Before she got lost down a long hall, she heard the bathroom door open. She looked back and saw Mencía peeping out.
“I have just seen a bunch of knights I don’t know. Who are they?”
“Your aunt Toda is here with her new husband, Don Diego López de Haro. You know the problems he had with King Alfonso of Castile. Since he was exiled, the poor man goes from place to place. They just arrived from Estella and I told them they could stay here as long as they wish.”
“You’re always so kind, Mother.”
Mencía turned and closed the door and called one of her ladies-in-waiting to prepare her bath and then help her to undress.
Once she was nude, she stayed still in front of the mirror, waiting for the hot water to come. She studied her reflection. She checked the tension of her skin, her round forms, their whiteness. The face of Fabián Pardo assailed her suddenly, provoking an unexpected shiver. She didn’t want that man, nor did she imagine him as the final recipient of her passion.
She heard the tub filled with water and approached it. She put a foot inside and then submerged herself completely. When she came out, she gave off a long, relaxing sigh.
All she had to do was convince her mother to accept her way of seeing things.
“It’s going to be hard,” she said out loud.
“Do you need anything, ma’am?”
“Nothing, Berta, nothing.”
IV.
Diego knew Mencía had arrived in Albarracín, but after two days he still hadn’t managed to see her.
He started work very early, since it was at the beginning of the day that his clients became alarmed when they went for their horses and mules to go out into the fields. Any infirmity or illness would make them nervous, and they would come to his house to let him know.
Mencía came out of the castle early as well, to hear Mass, but she hardly walked more than a few yards and never where the fieldworkers lived, so they never saw each other. The rest of the morning she passed inside the fortress with her music, painting, and poetry instructors, and in the afternoons she would travel around the outskirts of the city on horseback.
Nor had Diego seen Marcos those days, because he had left Albarracín to look for sheep that he could fatten up in the pen he had already managed to find: a good-size one, two leagues southeast of the city.
In his absence, Diego couldn’t share his loneliness with anyone, as much as he regretted it, especially when he found out the reason Mencía had been in the Aragonese lands. From that moment, everything went downhill. The dream of imagining her in his arms vanished with the same speed as the sharp pain that took possession of his soul.
The day after he found out, desperate, he showed up at the gates of the castle deciding to ask for her directly, tired of not having managed to speak with her yet.
While he waited, he listened without trying to a conversation between two friars, and what he heard made him change plans.
“At midday, the archbishop will bless the work on the future cathedral,” one commented. “Are you coming?”
“Who could fail to show up for an event like that?” the other answered. “I’m sure the city will break out in celebration.”
Diego thought that Mencía would go to that ceremony and decided to see her then. Back on Sabba, he headed to the southern extreme of the city, to the church of Santa María. There the chaplain’s mule was waiting for him, apparently with its guts infested with worms. Diego calculated that however long the cure would take, he would still have time to make it to the blessing.
Only a few hours later, the narrow streets of the city were filled with people. A contagious cheer seemed to impregnate the steep hills, covered with hundreds of boys and girls rampaging about.
With great difficulty, Diego crossed though them until he made it to the town square. He observed once more, enthusiastic, its extraordinary houses. Raised on the same rock, their walls of red plaster were crossed by hard beams of black wood. Also notable were the shapes on their windows and the colorful panels of the window shutters.
Diego left the square behind and stopped at the end of another hilly street where the cathedral was being raised.
For the moment, the construction was no higher than a few men, though every day it could be seen growing. To one side, a wood platform decorated with tapestries, a carving of Christ, and four enormous candles awaited the archbishop’s arrival, as well as the other authorities in the city.
Amid pushes and shoves, Diego reached one side of the esplanade and chose the place closest to where the retinue would pass. From there he could observe all the preparations.
“I didn’t imagine I’d see the new albéitar of Albarracín here.”
Diego recognized the voice of Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara.
“Well, you know … I enjoy these religious affairs.”
“I don’t know whether to believe you or consider other motivations.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong. I’m actually here to see Mencía.”
Don Álvaro didn’t know if Diego knew of her relationship with the Aragonese noble, but either way, he decided to tell him.
“I’m sorry to have to give you bad news—”
“Don’t bother,” Diego cut him off. “I know why she went to Ayerbe.”
“Then I suppose you’ve forgotten about her.”
“No. Not yet.”
“But, Diego …” Don Álvaro grabbed the young man’s arm compassionately. “What are you trying to accomplish? Most likely she’s forgotten about you.”
“I just want to talk, and look into her eyes. I need to know if I mean something in her life or not.”
Don Álvaro felt sad, and though he thought Diego would have to face reality on his own, he wanted to do something for him. For Diego to pledge himself to win Mencía’s love was absurd—Don Álvaro knew it; that is why he had to forget anything that had to do with her. But at that moment, he had other things that he couldn’t put off.
