The Horse Healer

by Gonzalo Giner

  “She’s not in the city.”

  “Do you know where she went, or if she’ll be back soon?”

  “How should I know, if all I dedicate my life to is prayer and contemplation, my son?”

  Depressed by the lack of results, Diego continued walking to the town square where he found a market. He bumped into a beaming young woman carrying a large basket, and with her he had more luck, since she was a servant of the Azagras.

  “We don’t know when she’ll be back, but it will be at least a week.” The girl asked a hawker if he had pheasants.

  “But where did she go?” Diego pressed her.

  “Do you know her? I don’t have to tell you. Who are you to be asking after her? Did you come with those Castilians?”

  Diego replied to all her questions while he followed her from one stand to the other. The girl began to feel uncomfortable with his insistence and even more so when she turned her back on him to look at some lace and then bumped into him again.

  “Could you leave me in peace?”

  “Please, I beg you … I need to know more about her.” Diego grabbed her by her blouse so she wouldn’t escape, and she tried indignantly to pull away.

  “Let me go.”

  “Until you tell me what I want to know, I won’t.”

  The girl’s cheeks swelled, she looked at him with exasperation, and she shouted out for a guard. After a brief silence, people began to murmur and point at him, and some men, with an unfriendly mien, approached him. Before he got into more problems, he took a street onto the main road and got away from them.

  Marcos began to look for work throughout the city, not wanting to wait another day, but he had no luck. Without a trade, nobody had much trust in him, and there didn’t seem to be an excess of jobs in any case. He convinced Diego to try to work as an albéitar, not knowing it was necessary to have the approval of the Azagras before doing so. When he heard this, Diego looked for Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara to ask for his help, but luck wasn’t on his side there, either. They told him Don Álvaro had left the city and no one knew when he was coming back.

  “The widow wants to talk to you. Go immediately to the castle!” The man introduced himself as a servant of Doña Teresa. As soon as he’d obtained Diego’s agreement, he left as fast as he’d come.

  Diego went to the meeting immediately, alone, not knowing what Mencía’s mother could want. He crossed the city on foot until he arrived at the entrance to the fortress, and there he presented himself to the guard. He was told to wait outside while his presence was announced. Both of them were surprised when Doña Teresa herself appeared in person to receive him.

  “You are the albéitar Diego de Malagón, correct?” The woman, in her forties, looked splendid. “Last night they spoke very well of you to me. That is why I’ve had you come. I’d like you to look at something.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” Diego was brief, but not from discourtesy; rather, he had discovered Mencía’s eyes in her mother’s and felt intimidated by them.

  Doña Teresa had him follow her to the stables of the castle with a strange expression, as if something worried her. Don Álvaro had talked to her a great deal of Diego, but he had left out something important: his great physical attractiveness. She had thought she’d meet a rough and ordinary young man, as was normal with the commoners, and yet in him she’d seen nothing but a fine appearance and great courtesy.

  “A little more than a month ago, our albéitar left us, a Jew with an excellent clinical eye and a great deal of wisdom. He was called by the Almohad governor of Valencia, supposedly for a mere consultation, but he never came back.” The woman pushed the stable doors firmly and walked softly down a long passage that opened onto a large and very luminous space. Once there, she continued her conversation. “And the fact of the matter is, it would mean a great deal to us to have a new albéitar to service the city.”

  “If you are thinking of me, it would obviously be an honor. …”

  At a certain point in their conversation, Doña Teresa fell quiet, her lips trembled slightly, and then she stood still, watching him. Those eyes … “Perhaps … Well, the reality is, at present I have a grave problem. … Or, better said, I don’t have it, my mare does. If you were able to bring her back her joyousness, the job could be yours. What do you think?” A malicious glimmer blossomed in her eyes.

  “I would be happy to, but to make a horse happy is not one of the things explained in books. I suppose the animal is suffering from some illness that is making it sad. With that, if I can, I will help you.”

  “Of course, of course. … If she’s in pain, it must be her back. It’s been swollen with scabs on it for a week. Obviously I can’t ride her. But what’s hardest for me is seeing her sad, without appetite, without any cheer.”

  Diego began to think. That was a trivial complaint. If the only test to be taken on as an albéitar was that, she was making it too easy for him. Something wasn’t right.

  The mare was a precious specimen with a dapple-gray coat and a long mane, and dark and very expressive eyes. But that wasn’t what stood out the most; she also had an iron nerve. She shook her tail so hard she made it whistle. Diego knew that was a sign of great irritation.

  When he came over to the animal, it snorted threateningly. He put out both his hands for her to smell, but unlike other horses, the mare showed no interest. To the contrary, she reared up aggressively as soon as he approached.

  Doña Teresa stayed leaning against a fence waiting for Furia to buck and react. That was her most aggressive and dangerous mare, and everyone feared her. She didn’t want to lose her.

  Furia was the excuse she used to test anyone who wished to work for her, be it an albéitar or a stable master.

  “Do you know if she kicks easy?”

  Diego pulled away from the animal seven or eight feet so that she could see him directly in front of her. He had figured out that at close distances, horses didn’t focus well unless they turned their heads.

