The Crown of Valencia Read online

  “Holy Mother of God!” Rodrigo roared, and the dagger left my neck. Released, I stumbled, clutching my sticky throat.

  Elena retied her pants, tugged down her tunic and chain mail. She had never looked more fierce, nor more beautiful.

  “Christ, man! Did you take a knife to yourself?”

  Elena rested one hand on the hilt of her sword. No part of her moved. “If I had been born with the genitalia you so value, I might have.” A wry half-smile lifted her lips. “But no, I am as I was born.”

  I could scarcely breathe, frozen with fear, paralyzed with awe. She was a cat, calm, serene, ready to defend herself. “I am Elena Navarro. I buried my brother Luis when I was seventeen.”

  Rodrigo lurched to his feet, mouth twisting as he struggled to wrap his brain around the awful truth. “All these years? With me? As my soldier?”

  Behind Elena, Nuño barely breathed, and every other man in the room had lost jaw control, mouths gaping as they, too, struggled to understand, every mouth save one. Enzo’s grim countenance matched Nuño’s. Ahhh, Enzo had already known.

  My fear swelled as Elena’s shoulders straightened even more. She’d spent years hiding her sex, denying it, leaving it behind. Except, of course, with me, and at least once with Nuño, long enough to create Solana. “I have always been a woman.”

  With a furious roar, Rodrigo drew his sword and lunged, but she was ready for him. The crowd drew back to avoid the heavy swords slashing the air, iron wings of death, and I winced as the swords clanged together overhead. I moved back with the crowd, looking for help. Only Nuño and Enzo might be counted on to help her, but they’d be cut to pieces by everyone else’s angry swords, sure to be unsheathed if Nuño and Enzo drew theirs.

  Brows fierce with concentration, Elena gripped her sword with both hands as Rodrigo battered at her, assault after assault. He knew enough to stay an arm’s length away since any closer and El Picador would bury her dagger to the hilt in his belly.

  Sweat beaded on Elena’s face, and I knew she wasn’t strong enough to defeat a furious Rodrigo without her dagger. I glanced at Nuño. He knew it, too.

  I considered tackling Rodrigo, but Elena would then slice him across the throat, he’d die, and my future would be over. I could tackle Elena, but then she’d die, and my life would be over.

  Tension pulsed through the crowd as they reacted to every parry, every blow. No one but me seemed to notice Anna nod once to Tahir, who began, eyes fixed on Elena, to slowly work his way around the circle of men toward her. When he reached for his sword hilt, I read an almost sexual anticipation in his black eyes, his twisted smile, and I realized Tahir was going to stab Elena in the back.

  Christ, there was no time. Rodrigo fought with his back to me, so I couldn’t see Elena. Tahir sidled closer from the left, and I knew I’d lose my opportunity in seconds, so when Tahir drew his sword and raised it, I grabbed my dagger from my boot, aimed it at Tahir’s chest, and threw it across the empty space between us.

  Rodrigo suddenly screamed, clutching his left buttock, the high shriek of pain freezing us all. Both Tahir and Elena, swords suspended, gaped at their great leader as he writhed on the floor, ear-piercing howls filling the room.

  Holy shit. I had just stabbed, in the ass, the only man who could keep my future from flying apart. Thank god Arturo hadn’t been here to see this. I ran to the now-kneeling warrior and pulled out the dagger. Blood stained his fingers, which gripped his ass in agony.

  “Kill the bitch,” he was able to sputter through clenched teeth. “Kill them both!” Tahir turned toward me, but Nuño suddenly locked an arm around my ribcage, and once again my feet left the floor.

  “No!” Nuño commanded. Elena disappeared out a side door. Tahir pointed his wickedly curved sword at my belly, but Nuño knocked it aside. “No. Luis fooled us all, so this woman is mine now. I will give her what she deserves.” Before Tahir or Rodrigo could respond, Nuño pushed through the crowd, and within seconds we were outside, Enzo right behind us. Nuño let me down, and we ran.

  “Where will she go?” I gasped, following Nuño around a corner. Enzo and I both slipped but grabbed each other in time.

  “Stables,” Nuño called over his shoulder, unbelievably fast for such a large man.