“I’d like to talk to you about it more calmly,” Don Álvaro said. Diego found his interest odd. “Every morning I do a little bit of training, you know, a bit of archery, a little swordplay. Why don’t you come tomorrow and we’ll chat?”
“I’d love to. … I’ve never seen it done, and maybe I could learn a little from you.”
“There’s no problem on my end. How about first thing in the morning at the river?”
“I’ll be there.” Diego shook Don Álvaro’s hand.
“Good. I have to go, I need to get my sword before the procession begins.”
Until the celebration started, Diego distracted himself watching the public that was nearby. Two toothless country people stood beside him, their faces wrinkly as raisins, uglier than anyone he’d ever seen, and they wouldn’t stop laughing. No one knew why, but they did it so happily that it ended up spreading to the people around them. And thus, choking from laughter and sucking in breaths, he saw her arrive.
Her face was hidden beneath a blue veil and she walked holding her mother’s arm, in a procession behind the young lord of Albarracín.
Diego shouted Mencía’s name, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd. He tried waving his hands to attract her attention, but that did nothing either. Only sixty feet stood between him and the place of the ceremony and he tried to make his way in that direction. People stopped him; some protested, others pushed him from side to side, but still, he managed to get a good position, different from the one he had in mind but close to the road where the retinue had passed and would do so again. And there he stayed, behind a wooden fence, in the front row, somewhat farther from the stage but with good visibility.
“How pretty Doña Mencía is!” said an old woman at his side.
He looked at her entranced. She really was gorgeous, so much so that conquering her heart seemed unthinkable. She had two blond braids and a
dress of blue velvet, the same color as her eyes; and she looked happy as well.
The archbishop, together with his deacons and assorted other monks, came at last to the stage and immediately the ceremony began. The celebrant intoned a chant in Latin and afterward a litany of prayers that Diego couldn’t hear well. His attention was directed solely to the face of his lady, to her eyes.
He tried to make her notice him when she turned to the public, but sadly she only seemed to pay attention to the celebrant. And yet, even though a good deal of time had to pass, finally it happened. When she turned, from among the multitude, she saw him, first surprised, then smiling when she was able to return his greeting.
She turned to her mother, signaling his presence. Diego saw Doña Teresa answer into her daughter’s ear. She seemed to be upbraiding her for getting distracted. Mencía only looked at him once more, but she did it with a beaming smile on her lips. Afterward, she took on a devout posture, lowered her head, and continued, attentive to the ceremony.
Diego waited anxiously for the affair to be finished. He carried the note that Mencía had left for him in Olite in his pocket. On it, Diego had written his address so she could find him. He would try to hand it to her when she passed by him.
When the blessing was over, the archbishop intoned the “Te Deum” and like a single voice, all present followed him with solemn emotion. Then they left the platform and began to file down the street where Diego was.
Mencía changed her position in the retinue to pass closer to him. They went slowly, too slowly for his patience. She didn’t stop looking at him, gleeful. Doña Teresa, walking beside her, did the same.
“Diego! I thought you’d never come,” said Mencía.
“How could I reject that invitation?”
Diego was conscious of the little time they had. He stretched to kiss her hand and passed her the paper. She took it and read it quickly. Then she hid it between her sash and her dress.
“I’ll come see you.”
Diego heard that and almost exploded with excitement. When the streets emptied out, he returned to his dwelling to get Sabba and take a long ride outside the city walls.
They galloped against the wind, in the solitude of those outlands. Diego talked the whole time. He told her what had happened with Mencía and the animal listened.
He needed to share his happiness.
He filled his lungs with fresh air and breathed happily. Sabba did the same.
Diego loved Mencía.
V.
Early in the morning, it was always cold in Santa María de Albarracín, even in July. Due to its particular situation between the mountains and its altitude, this was only natural.
On the shores of the Guadalaviar River, Diego managed to hold back a sneeze while he waited for the arrival of Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara.
Soon he heard the steps of a horse approaching him.
“Cold tempers your soul, right?”
Don Álvaro dismounted in one leap and shook Diego’s hand energetically.
“I saw you talking with Mencía yesterday …”
“I hardly had time, but I think she was happy to see me.”
“When it comes to a woman, never trust your instinct. It doesn’t work, I promise you.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Believe me, I am, and especially in your case.”
Diego, astonished, asked him why he would say that.
“What I’m going to tell you will sound harsh, but the sooner you understand it, the better for you. Don’t dream of her anymore, Diego. She’s far, far outside your possibilities. I have never seen a relationship between a commoner and a noble that has worked. Society won’t permit it; the cultural differences between you won’t either, and I don’t even want to think of how her mother will react.”
“Do you think I haven’t already thought about this before?” Diego hung his head, conscious of the reality. “But still … I don’t know, I have to hear it from her; I’m sure of her feelings.”
Diego showed a stubborn attitude, resistant to all reasoning. Don Álvaro understood that nothing would make him change his mind, only Mencía. He unsheathed his sword and swung it energetically, making it whistle. He decided to change topics.
