He had no idea how to explain to the man that his best animal, one he had sent over for a small procedure on its hooves, was now suffering from extreme indigestion with acute pains and fetid excretions. And all this because she’d been fed damp grains.
He knelt down and looked at both of them in the eyes with rage.
“Was it you, Sajjad?”
Diego winced for the poor old man. His legs shook like a rabbit’s and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. Tension racked his squalid body.
“Sajjad see Diego.” With a trembling finger, he pointed at the boy. The boy’s expression changed first to surprise and then to indignation. Galib’s did as well, but in his case, the feelings were of fury and perplexity.
“Sajjad tell him no do, but Diego no obey Sajjad, and …” The young apprentice glared at him, wishing to strike him, to explode in protests. He held back, though, and swore he wasn’t the one who’d done it.
Galib was disconcerted. He began to walk around them, his head down. He seemed to be ruminating on a difficult decision while he seethed, infuriated. After a moment that seemed to them like an eternity, he sighed three times and at last spoke.
“Sajjad, make a ball of coal and clay to absorb the mold, and if the owner comes, don’t let him in. Tell him that she will be ready tomorrow, but be careful he doesn’t see her today.
“And you, Diego, come with me. I have to talk with you.”
Diego followed him, frightened. For a moment, he imagined himself on the street, without work, without having learned almost anything.
They plunged into the narrow streets of the Muslim quarter, and without leaving the city, Galib informed him of his intentions.
“To be an albéitar means study, tenacity, effort, the cultivation of curiosity, and, above all, to read; to read the wise men and to learn from them. It is to live committed to the service of others.”
Diego trotted along in silence and waited each moment for Galib’s reprimand to come.
Galib maintained the tension, not slowing down and always looking ahead.
“You don’t have anything to say?”
“I’m so sorry for what happened. …”
“I know Sajjad well and I know when he’s lying. His face gives him away. … But perhaps you need to be more attentive to what is happening in the stables.”
“Sometimes Sajjad …”
“Yes, I know. Sajjad doesn’t let you. He’s stubborn and jealous besides. He has never lied to me before, but he’s old now and he’s afraid. You have to understand him.”
“I …”
“I will have to think of how to arrange things so he feels more important, maybe charging him with some task, I don’t know. … He will need it, because from now on, Diego, I want you to be my assistant.”
“Are you serious?” Diego said in a whisper.
“You’ve been with us for more than a year. You have the ability to learn and, of course, a great deal of talent with animals. If you put in effort aside from that and you have the willpower, you could learn the trade, little by little. If you want it and you commit yourself, you could be an albéitar one day.”
Diego was stunned. Of course he wanted it. He had dreamed of that ever since he saw Galib cure the first horse. But not in his wildest dreams had he imagined it could become a reality. A whirlwind of emotions swallowed his tongue. He breathed in a mouthful of fresh air, conscious of the import of that moment, and felt an agreeable inner confusion as he answered.
“I won’t let you down,” the boy shouted, full of satisfaction.
“Well, if you want to be the best, we’ll have to hurry. We’re going to the castle of the most important man in Toledo, one from the Lara family, and if we don’t arrive on time, neither you nor I will be able to go on working. So gallop!”
Galib sped up as fast as he could. Diego followed. The tears in his eyes did not let him see the road, but he looked into the sky and knew his father was guiding his steps.
Royal ensigns, butlers, herdsmen. The highest responsibilities of the government of Castile were and had been forever in the hands of the Laras.
Between their properties and the concessions the king had granted them, half of Castile was theirs. Galib and Diego had to visit one of them, Don Álvaro, the count of Lara. That was a title the king had only bestowed upon nine illustrious figures in Castile, and six of them belonged to that family.
Diego was astonished when he found himself crossing over the moat of a fabulous castle where he knew King Alfonso also lodged when he passed through Toledo.
“Do you know why I have brought you here?”
Diego was taken aback by the magnificent spire while he waited for the nobleman to arrive.
“The stables hold no fewer than two hundred horses and today we’re going to bleed all of them. It’s best to do it every season, for their health and to balance out their humors.”
To both sides of an enormous and beautifully carved door at the base of the ponderous tower hung two banners with the family’s arms. From the interior emerged two knights escorting a very young woman.
“Get down from your horse and salute them,” Galib whispered to Diego.
The girl had very white skin, green eyes, and lips of an intense red.
“How happy I am to see you, Galib! And you have a new companion as well.”
“I present you my new assistant, madame; his name is Diego and he is from Malagón.”
To Diego’s ears, that title sounded like the purest glory.
The woman, overrunning with spontaneity, grabbed the boy’s arm, directing them to the fortress’s stables.
“My name is Urraca.” She lifted her hand as though excusing herself. “I know it’s an ugly name, but that is how my father, Don Diego López de Haro, wanted it.” She tried to pull Diego away from Galib. “I don’t want him to hear me, but you must know you are at the side of the greatest albéitar in Toledo, though I also hear he pays very little.”
“Well … no …” Diego felt disconcerted.
“We’ll see if I’m telling the truth.” She winked. “I’ve known him a long time and I know how he is. He asks for everything but you can’t squeeze a single maravedi out of him.”
