Love Beyond: Walang Hanggang Pagmamahal

by Grant Leishman

  “I’m looking forward to training these men, honey,” he whispered in Minda’s ear. “I suspect they are going to be very quick learners and will make a superb fighting force.

  He and Minda climbed up to the gantry that surrounded the entire wall. Once there, they paused to gaze out over the town proper, of Pandi and the surrounding forests. It was a peaceful and beautiful scene, with the sun just beginning to sink behind the trees in the west. Hernando sighed, the sigh of a man contented and bent his head slightly to kiss his wife softly on the cheek, whilst whispering, “I love you,” in her ear. It was that slight head movement, for the kiss, that saved Hernando’s life.

  He felt the bullet whizz past his left ear and flick off the Officer’s cap he was wearing, as it slammed into the peak. Had Hernando not bent slightly to kiss his wife, he had no doubt the bullet would have buried itself in the back of his skull. His first thought was for his pregnant wife and he literally threw her to the deck of the gantry, before spinning around to try and locate the source of the bullet.

  There was screaming and shouting coming from the corner of a building just to the left of him, about fifty metres away. The soldiers, having seen what was happening had grabbed the miscreant and looked about to tear him apart. Hernando’s eyes locked on the wild, face of Arturo. His eyes were blazing and spittle was flying from his mouth as he fought violently to escape the clutches of the soldiers holding him. Hernando rushed down the stairs to confront him.

  “Damn you, de Abreu!” Arturo screamed at Hernando as he approached him. “Damn you to hell! Minda was supposed to be mine and you stole her from me. Damn you for moving, or I would have got you.” He wrenched himself free of his captors and spat directly into Hernando’s face. “You’re just another Spanish bastard. That’s all you are! You can never be one of us.” Two men jumped on Arturo’s back and began pummelling him with their fists, slowly managing to sink him to his knees.

  “Let him up!” Hernando commanded. “If he wants to kill me – well, let him have a chance to fight me like a man, not shoot me in the back like a dog.” He walked slowly down the stairs of the gantry, to confront Arturo.

  Reluctantly the two men released their grip on Arturo and stood up. Bounding to his feet, Arturo stood there, frothing at the mouth and seemingly trying to figure out what to do next. Hernando pulled his sword from his scabbard. “You want me dead Arturo. Okay then, here is your chance. On Guard!” he commanded, thrusting forward with his sabre.

  As one of the men handed Arturo his sword, to use, the remaining soldiers formed a loose ring around the two antagonists. Hernando knew he would truly be fighting for his life here, but he backed his long years of training, over Arturo’s youthful bravado. Besides which, he thought, my old instructor had always drilled into me… “Never fight when you are angry. Emotions will always destroy your concentration”… and there was absolutely no doubt that Arturo was angry. He was swinging the sword like it was a club and circling Hernando looking for an opportunity to thrust it home. Hernando imagined he could hear Minda’s voice, somewhere in the background shouting for him to stop, but there was no going back now. The die had been well and truly cast; the challenge made and accepted. They would fight like men and one of them would die. That was the only certainty.

  Hernando slowed his breathing, as his trainer had always taught him and focused on one thing only; Arturo’s eyes. “Never watch your opponent’s sword,” his master had told him. “By the time you figure out where he’s going to attack you, it’s too late – he’s already done it and you’re dead. Watch the eyes always Hernando, they will tell you.”

  The two men continued to circle each other warily, until finally, Arturo rushed at him, swinging his sword and aiming for Hernando’s midsection. He met the swing, with his own blade, which sent a jarring pain down his right arm. Wow, he thought, this young fella has some real strength. He slid his blade down to the hilt of Arturo’s sword, before pushing him backward and circling him again. Arturo charged a second time, but Hernando was ready for him this time and swayed away from the arcing blade. As Arturo followed through with the swing, his whole left side was exposed to Hernando, who took advantage of the slight opening by flicking his blade down Arturo’s side, dragging an immediate yelp of pain, followed by a steady blood flow.

