She glared at him in disgust.
Then he touched Estela’s thighs and was surprised by how smooth and firm they were. Her lips pleased him even more.
“Dear friend, you are always wise in your gift-giving. God willing, you will be as assiduous with my requests.”
He clapped twice, calling his secretary and personal servant over.
“Take them to my chambers and make everything ready.”
XIII.
Fatima had prepared an exuberant and succulent dinner.
Diego and Galib were moved by the way Kabirma and Fatima were regaling them. It was obvious that Fatima and her father were making great efforts to make the albéitar and his assistant feel at ease and enjoy the evening. Fatima had spent hours in the kitchen preparing dishes and spices to offer their guests an assortment of culinary delicacies.
“My dear Fatima, whether you believe me or not, I assure you I’ve never tried a cake like yours.” Galib closed his eyes and savored it. “It’s, it’s … grand, subtle, but filling at the same time. … Excellent, in truth.”
“You’re very kind, but I don’t believe it’s so good.” The girl, blushing slightly, tilted the tray to serve him a bit more.
“First you find me a dedicated helper and now you show your remarkable gifts in the kitchen.” He turned to the father. “Kabirma, your daughter is a jewel.”
“Fatima is like no other,” her father answered. “Her mother couldn’t teach her anything; she died when Fatima was scarcely a girl, and yet she has inherited her touch in the kitchen.” He gave her a tender pinch on the cheek. “I have to admit that this plate may even be better than the ones I remember her mother making.”
“Don’t talk so much and get to eating. It will get cold.”
The girl sat down at Diego’s side. Though they hadn’t seen each other again since the day they met, she was happy things had gone well for him and felt proud of having helped him in a moment of great desperation.
“To meet you that day was a stroke of luck,” Diego confessed.
“Now you seem like someone else, in truth. You were so famished and sad. And as soon as my father met you, he hurt you. So in those circumstances, I had no choice but to take pity on you.”
“I remember,” Kabirma said. “I confused you with a rogue.”
Diego ignored the comment and focused on the girl. Though they hadn’t seen each other since their meeting, he liked Fatima a lot. She had a face covered in freckles and thin, expressive lips. Her deep, very dark eyes went well with her brown skin. Her body was thin, well formed, with attractive legs. With all those attributes, the girl could have anything she wanted, though she was not flirtatious, rather the opposite.
In her way, she was a little like Diego. Both had lost their mothers when they were young, they had both passed quickly from childhood to working, and they knew well the meaning of such words as sacrifice, dedication, and sweat.
Even if they hadn’t seen each other in all that time, Diego saw Fatima as a loyal and open person whom he could talk to without fear. He regarded her as a friend.
Since he had begun to work for Galib, Diego had not gone back to Zocodover. He had so much work that he could hardly step away from the stables of his master except when he accompanied him on one of his visits.
The same was not true for Galib, whom Kabirma would call on at times to attest to the health of certain horses in transactions where a great deal of money was changing hands.
Kabirma, from Jerez, was undoubtedly the greatest trader of Arabian horses in all of Toledo, and he was known as such throughout Castile. No one looking for a good example of that breed could find one in any stall in the market except for his. All those who moved in his world respected him, and he attributed this to always working with the best breed at a reasonable price.
No one knew who brought him the horses. That was his greatest secret, since it was the source of a great deal of his success. But in just that regard he was having serious problems, or better yet, extremely grave problems. His best purveyor was falling short with alarming frequency and the most recent group of horses had been a complete disaster.
Together with the terrible shipment, to make the situation worse, he had received a letter in which his man in Al-Andalus explained that this would be the last consignment he could sell him, because he had lost his license to sell.
From that lot, Kabirma still had one stud horse that he’d been unable to sell due to the lamentable state of his hooves. It needed to have its hooves treated so that it could be put up for sale. At last, he thought of Galib, and an idea occurred to him. He called Fatima and asked her to organize a good dinner. He had business to take care of.
“These sweets are typical of Gadir.”
Fatima put a tray on the table and sat down again next to Diego. She had just watched him heal a horse next to Galib and was surprised by his skill.
Neither father nor daughter had dared to approach that stud horse on account of his fiery attitude. He had reared at them various times for just peeping in. And yet Diego had entered the stable without showing any qualms, though the animal, when it saw him, started salivating with fury. The boy got behind it and began to beat at its flanks, fearlessly following its steps. A little while later they heard him make soothing sounds with his mouth that calmed the animal down until it was more peaceful than a lamb. Thus Galib was able to take care of each one of its hooves, putting them between his legs and trimming off the deformations. Then he made some padding for the hooves from a few molds filled with clay and had Diego put on some temporary horseshoes. The next day they made the real ones.
Fatima offered them anise tea and more cakes, this time of honey and almond.
Galib and her father were discussing the need to improve the Norman and Breton breeds, the classic ones among warhorses, mixing them with the Arabians for greater agility in combat.
