“Yes, of course I received it.” The Aragonese closed his eyes and made an ambiguous face. It could have been excitement, sadness, or even both. “That’s why I made the decision to come. It moved me so much inside that I felt compelled to rush here and better understand your decision.”
From his words, sadly, Mencía concluded that he hadn’t yet given up.
Hanging on their every word, Doña Teresa shook with fear. She needed to sidetrack the conversation immediately, before her ruse was discovered. Tense, but with a forced smile, she grabbed the invitee by his arm and almost dragged him away to show him her rooms.
“You must be exhausted from the journey. We understand you may want to rest a moment …” Fabián looked at Mencía with a frustrated expression. “We will dine at eight. You’ll have plenty of time to talk at your leisure.”
Mencía, once alone, fell nauseated into an armchair without understanding how she would get out of this bind. Fabián was stubborn and known for not stopping until he had gotten what he wanted. If he had read the letter, he already knew her opinion. What more could she say to him but stress that she had meant it?
In her chambers, while she got ready for dinner, Doña Teresa was thinking. She needed to do something to transform her subterfuge into a promise, something that was definitive and could not be questioned. And then it occurred to her. The idea might be wicked, but it was all the same; it was doable, very doable.
She calculated carefully what her steps should be and how she would overcome the difficulties. She turned it over in her mind many times. The idea was good, she was sure of it. It could work.
She took a new parchment, a goose feather quill, an inkwell, and began to write.
Many leagues away, in the highest tower of the castle of Cirat, half a day on horseback from Mora de Rubielos, Diego de Malagón listened with a heavy heart to the new battle plans.
They had managed a first victory, nothing more. Both López de Haro and Abu Zayd knew King Pedro II wouldn’t give up so easily.
“If he didn’t reach glory this time, he’ll ask the grandees of his empire to lend him new cavalry forces and soldiers to form a bigger army.” Diego was translating the Valencian governor.
“Besides cursing your behavior for allowing him to flee,” Diego went on talking, “he says that, in recompense, he will need you to stay with him another four months, until winter comes.”
“Answer him that I just sent a letter to Lady Teresa to inform her of what has happened and to solicit her blessings to achieve victory.”
Don Diego López de Haro took a drink of wine spiced with cinnamon poured by a servant with mysterious almond eyes. He hoped the translator would do his job without getting lost in the woman’s voluptuous curves.
“He thanks you from the bottom of his heart and says he will be generous with you.”
“He already is. It has been some time since I’ve eaten delicacies such as these and received such attention. … Not to mention the beautiful company.” He studied the woman while she refilled his glass with that rousing wine.
“He says he will pay you in gold as well.”
Diego began to translate worse when, not long afterward, the fourth glass had been drunk.
“Excellent news then, Your Highness …” Don Diego’s tongue was tied, and from that moment on he spoke rather little.
Diego continued to translate the words of the Valencian into Romanic, though it was now harder to understand him. Maybe it was due to the woman’s presence, rare in the past few weeks, but he began to think of Mencía. Four months without seeing her would be hell. He drank another sip and began to feel bad, as if his stomach had been split in two. He heaved, but managed to keep it down. From then he decided to remain very still until the illness had passed.
Though he wanted to think of her, his body was too busy with more primary tasks to concentrate, and that only worsened when the dancers came in.
To the sounds of an animated music, they began a richly sensual dance. They seemed determined to use every one of their muscles. Their bodies, hidden behind fragile veils of color, were intoxicating and seductive, and the aromas they gave off were captivating. Diego let himself be distracted by that atmosphere charged with sensuality, because of the effects of the liquor and the charms of those five women. One of them pulled on him to get him to dance; the others did the same with the governor and Don Diego. That devilish dance required a great deal of skill, and they had to hold on to the women’s hips to feel the rhythm and follow along. Amid laughter, blinded by the beauty of their bodies, Diego forgot his misfortunes.
They went on pouring that dangerous brew that confused the mind and gladdened the heart. They drank it until they were almost falling down, laughing boisterously. Diego blathered nonsense words instead of translating, and the governor seemed to have lost his head, since he was trying to dance while he was lain out on the floor, after his third fall, without any apparent desire to stand back up.
After midnight, someone proposed that they go to the bedrooms with the women. Don Diego López de Haro forced the albéitar to pick the most beautiful one. In secret, he offered Buthayna, which was the name of the concubine, fifteen sueldos to pass the night with the boy, and a hundred more if she would stay with him from then on. All this was done in the hope that he would forget his niece Mencía.
Buthayna accepted the challenge gladly and turned to Diego with a seductive look, offering him her hand and then taking him down a long hallway that led to the guests’ area. Before arriving at the bedroom, she stopped Diego and kissed him ardently, rubbing herself against him, making him feel her body.
Diego’s thoughts were focused on Mencía and he tried to reject the dancer, but the woman had great ability in the arts of love and managed to rouse his passion. They stumbled into the bedroom. Buthayna began to undress him amid caresses and whispers. Diego let her. Blood was rushing in his temples and his pulse sped up in time with his desire. When he then undressed her, he admired her body and pushed her down onto the bed.
