The Horse Healer (7 page)

X.

S
cience spoke in Arabic.

That language. Its sound was a torment for Diego, but he also knew that it harbored the secrets that Galib possessed. For many afternoons and many long late nights, he had watched Galib pass candlelit hours in silence amid books and writings. One day, he explained that he was reading the works of the wise Greeks, gathered and translated into Arabic by Persian scholars. Sometimes, when Diego was leaving from the stable to approach the house to share some bit of information with Galib, he would see him surrounded by books, reading, concentrating, taking pleasure. Galib whispered words that seemed like poetry to Diego, but when he least expected, his head would be filled with bloody, vicious thoughts.

The memory of his sisters was always horrible for him. Each time they popped into his mind, they always ended up lost in a cloudy mental labyrinth, where not even with his imagination could he come up with a way to help them.

Six months had passed since that first visit with Galib, and for Diego things had gone a bit better. With his first wages he had been able to rent a bed in a Frankish quarter, in a modest house where he shared a room with two other men.

Sajjad, besides living in his own world full of contradictions, had begun to show an alarming jealousy toward Diego. That was primarily because Diego had received his first important responsibility: taking charge of the workshop.

Galib, more impressed every day by his talent, began to give him some simple tasks, like making sure the horseshoes were of the same thickness or filing off their sharp edges. But given his skill, after a short while, he ended up tasking him with forging new ones.

At times, when Diego left early, he would leave off drawing whatever he wanted in a square of sand on the floor of the stable. More than once Diego found Sajjad erasing it with his canvas shoe, though afterward he would beg for forgiveness and insist on the purity of his intention.

“Sajjad good, Sajjad help Diego,” he would repeat over and over.

Forging the horseshoes took up half the morning and the rest of the day Diego dedicated to the other chores, like carting hay, spreading straw out for the beds, or brushing and cleaning the animals.

After a year, Galib entrusted Diego with administering cures to those sick horses that were kept in the stables and that needed to be watched over closely.

Diego was meticulous in preparing their doses, paid careful attention to the progress of the animals, intuited their responses, and, moreover, could remember each one's treatment, although many included more than ten ingredients. He memorized with remarkable speed.

None of this escaped Galib, or Sajjad either.

One day, when he had passed more than a year working for Galib, something very serious happened.

“Someone must have fed her bad oats. …”

Galib, agitated and beside himself, tried to reanimate the animal. He had found it with a high fever and intense diarrhea. It had only spent a single night in his stables.

Diego and Sajjad huddled down, witnessing the disaster, without knowing what to do or say.

“And the mare of the justice of Toledo to boot,” Galib blabbered in desperation.

He had no idea how to explain to the man that his best animal, one he had sent over for a small procedure on its hooves, was now suffering from extreme indigestion with acute pains and fetid excretions. And all this because she'd been fed damp grains.

He knelt down and looked at both of them in the eyes with rage.

“Was it you, Sajjad?”

Diego winced for the poor old man. His legs shook like a rabbit's and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. Tension racked his squalid body.

“Sajjad see Diego.” With a trembling finger, he pointed at the boy. The boy's expression changed first to surprise and then to indignation. Galib's did as well, but in his case, the feelings were of fury and perplexity.

“Sajjad tell him no do, but Diego no obey Sajjad, and …” The young apprentice glared at him, wishing to strike him, to explode in protests. He held back, though, and swore he wasn't the one who'd done it.

Galib was disconcerted. He began to walk around them, his head down. He seemed to be ruminating on a difficult decision while he seethed, infuriated. After a moment that seemed to them like an eternity, he sighed three times and at last spoke.

“Sajjad, make a ball of coal and clay to absorb the mold, and if the owner comes, don't let him in. Tell him that she will be ready tomorrow, but be careful he doesn't see her today.

“And you, Diego, come with me. I have to talk with you.”

Diego followed him, frightened. For a moment, he imagined himself on the street, without work, without having learned almost anything.

They plunged into the narrow streets of the Muslim quarter, and without leaving the city, Galib informed him of his intentions.

“To be an albéitar means study, tenacity, effort, the cultivation of curiosity, and, above all, to read; to read the wise men and to learn from them. It is to live committed to the service of others.”

Diego trotted along in silence and waited each moment for Galib's reprimand to come.

Galib maintained the tension, not slowing down and always looking ahead.

“You don't have anything to say?”

“I'm so sorry for what happened. …”

“I know Sajjad well and I know when he's lying. His face gives him away. … But perhaps you need to be more attentive to what is happening in the stables.”

“Sometimes Sajjad …”

“Yes, I know. Sajjad doesn't let you. He's stubborn and jealous besides. He has never lied to me before, but he's old now and he's afraid. You have to understand him.”

“I …”

“I will have to think of how to arrange things so he feels more important, maybe charging him with some task, I don't know. … He will need it, because from now on, Diego, I want you to be my assistant.”

“Are you serious?” Diego said in a whisper.

“You've been with us for more than a year. You have the ability to learn and, of course, a great deal of talent with animals. If you put in effort aside from that and you have the willpower, you could learn the trade, little by little. If you want it and you commit yourself, you could be an albéitar one day.”

Diego was stunned. Of course he wanted it. He had dreamed of that ever since he saw Galib cure the first horse. But not in his wildest dreams had he imagined it could become a reality. A whirlwind of emotions swallowed his tongue. He breathed in a mouthful of fresh air, conscious of the import of that moment, and felt an agreeable inner confusion as he answered.

“I won't let you down,” the boy shouted, full of satisfaction.

“Well, if you want to be the best, we'll have to hurry. We're going to the castle of the most important man in Toledo, one from the Lara family, and if we don't arrive on time, neither you nor I will be able to go on working. So gallop!”