  “Well … she’s a little nervous, but nothing serious,” Doña Teresa lied.

  The mare didn’t react to any of his tricks and soon began to stamp with her hoof, digging at the ground with a frustrated expression. Diego decided to attack without further delay, whispering to her; he pinched her back and then her flanks, avoiding, naturally, the wounded area. He did the same with the base of her tail as well.

  That seemed to distract the animal and confused Diego, who didn’t predict her next reaction. Furia waited until he was behind her rump to press him into the wall with extraordinary speed and skill.

  Diego tensed his muscles to resist the pressure she was applying to him and inhaled a mouthful of air to strengthen his chest. He looked at Doña Teresa, holding his breath, but not concealing his expression of panic. She seemed unmoved by the situation and continued speaking calmly.

  “She’s a little sly. … One time, she managed to stomp on the former albéitar with such good aim that she almost flattened one of his toes. But she’s very sharp. When she sees that her victim can’t play along with her games, she leaves it aside and tries something else.”

  Diego gave off a feeble cry, almost inaudible. He begged for the mare to get bored as soon as possible so he could breathe again. And he got lucky.

  The animal became interested in a sparrow that had just landed on the watering trough, an apparition Diego considered almost miraculous, and she set him free. He ran to the fence, where Doña Teresa, a malicious smile on her face, waited to see what he would do next. The determination he showed from that moment on would decide whether he was fit for the job. Now the real test began.

  “Are you all right?”

  Diego’s cheeks were so red, they seemed ready to burst. “Yeah, yeah, I’m perfect.”

  He breathed in deep three times, recovered his strength, and turned to Furia again. That showed he wasn’t easy to b
eat. To the contrary, Diego was the type to grow stronger in the face of adversity. Without his knowing it, that gesture alone had made him pass the test. It was just what Doña Teresa had wanted to see.

  Diego explored the scabs on the horse’s back. They were obviously caused by sweating and chafing from a saddle that was too tight. Some were open and gave off a terrible-smelling yellow bile. Diego took a lancet out of his bag and cut the dry edges of skin. He knew that wouldn’t hurt her. Then he lifted some of the scabs to see how they had evolved.

  Doña Teresa, surprised by his able hands, let him work without distracting him, observing each of his movements, and said only one single thing: “From now on, the job is yours.”

  That produced enormous satisfaction for Diego. In the end, it would be the first opportunity he had to engage in his profession without having to depend on the opinion or the final decision of some master. He felt a shiver of satisfaction and noticed how from that moment, the tension between them dissipated.

  “I met your daughter Mencía.”

  “Ah, yes?”

  “In Olite. Three months back, during a joust.”

  “Now that you say that, I believe I heard something about you.”

  “Did she tell you?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “She helped me to save a horse that had been wounded in the neck.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Then I was attacked with a dagger and she was by my side.”

  “Yes. Terrible, I understand. …” She answered distractedly. “Do you need anything from me? I have to go to an important meeting now.”

  Diego turned back to the mare.

  “For her cure, I’ll need vinegar, fish, sap, sulfur, and a bit of oil. Oh, and an apron!”

  “I will be sure they bring you everything.” She made as if to leave.

  Diego then remembered he wanted to ask her when her daughter would return, but Doña Teresa didn’t give him the opportunity.

  “I will order them to clean and prepare the albéitar’s abode. It’s not far from here, and I believe you’ll like it. It has an open stable where you can house the horses you need to treat or supervise. The house has its own staff, which will be at your service from this moment forward.”

  Just before she disappeared, she made a half turn.

  “Oh … I will pay you a hundred sueldos a week. If you agree, I will announce your nomination tomorrow.”

  III.

  Mencía returned filled with fear.

  She entered Santa María de Albarracín with a discreet escort of knights, a couple of servants, and her three ladies-in-waiting.

  By her express wishes, she had traveled on horseback in opposition to the desires of her suitor, Fabián Pardo, who had set aside a carriage and an entourage for her protection. So fiercely had she wanted to leave that castle that she didn’t want to wait for their arrival from another one of his terrains. In spite of that, the six long days on horseback had left her feeling defeated.

  She admitted that Fabián had been charming with her, and that, though he was approaching middle age, he was rather well preserved. His relation to the Royal House of Aragon had gotten him a high social position and abundant lands and fortunes. And he had other virtues besides: he was talented with the spinet, and he liked painting, falconry, and especially reading.

  Mencía returned from that voyage with a bitter aftertaste from a maelstrom of contradictory emotions. Since she was a girl, she had always hated others to organize her life. And for that reason alone, she had rejected the man out of hand. Yet she had to recognize that Fabián had done much to redeem himself, and he was skilled in the arts of seduction. He was so dogged that he had managed to provoke a certain interest in her.

  Mencía was sure that any other women in her circumstances would have fallen victim to his enchantments. But not her. When she saw him, she knew she would never marry him.

  Her arrival at Santa María was highly celebrated. The church bells sounded out gleefully, attracting the attention of all the inhabitants of the town.

  “What could all that racket be about?” Diego and Marcos were having lunch in the new house.