“Your parents were wise to give you that name, Buthayna. It means woman with a beautiful and giving body, no?”
“Try and see. …”
The woman smiled, pulled him to her. Diego took refuge in her body, running his fingers over her warm flesh, feeling its softness. In a sudden reflection he thought again of Mencía—he could almost see her—and then he couldn’t continue. This wasn’t what he really wanted, nor what he should do. Stunned, he stopped moving his hands.
“Buthayna, you are beautiful and sweet; I like you, but I don’t want to keep doing this.” She looked at him disturbed. “It’s not you, it’s my fault. I’m in love with a woman, the most sweet and sensitive being I have known, beautiful outside and in. I feel I owe her loyalty. She is my life, I breathe for her, I can’t live without her.”
The woman, though she’d been rejected, was moved by his noble reaction and seemed to understand him, though she still inspired pity in Diego.
“Don’t suffer for me. I promise you that you are beautiful and very appetizing, but …”
“That’s not why I’m crying; it’s from pure envy. I hope to God someone will one day feel the same for me. You have the correct attitude. … I can’t help it, you’ve moved me.”
She sat up and looked for her clothing to dress while Diego put on his tunic, both of them seated on the bed.
She looked at him, doubtful, but finally decided.
“I have to ask you a favor.”
“I will try to do it.”
“Let me sleep here. I won’t bother you, I promise. Understand, if they see me come back so soon, they will think I haven’t made your night pleasurable enough, and they will throw me out in the street; I’ll no longer have this job.”
“Of course. You can sleep here.”
She lay down on one side of the bed, and after a while, she noticed that Diego was still aw
ake.
“What is the name of this lucky woman?”
“Mencía,” he answered.
“A beautiful name.”
The woman turned her back to him again and slept between tears of emotion and a little shame.
That same night, Mencía was thinking of Diego as she lay on her bed. The distance between them hurt her even more since she had seen Fabián. The pressure she was suffering from her mother and the indirect approaches of her suitor were in a maddening race to see which one would tire her out first.
She hid under the sheets as though there, nothing could affect her, but she did not manage to get to sleep. Her thoughts flew crazily and she couldn’t stop sweating because of the enormous stress that was affecting her. As a consequence of all that, her eyes shot open against her will.
Someone called at the door to her bedroom.
“Mencía?”
“Mother?” She saw her enter.
Doña Teresa’s expression showed an acute state of tension. She pulled the sheets and uncovered her daughter. Without giving another explanation, she covered her up again, satisfied.
Doña Teresa began to speak in a serious tone, assuring herself that her daughter understood every word.
“At midnight, he will come into this bedroom and you will let him. …”
“What are you talking about, Mother?”
“I am speaking to you of Fabián Pardo. He is surely reading your note right now. …” Mencía tried to ask, but her mother wouldn’t let her. “Don’t talk, and listen!” Her expression was firm. “I imagine that he will come here, because your invitation will excite him, and he will overcome his prudence. When he arrives at your bed, you will give yourself to him, with all the passion you can muster.”
Mencía rubbed her eyes and looked back at her, believing she was living a horrible nightmare. But now, there she was still. She couldn’t understand how her mother could propose something so monstrous.
“But, Mother, that is … I don’t know … Do you realize what you’re doing?”
“Perhaps you will understand it better in time.” The mother wrinkled her brows, feeling agitated. “As absurd as it may seem to you, I’ve thought about it a great deal, my daughter, and I am sure it is what is best for you.”
“Don’t expect me to let him in!”
“Not only will you do it, you will give yourself to him and you will like it.”
“Never!”
Mencía threw off the sheets and leapt from the bed, looking for her clothes. She wanted out of that bedroom, to get on her horse and leave the castle, the city; to flee from here, from this insane world, from her mother. She didn’t care where to.
Doña Teresa stopped her. Her look was threatening.
“If you leave through that door, you will be condemning Diego de Malagón to death.”
That stopped Mencía in her tracks. She felt her legs tremble and was overcome by a feeling as if she was choking.
“What are you saying about Diego?” she panted nervously.
“I have informed your uncle of this little delusion of yours, and he agrees with me. I have a messenger on hand. If you don’t accept the offer I have proposed to you, he will rush off like a lightning bolt in search of your uncle to give him an order.”
“And what is that order?”
“Diego will be sent to the front line of the infantry. With his lack of military training, it is most likely he will have a number of problems facing off against the enemy army. … So you understand, if my messenger has to leave this castle, something terrible could happen to your friend. It all depends on you.”
“But, Mother, how is this possible? That is a foulness so terrible … You are, you are … cruel and hateful.”
She leapt at Doña Teresa to scratch her, disgusted by what she was hearing. Her mother guessed her intentions and was able to avoid her. She shoved her and Mencía fell down on the sheets. She was going to speak, she needed to understand, to ask why she was doing this to her, but her mother cut her off.
“I know what you feel for him.” Doña Teresa changed her tone and suddenly became more tender and understanding, almost even maternal. “Believe me, my poor daughter, I understand. You love him, no? You feel yourself dying for him and it seems impossible that anyone could ever replace him.”