  Instead of slowing him down, the wound, if anything, merely seemed to fire Arturo’s anger. He bellowed something unintelligible at Hernando before rushing him again, swinging higher this time, determined, it seemed, to remove the Colonel’s head from his body. Instinctively, Hernando crouched down and felt the blade whistle mere inches over his head. From his crouched position he could clearly see the opening Arturo had given him and he thrust upward, using his strong thighs as pivots. There was an almost satisfying slurp as his blade entered Arturo’s body, just beneath his armpit. The cry of pain, this time was louder and more intense. Arturo looked down and could see his left arm, hanging half off his shoulder, with blood pulsing from the wound.

  In slow motion, he sank to his knees, dropped his sword on the ground and almost gently rolled over, onto his back, his eyes pleading for mercy. Hernando stood tall above his fallen foe and prepared to deliver the coup de grâce. Raising his sword until it was poised vertically above his fallen foe he began the downward thrust that would end Arturo’s life.

  “NO!”

  The scream, when it came, in his beautiful wife’s voice was more than enough to quell Hernando’s blood-lust. He stopped the point of his sword, mere inches from Arturo’s chest and looked around for Minda. Parting the encircling soldiers she walked slowly towards him and gently removed the sword from his fingers. “Mercy, my love! Please show my childhood friend mercy.”

  Hernando looked at her, aghast. “Mercy? How can you beg for this man’s mercy, when he just tried to kill your husband, when he just tried to kill me? No, Minda. This man has committed treason and he must die.”

  Minda smiled at him. “Maybe he deserves to die Hernando… maybe he does. All I’m asking is that you leave that decision up to the General. It is not ours, or yours to make.”

  Hernando breathed in heavily, trying to regain control of his senses. He knew what Minda said made sense. If this was a military installation… and it was… then military law should take precedence and Arturo should face trial, for treason. He also knew that if he turned and plunged his sword into Arturo’s heart, not one man there would testify against him. This was the way “affairs of the heart” had always been settled between gentlemen and Hernando had every right to take the life of the man who had not only attempted to murder him but had also impugned Minda’s reputation by his lustful stalking of a married woman. It took only one second and one look into her pleading eyes to know what he would do. Placing one arm around her shoulders, he gently placed his sword back in its scabbard and turned to the silent men, still gathered around the scene.

  “Right, get that man’s injuries seen to and then lock him in the stockade. The General will deal with him later.”

  “Yes Sir, Colonel,” one of the soldiers responded.

  With his arm still around his wife’s shoulders, Hernando gently led her away from the scene of the fight. Turning her head, she kissed him gently on the cheek and whispered, just, “thank you”.

  Hernando exhaled loudly. “No, my darling, thank you. You just reminded me of my humanity and of why we are fighting this war. Thank you.”

  ***

  WAITING:

  The weeks following Arturo’s assassination attempt on Hernando appeared to meld one into another, as they slipped into a comfortable and relaxed routine. Hernando was truly enjoying his new role as an instructor to the thousands of willing Filipino farmers and shopkeepers who had flocked to the fort at the possibility of finally getting the opportunity to give the Spanish the ‘bloody nose’ they had been asking for, for over three centuries. These men may have been unskilled in the art of battle, but they more than made up for that with their enthusiasm and willingness to learn.


  What Hernando discovered was at total odds to what he and his countrymen had been preaching for so long. Filipinos were far from the ignorant savages, or the little, brown babies, they had been taught to think of them as. They were, for the most part, incredibly intelligent, very adaptive and fantastically courageous. Hernando revelled in the chance to help develop their already excellent hunting abilities, from wild animals – to men. All of the time, Minda stood by his side encouraging, cajoling her compatriots and reminding these typically, macho men that women, if given the chance, could be just as combative, just as tactically shrewd, and just as fearless, as any man.

