The Horse Healer

by Gonzalo Giner

  “I’ve had everything, and I’ve lost everything, Galib. I managed to become respected as an albéitar. I could put into practice all I’d learned at your side, and all I’d read in the monastery at Fitero and all I’d learned in the course of my work. But above all, I thought I was loved by the only woman who has ever really captured my heart. Then everything collapsed; Marcos betrayed me and Mencía married another man.”

  “Everything is never lost, the way you say. There are moments that are better and worse. … Remember you still have much to give to others, many years to live, and that the job you have is an art. Albéitars are useful wherever we go because we have the virtue of healing; we are healers of horses. I would like to call myself that, a horse healer. The power to restore health is a talent Allah has placed in our hands and in our eyes. To you in particular he has given great intelligence, and now, after hearing about your adventures with the Calatravans, it seems he’s given you bravery, too.”

  Diego took the Mulomedicine Chironis in his hands and remembered how long it had been since he’d studied.

  “I remember one day someone called me horse healer and I didn’t like it then, but when I hear you now, I have to recognize it’s a beautiful name for our profession. … It’s been too long since I’ve practiced it. I stopped studying, reading; in reality I haven’t done that work very much these past few years. I miss it.”

  “I am happy to see you still need the nourishment of science and that, though in these past few years you have learned other skills, your curiosity is still begging for answers.”

  While they spoke, Galib took two large logs and lit a fire. Then he looked for glasses and filled them with a sweet cherry liquor.

  “So many years have passed.” Galib swished the liquor in his mouth, savoring it. “I’m surprised by the number of experiences you’ve had, but … would you say you’ve accomplished what you set out to do?”

  “When I came to Toledo, just a boy, I was a commoner, the offspring of the sweat, misery, and effort of my father, who fought against everything, even his own physical limitations, to provide for his family. I swore to that ill-starred blacksmith, innkeeper, shepherd—because he’d been a little bit of everything—that I would become somebody dignified. He wanted me to learn a profession that would be fitting for my abilities.” Diego stopped to breathe a moment. “And now you ask me if I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. … I don’t know.” He hesitated. “In this sense, I may have come farther that what I dreamed of then.”

  “I’m happy to hear you say that.”

  “I should be, too, but in reality I’m not. I feel that I left something more important behind on the way; love, friendship, trust in the people I’ve cared for the most, you among them. … I don’t know, everything has passed through my life so fast.”

  “Life is a long pilgrimage on the path to perfection. We try to reach the end and we don’t realize how much important there is on the way. I have known many who believed they were unhappy for not accomplishing their dreams. Their ambitions blinded them so much that they couldn’t see the goodness offered by the road itself.”

  “I understand you, but I have to say that I haven’t seen so much goodness, maybe because I’ve had to take too many roads, almost always treacherous and full of obstacles and setbacks. Being a commoner closed so many doors, Galib, some important, like access to knowledge. If I managed to get access to it in Fitero, believe me, it was thanks to lies and tricks and buying off more than one person’s indulgence. … I also had to learn not to aspire to win the heart of a noblewoman. Just because their blood is different! I tasted the terrors of war and exile because of this love. But if I think of our profession, even there I haven’t encountered colleagues remotely as noble as you. One of them, a menescal from Naples, was so wounded by envy, just because I saved a horse’s life, that he tried to murder me. And to top it off, I suffered misunderstanding and a death sentence for discovering the origins of a plague that was afflicting many of my neighbors.”

  Galib pushed one of the logs so that the others would set it alight.

  “The ability to grow in the face of adversity lies at the root of greatness, and overcoming it is a healthy stimulus for the heart. To learn from your errors makes you noble, and to be humble, in a world full of pride, is the key to happiness, I promise you. Diego, everything you just shared with me, all that is a few steps on the long road of your life. You need to understand that happiness lies not in grandiose goals. Those challenges are what made you grow, and if you think about it, you’ll see that each of them has a meaning.”

  Diego looked at him with the same admiration as before. Galib wasn’t only the best albéitar in Toledo, but also a wise man and a philosopher; the man had reminded him of so many things. … Paying attention to his words, Diego began to recollect some of the moments he had lived through, and he was shocked to see how they fit together like clockwork. Just as Galib had said, they had all given him something; some maybe in a hidden way, though most otherwise.

  “What is missing then?” Galib asked.

  “It’s been some time now that I’ve needed to do something.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I still haven’t lived very much. … My father asked me to take care of my sisters and I wasn’t able to protect them when they needed me, and in Salvatierra I met some men whose only task was to overthrow the fanatical Almohads. They counted on me, they gave me a mission, but I failed them.”

  Galib ran a finger around the rim of the wineglass, thinking of how to help him. After a brief silence, he spoke from his heart.

  “When Allah wanted to make the horse, he spoke to the south wind: from you I shall make a creature that will be the honor of my legacy, the humiliation of my enemies, and my defense against those who attack me. And the south wind responded: Lord, do it according to your desire. Then Allah took a handful of wind and with it, he made the horse. …”

  Diego looked at him, astonished. That fable still affected him as much as it had the first time he heard it.