“Don’t take her too seriously, Diego. Madame Urraca likes to joke around.”
“You’re telling me.” A man’s voice sounded from behind Diego’s back.
It was Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara. The woman patted her stomach, seemingly offended, and then threw her arms around him blissfully.
“We have very good news.”
“Does such a thing exist in these turbulent times?” Galib was feeling around in his kit to be sure he had brought enough lancets for the bleeding.
“I’m pregnant.” The woman’s eyes reddened with emotion. Don Álvaro stroked her belly with pride.
“Congratulations.”
Galib’s felicitations sounded somewhat dry. He still had not been able to have children with Benazir and that was a real torment for them. For her, because she was afraid of being rejected, in accordance with Koranic law. For him, because he could not fulfill his great dream of having an heir. The situation was uncomfortable for him, and he tried to change the theme.
“What about your father?”
“Since the defeat at Alarcos, we haven’t seen him again. We know that he has marched toward Aragon and Navarre to try and join forces with Castile. His position as the royal ensign makes him King Alfonso’s right hand and counselor. Knowing him, he is trying to help, especially after the recent disgrace.”
“It’s understandable,” Galib answered. “People are nervous. We’re anxious to stop the onslaught of the Almohads. … They’re too close.”
“That’s why we’ve called you. We need our cavalry at the ready at all times,” Don Álvaro added.
When they arrived at the st
able entrance, Galib made a number of signs to Diego. The boy had seen bleeding done before and it didn’t seem especially difficult, but he changed his opinion when he saw it closer up. The animals facing them didn’t seem like horses; they were enormous, gigantic, heavy steeds, strong enough to wear armor and carry horsemen and knock down fences and walls of men in battle. He had never seen a breed of warhorse as grand as these. Galib told him they were Bretons.
“From the biggest ones you’ll draw three pints of blood, and even four from the ones that look the strongest and most vigorous. Only when you get to the coursers and the pack mules will you limit yourself to two.”
To begin, they looked for the end of the stables and in front of the first animal, Galib began to give orders to the stable boys. Four of them got between the horses, pushing against their ribs to make room for the albéitar, so that he could reach their necks without being crushed. Others held the jars where the blood was collected and measured. And to the rest, he explained how to press the wound after the blood was drawn and where to clean the lancets with warm water between horses.
“Watch how I do it with the first and then you try with the next one.”
Galib approached the animal’s neck and he had to raise his arms to reach the vein. With one finger he felt its pulse, and then he stretched another hand up to press down on the vein.
“You have to insert the blade of the lancet so that the hole in the skin doesn’t strike one of the blood vessels. That way we avoid a posterior hemorrhage, which can cause problems, or the appearance of an ugly hematoma.” He did it, and immediately the first stream of blood surged forth.
Galib upbraided the stable boy at his side for not being fast enough with the jar, and he showed him how to hold the lancet and at the same time catch the blood.
He passed another lancet to Diego and pointed to the next horse. To Diego, this animal seemed even larger and taller than the previous one. He normally wasn’t afraid of horses, but a mere stomp from one of those hooves could leave a person lame for the rest of his life. Galib stood at his side.
Diego felt the vein, but when the animal felt his hand, it turned its head back, showed its teeth, and snorted furiously. That hot breath let him know he couldn’t waste time. A second warning would be much worse. …
He squeezed the vein with his hand and brought the lancet close to it. Galib corrected the angle. When he stuck it in, the animal’s skin and muscles tensed, and that caught Diego by surprise; he hadn’t taken care to hold on to the instrument well and that meant that the first stream of blood came out in a broad arc that soaked his face and his tunic.
Some of the stable boys laughed at Diego’s inexperience. Galib turned to them angrily.
“The next person who laughs can volunteer to do it himself.”
“Do you know the most recent news about the king of León?” Don Álvaro said, breaking the tension. He often confided details of state, since he appreciated Galib’s wisdom and good sense.
“I can’t imagine what ugly situation he has gotten himself wrapped up in, but knowing him …”
Once he had confirmed his assistant’s technique with the next two horses, Galib directed his attention to Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara and his wife. While Galib bled the fifth horse, Diego had only managed one, but after a while, he began to pick up speed. They were so far apart that in the end, Diego couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“After the loss at Alarcos,” Don Álvaro carried on, “our king met his cousin Alfonso IX of León in this very castle. Stunned by the defeat, the Castilian reproached him for his absence from the battle, though the other one justified it as the consequence of a delay against his will. It seems it was then that the Leonese, seeing his cousin’s weakness, took advantage to reclaim from him some castles on the frontier that have been disputed for years. Since our monarch denied him, and was moreover angry at his opportunism, we have heard that when he returned to his lands, the traitor signed a treaty to fight alongside the Almohad caliph against Castile.”
Madame Urraca, moved by her husband’s respect for her father and always loyal and faithful to her king, intervened.
