The Horse Healer

by Gonzalo Giner

  “It shouldn’t be so hard to learn.”

  “How right you are, Marcos. I don’t understand why it has to be that way either. I don’t think the monasteries should be all dark and bitter, places where the sternness of some sleeps side by side with the goodness and wisdom of others. In Fitero we saw obtuse personalities like Friar Servando right beside good men like Friar Tomás.”

  They reached the city of Calatayud, already in the kingdom of Aragon, three days later.

  When they tried to enter the town square, they ran into a large group of knights and carters blocking its access. They tried to go around them, but the streets were closed off because of that entourage.

  Diego dismounted to talk to a young girl who seemed not to belong to the group.

  “What’s happening here?”

  “They are Castilian nobles. Fugitives, I believe,” the girl replied, impressed by his height and good looks.

  Diego stood on his tiptoes to look over the crowd. He didn’t see any banner or coat of arms that identified them. When he tried to ask again, the girl had gone.

  “This is all very strange,” he commented to Marcos. “What would Castilians be doing in Aragon, and why would they be fleeing? I’ll try to figure it out. You wait for me with the horses in the meanwhile.” Marcos took his reins. “I’ll be right back.”

  Diego made a hole in the group until he arrived to the square. The fanfare was such that he could hardly hear the responses of the people he questioned. Finally someone told him everything.

  “We are following Don Diego López de Haro.”

  Diego was stupefied. He didn’t understand how the lord of Biscay, whom he knew, could be fleeing Castile, since he was the most loyal servant of the Castilian king. It seemed very odd.

  He looked for the center of the square, where there was a large group of knights, and when he arrived there, he questioned them.

  “Where have you come from?”

  “From Estella,” one answered.

  Diego knew that city was in Navarre, which made even less sense.

  “We had to leave,” the man explained when he saw the confused look on Diego’s face, “after we suffered a long siege at the hands of Alfonso VIII and his cousin, the king of León. They didn’t manage to break us, nor did they capture Don Diego López de Haro, even though that’s what they were after, but when they left, we had to as well.”

  “Diego de Malagón?”

  All of a sudden, Diego heard a voice at his back that sounded familiar. When he turned, he recognized its owner: Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara, the husband of Doña Urraca and the son-in-law of the lord of Biscay.

  “But what are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same,” Diego answered with a broad smile. He had always liked that man.

  “A long story, I assure you. But before I tell it, come with me. When you see my wife, she will be overjoyed. How long has it been since we’ve heard from you? Two years?”

  “Three. I spent them in the monastery in Fitero.”

  Don Álvaro, perplexed, studied his clothes.

  “You don’t look like you’ve adopted the habit. …”

  “No, no. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was just there for the sake of my education.”

  On the way to one of the corners of the square, Don Álvaro surprised him by looking several times in a certain direction.

  “Are you here with someone?”

  “Yes, I’m traveling with a close friend. I have to tell him. Let me know where I can find you and I will come back with him.”

  After encountering Marcos and telling him what had happened, they headed for the house Don Álvaro had told him about. They were waiting for him there, Álvaro and his wife, Doña Urraca.

  The woman ran to Diego and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “How you’ve changed!” she exclaimed.

  Since Toledo, Diego had grown strong, and he was taller and more attractive. She was as beautiful as he remembered, or maybe even more so.

  Diego introduced them to Marcos, and naturally he clung to Doña Urraca’s side from the first moment.

  “Let’s go into the inn,” the woman said, pointing into the house. “Are you hungry?”

  While they waited to be served, the woman asked Diego in a soft voice whether he’d heard what happened to Galib.

  “I don’t know what you’re referring to. Nothing bad happened to him, did it?” Diego awaited her answer anxiously. He tried to guess from her eyes what it could be about. Was she talking about the turbulent events he had been a part of in the stables? Or was she going to upbraid him for his disloyalty to his master?

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Doña Urraca saw he was nervous.

  “Shortly after you disappeared, he rejected Benazir.”

  Diego felt terrible. He had surely been the cause of that disgrace. He regretted it, especially for Galib, whom he loved like a father.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Wagging tongues said you had something to do with it.”

  Diego turned red. He tried to talk, but he couldn’t find the right words. She knew why. She had had a long conversation with Benazir, who confessed everything to her.

  “Don’t worry. I know you acted nobly and faithfully. She told me.”

  Diego felt relieved.

  “And Benazir … is she still in Toledo?”

  “No, she went back to Seville. I think she’s living with her father, the Persian ambassador.”

  Diego clenched his fists with rage. In the end, his departure from Galib had been for nothing. If it had been to save Benazir’s honor, not only had he failed to do so, but their marriage had actually fallen apart.

  His face reflected his deep sorrow.

  Don Álvaro purposely changed the conversation.

  “If you’ve been living in a Cistercian monastery so long devoted to prayer and study, which by the way I find very praiseworthy, I wonder what your next destination could be. …”

  “Santa María de Albarracín,” Marcos answered for him. “A woman lives there who’s got him up in arms.”

