The Horse Healer

by Gonzalo Giner

  He took off his shirt and looked for his thick leather apron. He tied it around his back and checked the heat of the oven.

  In that moment, he didn’t realize she was there. Benazir had been watching him for some time, in the shadow of a stable wall, sure of what she wanted. Without his noticing, she approached him in silence. Her breathing was agitated, full of excitement.

  And at once her hands embraced Diego’s nude torso, and then her lips moved over his back, then his shoulders, until they reached his neck.

  Diego knew who it was. He felt a temptation so intense, so hard to elude … He turned and looked at her, first frightened, and then desirous.

  Benazir kissed his mouth, making him feel her silken texture. Diego tried to pull away, to allay his own longing, but she resisted him and kissed him with more ardor. No words had any effect on her.

  Diego, in despair, decided she was the most beautiful of all women, and finally gave in to her. He kissed her as though his entire life were in those kisses; he felt the warmth of her skin, her shoulders, her stomach. Benazir twitched, invaded by pleasant feelings, especially when Diego’s hands began to move over her, making their presence known on her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. The woman’s ardor inflamed the air they both were breathing. Diego took in her perfume like a mouthful of soft sensations and let its aroma suffuse him. She swayed like the desert sands, her hands seemed to melt on his flesh, to penetrate it, and her hair floated over his face, making him feel drunk.

  At that moment, Galib entered and saw them. Sajjad was at his side.

  “Sajjad say to master … Find master for this. Sajjad no lie.”

  Diego and Benazir separated, and she choked back a shocked scream.

  In an explosive succession of thoughts, Diego, confused, nauseated by that horrible tension, tried to speak, to explain himself, but he couldn’t find the way. It was horrible. He imagined the pain that his master must feel, seeing himself deceived by the two people he trusted most. Diego hated himself for letting himself be swayed into doing something he should never have done.

  The desolate expression on Galib’s face said it all. The damage was done. With the sole aim of softening his pain, the only thing that occurred to Diego was to try and salvage Benazir’s honor.

  “Master, I don’t know how to explain it. … What …”

  “How could you…?”

  “She has always avoided me, I swear. … I confess it, I lost my head. …”

  “What?” Galib closed his eyes in rage. He ran toward Diego with clenched fists and a furious demeanor.

  Benazir, cringing from the situation, covered her mouth, destroyed. Diego was lying for her, assuming a burden that didn’t belong to him, but she didn’t speak; she preferred silence to the terrible consequences that would come to her if her husband knew the truth.

  Diego felt Galib’s eyes on him and his disgusted expression, and he knew that his strategy had been the correct one. He kept going.

  “I wanted her so much. … And today I managed …”

  Galib couldn’t take more and pounced on him, hoping to still his rage by punching him. His head was spinning. He could understand nothing. It seemed so atrocious that he had never imagined it. He had considered Diego a son, his greatest disciple; he loved him. He had just suffered the most dreadful disappointment, seeing them in intimate contact, caressing each other in that way. He felt humiliated, betrayed, offended to the point of wanting to die.

  Diego took in his hate without any response. Galib was pounding his body all over, and he wanted to bear the fury of the man he loved like a father, whom he had never wanted to betray. But it was too late to talk; it was too late for anything.

  From a corner, Benazir watched them, ashamed. She had decided. She would confirm that supposed abuse if her husband asked her. If she didn’t, she would be reputed by her husband as an adulteress, and her life, her name, and her honor would be stained forever.

  She pulled away from them crying, but just before she left, she turned back to Diego and saw his gaze, serene, conscientious. With her eyes, she thanked him for his generosity and loyalty, but she only felt more ashamed. She left the stable running, with indescribable bitterness and despair.

  Diego packed up his things without knowing how to continue or where to go.

  He paid the rent for his room, assuming Toledo would no longer be his residence, and said good-bye to the proprietors, who were frightened at the battered state of his face after Galib’s blows.

  Furtively, without saying good-bye to anyone else, he left behind Master Galib’s stables and house, his school, the place where he had learned almost everything, where he had received the love that others had stolen from him back in Malagón. In the shelter of their walls, he had also grown inside, becoming a man. That house felt like his second home, there he had learned to love an albéitar whom he would never be able to forget.

  He left Toledo depressed, tears rolling down his face, carrying on his back the deep disappointment of his master.

  He left behind five beautiful years at his side, vanished because of a fleeting instant of sin with a woman he had lusted for too much, and whom he had sworn he respected.

  He remembered poor Fatima, strange Sajjad with his false smile, full of triumph, when he saw him enter.

  He relived in a mere moment so many of the events that had composed the most gratifying experience of his life. He memorized everyone’s face, their voices, and some of their conversations, like the greatest of treasures.

  All those names, with their memories, now formed part of his past.

  Diego caressed Sabba. She knew they wouldn’t return. She turned her neck and nibbled at his cheek, conveying her understanding.

