She should have stayed in the shadows—but Leonor de Guzmán yearned for the sun. Castile in the 1330s is a place of constant turmoil. King Alfonso must contend with the incursions from the Muslim Marinids eager to reclaim Al-Andalus while struggling with repeated rebellions against his firm rule.
Excerpt:
Alma felt safer the moment she entered her city. One of the guards at the city gate recognised her and asked her to give his regards to her mother. She slowed her pace along the familiar streets, passed by the huge cathedral just as the bells in the Giralda rang out the noon hour, and came to an abrupt stop at the sight of her childhood home. The gates stood wide open, people spilling out from the courtyard within to stand in the street. She pushed her way through, her initial fear that something bad had happened assuaged by the laughter, the loud voices.
The small patio was crowded with people, and sitting on a chair in the centre was Ramona, her cheeks flushed.
“Alma!” Abuela greeted her with a hug. “How propitious that you should come today. We are celebrating.”
One of the women present broke out in song. Several others fell in, some clapping out the rhythm. A song of love, of marriage and future babes, and Alma turned to blink at Ramona, who gave her a smug look.
“You’re getting married?” Alma asked.
“I am. The contracts were signed earlier today. I come with an adequate dowry, so Mamá has arranged a good marriage for me.” Ramona smirked. “Not much left for you. Or Nuria.”
For the first time ever, Alma felt a twinge of jealousy. Not because Ramona was to wed, but because she, Alma, would never have anything to offer someone like Rodrigo.
“Is he handsome?” she asked.
Ramona shrugged. “I have not met him. Mamá says he is.” She lowered her voice. “He’s a widower, father of three.”
“Ah.” Whatever jealousy she’d felt dissipated. “Is he from Sevilla?”
“No.” Ramona frowned. “He is from Cádiz.”
So far away!
“Have you been there?” Ramona asked.
She had, some years back when Doña Leonor had instead on accompanying the king when he set out to visit both Cádiz and Tarifa, central locations for his plans to one day retake Gibraltar from the Marinids.
“Mamá says it is a good place to live.” Ramona snorted. “How would she know? She’s never been further away than the Sierra Morena.”
“It benefits from the sea,” Alma said. “It is never as hot as Sevilla because there is always a breeze.” And it was also very small compared to Sevilla, the protective walls resulting in cramped conditions, but she did not think Ramona needed to hear this. “Is your future husband a caballero?”
“Sí. He now serves the king as a tax collector,” Ramona replied. “Before that, he served the local adelantado for years. He commanded men at the siege of 1333 but was grievously wounded and can no longer ride to war.” She cocked her head. “Mamá says the king should have persisted until he won.”
“Mamá knows nothing of what it is to be king.” Alma knew, from listening to Doña Leonor, that the king had every intention of retaking Gibraltar, but then, back in 1333, he’d had to break the siege to handle Juan Manuel and his cohorts, who had been happily raiding their way through Castile. Outlaws and renegades the lot of them! Since then, Juan Manuel had been reined in—until last year, when he’d allied himself with Portugal.
“No, I suppose she doesn’t. Just as she doesn’t know anything about living in Cádiz.” Ramona sighed. “I won’t know anyone.”
“You will make friends soon,” Alma told her. “Your husband will be so proud of you and will likely parade you round every plaza, every church.”
Ramona gnawed her lip. “You truly think so?”
“You are very pretty.” And also very young, only a year older than Alma. Her husband-to-be had to be at least twice her age if he’d held command in 1333. She dug into her basket and found the pair of ivory hair combs she’d intended to give Mamá. Of Moorish origin, they were old but beautiful. “Here. For the bride-to-be.”
Ramona gaped. And then she threw her arms around Alma.
“I bought them for you,” Alma said much later to her mother. “But Ramona—”
“You did the right thing,” Mamá said. “You made her very happy.”
Anna Belfrage
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