The Horse Healer

by Gonzalo Giner

  “How can you say that? It’s our bodies that he’s violating. And do you think it’s right that your brother Muhammad does it with me, for example?” Estela had met him the night before.

  “Of course! You should be proud of it! When our father dies, he will be the next caliph. Imagine the honor if you could become one of his first concubines. Many women would like to have the same luck as you,” she assured with utter conviction.

  The sisters looked at each other in shock. They couldn’t understand how Najla could think that way, now matter how different her vision and her personal situation were. Still, Blanca thought that the relation with Najla could be helpful to them.

  “Will you be my friends then?” she asked again with an expression full of hope and innocence.

  “It would be an honor,” Blanca answered for both of them.

  Pedro de Mora reached the capital of the kingdom of Navarre, Tudela, after two weeks navigating from Marrakesh to the port of Fuenterrabía, and two more on horseback.

  He had chosen that route, longer and more complicated, to avoid crossing Castile, where he could be identified. As the ambassador of Caliph Yusuf his purpose was to convince King Sancho to sign for peace with them, as he had already done with the king of Portugal and the monarch in León.

  “Don’t insult me again!” the Navarrese king shouted, enraged. “Did you not hear me say that I just signed an accord with Alfonso of Castile and another with the king of Aragon to fight together against your caliph? It is something that’s been made public; at this point your leaders must know this as well.”

  Sancho stood up and walked toward him decisively.

  “I haven’t finished speaking,” Pedro de Mora replied without being intimidated. The king looked at him disdainfully.

  “You should turn yourself in to Alfonso of Castile. … Aren’t you the one he hates so much and is looking for?” While he talked, Sancho walked around Pedro, taking advantage of the intimidating effect his height usually produced when he spoke. The ambassador touched the long scar that ran across his forehead without showing the least worry.

  “I am. It is true. He accuses me of being a traitor after usurping lands that belong to me, after insulting my name and smirching my honor, the same as he’s doing with you, though you don’t recognize it.”

  “Be more explicit and don’t talk in circles. Tell me why now you’re trying to include me in your plaint.”

  “According to what you’ve just told me, you have decided to unite the three kingdoms, to make a single court by means of marriage arrangements. Is it so?” Sancho confirmed it. “How should one understand then that your cousin Alfonso of Castile does not want to return first the lands of Logroño, Cameros, and Nájera, which once belonged to Navarre? If, in this hypothetical kingdom, everything belongs to everyone … what problem would he have in ceding them to you now?”

  That comment deeply affected the Navarrese monarch, and he turned, furious. The crafty Pedro de Mora still had a second and even more effective strategy in reserve. He knew that Sancho had just repudiated his wife, Constanza de Tolosa, because she hadn’t given him descendants. And it was clear that his marriage with one of the daughters of the other kings would never be accepted by the pope since their bloodlines were too close. He waited to see the king’s mood worsen before he remarked on this straight out. After, he studied the effect of his words.

  The monarch looked for a glass, filled it with wine, and without waiting, drank it in one gulp. Then he looked at the ambassador with justifiable suspicion and sat back on his throne with apparent defeat.

  “You’re not ill-informed. … The possession of those lands has led to many a long argument, and many times, moreover. … Disgracefully, we haven’t gotten anywhere, it is true, and the same goes for the marriage arrangements.”

  “Believe me, the shadow of my lord reaches unsuspected places, and his ear has heard more than anyone can imagine. He knows, for example, that your finances are not in the best of states … if not, indeed, in the poorest.”

  King Sancho arched his brows and bit his lip at the cruelty of that comment, although it was true.

  “I suppose he aims to better them?”

  “Something much better than that, Your Majesty. He invites you to visit Marrakesh. There a surprise awaits you.”

  “Marrakesh?”

  XXI.

  In those lakes, somewhere, maybe already observing them, always ready to kill, there were Imesebelen.

  Galib warned them of it as soon as they stepped into the waters, even if he was intoxicated by the beauty of the surroundings. The others studied the area nervously, confirming no one was at their backs, and scanned the horizon. They didn’t see them, but they knew they were there.

  “The marshes are enormous. We would need a day to take them all in,” Galib warned. “In my time, the guardians normally kept watch over the great wetlands closer to the south, where most of the herd can be found. These first pools are less closely watched, but take every precaution and don’t relax. It will be necessary to react with extraordinary speed.”

  Galib felt the caress of the warm wind, the intense scent of the prairies, and felt deeply intoxicated.

  “But I need … before … I have to fulfill an obligation.” He sucked air into his lungs and watched the frolicking of a dozen mares. With them he absorbed the peacefulness of the place, the tranquility of a scene full of sensations and life.

  Despite his own recommendations, he galloped off to greet them, feeling how his tears dampened the air around him. And he ran to meet a lost love, swallowed by emotion. He reunited with those memories and was absorbed in them, feeling himself at home there.

