Don Julián looked away, and for a while only the splatter of water against the hull filled the silence. Then just as I was about to apologize for my intrusion, he turned again to me and whispered, “Yes,” as if it was the most difficult word he had ever said. “Yes, Princess. It does hurt.”
“I’m . . . sorry.”
“Do not be, Princess. I am used to it. Besides, I’m getting better.”
“But when you take the pills, it does not hurt anymore, does it?”
Don Julián frowned. “Do we agree that this is the last question I will answer on the subject?”
I nodded.
“The truth, Princess, is that it hurts all the time. When I take the medicine, the pain becomes . . . tolerable.” He paused for a moment and bent toward me. “But why do you want to know? Are you planning to get yourself an arrow?”
“No. I mean . . . It is just that . . . ” I hesitated. I could not tell him I had asked because I was sick and tired of waiting on him, because I wasn’t even sure it was the truth anymore.
“I do not know why you are asking, Princess. But I assure you, you must not worry about me. Tomorrow I will be with my men, and in two days I will meet with Don Andrés. Your plan will succeed.”
“It is not only my plan I’m worried about.”
Don Julián smiled. “Is it not? Are you sure you are not doing all this so your name will be sung by the troubadours as the beautiful princess who halted a great war?”
As I looked away to hide my smile, the clear neigh of a horse came from the shore, relieving me of the need to answer. Soon the beat of hooves followed. My uncle has done his part well. The soldiers were leaving. I moved to untie the boat.
“Princess,” Don Julián’s voice stopped me, “remember. We must wait.”
He was right. It was I who had told them the path followed the river for a while before heading inland. And so we had agreed to wait to give Tío and the soldiers time to leave the shore. Half an hour would do, I said to myself, looking at my watch. Above the golden moon half visible at the left of the blue dial, the two hands were together, pointing up. It was midnight: time for Don Julián to take his medicine. I took two pills from one of the leather bags lying at my feet and offered them to him.
Don Julián did not move. He was looking at my hands, at my tanned hands covered with blisters. They were not the white soft hands of a coddled princess, I knew he was thinking. Not the hands of my sister Margarida and definitely not Rosa’s. Ashamed, I pulled them back and, trying at least to hide my broken nails from his piercing stare, closed them tightly.
“You should take care of your blisters, Princess,” Don Julián said, and although I looked for criticism in his voice, I could hear only concern. Bending forward, he opened my hand and took the white pill from it. This time he did not have to ask. Reaching down, I grabbed the goatskin and helped him to drink. Then I offered him the red pill.
Don Julián shook his head. “No, Princess. I would rather not have it now.”
“But you said before—”
“When I take it, I cannot think straight. And we are not safe yet. I promise I will have one as soon as we get to the other side.”
I was returning the pill to the pouch when Don Julián added casually, “Princess, if you don’t mind, I think it would be safer if I carry them on me.”
I thought for a moment. His request made sense. Nobody should see the pills because they were from my uncle’s world. If given the chance, Don Julián’s men would search the bags, but they wouldn’t dare touch their king. In silence I handed the pouch to him. For a moment he held it in his right hand as if considering what to do. Then he looked at me. “I’m afraid, Princess, that I need your help,” he said, pointing at his immobilized arm.
I nodded, and kneeling by his side, I tied the strings to his belt. My fingers were clumsy, and it took me forever to finish the knots, not only because my blisters hurt whenever they touched the leather, but also because being so close to Don Julián made me feel uneasy. Which was indeed strange after all the time we had spent together in the boat, not to mention the interminable days in the castle. But something was different now. My hate, I realized, was gone.
When I finished, Don Julián kissed my hand. Unable to hold his stare, I looked away. And as I did, my eyes rested on my watch. In a sudden impulse, I took it off and offered it to him. “You should keep the time reader, Sire, so you know when to take your medicine.”
Don Julián didn’t argue. “Thank you, Princess.”
He stayed still while I hid it in his pouch. Then he moved back and leaned against the boat, his eyes on the shore.
I returned to my seat and, bending over the river, submerged my hands in the cool water. After I had rubbed some salve on the blisters and wrapped a bandage around them, I untied the boat. Fighting the tears that welled up in my eyes when I grabbed the oars, I steered the boat into the stream. Soon the hill where I had seen the soldier came again into view and glided away as the river took a sharp bend north.
The pain in my hands had faded to a dull ache, when Don Julián, who had been sitting still at my feet, jerked himself up. Holding to the stern with his right hand, his face tense with the effort, he was staring upriver with the lost look of a zombie. Under us the boat rocked.
I stopped my rowing and looked back. I recognized the place. It was from this very spot that I had taken a last glance at the battle the day Don García’s men had attacked. Only the bridge remained. The shining stones that had taken my breath away the first time I had seen them had turned black with the smoke, and the wooden rail was gone. As I looked at the broken remains, a great sadness overcame me. Regardless of its purpose, the bridge had been a beautiful thing, and now it was gone.
Slowly, we reached the bridge and continued farther upriver. The bridge was only a dark speck in the distance when Don Julián told me it was time to cross. I nodded and, following his directions, steered the boat toward the distant shore of Alvar.
As Don Julián had predicted, the current got stronger midriver, and although I was rowing with all my might, we were drifting downstream. I was wishing Tío Ramiro were there when I heard a blunt noise under the hull. I knew we had hit a rock. Although it was not a big blow, it was so unexpected that I dropped the oars. The boat began swirling out of control.
Before I could react, Don Julián sprang to his feet. Pushing me aside, he took the oars and straightened the boat with skillful strokes. Then he motioned me back. Handing me one of the oars, he asked me to help him get the boat ashore.
I nodded, ashamed of my weakness, and resumed my rowing.
As soon as the hull touched bottom, Don Julián jumped into the shallow waters and tied the boat to the naked roots of an old poplar tree. Without looking back, he clambered up the steep slope and started walking upstream through the thick shrubbery flanking the river.
I scrambled to my feet and, tossing the bags over my shoulders, climbed after him. But the bags were heavy, the ground slippery, and I lost my footing and fell splattering into the mud. By the time I got up again, Don Julián was gone.
Dirty and angry, I dragged myself out of the mud and up the slope, following the trail Don Julián had left. At the beginning, the path—a narrow trail of trampled leaves and broken twigs—ran along the river, but after a short while, the bushes on my right thinned and the path bent inland. And when I turned as well, I found myself looking into a clearing, an open expanse of grass and heather glowing softly in the golden light of Athos. The king was nowhere in sight.
More surprised than worried, I glanced to the distant trees that closed the field, wondering if the king was already there. But Don Julián had not had enough time to reach the trees, unless he had run. And Don Julián could not run.
It was only then that the significance of the entire incident struck me. According to Mother, Don Julián was too weak to walk. Yet he had helped me to row. Something was wrong. Had he lied to us? But why? And where was he now?