The Horse Healer

by Gonzalo Giner

  When he got off his horse, the first thing Diego asked was for them to take off that thick leather collar, thanks to which he had managed to resist the rope without dying. On its front was an enormous Greek cross engraved with fire, and on the back, Diego felt a solid eyelet, also of leather, well hidden, where the hangman had looped the rope to prevent him from being choked.

  “We had to get it ready fast and almost without any tools.” While he talked, one of the knights took the collar from his hands and tested its strength. Then he shook Diego’s hand energetically. “My name is Pinardo Márquez and I am the one who made this device.”

  “When I felt the rope around my neck, I had my doubts, believe me. Now I have to thank you.”

  “We didn’t have time to organize it …” the last knight added, the one Diego had still not met. “My name is Otón, Otón de Frías.” He brought his hands together devoutly and falsified his voice.

  “Find peace in Christ, my son. … Do you recognize me now?”

  Diego immediately knew who it was.

  “The old priest who received me on the gallows … the same one who put the collar on me ‘to feel Christ’s cross closer to my heart and relieve me of my sin.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

  “Exactly. It seemed like the only way we could manage to get it on you.”

  “And if the bailiff had prevented it or had seen the eyelet in the leather?”

  Diego felt goose bumps when he thought of it and almost preferred not to hear the answer.

  “We usually have a second plan,” Pinardo interrupted, not sounding convincing.

  “Don’t tell me what it was; we’ll leave it as it is. The first one worked out fine.”

  Bruno interrupted them, looking nervous.

  “We can’t lose more time in these parts; let’s leave now. It’s a long road to Salvatierra.”

  Diego looked around and saw no other horses than those of the four men. He felt profound grief for abandoning Sabba, but he understood it was impossible to go back for her and it would be insane to propose it. In Cuéllar everyone thought he was dead and buried.

  Then he heard a whinny coming from nearby and his face lit up. He ran to look, and there he saw her. It was Sabba. The mare came over with her head lowered and a chorus of snorts and neighs expressing her joy.

  “I figured you wouldn’t want to leave her behind,” Bruno de Oñate said as he came over. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy getting her.” He showed a bite mark on his arm, and Otón a large bruise on his leg.

  Diego caressed her head and mounted Sabba blissfully.

  “Now we can go. …”

  For three days, they galloped without rest until they reached the outskirts of Guadalajara, where they made a longer stop. There Bruno needed to meet with someone.

  They chose an inn close to the city walls and without stopping to rest, he asked Diego to come with him into the center so they could talk a while on their own. Diego kept up with Bruno despite his enormous strides.

  “You’ll have to adapt to a way of doing things very different from what you’ve known before. So it’s reasonable if you feel confused for a while, but I want you to know we have chosen you for your abilities. For some time, we’ve been looking for someone who spoke Arabic and who could pass for a Saracen. When I met you in that cell and I heard your misfortunes, the route your life had taken, your experience and your merits, I saw you could be the right man. That’s why I chose you.”

  Diego tried to listen attentively. He was still stunned by the sharp turn his life had taken in such short time; one day he was afraid for his life and the next he was riding alongside knights.

  Of all that had happened in those anguished hours, it was what Marcos had done that provoked the most bitterness. Diego felt deeply deceived, wounded, cheated by someone he had considered more than just a friend. He couldn’t understand what might have happened to make him betray him at his darkest hour. It made his soul bleed, almost as intensely as when he lost Mencía. He felt alone. He was still alive thanks to those knights, but he was dead inside, with no hopes and no dreams. And moreover, he didn’t know what they wanted with him.

  “What can a mere albéitar do for you?”

  “When we get to Salvatierra, you’ll understand. It is like an island in the middle of enemy territory, just six leagues from the border with Castile. We live surrounded by Muslims, ready to kill us at any second. Its strategic importance is related to its location, because it’s right at the foot of the Muradal Pass, the most frequent route for traffic between Al-Andalus and Castile. Our main objective consists of knowing what our enemy is doing at every moment, their plans, where they’re going, what are their weaknesses and strengths.” They arrived at the door to a building and Bruno introduced himself to one of the guards. “But anyway, I’ll explain better once we’re there.”

  They entered a palace next to a beautiful church. They left behind them a rectangular courtyard with a fountain in its center and climbed a set of stairs till they’d reached the third floor. Going right, they passed through an open gallery and arrived at a door flanked by two soldiers. Diego noticed they wore the arms of Castile on their tunics.

  One of them let Bruno through.

  “You stay outside,” he said to Diego. “I won’t be long.”

  Once he entered, Bruno went to a man of modest stature who was reading beneath the light of a broad window. He saluted him.

  “Most Reverend …”

  “I’m very happy to see you, Bruno, but leave aside the formalities and listen. I have direct orders from King Alfonso for you, and I assure you they are of great importance.”

  “How is the king?”

  “He is more excited than ever and wants to see the Almohads defeated, just as I do. The truce with al-Nasir is about to expire, and our king has no desire to renew it. From now on, the strategy will change. We have an idea that, if it works, will completely turn the situation around.”

