Читать книгу The Valley Beyond - T. A. Nichols - Страница 7

Chapter I

Don Fernando looked over the battlefield where an intense struggle had just ensued on the flat desolate wind-blown plain in La Mancha. The hue of the straw-colored grass and rocks of the plain had turned bloodred as bodies of soldiers, Christian and Moor, lay strewn across the vast expanse. He saw the terrible carnage and asked himself a simple question: What future lay forth for a child born in violence and warfare? He thought of Lady Margaret, his wife, who was with child, and wondered if it would ever find love and happiness in such violent times and whether Castile and the rest of Spain would ever find permanent peace by vanquishing their enemy and settling its own differences.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a cry from a familiar voice. Don Fernando eyed carefully the rocky terrain and saw his friend Don Alfonso Coronado, the Conde of Gustavo, behind an area of brush, waving his hands in the air frantically with a cry of “Over here! Over here!” He was about thirty yards away through a line of low brush and thicket. Don Fernando rushed over to his friend, jumping over the bodies of the dead. To his dismay, he was surprised to see an injured Don José, an old knight, with a severe wound to his left side. Both Don Fernando and Don Alfonso Coronado brought their friend back to camp and placed him against a wooden wagon wheel while three Moorish warriors leaped over the wagon hitch, followed by three archers fast firing their crossbows. They killed one, while the other two galloped away unimpeded.

“Hold your fire!” shouted a voice. “Save your arrows for the next battle.” The battle was over, and the Christians had won. However, the soldiers in the field were confused as Don José was not on his white charger waving his sword in the air, which usually proclaimed victory and retreat from the battlefield.

Don José was considered a master knight since the time of King Alfonso VII. Now he was an old man, and his demeanor was that of a battle-worn warrior: old, tired, and cranky but always ready to come to the aid of Castile. His presence on the field of battle was sorely missed. One knight actually stopped in the middle of all the carnage and confusion, took off his barrel helmet, looked around, and cried out, “Is the battle over? If so, where is Don José?” Other knights and soldiers on the field asked the same question. Finally, the sound of a trumpeter broke through the confusion, as both sides retreated.

One soldier happened to notice their hero lying against a wagon wheel, as he passed by on his way back to his tent. He cried out, “Here is Don José! Over here!” Neither Don Fernando nor Don Alfonso Coronado had left his side and had called for a physician. Soldiers and knights gathered around in disbelief to see their old war hero so severely wounded.

Don Fernando tried to make Don José as comfortable as possible and removed his chain mail cowl that revealed a man way beyond his prime with a long drawn leathery face full of wrinkles attached to a gray unkempt beard that came to a point. His hair was gray and fell along the side of his head and revealed a large bald spot in the middle of his scalp. Don José, whose lips were tightly pursed, suddenly opened them and cried out, “I thirst.”

“Someone throw him a waterskin!” shouted Don Fernando.

A soldier quickly threw one to Don José, who removed the cork, took a drink, and spit it out.

“What sort of drink is this? I need wine!” he cried.

Another skin was thrown in, and Don José wasted no time. He removed the cork and guzzled down a large quantity.

“Don José, save some for the rest of us,” said a soldier who stood in front of him.

“You’ll have to fight him for it,” said a voice from the crowd, which initiated a roar of laughter among the throng that stood before Don José. It put the seriousness of the situation into a lighter mood.

“Sí, but you’ll never win that battle,” said another soldier, which provoked another round of additional laughter.

Don José waved off the sentiment.

Suddenly a knight shouted, “Make way for the king! Make way for the king!”

King Alfonso walked through the crowd and made his way to Don José. The king stood in front of him in his entire splendor, from his chain mail to the boldly emblazoned yellow castle on his red surcoat. King Alfonso VIII was truly the king of Castile and Toledo.

The king looked upon Don José with a concerned look but was able to force a smile. “What happened to you, my friend?” asked the king loudly.

“He found himself on the wrong end of a scimitar,” shouted a voice from the crowd. “But that didn’t stop him. He pursued the Moor, cut off his head, and threw it as far as he could. It will take the slain Moor many years to find it.” Again laughter ensued.

“Is that true, my friend?”

“Ah, I should have retired several battles ago,” said Don José in complete disgust with himself. “I’m getting too old for this.” Suddenly, Don José winced in pain.

“Where is the surgeon?” shouted the king.

Moments later, the surgeon hurried over and knelt in front of Don José; he moved a portion of the chain mail from the wound, viewed it for several seconds, looked up at the king, shook his head, and hurried off to another patient.