  Diego, like the others, was conscious that he was witnessing a unique and irreplaceable ceremony. And yet no one could avoid the nerve-racking­ dread, feeling the proximity of those black-skinned assassins, who for Diego personified the memory of his worst misfortunes. Every time someone mentioned them, it loosed a chain of emotions in his interior: vengeance, rancor, panic, interest …

  Kabirma lived in his own dream in those moments. He looked all around, impressed. He had never seen horses as impressive as these, descendants of those who had one day crossed the strait, four hundred years before, coming from Arabia, from the desert or the mountains of North Africa.

  Fatima and Benazir approached a group of mares that were tranquilly feeding. They were vigorous, elegant, and delicate animals, with fine heads, small in relation to their large bodies, small muzzles, dark, expressive eyes, and their tails always raised. Three of them were almost white and their coats were so fine that you could observe the veins beneath their skin.

  “Look at that black stallion,” Kabirma said, pointing at a handsome male. “There doesn’t exist a more beautiful profile than his: arched neck, open, fierce nostrils. What an elegant step he has. You can see he’s proud of the noble blood he carries in his veins.”

  “Father, how many are we going to take?”

  “Since there’s five of us, and each of our harnesses can take another five, calculate. We will try to get mostly females, not all twenty-five, but at least twenty.”

  Galib, who had strayed from the group, galloped along the edge of a broad pond, startling the horses he passed. He disappeared for a while among them, though you could tell where he was by the movements of the horses around him.

  A strange anxiousness overcame Benazir; she intuited that something could change, and that the beauty around them could work against her. She looked at her husband nervously and asked for Kabirma’s help.

  “I’m afraid for him. We can’t let him go so far away from us. I know him, and I know he can get lost in this paradise. If he keeps letting their sensuality get the best of him, he will soon forget the dangers all around us.”

  They looked for him fearfully, without making noise, careful not to frighten the animals and call the atten
tion of those soldiers with the brutal reputation, whom they didn’t see, but whose proximity they could feel. When they found him, he was passing over a hill. He seemed self-absorbed, with red eyes, leaning on the neck of his chestnut-colored mare. His gaze searched out an undefined place on the horizon.

  “Master Galib …” Diego was the only one who dared to break his trance. Not even Benazir considered it. “If you don’t mind, we should get started with the horses.”

  “Of course, yes. Look at those females, they seem to be waiting on us.” Galib indicated a hundred mares feeding without fear, a few steps away from them. “They are noble beings even though they were raised wild. Back when I had to tattoo them or capture one for some other reason, I found a way to approach them without frightening them. It worked for me then, let me try now. I just want Diego to follow me with the ropes.”

  Kabirma offered to help too.

  “No, no … You should watch, you’re the best for that. If they get scared, it could provoke a stampede and alert the people we don’t want to run into.”

  From that moment, Benazir watched her husband with admiration. She saw him walk slow, with such aplomb, stomping through the puddles. When he was close to the first one, he lowered his head like a stallion and threw out his arms with determination. Then he stood by her side, watching her with incredible assurance. The animal looked at him strangely and sniffed at his head without showing much worry, but at that moment, something frightened her and she jumped away from him quickly. Galib repeated his strange walk with another female and was luckier that time. She accepted him submissively after he walked around her twice in a circle and gave her a series of rhythmic claps on her haunches. In a moment, she nodded tamely and began to follow him to where he was going.

  Diego learned every gesture of Galib’s in order to imitate each afterward. He saw Galib stop at last in front of the mare’s head, where he grabbed a handful of her mane and tugged softly. From that moment, the animal stopped resisting, hung her head, and let herself be led. The albéitar passed a rope around her head and knotted it. Diego took hold of it, and Galib did the same with six more of them. Each time he finished, he passed the horse to Kabirma.

  “Now you try it, Diego.”

  Between the two of them, over the course of almost five hours, they collected the animals with extreme care. Everything seemed to be going well.

  Benazir watched with nervousness nonetheless, and never stopped looking around. Any noise or movement, no matter how small, attracted her attention and made her remember that they were in an area under the protection of the Imesebelen. In Seville, she had seen them many times around the caliph. She knew perfectly the dark legends that surrounded them, but never before had she felt their threatening presence so close.

  Kabirma sighed, on edge; he felt they were taking too much time. A gust of wind changed direction, and when he felt it on his face, it seemed to bear voices, very tenuous and distant. He looked instinctively in that direction. He thought he saw something, some small points on the horizon, dark against the blue sky.

  “We need to go now,” he recommended to Galib once he had brought over a beautiful male, young, no more than four years of age.

  Galib looked at the altitude of the sun.

  “It will be dark soon, and we only need two more. We’ll spend the night close to here. We need the mares to be calm so that they’ll follow us later without any problems; now they’re too riled up. I remember there’s a beach to the east, close to where we met up. Before you arrive at the sand there is a dense pine forest with a lake in the middle where the horses can drink and rest. The trees will keep us safe from danger—”

  “And if they find us?” Fatima interrupted, her face full of dread. “Those men … They could track us and finish us off.”