  “Good old Sabba, You’ll always be with me. …”

  He scratched the base of her ears and they headed north, to a place still without a name, to a new and unknown future.

  Part II

  Christian Lands

  In the absence of the king of Navarre, Sancho VII, lost in African lands, the city of Vitoria falls to the troops of Alfonso VIII of Castile after a long siege.

  Other towns, like San Sebastián and Fuenterrabía, ask to be incorporated into the crown of Castile.

  In León, Berenguela, the daughter of the king, recently married with the monarch Alfonso IX, her second uncle, attends the annulment of her marriage by Pope Innocent III, on the grounds of an excessively close blood relation.

  The always delicate relations between the neighboring kingdoms of Castile and León suffer yet another crisis.

  Meanwhile, the new caliph, al-Nasir, studies how to break the ties among the different Christian kingdoms to the north and also rearms to prepare for their conquest.

  Blind to his intentions, they continue to fight among themselves.

  I.

  Diego was almost frozen.

  The snow whirled around him and buffeted his face as he began the descent to the pass of Somosierra on the north face.

  The old Roman road that united Toledo with Burgos had disappeared under the intense snow, and a frozen gale hid whatever other reference point might help one trust the route.

  He was traveling alone, sunken in deep sadness and repenting everything that had happened in Galib’s home. Owing to his rapid flight, he hadn’t taken the necessary precautions to face a harsh winter storm. For that reason, faced with that infinite blanket of whiteness stretching out on all sides, he felt doomed, with no other answer than to trust in Sabba’s instincts.

  He barely opened his eyes to keep them from freezing.

  He tried to avoid the effects of the frozen wind on his cheeks, because the water drops it carried were flying like frozen daggers into his skin. He could hardly feel his ears; they hurt like he was going to lose them. And it was only thanks to the heat of his mare that the tips of his fingers stopped throbbing when he wedge
d them between the saddle and the animal’s back.

  Diego had left Toledo four days ago without imagining what a difficult journey it would be. He had hardly any warm clothes, a rather thin blanket, and a leather bag with all his savings, just over thirty sueldos. Those scant possessions were all he had to face a new life.

  He made the decision that would shape his destiny when he was crossing the city walls and had to decide to take one of the two roads that emerged from them.

  In that sea of uncertainty there was only one thing clear: He wanted to be an albéitar, but to do it, he had much left to learn. He needed more education, more practice, more study, maybe someone like Galib who could teach him. And it was thus that he remembered that Cistercian monastery that Friar Benito had mentioned so many times, and he came to the conclusion that it could be the best place to learn what he had to know. The idea encouraged him.

  He would read in the library, would help to shoe or cure the horses if they let him, and maybe he would find that horse healer among the friars who could be his next master. Together with him, he could learn everything that he still did not know; it wasn’t a bad idea.

  Absorbed in those thoughts, a steely wind from the north brought back to him the horrible reality of the mountain.

  He was entering into a pine forest when Sabba lost her step and fell to the ground, taking him with her. The damp and icy contact with the snow made him fear an unfortunate wound. He inspected Sabba from head to toe, frozen from the cold. Luckily she was unscathed.

  Looking around, Diego could identify nothing farther away than two or three feet. From that moment, he thought it would be better to go on foot, so that Sabba could rest until they had made the precarious ascent. But when he stepped onto the soft hill, he saw to his horror that his legs sunk in up to his knees. He continued as best he could, until he began to despair, because of the little distance they had covered and a dreadful weariness that showed itself in sharp shocks all over his body.

  He paused and recovered a bit of strength after rubbing his frozen legs together vigorously, but then he looked into the ugly panorama that awaited them.

  Even worse for them, the sun had begun to disappear and a thick haze was rising up the hillside and would reach them at the moment that they were approaching a perilous gorge. Almost unable to see, they were obliged to turn back to look for another road, and at that moment, a savage wind burst began to thrash them mercilessly.

  Between the sharp sound of the wind and the cracking of the frozen snow, they heard something. Sabba turned her sharp ear to where the source of the noise appeared to be and soon understood what it was. Terrified, she stretched her neck, opened her eyes wide, and began to push at Diego’s back.

  “What is it, Sabba?”

  The mare heard it again. She heard the echo of footsteps on the snow and began to detect a worrisome scent. She filled her lungs and whinnied with incredible energy, trying to drag Diego back to separate him from the danger. She was very upset.

  “Something’s scaring you, but I don’t know what it is. …” Without finishing his phrase, Diego looked in the same direction as Sabba and there he saw them. First there was a bluish shimmer, their eyes, then the reflection of fangs, many fangs.

  “Wolves!” he shouted in fright.

  He heard a pack of barks coming toward them at a hellish speed. Diego mounted Sabba so quickly that he lost the bag that held his money and his three valuable books. He saw them fall heavily on the snow, and when he tried to dismount to grab them, it was too late; he felt a hard and painful bite sinking into his leg. He beat the animal’s head with his fists until it let go. The nearness of the other four made him give up any further thought of getting hold of his things.