  The couple looked at each other with expressions of surprise.

  “We’re going there as well. If you remember, my father-in-law made his second marriage with an Azagra. A name closely tied to our lands—”

  “And who is she?” Doña Urraca interrupted her husband to find out from Marcos’s lips, full of curiosity. She needed to know what woman could prove so attractive to Diego as to make him chase after her.

  “Mencía,” he answered, playing along completely.

  “You’re not referring to Mencía Fernández de Azagra?” Doña Urraca’s gaze clouded. If it was her, a relationship with Diego, a commoner, would be as difficult as snowfall in a desert.

  “The very same,” Diego said.

  Doña Urraca turned to her husband with a frustrated glance.

  “My wife and Mencía are cousins,” Don Álvaro added.

  A strange silence overcame the table until the noble Lara resumed speaking, giving a rapid summary of what had happened in their lives during those years, leaving the reference to the girl to the side.

  “A little after that feast, I was named ensign to Alfonso VIII, substituting for my father-in-law. But that did not last long. We spent a number of months on the siege of Vitoria, taking advantage of the king of Navarre’s absence while he was away in Moorish lands.”

  Diego indicated that he was aware of the matter.

  “But the tensions between the king of Castile and my father-in-law began to be unbearable. In the siege of Vitoria, the king made use of men and resources from Biscay without ever asking my father-in-law’s permission. He was furious when he found out, but even more when, months later, he heard that the king
, who had always been his proud friend, had taken the side of the Leonese monarch in a claim that the Haro family had against the latter concerning a number of castles.”

  “I thought they were like brothers,” Diego interrupted.

  “Certainly, but it changed into hate, so much so that my father-in-law has asked no longer to be a Castilian subject.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “He’s renounced all the privileges, holdings, income, and even his ability to reside in the kingdom. That upset the king so much that we had to leave Toledo as fast as possible. We found our first refuge in Estella, thanks to the Navarrese king, but a few months back we were attacked by troops joined under the banner of Castile and León. The two monarchs­, formerly irreconcilable enemies, now brought their forces together to capture Don Diego López de Haro. We holed up in the impregnable castle­ that they call Zalatambor in the beautiful town of Estella, and there we were able to hold out.

  “Tired of making no progress, they finally abandoned the endeavor. But shortly afterward, King Sancho of Navarre expelled us from his lands under pressure from Alfonso VIII. And now, Castile has become a hell for us; the kingdom of Aragon has closed its doors and doesn’t want to have us either. That’s why we’re going to Albarracín. Since it’s independent from the other kingdoms, we won’t have problems there. And anyway, it’s governed by family.”

  Diego was feeling more attracted by politics, although he didn’t always understand it well, and it even seemed like something distant from him. He admired the king of Castile for his firm commitment against the Almohads’ fanaticism, for his willingness to protect the lower classes, and for his establishment of a code of law. He admired his intention to unify the different territories of Hispania to defy the Saracen enemy in spite of the difficulties that arose, such as the one he had just heard of with that estimable family.

  While he listened to Don Álvaro, Diego looked at him. That man was one of the highest representatives of the nobility of Castile and as such he enjoyed abundant riches and power; however, Diego didn’t envy him for what he had, but rather for how he was. Don Álvaro possessed a virtue he wanted for himself: bravery.

  Diego understood that without that ingredient, he would never manage to fulfill his obligations or reach the high goals he had set in life. Did he have that virtue? He didn’t know.

  It was now long ago that he’d disobeyed his father and failed to protect his sisters. … And he didn’t know how to do it now.

  Life went on, time passed, but Diego always lived with the burden of a debt that he owed those who shared his own blood.

  II.

  To arrive at Santa María de Albarracín, they climbed the Sierra de Balbanera at its easternmost point and then went on southward until they set foot in the first lands of the region. It took them four days.

  Diego and Marcos had been invited to travel with the Castilian expedition. It was the thirtieth of May when they set eyes on the magical enclave of the city. High on a twisting rock cliff, it looked like a long tongue licking the riverbanks of the Guadalaviar.

  Behind double walls, at one edge, there rose a small church situated a certain distance from the main part of the city. Between them, there was a solid fortress of limestone with a strange reddish cast, in common with the other buildings. Closing the city in and protecting it completely, the walls ascended notably toward the east, along a mountain pass.

  A few leagues before arriving at his destination, Diego was overcome by a swell of feelings that affected his stomach as well. Though he longed to see Mencía, he wasn’t sure if she would feel the same. Full of emotion, he had held on to the note inviting him to visit her in Albarracín, wanting to see more in it than what its three spare phrases had contained.

  Almost at the city gates, Don Diego López de Haro began to converse with his son-in-law Álvaro Núñez de Lara, both close to Marcos and Diego de Malagón.

  “As soon as we go in, I will present you to my sister-in-law, Doña Teresa Ibáñez. Since she is the mother and guardian of the young lord of Albarracín, she has become the apparent head of the territory. She is a Castilian to be on guard against, you will see.”