  “Today is the third of June, but I don’t remember there being any celebrations that day.” Diego looked out a window from the third floor. “People are saluting and hurrahing for a small retinue, but I can’t see who it is.”

  He sat back down at the table, and before he returned to his steaming plate of green beans he looked at Marcos. His expression was both strange and familiar.

  “For a few days now, I’ve seen you turning something over in your mind … and knowing you, it’s something to do with women, money, or both. Am I wrong?”

  Marcos smiled sincerely.

  “Either I’m an open book or you are very smart.” He served himself a bit of wine, gave some to Diego, and drank it in one swallow.

  “It’s not women. I just need to do something,” Marcos said honestly. “I’ve asked around, to one person after the next, where I can find work, and except for three salt mines on the outskirts and what comes from the small shopkeepers and so on, the main business in the city is wool. Well, that and the sale of sheep to neighboring Aragon. You remember we saw lots of flocks just before we got to the city, but it seems there are many more to the southeast, heading toward Valencia.”

  “Sheepherder wouldn’t be a bad job for you, since it would give you time to go chasing after the shepherdesses in the fields.” Diego weighed the possibilities of this idea.

  “That’s the furthest thing from my mind. No, it’s not that.” Marcos became serious. “But the thing is, I also found out that on the other side of the border, in the kingdom of Valencia, the Saracens adore sheep meat, the way we like mutton or even suckling lamb.”

  He stood up and began to walk around the table.

  “And think about it; they come all the way to Santa María de Albarracín to buy wool …”

  “I understand. It’s occurred to you that they could take the sheep as well,” Diego deduced.

  “Exactly.”

  “But I see one problem. I doubt the pastors will sell them. Normally, they let them go only when they are sick or too old.”

  “You’re right, but what if we take those, the oldest ones? Imagine if we could corral them for a few weeks and feed them barley, which is a grain that grows abundant in this area.” Marcos leaned both hands on the table.

  “I understand. If they’re nice and fat, even if they’re old, the Saracens will want them and will pay a good price.”

  “That’s the idea. We buy them cheap from the shepherds, we fatten them up in a pen, and then we sell them for double the price.”

  “It’s not a bad idea, but if you don’t have a good contact with the Saracens, I doubt it will work.”

  “His name is Abu Mizrain.”

  “Are you pulling my leg?” Diego shook his head several times, awestruck. “We’ve been here for just a week and you’ve already got one?”

  “He’s a trader who lives in the south of Valencia and comes to Albarracín every two weeks to buy wool. He did it yesterday, and it was then I managed to talk to him a bit. Though a lot of people have the same business, he has an advantage over the rest of them.”

  “Have you met the other traders?”

  “No, but I’ve heard things. …”

  “Don’t be so shy and spit it out.”

  “The rest travel alone.”

  “And what’s the disadvantage in that?”

  “Abu Mizrain always goes with his daughter.” Marcos sighed, doe-eyed. “She’s gorgeous … and I think she likes me.”

  “Now I understand.” Diego slapped him on the back of the neck. “And you’ve got a place to feed them, I suppose.”

  “Not yet, but I’ll try to find one this morning. Will you accompany me?
”

  A few streets away, at the gates to the castle, Doña Teresa Ibáñez received her daughter Mencía, anxious for news. She scrutinized her face, looking for the least sign of contentment. As usual, Mencía was unreadable.

  As soon as she kissed her, unable to take anymore, Doña Teresa asked her openly.

  “Mother, don’t be a bother. Leave me in peace. Now all I’m dreaming of is a long bath and taking off these dirty clothes.” Mencía shook her dress and a cloud of dust emerged. “I’m tired; I’ll tell you everything afterward.”

  “But did you like him? Is he handsome?” Doña Teresa grabbed her arm while they entered the castle and went up to the bedchambers. “I understand he’s highly thought of in the court of King Pedro II, and that he’s very rich as well …” Her questions and comments went on without giving the girl a chance to answer. “What did you think of his castle? I’m sure he treated you like a queen. What color did you say his eyes were? Have you set a wedding date? I suppose King Pedro of Aragon will be coming to the ceremony—”

  “Mother!” Mencía had to scream to stop her.

  “Fine. … Just think that you’ve been gone for three weeks and that I missed you a lot,” she protested. “I’ve been so worried. You left in such a huff that I was terribly nervous.” Her eyes went damp and tears began to fall. “You don’t know how a mother suffers when her daughter becomes a woman, when she flies off in search of another life, in your case, with this man.”

  “That’s enough! Stop pestering me with the same issue.”

  “But how do you expect me to leave you alone when you haven’t given me the slightest indication of what your feelings are?”

  Mencía sighed, tired, defeated by her insistence. She was standing at the door to the bathroom.

  “Listen. Fine. If you want to know what I think, I’ll tell you now. I don’t think he’s the man for me. That’s how I see it right now, though I admit I disliked him less than I had thought.”

  With that dry phrase, she closed the door in her mother’s face, but it didn’t matter much to Doña Teresa. An enormous smile crossed her face. That was celestial music compared to what she had expected to hear.