The Horse Healer (49 page)

“Come in and tell me.” She let him through, finally, and Diego rushed in, causing both women to feel nervous.

“May we speak in private?”

Benazir was unsure whether it wouldn't be prudent to remain with her servant. That woman, her hurried appearance, the time, the strangeness of the situation … She was going to tell him no.

Diego could guess her thoughts, and knowing he could be thrown out, he tried another strategy.

“I'm from Malagón; do you remember me?”

Benazir brought her hands to her lips, stunned. She hadn't heard word of that place since she lived in Toledo. And now the voice was a little deeper, more masculine.
It couldn't be
, she thought.

“Ishamadi, you can go now. If my father looks for me, I'll be in the reading room.”

She tried to recall whom those eyes beneath the niqab could belong to and finally she recognized him.

“And you come with me …” Before she finished the phrase, she made sure her servant could no longer hear. “Diego de Malagón.”

VIII.

I
n scarcely an hour, Diego had recounted all his ups and downs from the time of his escape from Toledo until he had appeared at that door, dressed as a woman, with half the city chasing him.

Benazir listened to him nervously, because his presence, besides joy, stirred up bad memories.

“How could I make that mistake?” she mourned. “Believe me, I've thought of it so many times. To lose my head that way, when you were only a boy …”

A sharp pain, very deep, was reflected in her wounded, fleeting stare.

“Maybe it's better to leave all that behind us …”

“I never could, Diego. I've thought about it many times, maybe in an attempt to clear my conscience, or else to just understand myself. And I've realized that throughout my life, I've only known how to waste everything good that's been given to me. In Toledo, I was always obsessed with appearing to be something I wasn't; I tried to be a desirable, charming, seductive woman, forgetting what I really cared about: my husband. I looked down on his work, his responsibilities; I began to hate how even-tempered he was. I acted without maturity, spitefully; I was foolish … or just stupid, to be more exact.” She caught a tear that was streaming down her cheek. “I came to Toledo and to married life without ever learning how to be myself. Though the years had passed, I was still a girl, I couldn't take on the role life had chosen for me, be a responsible woman, faithful, a loving wife … I did everything wrong, Diego, terribly—”

“Maybe you're being too hard on yourself,” Diego interrupted.

“Hard? Hard, you say?” Her chin trembled and her nervous hands flew from her lap to her chin and then to her dress. “Can you imagine what it feels like when you take stock of your whole life and you don't find anything important in it? Does it not seem incredible to you that a person can be marked forever by one tragic mistake, just one, however unimportant it was?”

Diego was filled with compassion and felt the need to embrace her. Despite that terrible occurrence, Benazir had been an essential part of his path in those early years of his youth, so full of doubts. At her side he had learned to speak Arabic and discovered the universe of translation in Toledo. She was the one who gave him his first book; he still remembered it, and he remembered, too, that ill-fated trip through the marshes of Guadalquivir. But more than anything, she had been a fascination for Diego, the object of his passions, a savage temptation, awakening his sensuality.

And he realized he still adored her.

He stroked her hair in silence while he remembered those deep conversations with Galib, when he defined her as unique, irreplaceable, a precious essence, the inheritor of the desert, indomitable, indefinable, shifting as the sands. He could still see his master with his eyes inflamed and his hands quivering with emotion when he uttered each of those words.

“From what you say, you have achieved almost everything you set out to do.” Benazir admired him with her warm, honey-colored eyes. “When I saw you for the first time in Toledo, you were no one, just a young commoner, son of a poor innkeeper. At fourteen you were already full of ambition and the will to be someone.”

“You're right. At that moment I wasn't just running from the Saracens, I was trying to achieve a dream forbidden to people of my class: to learn, to acquire the necessary experience, to brush up against the wisdom hidden in books, absorb the principles of science, master the knowledge of things. How innocent I was; I didn't imagine then that knowledge went hand in hand with power, and that only the nobles or the priests could have it. It wasn't there for a poor son of the earth like myself.”