  By the time we reached the stables, Elena had saddled and mounted her horse. “Luis!” Nuño called.

  She reined in the stallion. “Nuño, nothing has changed. Understand? We go forward with our plans.”

  “But how—”

  “You do your part. I will do mine. This changes nothing.” White knuckles gripped the reins so tightly her horse fought for its head.

  “Luis,” I sputtered, “I—”

  “As for you, this changes everything. Now the world knows I am a woman, I can do nothing to help you find Arturo. Your friend Anna has destroyed in thirty seconds the life it has taken me nearly twenty years to build.” She urged the horse forward as horror choked off my words.

  “What of Kate?” Nuño asked, now almost jogging beside Elena.

  She threw me a glance over her shoulder that was worse than being knifed in the gut. “I do not care. Sell her as a slave to Ibn Jehaf or al-Rashid. Moors like white women.”

  Nuño slapped the horse’s rump, and Elena galloped down the street, heading west.

  “Where will she go?” I finally managed to croak around the lump in my throat.

  Enzo and Nuño glared at me. “Damn you, Kate Vincent,” the older soldier growled. “Because of you, everything has gone wrong.”

  I swallowed, touching my bloody throat, the pain of Elena’s words squeezing the air from my chest.

  “We can’t sell her as a slave,” Nuño muttered.

  “Where is Fadri?” Enzo said.

  I covered my eyes briefly with a filthy hand. “He has likely awoken with a very bad headache. I’m so sorry I had to hurt him.”

  “You can’t stay here.” Nuño clenched his fists. “I hear the others coming.”

  “The Roman ruins. I can hide there.”

  With a curt nod, Nuño saddled a horse with Enzo’s help, then nearly threw me onto the saddle.

  “My saddlebags. I dropped them about two blocks from your place, by the butcher’s.”

  “Enzo will bring them to you when it is safe. Follow this street north, then turn east toward the ocean. The road goes straight past the ruins.”

  With another slap, Nuño’s wide palm sent my horse leaping forward, and I fled for my life to the north. I had spent less than twenty-four hours in Valencia.

  Chapter Twenty

  The road soon left the “suburbs” of Valencia behind and wound between trampled fields and a decimated olive grove. When it veered to the right and topped a rise, I reined in my horse. The Mediterranean Sea spread out before me, pulsing with white-blue energy. The scent of the sea was infinitely more pleasant than rotting manure and sweaty men. Seagulls and terns picked their way along the rocky beach as tiny ridges of whitecaps gently broke into quiet waves. I ached to be walking this beach with Arturo and Max. Planes would roar dully overhead. Someone’s boom box would irritate me. Crushed Coke cans and empty McDonald’s wrappers would disgust me. God, how I longed to be home.

  I shook it off and urged my horse forward. Another fifteen minutes brought me to the ruins, half-walls and fallen columns, broken chunks of scrolls and arches. I tied my horse in the grass behind, out of sight from the road, then carefully explored the deserted set of buildings. Only two still had roofs, and one of those would have collapsed with one of my hearty sneezes, so I entered the other, aware that small rodents skittered out of sight as I moved from room to room.

  A few campfire circles were the only sign I hadn’t been the first to squat here. I found a room with a view of the road and sat down on the hard ground to wait. I rested my head against the rough-cut stone, and now that I was relatively safe, a few cold tears spilled onto my cheeks. She didn’t mean what she’d said. She’d been hurt and angry and needed to lash out at someone. Sh
e couldn’t have learned to hate me so quickly.

  Every time a horse galloped by, I peeked out the window, but the rider kept going. Hunger began gnawing at me mid-afternoon, but that was nothing compared to the pointless pain of reliving that morning, every second of it, over and over again.

  By the time Enzo rode up I was so low I could barely wave to him out my window. He climbed in and dropped my saddlebag next to me. “I put some fruit and meat in there, as well as a skin of water.” He lowered himself against another wall.

  I drank the water immediately, grateful for the warm moisture. “Where is Nuño?” I asked as I wiped my mouth.

  “Struggling to maintain order. Pulling all the other generals together. Assuring everyone he’s as shocked as they are.”

