Again I looked toward the bridge. A worker hanging precariously from the broken structure was screaming for help. Just as I looked, the man lost his grip and fell into the water. Moments later, his head appeared close to the pillars. With awkward movements of his arms, he struggled to stay afloat.
“He can’t swim,” I mumbled, and my stomach sank.
“Of course he can’t,” Don Alfonso said matter-of-factly.
Of course. How could I have forgotten we were not in California, but in my own backward world where nobody can swim?
Don Alfonso pulled at my arm. “Come on, Princess, there is nothing we can do. And the sooner we face Don Julián, the better.”
I was about to turn when a sudden movement on the third arch caught my attention. A man dressed in the black uniform of the Suavian soldiers was pushing his way through a group of workers. Soon he had reached the edge of the bridge, and after unbuckling the belt that held his sword, he dropped it to the ground. Then he climbed over the railings, dived into the river with a clean jump, and started swimming toward the drowning man. When he got near him, the soldier disappeared under the water and, avoiding the thrashing arms of the worker, emerged behind him. Before I realized what was happening, the soldier had knocked the man unconscious and, holding the limp body with one arm, was heading toward the shore.
Several boats were already closing in on them when, again, Don Alfonso urged me to move. Reluctantly tearing my eyes from the river, I obeyed.
As soon as we left the protection of the trees and entered the open space before the bridge, two men broke from the line of soldiers blocking further access to the river. Their bows ready, they advanced toward us. But upon recognizing my companion, they lowered their weapons and at his request escorted us through.
We were still climbing down the steep slope that led to the water when the boats arrived. At the stern of the second one sat the soldier, impressively still, his black uniform gleaming in the unforgiving sun. Just as the boat reached the riverbank, he bent over the hulk and, ignoring the hands extended to help him, jumped ashore. As if coming from a single throat, a wild roar of elation broke from the multitude to welcome him. It was only then, as the man lifted his arm in an authoritarian gesture to command silence, that I finally understood our search for the king had ended.
From my position halfway to the water, I stared as Don Julián, kneeling by the body of the worker the soldiers had transferred to the shore, checked his breathing. Soon he was up again and, after shouting orders to his men, started walking toward the bridge in long hurried strides. With his long disheveled hair on his shoulders and his drenched clothes hanging closely to his muscular body, he was indeed a fearful sight.
Just then, one of the soldiers in our escort left the group and walked down to intercept him. Don Julián looked up past the man toward the place where we were standing, and for a split of a second, his eyes locked onto mine. As if hit by a bolt of lightning, I stumbled back into Don Alfonso’s arms.
Don Alfonso held me back. “Do not panic, Princess,” he whispered. “We must be convincing now if we want to stop the war.” Pushing me aside, he moved forward and respectfully knelt to his king.
Certain that my legs would fail me if I tried to walk, I remained still, staring defiantly at the king. But my stare was totally lost on him. Don Julián was already addressing my companion, his face hardened into a mask of anger. “Why have you disobeyed my orders?” he was saying in the stern voice I remembered from our last encounter. “Why have you brought Princess Andrea here?”
“I didn’t bring her, Sire. She came of her own free will.”
Don Julián ignored his remark. “I was right not to trust you. What demon has possessed you that you have turned your back on your own people? By showing Princess Andrea the bridge, you have revealed our plans to the enemy. I have no choice now. You both must die.” And the hate in his eyes was so unmistakable that I shivered.
Back on his feet, Don Alfonso faced the king. “Death, death. Is that all you think about, Brother?” he said, his voice full of scorn. “You could at least listen to us before passing your judgment. We have come a long way and deserve to be heard.”
For a moment their eyes locked in a silent struggle of wills. Finally Don Julián nodded. “I will listen,” he said coldly. “But first I must assess the damage to the bridge. In the meantime, you will be escorted to my tent.”
That did it. I had not escaped from the castle and risked my life to be taken prisoner once more. I had had enough of his arrogant behavior. Avoiding the soldier already closing on me, I jumped in front of the king. “I demand to come with you, Sire. If I am going to die for this bridge, I claim the right to see it first.”
Don Julián stared at me—his eyes, two arrows of fire, aiming at mine. But this time I was ready and unflinchingly held his stare. Brusquely Don Julián bowed to me. “As you wish,” he said. And without waiting for my answer, he turned and preceded me up the slope, while Don Alfonso, surrounded by soldiers, remained behind.
Lost in the memory of another bridge, a red bridge dressed in clouds hanging over the San Francisco Bay, I climbed after the king. For a while, the soft grass of the shore was gentle on my feet, but as soon as I reached the bridge, the overheated stones burned my skin through my torn slippers. I gasped, and grasping the balustrade with both hands, I lifted my weight from the ground and turned my head toward the river to hide my pain. Down below, I could see the green waters of the river breaking into waves as they hit the pillars, while farther to my left, pieces of wood from the broken scaffold drifted slowly down the stream.
“Princess?”
The king had stopped by the rail and was staring at me with an unreadable expression. I flushed under his inquisitive eyes, and biting my lips to stop myself from crying, I hurried to join him. Don Julián resumed his walking along the left side of the bridge. As he advanced, his men, scattered around the abandoned blocks, looked to the ground and kneeled to their king.
We had almost reached the fourth arch when cries of alarm broke from the shore. Before I could understand what they were saying, Don Julián turned and threw himself at me, sending me against the railing. Struggling for balance, I tried to push him away. But my hands slipped over his wet clothes, which left a sticky substance on my hands—strangely warm. Just then with a heavy crack, the wooden rail broke under my weight. Our bodies still entangled, we fell from the bridge.
Soon the cold waters of the river closed over me. I came up gasping for air, and then went under and up again. As I sank for the second time someone grabbed me under the arms and dragged me to a wooden plank. Breathing in deep gulps of air, I turned around to confront the king. But the king, I realized with a shudder, was not a threat anymore. Barely able to keep afloat, he lay by my side in a pool of blood.
Trying not to draw conclusions about what I was seeing, I reached for him. Briefly our eyes met. When his eyes swept over me without showing any sign of recognition, I shivered again. I was more afraid of him then than ever before, but for a totally different reason.
Over my head arrows flew. I could hear the hissing as they sought their targets, the screams of the wounded after they found them, and the splashes of the water as the bodies fell. On the slope of the mountain I had recently climbed down with Don Alfonso, I could see the archers partially hidden behind the trees, aiming their bows. But who the attackers were was a mystery to me. Their colors were not my father’s.
Not that I cared. I was too busy with my own problems. By my side, Don Julián was unconscious. I was holding him with my right hand, but my arm was getting numb, and I knew I couldn’t do it for much longer. Wasn’t anyone going to help? It was their king after all. But none of the men floating around me answered my cries. Face down, they drifted downriver, beyond help, beyond cares. Then, when I had lost all hope of being rescued, I saw an empty boat emerging from the shadow of one of the arches. I kicked the water, propelling the plank forward with my feet. And the boat came closer and closer until it hit the board. One hand on the hull, the other around Don Julián’s waist, I led the boat toward some rapids where I knew I could reach bottom. Standing precariously over the slippery rocks, I hauled Don Julián into the craft and climbed after him.