“During a fight, the defense is more important than the attack. Do you want to know how to fight with a shield?”
“Isn’t it more effective to know how to use a sword?”
“No. In combat, you have to know how to be clever on your guard to later be fierce on the offensive. Many times, the effectiveness of your strikes depends on how well you’ve been able to withstand the ones that have come your way.”
Don Álvaro took off his shield and passed it to Diego. It was triangular in shape, rather long, and its edges were rounded. On the surface were painted the arms of the Laras: two cauldrons.
“A good shield is made of wood and then covered with thick and hard leather, able to resist swords and make the steel bounce off. It is carried attached to the neck by a cord, which is called a guige. That way we don’t lose it in combat and it doesn’t bother us when we need both hands, as is the case in a cavalry attack.”
Diego tied it on with another, shorter strap called an enarme and held it close to his body, covering almost his entire flank, from the shoulder to the knee.
“The iron piece you see in the center is called the boss. As you can see, it ends in a point and it’s very sharp. When you fight man-to-man, it can help you wound your enemy.”
Don Álvaro turned to his horse, took out a sword, and grabbed a morning star in the other hand.
“And my sword?”
“You won’t need it,” he said curtly. “Now we’ll go on to the action. I guess that’s what you want, right?”
“What do I have to do?” Diego stood on guard without losing sight of the morning star—an enormous ball with sharp spikes.
In that moment, without giving him time to react, Don Álvaro’s sword fell over one of his shoulders. Instinct alone made Diego block with the shield repeatedly, but when he least realized it, the steel grazed his leg.
“Always be on alert, young man. The shield resists a certain type of arms, but not others. Be more careful with the morning star; avoid it however you can. Ah! And you should learn to use your enemy’s own movements to destabilize him.”
Don Álvaro walked around Diego, the sword in his right hand and the morning star in his left, looking for the young albéitar’s weak points, making him turn and follow his steps. The heavy steel ball swung with the cadence of his movements. Diego thought it could end up stuck in his flesh if he wasn’t careful. He never stopped looking at it. He held the shield close, pretending it formed part of his body. He believed he could move it at the same speed as his hand.
Don Álvaro approached to his right. That was Diego’s least protected flank, and without expecting it, he was surprised by an incredible shout, three blows from the sword in succession, and one from the morning star that he managed to sidestep.
“When you fight against someone holding one of these”—Don Álvaro raised the spiked ball—“you should concentrate on it at all costs and try to avoid it. Try to get him to lose it, by pointing your sword at his hand, for example, or giving him a hard blow with the base of it. Maybe that way he’ll drop it, because if you’re not careful …” With a rapid movement he struck the shield with the morning star, splitting it in two pieces. Diego fell to the ground. “You’ll be in serious trouble.”
Don Álvaro’s sword was raised in the air, just above Diego’s neck.
“I’m begging for mercy …”
“Today, naturally, you have it, Diego, but never trust anyone. Don’t let your enemy bring a sword across your jugular, as I could have done just now. Before that happens, look for his leg, for example—it’ll be close—and stick him there with your dagger. In the
inner thigh, there is a vein, and if you reach it, he’ll die instantly.”
Diego stood up, trusting Don Álvaro wouldn’t attack him again, but immediately the sword began to strike at him mercilessly, ten, twenty times—it could have even been forty—a rain of steel and fury that the boy tried to withstand until he felt defeated. Now incapable of even holding up what remained of the shield, he was overcome by an unstoppable quivering in his arm when his enemy’s sword gave him a definitive strike. As a consequence, Diego wound up stretched out on the ground and defeated.
Don Álvaro looked at him, sweating and panting, his teeth clenched, still grasping his sword. Without words, he pressed him not to give up yet, to go on defending himself until the end. …
Diego understood. With the splintered shield, almost breathless and still on the ground, his thoughts turned to the past. He remembered the two Calatravan knights who had pledged their life in his father’s defense. In the eyes of Don Álvaro, he recognized that same spirit; he emanated the same strength as them, the kind belonging to a single, exceptional breed of men. Then Diego stood up, pressed on by an unknown force. He tensed the muscles in his legs and chest, breathed deep, and shouted as he never had before. He threw himself at Don Álvaro waving what was left of his shield, and since the latter had no time to foresee the blow or to attack with the morning star, he received a tremendous strike that managed to knock him over. When he fell, he hit his head on a stone, but he came after Diego again with zeal. He was expecting the second movement, but there wasn’t enough time. Don Álvaro immediately saw the boss of the shield and its sharp point just above his eyes.
“Surrender!” Diego sighed in triumph.
“I congratulate you. …” Núñez de Lara pushed the steel away with his hand. “You learn fast, Diego. Maybe you should put on a bit of muscle, especially in the arms. Try to pick up that stone.” He pointed to a large, round boulder. “Do it over and over till you think you’re going to die. And repeat that every day with others, at least three times a day.”
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