  She hadn’t begun to show yet and she and Hernando had agreed to keep the baby a secret for now, at least until it became too obvious to hide. She was scared the men would treat her differently if they knew she was with child and that was the last thing she wanted. God knows, it was hard enough for Hernando not to fuss and fawn over her whenever she took a particularly hard tumble during the training. More than once he had to stop and remind himself that his beautiful wife was as much a warrior as any of the men in the camp. She seemed to have a natural proclivity with weapons. Although the sword proved a little too heavy for even her determination and character to wield, she was an absolute crack-shot with the pistol. Hernando reluctantly had to concede to his wife, one evening, that yes, she was indeed a better shot than him. It was, however, when he introduced her to the crossbow, that her true talent for shooting emerged. The crossbow, a lethal weapon by itself, became an extension of Minda’s arm. She had such control and accuracy with the bow and bolt, that her prowess became legendary among the other men. Hernando had to admit, she could almost certainly out Tell, ‘William Tell’, the mythical man himself. When she was asked to display her prowess, as the men would often request, during training breaks, she never ceased to amaze them with her ability to slice her first arrow cleanly in half, with her second and the distance never appeared to faze her in the slightest. With her crossbow and pistol in hand, Minda was a true killing machine.

  The fate of Arturo hung in the balance for several weeks after the ‘duel’ with Hernando. Although the surgeon had removed his damaged arm and sewn up the stump successfully, there was always the likelihood of infection, especially gangrene setting in. Fortunately, among the women who had followed their men to the fort, were many, skilled in the native healing arts and medicines. Between them, they managed to keep Arturo fever-free and alive, although many did question the point of the effort. As one gruff soldier stated, spitting hard into the ground. “Just let the bastard die. After what he did, he’s sure to face the firing-squad anyway. We might as well save our bullets for the damn Spanish.”

  Survive he did though and Hernando was a little vexed, but not at all surprised when Minda expressed a desire to see her childhood friend, around two months into his recovery. Hernando and she were relaxing in each other’s company, in the bed, following a passionate bout of lovemaking. Neither of them said a word, they just lay there and relished the body and soul that lay beside them. Even after this short time together, words were often not necessary between the pair. They had an almost telepathic understanding of each other’s needs and wants. A raised eyebrow, a slightly lifted corner of the mouth was often all it took to convey an idea or a feeling to the other. They had the compatibility and comfortableness, of each other’s company, that usually takes many years of marriage to fashion. For Hernando, this was just more confirmation of the perfectness of their relationship and the course of action he had embarked on.

  “I want to talk to Arturo, darling,” she had muttered, lifting herself up on one elbow and staring into her husband’s eyes.

  Hernando’s face slipped into a slight, ironic grin. “Now, how did I know you were going to say that, my love? Mmmm, why would you want to talk to the man that almost killed me, that almost destroyed our marriage before it had truly gotten started? What’s to be gained, honey?”

  Minda sniffed and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I… I… I’m not entirely sure, my love,” she stuttered. “But I do know this. Arturo was the man who got me into the KKK and without him, we would not be together and so… I don’t know. In a way, I feel I owe him the opportunity to explain what happened to him… why he did what he did. Does that make any sense?”

  Hernando leant over and kissed his wife softly on her lips. “Did anyone ever tell you what an incredibly insightful and wonderful young woman, you really are?”

  Minda giggled and tapped Hernando on the end of his long, aquiline nose. “Hehehe,” she tittered. “All the time, don’t you know? Why I’m forever fending off such compliments from unworthy young soldiers.”

  “Harumph!” he exclaimed. “As if! Give me their names and I’ll have them executed by firing-squad this very night.” Smiling at her, he added, “so, you want to talk to young Arturo. Are you sure you can handle the emotion of seeing him, especially as gravely ill as he is?” As an afterthought he concluded, “do you want to see him on your own?” his lifted eyebrows, perhaps conveying his thoughts on that idea.