The king sighed and whispered to one of his knights who stood beside him to find a priest. He then looked down at Don José. “I remember, old friend, when I was but fifteen years old and had to defend the kingdom from the warring noble families, you were there and, on several occasions, even rescued me from certain danger and saved my life.”

“Sí, you did seem to be rather impetuous in battle,” interjected Don José. “You were often too careless, charging into the center of the enemy, hacking your way through without regard for life or limb. But despite that, I knew that you were someone worthy at such a young age to hold the title of king.”

The priest that had been summoned appeared and knelt down in front of Don José, only to be waved off, as Don José refused to believe that the grim reality of his death was certain.

“Sire,” interrupted Don Mendoza, one of the king’s knights, “you’re needed in your tent.”

“Caballeros, you’ll have to excuse me. Apparently, I’m needed elsewhere,” said the king as he glanced out among the gathered crowd.

“Take care of yourself, old friend,” said the king as he put his hand on Don José’s shoulder and sadly walked away.

“May I get you something?” offered Don Fernando, as both he and Don Alfonso Coronado were still by his side.

“No, this old dog doesn’t require anything from this earth anymore,” said a weakened Don José.

By this time, the crowd around their fallen hero had dispersed, but some spent time to gaze upon Don José one last time and showed their respects to a man, as had many before him, who had given his entire life in the defense of Castile and the Christian religion against the nearly five-hundred-year war against the Moorish invaders.

“Ah, see how they treat me as if I was already dead,” said Don José as he turned to his right, to Don Fernando. “So much for talk of death. Let’s talk about you, Don Fernando. I understand that Lady Margaret is with child.”

“Sí, anytime now.”

Don José now turned quickly to his left. “And you, too, I believe, Don Alfonso?”

“Sí, but Doña Teresa will not give birth for several months.”

“I imagine that both of you are in desire for strong boys for heirs to take your place on the battlefield someday. I would want it no other way if it were my sons.”

Suddenly, there was a twinkle in Don José’s eyes and a big smile on his face. “What would you do if God granted you daughters instead to mind your castles?”

There was silence.

“Ah, no response. Just as I thought. Two daughters, I predict,” joked Don José, who still was able to keep his sense of humor even though near death. “I know that both of you will be blessed with children who will honor your name.” Don José started to groan, and his expression turned to one of grimace.

“Are you all right?” asked Don Fernando.

“Of course, this old dog feels much better and soon will be going back to battle the Moors,” said a determined Don José. “Both of you are good friends, so will be your children. This I know.” Don José’s voice weakened.

Before the conversation could continue, the king came back and asked both Don Fernando and Don Alfonso Coronado to join him a short distance away within earshot of Don José. However, before Don Fernando was able to leave his side, Don José blocked his departure with a weakened hand.

He said in a soft voice, “And now the sword has been passed to you, my friend. Swing it hard until its bloody red with the blood of the Moor.”

Don Fernando did not say a word. He stood up and patted Don José on the shoulder and went to join the king and Don Alfonso Coronado and left Don José alone.

The three let their friend rest but knew he was awake and could hear the conversation, as they discussed a matter of state. The king realized that he was probably listening to the conversation, as Don José had big ears and did not let any matter go undiscussed.

“Don’t you agree, Don José?” said the king with a smile, trying to catch him off guard.

Instead of the usual immediate feedback that Don José was notorious for conveying, there was complete silence. At this point, all three turned to see that Don José had slumped over to the ground. Don Fernando quickly went to his side and listened to his heart. He looked at his comrades and shook his head.

The king was deeply saddened. “Castile has lost a great warrior this day never to return, and I have lost one of the closest friends a man has ever known.”

Both knights and soldiers alike walked by to see for themselves the fallen hero of Castile, some in tears, others in shock. Here lay a man that had survived so many battles in his lifetime that it was believed he was invincible. A priest followed forth to administer the last rites of the church, and there was utter silence throughout the camp as word spread about his death.

As the army of Castile was mourning the death of Don José, a boy ventured into camp and broke the silence.

“I’m looking for Don Fernando Alvarado, the Conde of Segoia!” shouted a voice at some distance away.

Don Fernando followed the voice and saw a boy about fifteen years old walking in his direction. He yelled to the boy, “I’m over here!”

The boy quickly ran to him and said, “I’m a squire from Segoia who has come to fetch you. Lady Margaret is about to give birth,” said the boy, who was trying to catch his breath from his frantic ride from the palace.

Don Fernando glanced in the direction of the king.

“Go and take care of your new family. I’ll be along as soon as I take Don José home.”

With the king’s blessing, Don Fernando mounted his horse, took one last look at Don José, and galloped off at great speed.