He was still talking when the flap of the tent was lifted from the inside, and a man appeared in the opening. He was dressed in black as he had been the day I had last met him, and the crown, symbol of his power, shone on his head. But when I raised my eyes, readying myself to confront his cold stare, my heart stopped beating. Because the man who was standing in front of me wearing the king’s clothes was not Don Julián.
17
The Bridge
My feet rooted to the ground, I stared at the man who was not Don Julián. Over the crossed spears of the sentries, our eyes met. Who are you? I screamed at him without words. But the man had already turned his attention to my companion. A flash of surprise gleaming in his eyes, his hand jerked to his sword. “At ease!” he shouted to his men.
As the soldiers stepped aside, the knight moved forward and, unsheathing his sword, dropped to one knee and presented the hilt to Don Alfonso. “My lord,” he said with a curious mixture of respect and embarrassment.
Don Alfonso gasped. “Don Fernando?” He hesitated, then demanded, “Where is the king?”
“He is . . .” Don Fernando hesitated. “Please, Sir, come into the tent so we may discuss the matter in private.”
Don Alfonso nodded and, with a wave of his hand, motioned me inside.
I didn’t move. “Who is he?” I asked instead.
“Don Fernando is one of my brother’s captains. Please, go in. It’s safe.”
Willing my legs forward, I walked past Don Fernando and yanked the flap open. The tent was empty. As my last hope of finding Don Julián vanished, the burst of energy that had sustained me through the night left me, and I started shaking. Stumbling forward, I dragged myself to the solitary chair standing behind the trestle table just as I remembered it from my last meeting and collapsed on it. Where could Don Julián be? Had he already crossed the river and engaged my father’s army in combat? Or had he challenged John to a duel and killed him? But if so, why had he bothered to leave someone behind to impersonate him?
Through the confused rumble of my thoughts, I could hear the voices of Don Alfonso and Don Fernando arguing. Don Alfonso was pressing Don Fernando to take us to the king. Don Fernando, always polite, refused. “You must wait here, my lord. When the king comes back, he will explain.”
“We cannot wait. New developments have occurred that he must attend to at once. I order you to take us to him immediately.”
Don Fernando shook his head.“It wouldn’t be wise, my lord.”
“That is for me to decide!” Don Alfonso insisted. Turning toward the door, he called the guards.
I trembled at his bravado. Had he forgotten we were only fugitives? That soon men would arrive from the castle with news of our escape?
The soldiers came in.
“I am Don Alfonso de Alvar, and I order you to take me to the king.”
The men looked at Don Alfonso and then at Don Fernando.
Don Fernando nodded. “Do as he says,” he said brusquely. And one would have thought by the way he said it that he had just signed his own death sentence. Or ours.
Escorted by two soldiers, we left the camp. Once more I was unarmed, as Don Fernando had demanded we surrender our weapons. To my surprise Don Alfonso had agreed without protest. I had refused at first, not willing to give up my newly acquired freedom, but alone against a whole encampment, what choice did I have?
Under the scorching sun of the summer day, we headed north until we reached the riverbank. Then turning west, we continued downstream, cutting our way through the thick underbrush that flanked the river. Luckily the willows and poplars that grew close to the water provided us with welcome relief from the increasing heat.
By noon, at my request we stopped to eat. Don Alfonso, who had been unusually silent all morning, didn’t touch his food. When I asked him what was bothering him, he answered cryptically, “I’d rather not tell you, Princess. If I am right, you will know soon enough,” and refused to elaborate further.
Shortly after we resumed our march, the river bent away from us deep into my kingdom. We left the comfortable shade of the trees and cut straight across an open meadow. Soon I was struggling up a steep hill that defined the lowlands, trying to avoid the sharp thorns of the briars that were deceivingly inviting with their bright flowers.
The path we were following was barely a path at all, which made me think that Don Julián, wherever he was, did not want to be found. Too tired to care anymore about what his reasons could be, I concentrated on walking, a painful task that required all my attention because the slippers I was wearing—the page’s shoes had been too big for me to borrow—were so worn out that my feet were soon covered with blisters. Only my pride prevented me from screaming every time I hit a pebble.
So it was that I had my eyes on the ground when we reached the summit, and I did not realize Don Alfonso had stopped until I bumped into him. Don Alfonso did not apologize. In fact he didn’t even turn around. Annoyed at his inconsiderate behavior, I was about to complain, when something in his expression stopped me. Following his stare, I looked down. All my pains were suddenly forgotten, and I gasped in awe.
Below us the river had again come into view. As it wrapped itself around the mountain like a silver snake, the sun’s rays reflecting from its surface gave the eerie impression that it was alive. Still, it was not the incredible beauty of the river that took my breath away, but something much more unexpected.
Farther to the left across the serpent’s neck, a bridge was growing. Three arches in bright granite stones were already finished. Over the fourth one, which already reached into my kingdom, several workers were setting square rocks onto a wooden scaffold, while along the right side of the bridge, men were lined up and pulling at the ropes that dragged the blocks.
For a time, nobody in our group moved. Finally the angry voice of Don Alfonso broke the silence. “The wedding gift,” he said.“Just as I feared.” Then he turned toward the soldiers.“Let’s go!” he commanded, as if he were in charge. Not bothering to see whether the guards or I followed, he rushed down the hill.
“What do you mean by the wedding gift?” I cried after him.
“The bridge was supposed to be a wedding gift for Princess Rosa,” Don Alfonso said. “By crossing the river here, the distance between your castle and mine would be considerably reduced. And your sister, his bride, would be able to visit her kingdom often.”
“So he did care for her after all!”
This time Don Alfonso did stop. “Don’t be fooled, Princess. What my brother really cares about is his bridge. As you can see, wedding or war, he has managed to stay true to his real love.
“But now the bridge will bring only destruction. Once it is finished Don Julián will take your castle by surprise and then attack Don Andrés’s troops from behind. Why should he accept our proposition now when his victory is at hand and he can demand access to the door as his reward?”
Without waiting for my answer, he resumed his walking. I stumbled after him while his words echoed in my mind, making me uneasy. Was Don Julián’s love for his bridge so very different from my own desire to return to California?
I had almost reached the bottom of the mountain when the ground shook under my feet and a deafening noise came from the direction of the bridge. Looking up I saw that part of the scaffolding that had framed the fourth arch had collapsed.
“Perfect timing!” Don Alfonso shouted as wood and stones splashed into the river. “Just the thing to put my brother in a good mood.”
“At least this accident will delay him for a while,” I said when the blare finally subsided.
Don Alfonso shook his head. “Not really. The arch is almost finished. I’m afraid . . . Now what?” he asked, a piercing cry splitting the silence once more.