  I bit into the bruised, ripe pear. “But he isn’t shocked. Neither are you.”

  Enzo looked at me through narrowed, heavy-lidded eyes. “Neither are you.”

  I blushed. “True. I have known since our...well, for a very long time. But how did you know?”

  He shrugged. “I watch. I pay attention. In all these years, we never once pissed together.”

  “Ah, yet you remained loyal to her, as did Nuño.”

  The fading light dimmed and softened Enzo’s rough edges. “Luis...inspires. There is something about him—about her.”

  Yes, there was. I tossed the pear core out the window. “How is Rodrigo?”

  Enzo snorted. “Like a mad bull. I don’t know which hurts worse—the truth about Luis, or the hole you made in his ass.”

  Probably both. “How is Fadri? Does he hate me?”

  A smile finally cracked the solemn face. “Fadri the Fool wears a lump on his head the size of a goose egg. He would still be furious with you if the camp didn’t buzz with the news about Luis.”

  “Fadri is confused.”

  “The randy bastard doesn’t know if he wants to kill Luis, or fuck him.”

  We had a good chuckle, then when Enzo stood to leave, I scrambled to my own feet. “Enzo, what about me? When I have found Arturo, I need to return to Valencia. Will I be safe there?”

  His level gaze steadied me. “You can remain with the three of us, as long as one of us…” He dropped his eyes for a second. “…as long as one of us claims you.”

  I patted his arm. “I would appreciate that. I will come straight to you when I return.”

  With a curt nod, the aging soldier climbed out the window and was soon a cloud of dust moving south toward Valencia.

  Before the light totally disappeared, I pulled out my history book and skimmed through it. The history it told was false but would come true if I didn’t foil Elena’s plans and see that Rodrigo took Valencia. How on earth could I do that at the same time I searched for Arturo?

  The sun had disappeared over the mountains to the west, deepening the sea to a slate black. I dug in my saddlebag for my blank book and pencil stub.

  After a violent and lengthy siege, the great Rodrigo Díaz mounted his silver steed, Babieca, and on the warm, peaceful morning of June 15, 1094, he rode up to the gates of Valencia, his brave and valiant army behind him. The gates opened, and the starving masses welcomed him as the new leader of Valencia.

  I could barely see, but couldn’t sleep without adding more. For some reason, just seeing the words helped. Self-help books talked about writing down your goals and that somehow the act of doing that would help your subconscious in its quest to make the goal come true. Since my conscious mind wasn’t doing a very good job, I figured I could use all the help I could get.

  After Rodrigo saw that the people of Valencia were fed, he established a peaceful reign over the city. He allowed all the mosques to remain open so the Moors could continue to worship Allah. He abolished all the harems, however, and established women in numerous administrative positions. The highest post, that of mayor, he awarded to his longtime friend and general, Elena Navarro.

  I stopped. I no longer wrote history. I wrote fantasy. I doodled in the margins, drawing Moorish arches, Christian swords, and a tiny Lion King keychain. Finally I put the book down, wrapped myself in the cloak Enzo had brought, and lay awake for hours in the starless night.

  *

  When I did finally sleep, I slept so hard nothing woke me the next morning, apparently not even the sound of two horses approaching the ruins, nor the sound of two men clomping through the rooms. But when one of them entered the room where I slept, and he cursed in surprise, then I woke up. I wish I hadn’t.

  Rafael Mahfouz grinned down at me. “Ah, I love it when life goes according to a plan. You are right where you should be. Finally I can bring you to Señora de Palma.”

  I sat up, rubbing my face, refusing to be frightened by this nightmare of a man who wouldn’t go away. “How did you know—”

  “Paloma’s spy told me. He tells us everything. It was his idea to bring you here.” He smiled, almost wistfully, as he watched the truth dawn on my face even as the sun shot streaks of gold across the sea out the window. I rolled onto my hands and knees. Nuño, Enzo, and Fadri would never have told anyone, and the only other person who knew was the one who had sent me here in the first place. Carlos.

  “Yes, I see you understand now. The good Carlos is a great friend of Señora de Palma’s. They confer often. It was he who finally found you in Zaragoza.”

