage, of his ancestors and of his house.
She suddenly shivered. The answer to their suit for Lubich could not take much longer. The lawyer that she and Corso had hired had advised them to appeal directly to the parliament of the kingdom. Otherwise, the matter would have gone to the Council of Tiles—with Jayme of Cuyls as general bailiff. She was either very mistaken, or the justice, Marquo, would not have dared confront Jayme.
Johan pricked himself with a splinter and began to cry. Brianda sat him on her lap, comforting him with tender words, and sucked the drop of blood from his finger. Then, the door opened and Corso appeared. His cloak and boots were soaked. He came over and stroked Johan’s hair, but Brianda noticed he seemed lost in thought and not listening to his son’s babbling explanations about his finger. He exchanged glances with Leonor and she took the child in her arms and left. Brianda got up from the floor and sat in a low chair.
“What news do you bring from Aiscle?” she asked. Pere had called a meeting of the lords of the valley.
Corso rested his arm on the stone mantelpiece.
“The Justice of Aragon has sent out a call to all corners to gather an army in Zaragoza to oppose the entry of the troops sent by the king.”
“The king’s troops in the capital of this kingdom?” Brianda was puzzled. “Why?”
“The king had one of his closest secretaries arrested as a traitor. The secretary fled Madrid and sought refuge in Zaragoza, exercising his Aragonese rights. The king and the Inquisition want him, but there are many who have rebelled to defend this Aragonese secretary. He has become a symbol of the people’s rights.”
Brianda shrugged. “No one has come up here to help us with our problems. Why would the lords of Orrun have to go?”
“Count Fernando has requested it. He believes that if the Aragonese nobles stand together against this abuse, his own cause will be better understood.”
“What cause?” exclaimed Brianda. “Did Captain Vardan not take possession of the county in the king’s name? Who should we believe? I presume that none of you will agree to go.”
“They expect us within a week. Pere is going, and so am I.”
“You—?” Brianda got up and stood in front of him. “I won’t allow it! The matters of the count are
n’t worth your life!”
“But yours are.” Corso looked at her directly.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“The justice will soon hand down a sentence on your inheritance of Lubich. If the laws are respected, you might win. Everyone knows which side Jayme of Cuyls is on. If the king takes control of the Aragonese lands, you can be sure that your stepfather will win the case in compensation for his services.”
Brianda helped Corso take off his cloak and rested her hands and forehead against his chest. Corso was willing to go into battle for her, a battle that was never his.
“Lubich isn’t worth your life either,” said Brianda. The words sounded strange in her mouth but not in her heart. “Maybe in this we’ll coincide with my stepfather. I’m sure he’s refused to take up arms also.”
Corso hugged her and remained quiet.
“Why don’t you answer?” Brianda asked.
“Jayme didn’t attend the meeting, but not because of his opposition to the justice’s request. Your mother is ill.”
“She has been ill since giving birth.”
Jayme and Elvira had gotten married a few months after Brianda and Corso. That same year, Johan was born. The following spring, Elvira gave birth to Lorien, Brianda’s half brother, after a difficult delivery that put Elvira’s life at risk.
“She is dying.”
Brianda closed her eyes. She had not seen her mother since moving to Anels. This made her sad, but pride had prevented her from making the journey between the two houses. On the Sundays she went to mass in Tiles instead of Besalduch, she looked for her mother in the chapel containing Johan’s remains, but after Lorien’s birth, Elvira had not left the house.
The sentence her father had uttered before traveling to the parliament in Monzon weighed on her like a millstone.
The people of Lubich were not easily humiliated. But on occasion, too much pride also impoverished.