  “To get to that place, you have to find a steep embankment with a narrow entrance, and it’s not easy to see. I don’t think they know of it.”

  Hours later, when they had arrived at the warm sands in front of the sea, Galib breathed in and tried to share his feelings.

  “Don’t let your senses forgo what this place is harboring for your enjoyment.”

  He observed the horizon, painted a spectacular range of ochers, oranges, and yellows. True waves of color, flashes of light, and the first hints of night.

  “Look at this water now. … Breathe in the air that covers it before it changes color and temperature. Absorb the infinite variety of scents that you received from these marshes.”

  He stopped and waited for the sun to fall in silence, watching it intently, until he saw the last halo of light disappear.

  With a spectacular starred sky as a witness, after a frugal bit of food, they rested a while on the sand, taking advantage of the peace that the place offered them. And yet Fatima was worried, looking all around, waiting to see the devilish appearance of those soldiers at any moment.

  Galib noticed she was nervous.

  “I don’t think we’ll see them.”

  “Where does their terrible reputation come from?”

  “It is said they don’t have souls. I don’t know if it’s true, but it is a fact that they don’t have free will. They are known for their fanaticism and for their decision to carry out one single mission in this life: to protect the caliph and his possessions. They also guard over his women, palaces, and most important properties, this herd among them. In their childhood, the Imesebelen were raised without any kind of care, far from their relatives and their roots, and they don’t now the meaning of the words pity, fear, understanding. They only know how to kill. In battle, if things go badly, they are always the last to flee. That is how the Imesebelen are.”

  None of those present was happy with the thought of spending the night there, close to those people, but the weariness of the day prevented them from doing otherwise.

  They had left the horses in the pine forest, on the edge of a lake not too far away, and they lay down in a dry, secure clearing.

  After a while they heard the flapping of wings, snoring, and the blowing of the wind through the trees. The three men slept without problems, unlike the women.

  “What are you thinking?” Benazir turned and whispered to Fatima.

  “I can’t stop thinking about those savages. … My soul shrinks when I think of them.”

  Benazir sat up to look at the profile of the sea between the trees.

  “Don’t worry, we’re very far from them.” She stroked Fatima’s hand to calm her down. “Would you like to walk a little? Maybe it will tire us out and we’ll sleep better.”

  “I don’t know … If we go too far …”

  “Easy, we’ll just go to the shore, no farther.”

  They covered themselves with blankets and headed to the beach. The reflection of the moon lit up the shore and allowed them to see for a certain distance, which calmed them down. For the first few steps, they didn’t talk. Both knew that Diego’s name would come up at any second, but neither wanted to be the first to say it.

  “How old are you, Fatima?”

  “I turned fifteen last month. And you?”

  “Old. … Ugh. Thirty-three. …”

  A long silence accompanied them for several more steps. The tension mounted. Fatima believed there wouldn’t be a better opportunity and made up her mind to speak.

  “You’re too old for him. … You’ve confused him.”

  “What?” Benazir said, though she knew what the girl was talking about.

  “You’re married. And you know I am talking about Diego.”

  “You’re judging me before you know anything.”

  “I do know,” the girl replied without compunction.

  Benazir felt uncomfortable. She didn’t know what Diego could have told Fatima, if he had said anything, but just in that moment she remembered them kissing in the stable. Envy clouded her face and she replied, stung
: “You don’t have anything to offer him, you know? Nothing but a mere physical relation. But I do. …”

  Fatima heard those words with pain. And the worst thing was that Benazir might be right; Fatima herself had thought the same thing at other times. With her young age and her lack of experience, she felt incapable of combating the older woman’s charms. Benazir had a special gift that overcame everything, a kind of halo of attraction; she was much more beautiful than Fatima and her conversation was cultured and surely more interesting to Diego’s ears.

  “Maybe you’re right.” She sighed. “But I know that nothing but suffering awaits him with you. You will pit him against your husband, whom he adores. And I, well … Maybe I’m not the person to say it, but you should stop seducing him.”

  “How dare you tell me that?” Benazir raised her voice.

  A sharp, dry whinny, rather strange, came from inside the pine forest. They looked, but they couldn’t tell from where.

  “It was my horse, Asmerion. Something’s happening to him. When he makes that noise, he’s scared. Could it be the Imesebelen?”

  They walked close together in the direction of the forest, and when they had entered, they stopped again to listen. More horses were making noise. Benazir took Fatima’s hand, and together they ran to the camping spot. From there they could see the animals and they seemed calm. They looked at each other without knowing what to do. The men were sleeping so calmly that they felt bad waking them, especially if it was for nothing. They thought better of it. They sharpened their ears and could hear nothing but the occasional snort from the horses.

  “I think they’re fine, but if you want to feel more relaxed, we’ll come closer, carefully. If we see something out of the ordinary, we’ll wake them.”