  “What are you referring to?”

  “As your responsibility is for the maintenance of our intelligence services, I suppose it’s not necessary to remind you that our conversation must be absolutely secret.” Bruno nodded his head. “Good, then I shall explain. We are trying to get the pope to declare our war against the Saracens to be a Holy Crusade. As the archbishop of Toledo, I will go to ask him in person. If I manage it, I will pass through the neighboring countries to preach it.”

  “Of course. … That way the reconquest of Al-Andalus will become a collective enterprise. Then no one can see it as simply the ambitions of Castile, and if it is not carried out, it will bring direct sanctions from the pope, correct?”

  “Excommunication. A very serious penalty for any of our monarchs who still have not united their forces with Castile, such as León, Navarre, and Portugal. I shall not speak of Aragon, since they have been on our side for some time now.”

  Bruno had known the recently crowned archbishop of Toledo and counsel to the king, Rodrigo Ximénez de Rada, whom he was speaking with now in the palace, since childhood. He admired his talent and ability, as well as his demonstrated loyalty toward the Castilian king. The archbishop spoke several languages perfectly, Arabic among them, and had been educated in Bologna and Paris. Their families were friends, though not neighbors: Bruno was from Oñate and Ximénez de Rada from Navarre.

  “Do you think we’ll need the Ultramontanes to defeat them? I don’t.”

  “Bruno,” Don Rodrigo answered him, “think it over. Strength is not what we most need. What we are trying to break, once and for all, is the idea that our conflict with the Saracens is a matter of borders, of neighbors who don’t get along, who want to recover long-lost territories, as it has been for the last four hundred years.” He looked into his eyes sagely. “Now it’s not about that. This war has to involve more global intentions. We want to force a grand battle, a definitive one; to face
off, without half measures, one religion against the other, so that the supremacy of the Catholic faith will be imposed in all the territories that once belonged to the Visigoth kingdom.”

  “When I hear you speak, my spirit grows. What can I do to help in this cause?”

  “We know the efforts you’re making to get men to the south of Salvatierra, and the information they have gathered is valuable, but from now on we must think on a much larger scale. It’s urgent that you infiltrate deeper, get more men into Seville, the capital, where the military actions against us are decided. I understand the difficulties this request involves, but at this moment, it is vital that we be informed before we put any other plan in place. Therefore, you should rethink all your priorities and dedicate yourself to this task. Everyone’s success depends on yours.”

  “You may tell Your Majesty he can count on it,” Bruno affirmed without a flicker of doubt. “We will plunge into their very entrails, and from now on, nothing that happens in Seville will escape our attention.”

  At the inn, Otón and Pinardo were waiting for Bruno and Diego with two jugs of wine emptied and a third one started. Only Tomás, the false hangman, was missing. They explained that he had just left with a bit of bread and milk to feed the dove he always traveled with.

  On the way back from that mysterious interview, Diego had tried to wheedle some detail out of Bruno about what his future job would be. But once more he’d been told that he would know in due time, when they reached their destination.

  Over the two days following, the group covered the fifty leagues that separated them from the fortress of Salvatierra. Diego knew that the last six would be inside Muslim territory, where they couldn’t stop for an instant and would have to press their horses on to the maximum.

  It was then when he understood the usefulness of that dove that Tomás fed and cared for with such attention. The false hangman wrote a tiny letter and tied it tight to one of its feet.

  “This is one of the best ways we have to pass information back and forth. In Salvatierra we live isolated and surrounded by the enemy. Thanks to these doves, we know what’s happening to the north and south of our positions. I will show you my dovecote soon.”

  “Is it certain they will arrive at their destination, the castle, I suppose?”

  “Of course. They never fail.” He had the dove in his hands. He scratched its head and said something before letting it loose. The dove looked at him nervously and took flight right after, circling a few times before heading south as fast as possible.

  “Well done, girl.” Tomás watched the bird until he’d lost sight of it.

  “What information does she have?”

  “I let our brothers and the knights know we will be there soon. They will get ready to receive us. You’ll see …” he answered in a mysterious tone.

  Once they had set foot in Al-Andalus, just four leagues from Salvatierra. Bruno ordered his men to surround Diego and to speed their horses up. They had a long esplanade ahead of them, open, with no forest to protect them or ravine to take cover in. For that reason, they needed to get through there quickly. Only that way would they reach the walls of the fortress.

  None of the five men wanted to talk at that moment. They kept watch in front of them, to the sides, behind. They knew that at any moment, an encounter with the enemy, with death, could be waiting for them.

  “Otón, to the right!” Bruno shouted.

  Two Almohad warriors had just spotted them and came toward them on horseback. Otón took out a bow and aimed at one. He tensed the cord until his fingertips hurt and shot a first arrow, missing. He tried with a second and felled the rider’s horse. Tomás rode over to him and together they subdued the second.

  “Nobody relax. This moment is critical. It’s do or die now. We will face the greatest danger when we top this next hill, where they usually wait for us.”