  Two of the beasts leapt at Sabba’s neck, trying to reach her jugular, though she escaped from them. She kicked one so forcefully that she launched it into the trunk of a tree.

  Diego looked at the ground again and saw his books and savings disappear into the snow under the feet of those animals. With pain and grief he saw there was nothing to do but flee as soon as possible if they didn’t want to end up dead.

  “Run, Sabba!”

  The mare obeyed the order and rushed downhill without knowing where she was even stepping. One of the wolves seemed to fly at her rump and sank his teeth into her. Diego managed to tear off a piece of a tree branch and beat him in the muzzle and the eyes. The animal howled, wounded, and let go. Six more ran very close, not wanting to lose that tasty prey.

  “Don’t look back. Run. Run faster …”

  Diego grasped Sabba’s neck and felt the warmth of his own blood flowing over his ankle. They crossed a small stand of trees quickly and dangerously, because there was no time to try and avoid the branches that stood in their path. Many scratched Diego or Sabba; others broke off as they passed through.

  In a clearing in the forest, the wolves seemed to guess where they were going and two sped up until they were just in front of them. Sabba saw them without time to change direction; to avoid them, she turned her body so fast that she lost balance and tumbled to the ground. Diego was trapped beneath her, frightened at how little time they had before the canines reached them. He saw them arrive with absolute impotence and closed his eyes, waiting to feel their fangs, but to his surprise they remained still, very close, but still. They seemed to smile. They surrounded them, salivating with rage, as though looking for the best spot to attack from. Sabba tried to stand, but the abundant quantity of snow under her kept her from finding soil to support herself.

  The wolves panted with agitation and clouds of steam bellowed from their mouths. One of them, darker than the rest, came up to Diego’s face, sniffing his nose and then showing its fangs in a menacing growl. Diego smelled its awful breath and shook from pure panic.

  He thought it was all over, but soon Sabba had recovered her strength and stood up with incredible speed. Still atop his horse, Diego felt a sharp pain in his leg. He didn’t know if it was broken, but it didn’t matter; there was hope again.

  The wolves, even more furious, if that was possible, leapt at them, looking for a place to bite, but Sabba left them behind, galloping at a spectacular velocity until she lost them from view half a league later.

  After a final hill, less precipitous, they reached the flatlands and continued walking until they found a small town. Diego pinched Sabba’s neck and scratched her ears in gratitude.

  “I remember Galib one time told me your name meant the East Wind, and also that the other horses of your race were made from it. …”

  Diego recalled that night, when he was returning from the home of Kabirma and Fatima, when Galib recited to him that beautiful poem that spoke of the creation of the horse.

  “‘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.’

  “Today you’ve made that poem come true, Sabba.”

  To the right of the first houses, once they were inside the town, they saw an inn that seemed well heated and comfortable. A pain in his stomach reminded Diego that he hadn’t eaten anything since the day before, but he immediately realized that he hardly had money, only a few coins that he had kept in his vest. He thought of his savings lost on the snow and decided to spend as little as possible from that moment on.

  He looked for a discreet place to take refuge, and at the end of the frozen village he found a half-ruined stable. They entered and quickly looked around to find the best insulated corner to rest. He found straw and a handful of hay and offered them to Sabba. At least one of them could eat.

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do. … What a disaster!” he whispered in the animal’s ear. Sabba turned with an understan
ding expression.

  Diego explored the wound in his leg. There were only two small holes that attested to the bite from the first attack. They looked too swollen and he didn’t like their color. When he squeezed them with his fingers, he managed to clean them a bit. He immediately knew he would need to open them completely if he didn’t want further complications. He took out a small dagger, the only keepsake he had from Galib, and cut his skin with determination. Immediately there flowed out a yellowish liquid and afterward a bit of blood. With a shred of his shirt, he wrapped the wound so that it would close better and felt it without sensing as much pain as before. That seemed like enough. Then he examined Sabba. Except for the bite on her haunches, he found nothing but minor scratches without any apparent importance.

  That night Diego ate nothing, nor the second day on the way to Burgos. On the third day, he found a dead hare on the roadside about to be eaten by a wild dog. He threw stones at the beast and jumped down, devouring the animal in mouthfuls. Another traveler whom he shared the route with for a few leagues exchanged him a piece of dried mule meat for a stirrup. It was a bad deal, but that’s how hungry he was, and Diego was happy to trade. He ate part with fervor and kept the other part in reserve.

  Very poor, thirsty and tired, they finally reached the city of Burgos. Without entering, they walked around it to head toward Nájera, the former capital of the kingdom of Navarre. That was where they had been told to go if they wanted to arrive at Fitero.

  Some leagues to the east, they began to ascend another mountain that reminded Diego of the difficult moment with the wolves. It was cold there too, very cold. They had been told that the pass was open and that it wouldn’t cost much to cross it.