“The Breton, which the Christians use, is an enormous animal. But the Arabian is pure nobility, nerve, and agility. It’s flexible, in contrast to the others.”
“If we cross them, we will inflame the veins of the Christian horses with the energy of those animals born among the dunes, under the punishing sun.” Galib loved that breed almost as much as he loved his job.
“The Christian cavalry is conceived to vanquish, to destroy everything it encounters in its path,” Kabirma argued. “If you reduce their weight and strength, they won’t be able to support the armor or fulfill the work expected of them.”
“I know, but their enemies attack fast, with quick retreats and changing offensives that end up wrecking the classic attack technique of the Christians. The Christians’ military strategists should begin to think about how to improve the qualities of their horses or else they will have trouble.”
Galib tries one of those almond cakes and moaned with pleasure from the touch of cinnamon and sesame that Fatima had given them. He was going to congratulate her, but Kabirma cut him short.
“If you were right, we would need a great number of studs.”
“Who better than you to engage in such an enterprise?”
“I have to confess something to you …” Kabirma stood and began to walk around his guest.
“Something’s happened with you.” Galib was made nervous by the somber expression on his face.
“I remember once that you spoke to me of the Yeguada de Las Marismas and I need to know more about it.”
“I remember that, too, but I don’t see what your interest is.”
“Well, I’ll explain. But before that, I have to tell you a secret, and I beg you to be discreet.”
“Of course.”
“The truth is that I have a terrible problem with my supplier of Arabian horses. It seems he’s fallen out of favor with the governors of Al-Andalus, and without them, he can’t sell to me. Without him, I don’t have material, and Toledo wil
l not see a single example of that breed. That’s how bad things are.”
“To travel there is madness,” Galib said, knowing what the man from Jerez was thinking. “The yeguada is a jewel for the caliph, a bequest from his ancestors, something incomparable. A caprice that he keeps his eye on and that nobody in their right mind would come close to, let alone steal a few from their number. … Besides, they would recognize me. Forget it, Kabirma, it’s too dangerous.”
Everyone turned to him confusedly, except for Kabirma, who knew what he was talking about.
“I know a route that’s almost untraveled. You wouldn’t run any risk. Don’t think of it as so dangerous. I tell you, it can be done,” the man from Jerez roundly affirmed.
Diego understood what they were talking about and thought that this could be the opportunity he had been waiting for.
“I could come with you! You can count on me.”
Fatima looked at each of them without knowing what they were talking about.
Galib scratched his beard and his gaze seemed to wander to some indeterminate place, very far from there.
“Not a day passes that I don’t dream of seeing the Yeguada de Las Marismas again, in that land blessed by Allah; so beautiful that nothing else like it exists. Amid its marshes, as fertile as they are warm, you find the finest examples of Arabian horse that have ever existed. You can see them running there and feeding in complete freedom.”
It was the first time Diego had heard Galib talk with feeling about that place.
Suddenly, his mentor seemed to return from that daydream and turned back to them.
“More than two hundred years ago, the greatest of our greatest, our first caliph, Abd-ar-Rahman III, possessed the best herd of Arabian and Berber horses ever brought together. He housed them in a city that he had constructed solely from love for his wife Azahara; Medina Azahara, it is called. Decades later, Caliph Almanzor took it to the islands of Guadalquivir, a land that they called Al-Madain or Marismas. There they brought together three thousand females and more than a hundred studs. I know it well, as I was one of its last guards. I watched over it like the irreplaceable treasure that it was, protecting it and keeping it pure, for the future. But I had to abandon it when things worsened with the new rulers, the Almohads, and my political persecution began.”
“How many were there when you left?”
“Five thousand mares and two hundred stallions.”
“Let’s go for those horses, in Allah’s name,” Kabirma added with great determination.
Galib returned to the danger that such a trip would imply and tried to refuse, but both Diego and Kabirma insisted on doing it, perhaps the upcoming summer.
“They say that a new treaty between Castile and Al-Andalus will be signed next year. Perhaps then we won’t meet with the same risks as now,” Kabirma said, trying to support the idea with the information he had.
Galib looked at their faces, half defeated against so much insistence, and in all of them he met with the same desire to embark on, see, and live that once-in-a-lifetime experience.
“We will see. … There’s still almost a year.”
“Why do you love that breed of horses so much?”
Diego always took advantage of his journeys with Galib to get to know him better. His wisdom and his goodness enraptured him. He admired the man from whom he learned so much. He felt proud to be at his side, beside someone whom everyone listened to and asked for advice. That’s why, when he found himself alone with Galib, he always tried to get the most out of him.
That night, back at Galib’s house, after the dinner with Kabirma and Fatima, Diego tried to figure out what it was he saw in that breed.
“Among us, there exists a legend concerning how the Arabian breed was created. According to Ali ibn Abi Talib, the cousin of Muhammad and wife of his daughter Fatima, he heard it from the lips of the Prophet himself. It goes thus:
“When Allah wished to create a horse, he said to the south wind:
“‘From you I will produce a creature that will be the honor of my followers, the humiliation of my enemies, and my defense against those who attack me.’