  “Sir, if we travel so close together, we’ll be easy prey to their arrows. We should separate. … That way we’ll disperse them and we may run fewer risks.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Pinardo,” Bruno answered. “We need to protect Diego, understand?”

  The three knights obeyed him without any objection.

  When they passed over that hill, they could see the magnificent fortress a half league in the distance. But they also saw, to their left, a large group of Saracens, and as soon as they looked back, they began to shout and ran for their horses. The first arrows weren’t long in coming.

  Diego watched Tomás take out a long horn from his saddle. He brought it to his lips and blew three times, very hard, so that it resounded across the esplanade. An arrow struck his thigh just as he blew the last one. After an initial jolt of pain, without thinking twice, he broke the wood in half and threw it away with a curse. In fury, he grabbed his bow and fired arrows all around. Diego counted five enemies who fell by his hands.

  “To the right! Protect yourself with your shields! Now!” Otón shouted.

  Almost without time to react, a hellish rain of arrows fell upon them from a neighboring hill. They were Turkish archers. Luckily they weren’t mounted and soon they’d been left behind.

  Diego looked behind him and saw with a tremor that they were being tailed by no less than fifty soldiers. He was taken back in time to his flight from the inn, not so far from where he was now. He stroked Sabba. She was sweating as she never had before, just like the rest of the horses, which were all showing immense effort.

  “The doors are opening!” Pinardo yelled to them.

  “Look now,” Bruno said to Diego.

  When he looked in that direction, they saw coming from inside the walls a hundred armed horsemen who formed a long passageway to cover their entrance. Others flanked the first group, and then they began a rapid cavalcade to catch up with them. They had their lances pointed at the enemy and approached screaming and shouting.

  Diego felt great emotion when they met. The men wore Calatravan insignia, powerful weapons, brave faces. As soon as Diego and the others were in their midst, they closed ranks behind them to cover their entrance into the fortress.

  When Diego was inside, relieved by the protection of those solid walls, he sighed, unable to believe what he’d just lived through.

  Bruno de Oñate approached him and clapped him hard on the back.

  “Welcome to the castle of Salvatierra!”

  II.

  A sharp whistling interrupted his sleep.

  Diego jumped from the bed and ran to the courtyard of the fortress as the rest of the knights were doing.

  The noise came from outside the walls but was coming closer. He looked up, instinctively, and somebody shouted: “Catapult! Take cover!”

  Diego ran, without knowing to where.

  A second creaking sound came, and then a third, almost at the same time. An enormous stone came over the double walls and fell over a shack where the water vessels were kept. In an instant, everything was thrown into the air. Another one struck the walls of the tower, and a third, judging from the tremors it produced and the thunderous sound with which it struck, must have landed on the walls of one of the terraces.

  They were followed by many more that seemed to do minimal damage to the walls or other structures, thanks to the fortress’s solid construction. But the upper levels, were the masonry work was more shoddy, did not resist as well, and crumbled in places.

  “It’s been a few days with not much action,” one of the knights commented. When he saw Diego doing nothing, he asked, “Can you tell me what you’re doing standing there and not helping? Come with me to the battlements and shoot at anything that’s moving down there below.” He passed him a crossbow and a quiver full of arrows.

  They mounted a wooden stairway up to a long passageway that covered the perimeter of the outer wall. Diego looked out and saw a group of Saracens, some manning the four catapults and a few more with
other siege machines. They were in the company of at least a hundred soldiers on horseback and twice as many infantry.

  He dodged an arrow, saw who had shot it, and without hesitation he began to fire off his.

  “Get used to this, you’ll see it’s pretty common. …” That voice could only belong to Bruno de Oñate.

  “Is this how you wake up in Salvatierra?”

  “What better way than with a little bit of action?” He laughed. “Now leave this for the others and follow me. We have lots to do and little time.”

  Bruno went down to the courtyard, followed by Diego.

  “Take cover!” someone shouted from the battlements.

  They both looked at the sky and saw a projectile pass over their heads. They followed its trail until they saw it land on a carriage, destroying it. To Diego’s surprise, Bruno showed little worry about all that was happening, while he himself continued to look into the sky nervously, fearing he would be crushed by one of those tremendous boulders.

  “We’ll train you. …” Bruna affirmed before he opened a trapdoor on the ground level on a side wing of the main building.

  He crawled down into that narrow hole, watching his head, and told Diego to follow. They descended down a steep stairway until they arrived at a passageway beneath the fortress. Bruno took a torch from the wall.

  “Train me for what?” Diego asked, imagining he meant fighting and strategy.

  “To combat those fanatics, but not with arms, as a spy,” Bruno answered.

  “Did I hear you right?”

  “That’s correct. That will be your task from now on.”

  At the end of a long hallway there was a door. Bruno knocked three times.

  “Password?” was heard from the other side.

  “Sancho has not returned,” Bruno answered.

  They heard the shifting of a lock and the door opened.

  “Enter, sir.” The man looked at Diego. “And you are?”

  “Diego de Malagón,” he said, offering his hand.

  “My name is Teobaldo de Córdoba; come on in.”