  “There are lots of us. Will they be able to take us all in?”

  “I sent an emissary shortly after leaving Estella and I am almost certain that they will have lodging prepared for all of us, but the first thing is to say our greetings to her.”

  “How old is the young lord?”

  “Only eleven. Until he reaches the age of majority, the territory will be governed by the Order of Santiago.”

  The north gate of the walls was open, but only a few knights passed through it, and the rest of the carts and the heavy cavalry for war and transport were taken to an esplanade on the outskirts of the town.

  The streets of Albarracín were precipitous, sinuous, and narrow, so much so that the travelers were relieved to have left the better part of their companions behind. Some paths were so tight that it was almost impossible for two people to travel side by side.

  After a few shortcuts, leaving a busy square behind them, they reached a clear esplanade. To their right, on a great outcropping of stone, they contemplated the grand castle of the Azagras. Under an enormous barred portico they saw the proprietors.

  Don Diego López de Haro, together with some of his most loyal knights, dismounted quickly and saluted the widow and her young son, Pedro. Beside them, there was a knight of the military Order of Santiago and two unruly young girls. Some distance away, Marcos and Diego looked at the scene and couldn’t find Mencía anywhere.

  “Welcome all to Albarracín.” Doña Teresa greeted Don Diego and embraced her sister-in-law, Doña Toda. Then she pushed her son by the shoulders to introduce him.

  “This must be …” Don Diego studied the boy.

  “Pedro Fernández de Azagra, third lord of Albarracín and your nephew,” the boy answered with a childish but unwavering voice.

  At that moment, the two girls escaped running toward the castle’s interior, laughing and shrieking, far from any social obligation. When she saw them, the mother adopted a face of utter desperation.

  “And those two ragamuffins are Belén and Beatriz, your nieces.” She realized she still hadn’t introduced Ordoño de Santa Cruz, the man dressed in the uniform of the Order of Santiago. “Forgive me, I forgot to present our administrator to you.”

  The Castilians saluted stiffly.

  “And my niece Mencía?” Doña Toda was surprised by her absence.

  “Mencía is in Ayerbe, in Upper Aragon. An important nobleman from that kingdom, Don Fabián Pardo, has been courting her for months and at last has managed to meet her.” She winked and continued in a low voice. “I wouldn’t mind if this ended up in marriage, but we will see where it goes.”

  “Is that man not the justice to King Pedro II?” Don Álvaro recognized the name, but at that moment he was thinking of Diego and his impossible mission.

  “You are right,” Doña Teresa answered. “That is why I am interested in seeing their relationship flower, because his influence in that court is incomparable. But let’s go inside; I suppose you’ll want to rest a bit before dinner. My servants will take care of your horses and the lodgings for the rest of your men in the city. If you are planning to stay in these lands awhile, the best thing is that you all be as comfortable as possible. I am happy to have you here, really, and don’t worry, everything is taken care of.”

  Diego and Marcos were considered as members of the expedition and therefore assigned a dwelling. It was rather far from the center, in terrible conditions, and completely filthy inside, but at least it had a stable and incomparable views of Santa María de Albarracín.

  While they inspected it, Marcos felt disgusted, so much so that he felt in the bag where he had kept the money he saved in Fitero.

  “This isn’t a house. … Let’s look f
or another place where we can breathe.” He took out a handful of golden maravedíes.

  “Let’s not waste them. We might need them later. I understand this is pretty bad, but others might have had even worse luck. Try to look at it in a good light; when it’s cleaned, it will be better.”

  They gave it a close looking over to see what the most urgent problems were, and that only made matters worse. The walls were crumbling and the clay floor reeked of dampness and rot. And if that wasn’t enough, the house was pervaded by a stench so strong it almost turned their stomachs.

  “It smells like a goat!” Marcos protested.

  Diego tried to dismiss its importance. The possibility of seeing Mencía compensated for any of those setbacks. Marcos, who knew him well, guessed at what Diego was thinking, but he was still angry. Tired of talking, he kicked a stone against the wall. An enormous chunk flaked off onto the ground and broke into a thousand pieces. Diego had a resigned expression.

  They piled up a bit of straw in one of the better-situated corners of the house to spend the first night. They didn’t imagine that their harsh bed, besides allowing them a bit of rest, would also bring them unwanted company: dozens of fleas, thirsty for blood.

  As soon as dawn came, Diego went into the city to look for Mencía. As soon as he’d crossed the eastern side, he found a large smithy with three forges and five men bending iron. It reminded him of Galib’s forge in Toledo. That was where he first asked after her, but no one knew where she was.

  He did the same in some of the more central streets, stopping at once place after another.

  “She’s a good girl,” an old woman told him.

  He managed to gather a number of other testimonies, like that of the pastor who swore he didn’t know of another woman as beautiful as Mencía, or of the fat old woman who assured him she was as sweet as honey pie. But the majority, before they said anything, directed him to the castle, saying he should ask there. En route he stopped a priest to ask him.