“Your merit is much greater,” she interrupted him. “You've made yourself into a famed albéitar, and all that thanks to the iron will you relied on to make it. But beyond that, you've tasted monastic life, you've experienced war, you know the bitter taste of treason and disappointment, and the sweetness of true love …” She paused to order her ideas. “My dear Diego, you should be proud of all that. Your life has consisted of so many sensations and adventures; you even knew death up close from a young age.”

“I was reborn that day. I've done everything thanks to a combination of luck and fate. You could do it, too, if you would leave the past behind, Benazir.”

“You came to life without remorse hunting you down, as it does me.”

“Even the worst evil can be atoned for.”

“Maybe you're right.” She stood up, uncomfortable, and went to retrieve two apples from a large platter. He took one and bit into it hungrily.

“Inside my heart, I feel an enormous debt to you.” Benazir sighed heavily. “Tell me what I can do for you, I beg you.”

“For now, hide me, that's already a great deal. I can't explain much more because it could put you in serious danger.”

Benazir thought of where to hide him and nothing occurred to her better than the storehouse hidden in her father's basement.

“I suppose you know al-Nasir is in Seville.”

“Of course,” he answered without entering into the theme.

“Might your mission have to do with him?”

“Maybe …”

“I understand. … You're looking for information for Castile. It's that, no?”

“You could assume that.”

“You can't risk it now, you'd be recognized immediately. … But I could.” Benazir's face turned conspiratorial.

“Don't joke around. I would never put you in any danger.”

“I often visit his sister, Princess Najla. We are good friends and I have no problems moving around her quarters. She's an excellent poet and we spend hours together reciting one stanza after another. I know the caliph well, I know his wife, even his favorite concubine, a beautiful redhead who …”

Diego choked when he heard that. A redhead, in the court of al-Nasir? It couldn't be. … His face lit up and his eyes seemed to be on the point of exploding. Benazir noticed it without knowing why.

“What did I say to upset you so bad?”

“The redhead.” His voice cracked. “Do you know her name?”

Diego pulled off his disguise, as if those garments wouldn't let him breathe or had suddenly gotten in his way.

“Wait, I remember … I don't know … I think her name is Falak.”

“Falak in Arabic means star—Estela!” Diego screamed without worrying about his safety.

“Please don't speak so loud. What is it?”

“It's my sister, the younger one. Don't you remember what happened in Malagón before I left for Toledo? Blanca must be there, too.”

“I never heard that name, only Falak, or Estela as you call her.”

Diego stood up and looked straight at Benazir with an unhinged expression, anxious to act.

“I have to go find them, right now. … I must free them from their prison, take them away.” He paced around nervously. “I still don't know what to do, but I need to take action now!”

“Don't even think they'll let you enter the castle. Those African fanatics protect it. They'll kill you without thinking.”

“I'll go through the tunnels underground. I know how to get to the courtyards. That was my original plan; enter into the caliph's lodgings from one of the conduits that leads into the river.”

Diego walked mentally through the underground areas of the city. From the embassy, the best entrance to the courtyards was near the Great Mosque. He took out the parchment of the Wild Fox with the plan of the grounds and unfolded it so Benazir could tell him where he might find Estela. At the same time, he remembered his mission.

“Have you ever seen a Koran with a large gem on its cover in the palace?”

“Of course, al-Nasir always has it with him. The stone you mentioned is actually an enormous emerald, as big as a cherry. Are you looking for it?”

“Do you know where he might keep it?”

She pointed to a place that was very likely.

“I admit that using the underground tunnels might be a good idea, maybe the only option to get to the castle,” Benazir commented. “This house has an entrance as well.”

“I know, but those passages don't lead to the palace. They won't work for me.”

Benazir was shocked by the change Diego had undergone. When she looked at him, she saw a valiant man, cultivated and handsome. She knew he had good reason to go to the palace and that nothing could prevent him, but still, she feared for him. She wanted to help. … The presence of his sister Estela had upset him, made him too nervous; he was anxious to do something, and soon. In that state, he might not be controlled enough to act without committing some error.