“And the wind replied:
“‘Lord, do it according to your will.’
“Then he took a fistful of wind and created the horse, saying:
“‘Virtue will suffuse your mane and your haunches. You will be my favorite among all the animals because I have made you master and friend. I have conferred upon you the power to fly without wings, whether attacking or retreating. I will sit men upon your haunches and they shall pray, they shall honor me and sing alleluias to my name.
“‘Now, go! And live in the desert for forty days and forty nights. Sacrifice yourself! And learn to resist the temptation of water, bronze the color of your body and make lithe your muscles, because of wind you came and wind you shall be as you run.’”
Diego felt taken aback before such beauty and couldn’t say a word, even less when Galib spoke again, making reference to his mare.
“Your beloved Sabba, wind of the east in my language, will carry you through lands you’ve never dreamed of. And from now on, I tell you, it will be horses that will guide your path. They shall make you great, Diego. I swear it. You shall do good with them, a great good indeed.”
XIV.
Beauty should never be hidden.
That is what Diego thought when he found Benazir with a niqab that covered her face. Though he could hardly see her eyes through that narrow slit, when he watched her, he thought that even dressed like that she was lovely, and that black favored her.
Benazir and Diego walked through the backstreets of the city of Toledo. She had asked him to accompany her up to the workshop of a famous translator where she had to pick up a book for Galib.
Gerardo de Cremona, the owner, had just come into possession of the library of a powerful deceased Jew, and when he saw that treatise on botany, he thought immediately of the albéitar.
“Do you feel uncomfortable at my side?” Benazir asked Diego.
“I don’t understand.”
“A Christian and a Muslim together. You will see how some would think ill of it. Galib didn’t want us to leave together, but I don’t think anything will happen.”
Her husband had prohibited her from going out into the street without him or Sajjad. But that afternoon, since no one else could leave, she had convinced him to let her leave with his assistant.
“Let them think. … I don’t see anything strange about it,” Diego answered.
Benazir looked at him obliquely without talking. Sometimes she didn’t know how to act with that boy. In reality, she didn’t know how to act with anyone.
Since she arrived in Toledo Benazir was convinced that everything had gotten worse, or almost everything. She felt deeply deceived. She lived jailed inside that house, hardly seeing anyone, a second-class citizen in a Christian society that looked down on her and even insulted her. But she felt even worse when she remembered the years she had passed in Seville as the daughter of the ambassador. There she had enjoyed an exciting social life, full of parties and many other diversions, knowing herself to be one of the most attractive and desired women in the capital. But with her marriage she had thrown away a great deal of her expectations and dreams, and some were torn away completely.
She loved Galib but not like at the beginning. When she met him, he was a man with prestige, class, one of the most important officials in the caliph’s court, and therefore respected by everyone. She had fallen in love with the man, but also with his position. And that was only half of what it had once been. In Seville, Benazir could breathe like a woman; in Toledo, she was being asphyxiated.
That is why when Diego appeared, something began to change inside her. The boy needed her. He came daily to her Arabic classes as if it was the most important task of the day. Diego fought against hi
s misfortune without looking back and put his vitality and his enthusiasm at the service of learning. The boy’s intelligence and inner beauty amazed Benazir and gave her days a new meaning.
She recognized her own free spirit in Diego, as well as his enviable youth. But she also admired the surprising ease with which he learned. In only four months of work, he had managed to read fairly fluently and to participate in a conversation; he had even dared a poem or two. But the most remarkable was his powerful memory. Diego was capable of remembering a text after reading it just once, however long it was. Benazir could not help but be stunned every time he did it, and even if those virtues were notable, the boy possessed another that was even more important for his learning—he was tenacious. When something was put before him, he didn’t give up until he’d conquered it.
For the past few months, he had been obsessed with that journey to Las Marismas. Following that dinner with Kabirma, Diego constantly asked Galib if they would go there the following summer, but Galib didn’t want to talk about it. He had a lot of work and too many worries. As much as it bothered him, Diego had to accept the situation and carry on with his daily tasks until he could try again later.
“You’re very quiet.” Diego looked at Benazir sideways.
She excused herself with a smile but continued in silence. He tried to forget the disagreeable scene in the stables that had preceded her departure.
“Sajjad always be watching. Sajjad no like what he see. Madame not yours. … Not yours.”
“Be quiet and don’t talk like that! The master will hear you. You’re saying stupidities.”
“Sajjad not dumb. Madame pretty. No lie to Sajjad.”
It seemed the old stable keeper had nominated himself guardian and protector of Benazir’s virtue, and though he wasn’t wrong in his impressions, Diego was bothered by his ever more frequent warnings. Besides, he didn’t understand how he had noticed, when he only saw her for his classes and Sajjad was prohibited from being in the house.
The Horse Healer Page 9