  “Do you know what else I told you then?”

  “You talked about my future.”

  “True, and I linked it to you mare, Sabba, as your inseparable companion. I told you she would take you to incredible places, and also that those noble animals would guide your path to greatness and to prominence. With them, you would do good. Remember?”

  “Of course, but what could all that mean right now?”

  “It means you shouldn’t abandon the science you worked so hard to learn. When your father spoke to you as he did, he didn’t want to push you to take up arms, though now you burn with longing to punish those infidels, which they are for me just as much as for you. You have to trust in your destiny, and maybe one day soon it will show you how to achieve both realities. Open your eyes wide and listen to your heart; it is free. And then be brave enough to listen to what it tells you.”

  A bell tolled six times and Galib was exhausted. He would need to rest before dawn.

  “I need to sleep awhile, Diego. Tomorrow I have to be fresh; I have a visitor. Would you like to join me?”

  “That means we could work together again.” Diego was overjoyed with the idea.

  “How would you feel about starting with one of the king’s horses?”

  Hours later, when the sun was about to rise, Sajjad looked for them everywhere in the house before finding the two albéitars at the stables. Diego was speaking with Sabba in a language Sajjad couldn’t understand, and Galib was breathing on her nostrils. They were getting ready to ride to the stables in the royal palace.

  Sabba whinnied cheerfully, recognizing the man she hadn’t seen for so long, feeling his hands stroking her head.

  “Welcome back to my home, dear Sabba. …”

  III.

  Diego was happy. It had been years since he had gotten up at dawn and galloped alongside his
master, sharing his worries and all that he had learned. Galib, in spite of his age, had continued prospering in his profession. He was always close to the upper nobility and to the wealthy Muslims and Jews, but recently his fame had spread in Toledo and he was now the preferred albéitar of the king.

  As Galib told Diego, Alfonso VIII had tried to convince him to work for him alone, and even to accompany him on his travels, but Galib never wanted to abandon his home or his independence.

  They arrived at a magnificent palace on the outskirts of the city at the edge of the Tagus River. The building had been constructed by the final Muslim king in the days before Toledo’s recapture by the Christians, and it was surrounded by an immense garden with a variety of trees, flowers, and bushes. At one time, it was meant to be a representation of paradise.

  Diego felt overwhelmed. He had been in many noble houses, but this place was truly beautiful, or maybe he just felt awed because he was back with Galib in the stables of Alfonso VIII, whom he had heard so much about.

  Once they were inside, the royal stable keeper awaited them with a gatekeeper and a steward. They were immediately taken to a sick horse.

  “Diego, I’ll let you do the honors.” Galib pointed out the animal.

  The patient was a precious Arabian mare, white, lying on a bed of hay and looking listless.

  Diego approached, talking to her softly. The mare met his eyes and tried to whinny but couldn’t; she was too weak.

  Her ears were cool to the touch.

  “Until yesterday she had a high fever,” the stable keeper mentioned, “and last night, she peed blood.”

  When he observed her, Diego could see something strange in her gaze; it seemed more clouded than normal. He knelt to feel her eyelids. The mere touch of his hands made her jerk uncomfortably. Her conjunctiva were yellow and he found a small sac with cloudy liquid inside it.

  “Bring me a candle.”

  Galib knelt and looked in her eyes while Diego examined the rest of her body.

  “Muscular pain.” He pressed on her neck, and the mare pulled away. “Inflammation of the eyes.”

  Galib had an idea of what was causing it but waited for Diego to speak.

  The steward arrived with a lit lamp and a round mirror to reflect the light. Diego brought it close to one of the animal’s eyes and she turned away, closed her eyelids, and kicked, showing her agitation.

  “She has an illness of the veins …”

  Galib looked at him, surprised. He had never heard such a sickness mentioned before.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s something I saw in Albarracín. I still don’t know what it’s actually called. It’s not written about it any books, though I suspect it’s produced by a parasite, probably something too small to be seen. I studied it in depth and I suspect it enters the animal through an open wound and then migrates to another spot, and it causes all sorts of disturbances as it progresses. It shows up first as fever, which is the organism’s defense reaction. If the kidneys are affected, there will be blood in the urine, and an attack on the liver will show in the yellowish color of the mucus. If they finally lose their sight, it’s because of an inflammation of the inside of the eyes.”

  “Do you know how to treat it?”

  “Nothing has ever worked. She will go blind and then she’ll die. We can alleviate her pain, but that’s all. But that’s not the worst thing.” He sighed, discomfited. “In this state, the animal is a danger, because this illness can be easily passed to man.”

  “What?” The stable keeper became worried; one of his workers was suffering from fevers and a stomachache.

  “You need to isolate her immediately,” Diego said, pointing to the mare. “Her disease could reach anyone who comes in contact with her, including the king himself.”

  A sudden presence interrupted their conversation.

  “How is my mare?”

  That voice could only belong to one person. King Alfonso appeared in the company of a man of enormous stature.