“I'll go with you.” She stood up, decided, and covered Diego's mouth as soon as he began to protest. “I don't care what you say, I need it. … I can't stay here. I have to do something, I don't know, at least watch the entrance to the tunnel you have to use.”

IX.

D
iego waited for Benazir in the basement of the Persian embassy. In addition to countless other feelings, he felt an enormous responsibility weighing down on him, remembering that the enemy was advancing on Salvatierra.

He couldn't linger long in his attempt to rescue his sisters or in finding that Koran. It was vital to make it back to the fortress before the Almohads, so he had to leave Seville as soon as possible.

Benazir appeared with a dark cloth over her head.

“Let's go. …”

They went out to the street and walked cautiously to the city center. They followed a number of alleys until they hit a plaza they needed to cross; in the middle of it, under some orange trees, they saw a group of soldiers talking.

Diego tried to remember an alternative route, but none existed. To reach the north face of the Great Mosque, they would have to either cross the plaza or go along its edge. He explained it softly to Benazir.

“They'll see us,” Diego lamented.

“Follow me and let me handle it.” Benazir took his hand and pulled him toward the men. Diego, made nervous by her determination, felt his heartbeat in his temples. Once they were close to the soldiers, Benazir threw herself in Diego's arms and kissed him on the lips, as ardently as a lover.

“I love you so much,” she whispered in a voice loud enough for the others to hear.

The soldiers looked at each other and laughed, though they couldn't see their faces. They were looking for a woman in a niqab, young and agile, supposedly, and not a couple of hot-blooded lovers.

Benazir and Diego continued on their way, their kisses sweet and warm, and left the men behind. Neither of them realized that Diego had dropped a piece of parchment on the ground, the map of the castle; but the soldiers did.

“Wait!” one shouted, his intention only to tell them so. “Stop. …”

They ran away, thinking they'd been discovered. The soldiers gave chase, surprised by their reaction. One of them picked up the object and saw it was a map. Then he understood it could be spies.

“When we arrive at the next fork, a long street open to the right. We'll take it,” Benazir recommended, gasping because she was unused to running so fast. “In the middle there's a big fountain that's often empty. … We'll hide there. Since it's night, they won't see us.”

The soldiers ran after them through the neighboring streets, talking to each other without understanding how the couple could have vanished. They decided to split up to better cover the area, and after a moment, Diego and Benazir couldn't hear them.

“Should we leave?” Benazir whispered.

Diego peeked out and then emerged.

“Go home, Benazir. It's too risky with me. It's absurd for you to follow­ me.”

“Don't tell me what to do. I was useful to you in the plaza and you might need me again.”

Diego gave up, took her hand, and together they retraced their footsteps. They crossed two more streets and stopped at the entrance to a broad esplanade that angled toward the mosque.

On one of the walls of that temple, there had to be a trapdoor or something similar that connected to the tunnels. Diego looked over the entire wall without seeing anything special. He was awed by the magnificent minaret rising up from the building's center.

“I have to get closer, from here I can't see well.” He pointed at the mosque. “You stay here. If you see me disappear, that's a good sign. In that case, don't wait for me.”

“You're asking me to do something very difficult.” Benazir grabbed him, desolate. For a moment she thought it might be the last time she ever saw him. “How will I know if you're safe?” She stroked his cheek.

“If they capture me, it will be announced. But don't worry, I'll manage. I'll rescue my sisters, get the Koran, and we'll flee through the undergrounds of the city that ends up at the Guadalquivir. I'll escape with them to the north.”

Benazir understood she couldn't delay him anymore.

“Go, and God protect you. …” She kissed him tenderly and said good-bye to him in tears.

Diego took off running and crossed the esplanade, reaching the wall of the mosque unnoticed. With the darkness as his ally, he passed along the east wall, looking over every inch, but he couldn't find the entrance. It began to disturb him. He looked for Benazir. She was hidden behind the column of a building watching him.