“You don’t know what I feel. And you have no right to decide my life. Do you understand?” she shouted, furious.
“You are the one who understands nothing. I know who deserves you and who doesn’t. Forget that nobody and behave like an adult for once; erase that stupid daydream from your mind.”
“It’s not a daydream.” Mencía turned around, exasperated, in her bed.
“I don’t care what you call it, but forget him. And stop thinking about it anymore. It’s very late and I’m not in the mood to hear more nonsense. Now you will obey me.”
She opened a small glass bottle and spilled ten drops into a glass of water.
“Take this. It will help you to forget … and it will also awaken your senses.”
Mencía couldn’t believe what she had just heard.
“You’re trying to drug me?”
Doña Teresa pounced on her and made her drink it. Mencía’s chin began to quiver. She felt stunned, and she couldn’t find a way out. She looked at her mother and saw a stranger. She studied every line in her face, trying to find there the slightest sign of compassion, kindness, or concern, but she only found sternness, coldness, cruelty.
“We’ve talked enough. The messenger awaits my orders. The life of Diego de Malagón depends on you. If you truly love him, you know now how to show it.”
“My uncle doesn’t have to listen to you. …” Mencía looked for one last solution before surrendering herself to cruel reality.
Her mother gave an insensitive and cruel laugh.
“He agrees about all of this. I insist, don’t think about it anymore. Do what I say.”
When the bells of the neighboring church of San Juan rang out at midnight, Doña Teresa rushed from the bedroom, prepared for Fabián’s imminent arrival.
X.
Amid sheets of ice, stones with sharp edges, and snow up to her flanks, Sabba brought Diego back to Santa María de Albarracín.
They had been away almost five months; it was already December, and there were only two days left till Christmas.
Diego’s longing to see Mencía made him pull ahead of the rest of the horses when they were reaching the vicinity of Teruel.
Three hours later, a few leagues from Albarracín, the weather got notably worse; a lashing blizzard struck and the day was darkened by a thick fog, so that orienting oneself became impossible.
“Poor Sabba, you’ve got ice up to your mane.”
Diego took a hand out from his cape to clear it off.
When she exhaled, a thick cloud of steam emerged from her nostrils. Sabba opened her eyes wide, surprised at the effect. She jerked her head several times and whipped her tail from front to back in a signal of danger, a danger much greater than her master seemed to be aware of.
Diego sped up to avoid hitting the storm, though shortly afterward, when he could no longer of the path, he realized he was lost. Sabba looked down, fearful; she didn’t know where to step either. At a certain moment, she ceased obeying Diego’s orders and stopped. He spoke slowly to calm her down. He assured her that he had it under control, but Sabba refused to advance. She twisted her head from side to side, refusing his directions.
Tired of her behavior, Diego dismounted, took hold of the bridle, and pulled on it. He gave it his all, but she would only budge a few steps. He didn’t understand. He doubled the reins around his wrist, tensed them, and clenched his teeth to drag her along, even if just one inch at a time, but then he noticed that she wouldn’t step down on one of her feet, that she kept it hanging in the air.
He turned, confused, and it was then that he noticed he was on the edge of a dangerous precipice, right there in front of his nose.
Sabba breathed out another cloud of steam and rested her head on his shoulder. Her fear had vanished and she was waiting for her master to reward her for her carefulness.
“You’re my guardian angel.” He scratched her jaw and got back on her. “Find the path we lost, take it, and get me to Albarracín, please.”
Diego’s breeches were so stiff, in fact they were frozen, that when he got back on the saddle to look for the way, their folds cut into his skin.
“We should be close, Sabba. At least I hope so.”
The mare turned back over her footsteps and began to walk more carefully. Diego was conscious that his responsibilities had grown. Not only did he have to take care of her, but he also had to protect the fragile creature she had in her belly. He still didn’t know how it had happened, or when. He thought about the night he spent with Mencía in the hermitage, keeping safe from the rain. … Sabba was there with Shadow, but … It also could have been any other moment throughout the five months he had spent away. He had been so insensitive and apathetic recently that he hadn’t even paid attention to the change in her attitude or, later, in the size of her belly.
But there she was, about to become a mother for the first time. Diego was sure she already felt the stirring of a new life in her womb. He caressed her tenderly and with the warmth of his embrace, he encouraged her to continue on her path.
When they glimpsed the long city walls as they curved around the Guadalaviar, their spirits lifted. Diego pushed onward down the hill until they reached the northern gate, and then passed through the streets in search of his house.
Night was falling, and he scarcely saw anyone on his way; it was too cold to be out in the street. He and Sabba entered the stable and he readied her a bed of straw and gave her a pitchfork of dry grass to eat, and he left her there lying down and resting from the journey.
When he entered the house, he found Marcos sleeping by the fire. He blew air on the coals and put on more logs. Before he sat down, he had a little cheese and a mug of wine. He stretched his legs in the heat and closed his eyes, overjoyed to be back home.
The Horse Healer Page 37