  “He was there looking for me?” God, I’d walked right into Anna’s trap.

  “Of course. His job was to tell me when you arrived in Zaragoza. My job was to bring you to Paloma.” He scowled, I suppose thinking that while Carlos had succeeded in finding me several times, this goon couldn’t seem to succeed in his mission. He wouldn’t this time either. Mahfouz rested his hands on his sword hilt. “Carlos has been based here in Valencia for quite awhile. The old Jew really gets around.”

  The old Jew. That’s how Fadri had referred to the man bringing the special ale to Rodrigo, who got the shakes without it. Like withdrawal. So that’s what she’d done. She drugged Rodrigo. Got him hooked on whatever white shit she brought back. I shook my head to think the kind, gentle Carlos had cast his lot with her.

  I’d gotten my period the day I arrived in Valencia and hated using the rags, and this jerk was just one problem too many, so I stomped toward him. “Look, asshole. This is getting really boring. Tedious. Repetitive even. Ridiculous. Three strikes and you’re out, buddy. Give it up. Get a life.” The cords of my neck pulsed with irritation. “If you were a movie, I’d have turned you off by now. If you were a book, I’d have thrown you away. Get a clue. I am not coming with you.”

  Mahfouz nodded, smirking with some secret pleasure. “I understand that now and do admire your courage and resolve.”

  “Then why the hell won’t you leave me alone?” I yelled. Caquito came up beside us, using his sword to keep me at bay.

  “Because, Allah willing, I have a job to do, and this time I shall succeed.”

  I hated smug people. “How? The instant your thug lowers his sword to do anything, I’ll beat the crap out of him again.”

  Mahfouz nodded, irritatingly calm. “I know. But this time I remembered what Señora de Palma gave me before I left. It seemed silly at the time, so I put it in my saddlebag and forgot it.” He began fumbling inside his studded leather tunic, his too-handsome face contorted in concentration, then removed his hand. “She said if I showed you this, you’d come along quietly.”

  My breath caught in my chest and I slowly, slowly, raised my hands, palms spread wide. It shone blue in this light, but there was no doubt that Mahfouz held a gun in his large hand. I licked my lips. “Be careful, Rafael. That thing is very dangerous.” It was a small gun, one of those petite numbers nervous wealthy women carried in their purses or kept in their night stands. But it was still a gun. Jesus. Anna was crazier than I thought.

  “Señora de Palma also said it was dangerous.” He twisted his wrist to consider the gun from all angles. “But it is not sharp at all.”

  I took a step back, my heart racin
g so fast I was light-headed. “Rafael, put it down so we—”

  “Let me see that,” Caquito said, fascinated.

  “No, only I am to hold it.”

  “You agreed to share everything with me.” Sword still pointed at me, he moved next to Mahfouz.

  “Guys, let’s don’t do this. We can—”

  “This is Señora de Palma’s, not mine, so I can’t give it to you. Besides, I can’t seem to get my finger out of this round loop. It’s stuck.”

  “I’ll get it out for you.”

  I clutched my head. “No, don’t!”

  The shot was louder than I had expected from such a small gun. My ears rang and my body jerked back, suddenly flaming with a white-hot heat. I stared at the dark stain spreading across my tunic, then back at Mahfouz. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide with alarm. “Why are you bleeding?” he whispered with almost touching horror.

  I pressed a hand against the stain. It was so warm, such a beautiful red. Was this really my body bleeding? The world became splashes of blurred colors and high-pitched whines, my numb knees dissolved into vapor, and the Goddess or God or Allah opened the black, yawning earth and swallowed me whole.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Mom,” Arturo said.

  I stood on an island. We were separated by water. By time. By a woman.

  “Mom, you must live,” he whispered. How could I hear him when he was so far away?

  I had no boat.

  “I’m here, Mom. I’ll save you. Remember that.”

  “Arturo, come away before Paloma finds out you’ve been to see your mother. She will be upset.

  My island floated away. I finally lost sight of the boy on the shore.

  *

  Cool cloth on my forehead. Woman’s face. “Elena,” I croaked. Why won’t my lips work? So hot. So hot.