Then something called Diego's attention. He thought he saw a man amid the shadows behind Benazir. He wanted to be wrong, but he wasn't. He could see unequivocally a soldier walking in their direction. He was going to see her. Diego had to help. He shouted with all his might to attract the man's attention; the man ran in his direction. Diego looked around. The esplanade was too big to escape without being seen, and there was nowhere to hide. Looking at the minaret, he saw a small door at its base. Like a fleeting image, he suddenly remembered Efraím's prophecy. He spoke of a minaret, shouting, escape … It coincided with what was happening now, but what else did it mean? Without thinking twice, he ran to the tower, and when he arrived, he knocked off the hinges with a strong kick.

Though he could hardly see anything in the interior, he found a ramp that rose at a slight angle toward the top. He filled his lungs with air, listened to the steps of the soldier behind him, and ran upward with all the energy his legs could muster. Every time he reached another level, he looked for places to hide, some door that led to another room, any answer to get away from his pursuer, but everything was locked.

When he finally arrived at the ninth floor, he thought he was going to faint—he had no energy left—and at that moment he heard a metallic sound, like a sword, not far from him, just one floor below. All he could do was run to the highest spot. Once there, he would see …

On the ninth floor, the ramp stopped, and there was a more narrow stairway winding around the tower's center. The steps were short and very tall, which meant his legs were working twice as hard. By the time he'd reached the second landing, they were cramping and he felt a sharp pain in his belly.

“You won't escape!”

The threat of that soldier, out of breath and stuttering, echoed through the minaret. It reached Diego's ears just as he made it to the fourth landing. To his right, at last, he saw a door open partway and he pushed it the rest of the way. He felt a soft breeze. He was on a small, very narrow terrace with a short stone balustrade. It wouldn't be easy to escape.

He thought of what he could do to defend himself against the man. He was unarmed, tired, and couldn't get a handle on his breathing. At that moment, he felt all the blood in his body pounding through his head.

He hid in a corner and fearfully awaited the soldier's arrival.

He heard the door. First he tried to calm his breathing, then he heard the panting of his pursuer approaching to the left. He clenched his fists when he saw the tip of a sword appear, and with incredible determination he jumped at the man, pushing him as hard as he could. Surprising the soldier, Diego dragged him almost without resistance to the edge of the balustrade. The soldier was young and his eyes were bulging out: He couldn't believe what was happening. He felt Diego's hands throwing him over the stone barrier into the air.

The boy screamed so intensely that it tore through the evening silence. That, too, recalled Efraím's prophecy: a scream in the air was what he had said. And he had just lived it. Diego looked over the edge and saw the soldier's body lying on the ground.

He ran downstairs and took the ramps, coming outside just as Benazir approached. She had been waiting with dread on the other side of the plaza until she heard the terrible scream and saw the man falling from the heights. She crossed the plaza to find out what had happened, terrified, thinking it was Diego. And when she saw him, she embraced him.

“For a moment I was afraid …”

They heard noises. They were standing in front of the main entrance to the castle, though some distance still lay before them. They saw a platoon of soldiers emerge, at their head a man wearing Christian garments.

Diego turned to Benazir with an expression of deep disappointment. That meant his mission was over, and that he couldn't save the sisters he'd been separated from for sixteen years, even though he'd never been so close. … He felt a dreadful grief, a cruel impotence, seeing all his plans crumble.

The men were approaching. They were going to capture them.

“Run!”

Benazir pushed him to awaken him from his trance. Diego looked at his persecutors and suddenly recognized who was leading them; the man recognized him as well. It was Pedro de Mora.

“Capture that man!” the Castilian shouted in fury. “I want the head of that bastard, kill him if you have to. …”

“Let's go to your palace …” Diego yelled to Benazir as soon as they had taken off.

“And when we get there?” she asked, frightened. She didn't understand how he had recognized that man.

“It's Persian territory, I don't think they'll dare enter.”