  “No, no, no, Hernando. No, I don’t want to see him alone. You absolutely must come with me. Anyway, aren’t you a little curious about the young man that tried to kill you? Don’t you want to know why? It has to be more than just the fact that you and I are together, surely? That’s not enough reason to kill.”

  “Mmmm, you’re right, as always honey. I have wondered what motivated Arturo to shoot me, especially after he came to me that night at the river bank and apologised for how angry he had been with me. I mean, I thought we were all good after that… but, clearly not.”

  “Arturo spoke to you? You never told me that.”

  “Ahhhh, I didn’t think it was that important. Yes, he said we were fine now… and then this? Yes, definitely, tomorrow, after training we will go and see him at lunchtime.” He grinned at Minda. “Maybe we’ll even take him some decent food eh? I don’t imagine they’re feeding him anywhere near as good as they are us.”

  Minda laughed softly. “Mmmm, did anyone ever tell you what an incredibly handsome, brave and compassionate man you truly are?”

  Laughing along with her, he wrapped her in his arms, as they settled down to sleep, the decision made.

  ***

  It was just after midday when Hernando and Minda made their way to the stockade. They carried in their arms, a bowl of adobo (stewed meat), fresh, hot rice and even a small tankard of beer Hernando had secreted inside his blouse. He was feeling like they were going to see an old friend, rather than the man who just a couple of months ago had tried to end Hernando’s life. It felt strange but somehow right.

  The tiny stockade, which only held three, small cells was stiflingly hot in the midday sun and Hernando undid the bandanna around his neck to mop his brow. He should have been annoyed to find the single guard, feet on his desk, leaning back in his chair, hat over his eyes, and sound asleep, but the truth was, everyone felt this languid torpor in the early afternoon Philippine heat. It really was unbearable and the ‘Spanish siesta’ was one of the few things from Spain that the Filipino people had latched onto and practiced. Between the hours of noon and two, the entire camp seemed to grind to a halt, as soldiers and civilians just sat down where they stood, finding whatever shade was available and closing their eyes, dreamt of cool, sparkling and refreshing waters to bathe in. Hernando had made it a point of honour, most days, to roam around the fort, especially making sure the gantry-corner sentries had not succumbed to the natural inclination to drift off to sleep. They could well do without being surprised by a Spanish attack whilst the camp snoozed.

  With a chuckle, Hernando swept the soldier's feet to the ground. He jumped up, in surprise and prepared to throw a punch at Hernando, until he realised just who he was facing. “Ahhhh, Sir, Sir,” he spluttered. “I was just resting my eyes, Sir. Truly!”

  “As you were soldier, as you were,” he chortled. “Lieutenant de Abreu and I would like to see the prisoner f
or a while. Is he awake and cogent?”

  “The last time I checked him, Sir, he certainly was. In fact, he was on his knees praying, as well he might, Sir. Praying for forgiveness no doubt, after what he did.”

  “Yes Private, I’m sure he was. Well, the Lieutenant and I will spend an hour or so with him, so I suggest you take yourself off to the barracks and have a proper lie-down, eh? We will keep a firm eye and grip on your charge.”

  The soldier was taken aback by the Colonel’s kind offer. “Oh, Sir, that’s so thoughtful of you. Thank you so very much, Sir. I’ll be back in an hour.” Placing his hat firmly on his head, the Private rushed through the door, before Hernando could change his mind.

  He turned to Minda. “Right, that will make sure our conversation with Arturo, remains just that; with Arturo and not common gossip for the whole camp to wallow in.”

  “Oh, you are so clever, Colonel de Abreu. I guess that’s why you get paid the big pesos,” Minda giggled.

  He playfully slapped his wife across her back. “Enough cheek from you woman. Now, let’s go and chat to that young love-struck boyfriend of yours, shall we?”

  Minda just had time to poke her tongue at her husband, before they entered the door to the three cells. Arturo was in the first of the cells and, as the soldier had suggested was kneeling on the dirt floor, his head lifted to the heavens and his lips moving slowly, in some unspoken prayer.