Galib sped up as fast as he could. Diego followed. The tears in his eyes did not let him see the road, but he looked into the sky and knew his father was guiding his steps.

Royal ensigns, butlers, herdsmen. The highest responsibilities of the government of Castile were and had been forever in the hands of the Laras.

Between their properties and the concessions the king had granted them, half of Castile was theirs. Galib and Diego had to visit one of them, Don Álvaro, the count of Lara. That was a title the king had only bestowed upon nine illustrious figures in Castile, and six of them belonged to that family.

Diego was astonished when he found himself crossing over the moat of a fabulous castle where he knew King Alfonso also lodged when he passed through Toledo.

“Do you know why I have brought you here?”

Diego was taken aback by the magnificent spire while he waited for the nobleman to arrive.

“The stables hold no fewer than two hundred horses and today we're going to bleed all of them. It's best to do it every season, for their health and to balance out their humors.”

To both sides of an enormous and beautifully carved door at the base of the ponderous tower hung two banners with the family's arms. From the interior emerged two knights escorting a very young woman.

“Get down from your horse and salute them,” Galib whispered to Diego.

The girl had very white skin, green eyes, and lips of an intense red.

“How happy I am to see you, Galib! And you have a new companion as well.”

“I present you my new assistant, madame; his name is Diego and he is from Malagón.”

To Diego's ears, that title sounded like the purest glory.

The woman, overrunning with spontaneity, grabbed the boy's arm, directing them to the fortress's stables.

“My name is Urraca.” She lifted her hand as though excusing herself. “I know it's an ugly name, but that is how my father, Don Diego López de Haro, wanted it.” She tried to pull Diego away from Galib. “I don't want him to hear me, but you must know you are at the side of the greatest albéitar in Toledo, though I also hear he pays very little.”

“Well … no …” Diego felt disconcerted.

“We'll see if I'm telling the truth.” She winked. “I've known him a long time and I know how he is. He asks for everything but you can't squeeze a single
maravedi
out of him.”

“Don't take her too seriously, Diego. Madame Urraca likes to joke around.”

“You're telling me.” A man's voice sounded from behind Diego's back.

It was Don Álvaro Núñez de Lara. The woman patted her stomach, seemingly offended, and then threw her arms around him blissfully.

“We have very good news.”

“Does such a thing exist in these turbulent times?” Galib was feeling around in his kit to be sure he had brought enough lancets for the bleeding.

“I'm pregnant.” The woman's eyes reddened with emotion. Don Álvaro stroked her belly with pride.

“Congratulations.”

Galib's felicitations sounded somewhat dry. He still had not been able to have children with Benazir and that was a real torment for them. For her, because she was afraid of being rejected, in accordance with Koranic law. For him, because he could not fulfill his great dream of having an heir. The situation was uncomfortable for him, and he tried to change the theme.

“What about your father?”

“Since the defeat at Alarcos, we haven't seen him again. We know that he has marched toward Aragon and Navarre to try and join forces with Castile. His position as the royal ensign makes him King Alfonso's right hand and counselor. Knowing him, he is trying to help, especially after the recent disgrace.”

“It's understandable,” Galib answered. “People are nervous. We're anxious to stop the onslaught of the Almohads. … They're too close.”

“That's why we've called you. We need our cavalry at the ready at all times,” Don Álvaro added.

When they arrived at the stable entrance, Galib made a number of signs to Diego. The boy had seen bleeding done before and it didn't seem especially difficult, but he changed his opinion when he saw it closer up. The animals facing them didn't seem like horses; they were enormous, gigantic, heavy steeds, strong enough to wear armor and carry horsemen and knock down fences and walls of men in battle. He had never seen a breed of warhorse as grand as these. Galib told him they were Bretons.

“From the biggest ones you'll draw three pints of blood, and even four from the ones that look the strongest and most vigorous. Only when you get to the coursers and the pack mules will you limit yourself to two.”

To begin, they looked for the end of the stables and in front of the first animal, Galib began to give orders to the stable boys. Four of them got between the horses, pushing against their ribs to make room for the albéitar, so that he could reach their necks without being crushed. Others held the jars where the blood was collected and measured. And to the rest, he explained how to press the wound after the blood was drawn and where to clean the lancets with warm water between horses.

“Watch how I do it with the first and then you try with the next one.”

Galib approached the animal's neck and he had to raise his arms to reach the vein. With one finger he felt its pulse, and then he stretched another hand up to press down on the vein.

“You have to insert the blade of the lancet so that the hole in the skin doesn't strike one of the blood vessels. That way we avoid a posterior hemorrhage, which can cause problems, or the appearance of an ugly hematoma.” He did it, and immediately the first stream of blood surged forth.

Galib upbraided the stable boy at his side for not being fast enough with the jar, and he showed him how to hold the lancet and at the same time catch the blood.

He passed another lancet to Diego and pointed to the next horse. To Diego, this animal seemed even larger and taller than the previous one. He normally wasn't afraid of horses, but a mere stomp from one of those hooves could leave a person lame for the rest of his life. Galib stood at his side.

Diego felt the vein, but when the animal felt his hand, it turned its head back, showed its teeth, and snorted furiously. That hot breath let him know he couldn't waste time. A second warning would be much worse. …

He squeezed the vein with his hand and brought the lancet close to it. Galib corrected the angle. When he stuck it in, the animal's skin and muscles tensed, and that caught Diego by surprise; he hadn't taken care to hold on to the instrument well and that meant that the first stream of blood came out in a broad arc that soaked his face and his tunic.

Some of the stable boys laughed at Diego's inexperience. Galib turned to them angrily.

“The next person who laughs can volunteer to do it himself.”

“Do you know the most recent news about the king of León?” Don Álvaro said, breaking the tension. He often confided details of state, since he appreciated Galib's wisdom and good sense.