Diego was thinking of the tunnels as his final solution. It was an enormous network of passageways, dead ends, and offshoots, a place impossible to navigate for someone who didn't know it well.

He looked back and saw that the soldiers were gaining ground. Benazir couldn't run any faster; her dress was too tight. Diego knew they had little left to go, but he also realized they would be caught if they couldn't go faster. Stumbling, but without stopping, he grabbed the edge of Benazir's tunic and tore it, leaving a long tear up her side. For the moment, that solved their problems and soon they had reached the door of the Persian embassy. They pushed it open and ran to the courtyard, hoping they were safe, but it wasn't so. The soldiers didn't hesitate to follow them, with Pedro de Mora behind them.

“They're going to trap us, Diego. …” Benazir saw them so close that she thought all hope was lost.

“No, you'll see. … Inside the tunnels we'll lose them.”

“I don't know.”

They crossed a long passageway and emerged at another courtyard where the trapdoor that led down into the tunnels was located. When he reached it, Diego pulled on its iron handle as firmly as he could, but years of disuse had sealed it shut. He pressed his feet into the floor and pulled with all his might. This time his luck was better. The hatch creaked open and a terrible odor emerged from inside.

“Get in, Benazir!”

“I won't go,” she answered.

“Are you mad? Now is not the time. … For God's sake, I can hear them coming.”

“Go! I'll lie to them, I'll say you kidnapped me. If I follow you, I'll be a burden. You go alone.”

Diego didn't know what to do. Stay? Flee?

Benazir, seeing his doubts, kissed him on the cheek and ran to meet the men.

Diego entered the conduit, and while his torso was still outside, he saw Benazir rush toward the men, screaming. And then he saw a sword come out and it was plunged into her stomach. She gave a long cry and turned back to him with a tranquil expression, full of peace, convinced that at that moment, after all those years, she had atoned for her sin.

Diego closed the trapdoor and slid down a slippery stairway deep into the ground, weeping and destroyed. As soon as he touched flat ground, he ran. He took a passage to his right, and then another when he heard voices coming after him. They were trying to give chase, but he didn't fear for his life; there was not so much danger now. They wouldn't catch him. He went through one narrow passageway after another, climbed and descended stairways, and even waded through one tunnel with water up to his waist. But he managed to leave them behind.

Not long afterward, he came out at the river, outside the city's walls, and plunged into its cool waters. He followed it as fast as he could until he arrived at the Guadalquivir. Once there, he dove in, hiding himself, and made his way discreetly away from Seville to the east. He should reach the village of Coria and then get Sabba. Then he would gallop without stopping to Salvatierra.

He had failed in his mission, he hadn't seen the Koran or his sisters; the only thing he could do, Diego thought, was arrive in time to help his friends before the ferocious attack of the Almohads came down on them.

Two days later, saddled atop Sabba and flying down over paths far away from the main roads, Diego thought of Benazir with pride. There was no braver or more generous act than the one she had performed.

He cried, remembering it.

That woman had shown that she carried the blood of the daughters of the desert in her veins, the braveness of its storms and the contrast of its nights. Benazir possessed a pure soul.

He would remember her forever.

After five days' travel, Diego reached the Muradal Pass. Once he'd crossed it, he saw the fortress of Salvatierra on the hill, dominating the plains below it.

An enormous cloud of dust rose from inside the walls and around it. Hundreds of horsemen surrounded it, growing in number as victory approached.

From afar he could hear bloodcurdling screams, the sound of clashing swords, drums, Moorish trumpets accompanying the attack.

He looked at the tower and saw with sorrow that the flags flown there no longer belonged to the Calatravans or to Castile. Now there was a white one, with no decoration, belonging to the Almohads and another from the Andalusian army.

He had arrived too late; Salvatierra had fallen into their hands.

“I failed them. Dear God, what can have happened to them all?”

The mare snorted nervously, smelling death nearby, and kicked at the soil.

“Where can I go now?”

Sabba turned her head and looked at him. She whinnied and tore off at a furious gallop.

Diego didn't try to change her mind.