“I can’t manage to understand what filthy interests could make him join with that fanatical Muslim who has already spilled so much Christian blood. Castile has tried to unify the rest of the kingdoms to fight together against their ruthless invader. If we don’t oppose them, they’ll make us slaves to their faith, subjugating all of us without the least mercy. They are cold and wicked. I’ve heard dreadful stories from the siege before the loss at Alarcos. It seems impossible that Christian blood could flow through the veins of Alfonso IX. I only ask God that one day he be made to pay.”
Diego had approached them to consult with Galib when he heard the words siege and Alarcos. Without being part of the conversation, he was moved, and he couldn’t help but ask them: “My apologies, my lady; without wanting to, I have heard you speak of Alarcos, and …” He hesitated.
“Ask without fear, young man.”
“On that day, two of my sisters were captured in Malagón by a group of dark-skinned Africans after they had murdered the third one, the older one. No one has known what might have happened to them or how I can find them. I wondered whether you might have heard of what happened afterward.”
The answer came from Don Álvaro.
“The most likely thing is that they ended up in a harem, maybe belonging to the vizier of Seville, or one of the many governors in Al-Andalus.”
Doña Urraca took pity on the boy and tried to soften her husband’s crudity.
“I am sorry it sounds so terrible, but it is what usually happens with the female prisoners.”
Diego lowered his head and went silent, swallowing back his tears and his pain, with his mouth dry from anguish.
He went back to finish his work and felt a jabbing pain in his stomach after taking in what he had just heard. While he pierced the vein of a giant Breton with his lancet, he imagined those men with dark skin and longed for their deaths.
The heat of the blood running between his hands stoked his desire for vengeance against those who used religion to frighten and cow the rest of humanity.
XI.
Diego’s pain preferred silence and darkness.
In one of those magic nightfalls of Toledo, when the sun had given up its strength and was lost in the last colors of ocher, Galib found Diego leaning against a fence, pensive. He was watching a black mare, its glimmer intense and almost blue, with a very long mane. He watched her run the circular track where they normally trained the horses.
Galib respected his silence and for a while watched the magnificent stride of that lovely horse.
“One of our prophetic traditions affirms that the first horse created was a dark bay. And Allah, blessed and praised be his name, said: ‘I have made you Arabian. I wanted you to have the most abundant sustenance from among all the animals; the sheep will follow at your back and you will have the finest pastures.’” He recited from memory. “Also there are those who say that the first man to mount a horse was Ishmael, the son of Abraham, who was also the first to speak in Arabic, the language that Allah used to reveal the sacred book to the Prophet. He had five horses, and he commanded us to take care of them, to be kind to them, to love them and admire them as you are doing right now.”
Diego kept his gaze fixed on the spirited mare, drunk with feeling. The thin, calm air from the recently ended day combined with the soothing effect of Galib’s words.
“The Prophet also said that there were three classes of horse: ‘some dedicated to combat for God, which would deserve all grace in the Last Judgment; others dedicated to ornament, which deserved nothing; and others devoted to the vainglory of their owners, which would be disdained on the last days of this world.’”
Galib breathed deeply and opened his heart.
“These teachings led me to embrace
the albéitar’s task. I decided to dedicate myself to helping others by caring for horses, a good so beloved of Allah. Soon I learned to do it without any sort of training, but if wisdom is in my hands, my mind, or my perception, it is thanks to the will of Allah. He wanted it thus, just as now he wants you to have it.”
Diego sighed and swallowed his saliva, plagued with doubts. To become an albéitar seemed as exciting as it was intimidating. He was suffering a difficult inner conflict. It was a profession of Arabian origin, and Galib was a believer in Islam, a servant to that God in whose name Diego had suffered such terrible torments.
“Other sons of Allah like you, undoubtedly invoking his name, killed my father and my older sister and took my other sisters away. … Since then I have hated your religion and everything related to it.”
“Believe me, your pain hurts me as though it were my own.” Galib did not look away when Diego stared at him imploringly, wanting answers that gave some reason for his pain. “Many have mistaken the words of Allah. In their filthy hearts they believe he is talking to them when in fact it is the devil.”
Galib came over to the boy and sat down by his side. When he saw his young assistant’s desperation, he wanted to confess his feelings.
“Your enemy is not Islam, Diego, it is the Almohads. They have interpreted the Koranic law in an absolute way, and since they entered Al-Andalus, they are trying to convert everyone to Islam by force. If they are not stopped, they will impose their values and their beliefs on all the world. They will not accept any other religion than that of Allah, the one, and they will say that the trinity of your God is the worst of heresies. That is why, in their eyes, they try to convert everyone by force, Christians and Jews. They tried with me when I lived in Seville and it was their fault I had to emigrate. …” He stopped and, after taking another deep breath, continued: “I was never a believer in their principles, they knew it. They couldn’t accept that someone who wasn’t one of their people could hold such an important position, and they ended up hunting me down with the sole end of ruining me professionally, ruining my reputation. They threatened me with death, and in the end I had to leave everything behind and escape, like you did, Diego.” He looked into his eyes with determination. “They are the ones who carry out the devil’s will, believe you me. They are wrong, their doctrine is mistaken. My religion is kind and does not support evil; it is based in love and charity, just like yours.”
The Horse Healer Page 7