  “Your Majesty …” Galib gave a long, low bow. “It seems we have bad news.”

  “Explain. …”

  “Better if my former pupil, and now colleague, Diego de Malagón tells you.”

  Alfonso VIII looked at Diego with little interest. The king was wearing a long garment of red and white with two golden castles embroidered on the breast. His mane was long and gray, his beard thick, his skin dark, leathery, and wrinkled. Diego saw immovable authority reflected in his gaze and felt proud to be so close to someone he admired so deeply. He knelt and caressed the neck of the animal affectionately.

  His companion talked the whole time. He was explaining the difficulties they would have in improving the public militias and maintaining the Ultramontanes that were now in Córdoba after the declaration of the crusade. He insisted on the necessity of providing them with good horses, shields, and swords. The person speaking was the first sergeant to the royal master-at-arms, who was responsible for feeding and arming the troops during the campaign. Given the magnitude of the battle that was coming, he was getting more anxious by the day.

  “You shouldn’t touch her, Your Majesty!” Diego exclaimed.

  “Would you mind explaining to me why?”

  Diego detailed the nature of the illness the mare was suffering and the danger of contagion that was present. He was surprised by the monarch’s good manners, his simplicity, and how comfortable it was to talk to him.

  “Give her whatever cures as necessary to ease her pains,” King Alfonso concluded. “She has been a good and faithful mare. She has seen me through difficult times. You can no longer find animals of this breed …”

  “Do you mean her Arabian blood?”

  “That, yes. She’s a unique specimen, a gift from the former governor of the taifa of Valencia. Her name is Faiza. According to what they told me, she descends from one of the five mares of Habdah, the originals. There is a legend that attributes the origin of the most beautiful race of horses, the Arabian, to those five. Do you know that story?” He looked at Galib. “Surely you do. …”

  “Our Prophet named the others Obayah, Kuhaylah, Saqlauiyah, Hamdaniyah,” Galib said. “One day, Muhammad had a hundred mares chosen from among all those of his army and closed them in a corral next to a freshwater stream. He kept them there in the heat of the sun, without access to that vital liquid for days, and then had the gates opened. The mares, called by their thirst, galloped toward the water like mad. But at that moment, he had the horn blown to call them to his side. All ignored it but five that came to him without drinking. Their obedience transcended their instincts. Since then those became his favorite animals and they never left his side.”

  “Faiza has been as great as they were,” the king continued. “I regret her loss like she was a member of my family. …” His gaze fell on Diego, and then he remembered where he had heard of him, from his own ensign, Álvaro Núñez de Lara. “Weren’t you involved in that failed mission when we tried to take the Koran from Muhammad al-Nasir?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Diego lowered his head, humiliated.

  “In Don Álvaro you have a great ally, for he has spoken well of you to me despite that failure, and even stated you were blameless for that mission’s lack of success. In any case, you must know your debt to the crown of Castile is great and has yet to be paid.”

  “I shall do what you ask of me.”

  “For now, make sure she doesn’t suffer.” He said, pointing at his mare.

  “I can alleviate her pain, but I must tell you that sooner or later, she will die.”

  “Galib, do you agree with this diagnosis?”

  “Diego is as skilled as I am, maybe more. Sometimes things don’t go as we would wish, Your Majesty.”

  “But this mare … cannot die!”

  “We will treat her with a number of compounds, but you
have to be ready to see her suffer, and soon die.”

  The monarch was sad and disappointed. If those two albéitars, certainly the best in all the kingdom, could not heal his animal, then certainly there was no cure, however much it hurt him to say so. He approached her. He didn’t want to touch her in case she might try to get up, but tremendous grief ran through his body.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” Diego replied.

  “Do what you can for her. I beg you.”

  On their way back to Galib’s house, they talked about the case of the mare.

  “I will never get used to the feeling of impotence when I come on a problem I can’t cure.”

  “Me neither,” Diego said, “and I am still asking myself what the true causes of illness are. I now reject completely the humoral theory of Hippocrates, and of course the other one relating illnesses to the mood of the gods. But I have discovered some writings of the Persian doctor Avicenna that have captivated me. His words are glimmering with truth. After reading them, I’ve come to the conclusion that in horses, other than the outward complaints, the causes and signs of which are already visible to us, the internal diseases arise from the effects of two essential principles. One of them is in the malfunction of the essential organs, like the liver, heart, and brain. And the other I attribute to the intervention of certain determinant agents, invisible but real, that produce disorders within these organs.”

  Galib had also read Avicenna and, being partial to him as an Arab, also believed his theories. In fact, in one of his discoveries, concerning the contagious nature of tuberculosis, he could see reference to the idea Diego just mentioned of certain external agents that caused disease.

  “Sometimes I have thought the same thing, but I don’t know. … That type of explanation seems to bring us closer to the world of magic than of science. Small creatures … invisible ones, or particles causing illnesses, call them what you want … to my mind, if we embrace this theory, we give more credit to those who interpret diseases as the manifestation of malignant beings, which they call demons or monsters or even wicked gods, and that is the furthest thing from my thoughts.”