They call me Silence because nobody listens to me anymore. My friends spend the whole day in the castle, busy with their studies of useless things and daily activities like food, clothing, gardening, and trading with neighboring villages and castles. I would rather tell stories about what I see, what I feel, and what I remember. And to be honest, I’d rather tell them, not to people who might be here listening without paying attention to what I might say or write, but to those who haven’t even begun to grow inside their mothers, the ones yet to come, if the world doesn’t end before that. And I’m not going to speak of these things for the nobles or kings who are busy sending their men off to war, nor for the ladies who, instead of paying close attention to the words on the pages of a book, sit around sighing, often out of boredom, then doze off and don’t awaken until the princes or knights who are madly in love with them appear at their bedroom windows, so they dream on about a prince or knight who will never love them because their love must be so perfect that it can only be for the most perfect woman, the one who doesn’t exist or who is like all the rest. Thus their sighs, rather than for love of a prince or because they are bored to death by a book, are always from being bored by love and with themselves, which is the worst that can happen to them, a foreboding of what will end up happening when, fat and tired of having children, they realize how worthless the illusion of happiness is.

         But I’m not going to concern myself with them, although in fact they’re the ones I should be speaking to, because they’re the only ones living in the castles who have access to reading and can reread the few books they allow us to have, the few books some people are allowed to read, since they’re usually kept by the lords in their studies and there they sit, waiting and dusty, like us women, waiting for their owners to return from the hunt, or war, or their drunken sprees and chasing after girls in nearby fields. I’m not going to talk to these men either, but instead I’m going to start right off telling my story to the person who still doesn’t see or hear me.

I

         Once, when there were kings in Galicia, there was a king who was known for being noble, fair, and having a good heart. During his reign the people lacked for nothing, not corn, nor fish, nor livestock. The towns were small but all very different. In Carral there was bread, in Cambre cheese and milk, Muros and Vigo had an abundance of fish, in Santiago there were all the artisans one could want, and in Coruña there were merchants who sold and bought things, along with making profitable deals with other countries overseas. This king was named Arturo in honor of the one they said had been his distant ancestor.

         So, according to history, the king had two sons, who had a strict upbringing, although without overlooking the noblest arts like music and song, in which they showed their talent and were good at playing the hurdy-gurdy, the lute and the lyre, since wind instruments, according to the manuals, weren’t appropriate for members of nobility. That was because blowing on them would deform their noble faces.

         But, as we all know too well, happiness is the most coveted possession and so there was no lack of enemies on the other side of the border who threatened the peace in that kingdom. Times of war continued to shrink the diminishing army that always had to be at the ready during the short truces and temporary treaties with neighboring kings.

         Because he had two sons and this king only wanted the best for his people, he thought about how he could resolve the problem of his successor before anything terrible could happen. Don Arturo wasn’t a proponent of the law that said the heir should be the first living son, the way it was in other places, because it might happen that the firstborn was less favorable to the interests of the kingdom than the second, or he might prefer to lead an easier life, with fewer worries.

         After giving much thought to the matter, he decided to observe the two royal children during their studies, because even though both were deserving of succeeding him, there would always be a difference between them that would make one preferable over the other, in case both survived him, but he wanted it to be arranged so that the other could come to power if the favored one were to die.

         Because of this concern, the king got up from the table one day without having either his dessert or his liqueur and went to rest in a hammock he’d ordered hung beneath a rose arbor for when his ulcer bothered him. And there he fell asleep.

         Some say it came to him while he slept, others say it didn’t, because nobody can sleep when an ulcer is gnawing at your innards, but the fact is that while he was lying in the hammock, the king saw clearly how another king appeared among the roses. It was the first Arturo, who gesticulated and said he shouldn’t worry, that he was going to tell him what to do. The solution was to have two keys to the kingdom made, one of gold and another just like it, of iron. According to the behavior of the two princes, he was to be careful as to which would get one key and which the other, because both keys could open the door to the kingdom, but only the one made of gold would bring good fortune, because the key of iron would open the door to all the thieves, swindlers and troublemakers, bringing ruin to the people, weakening the crown, while a strong wind would destroy the castles one by one, tearing up the trees in the forests, invading and looting the towns that until that moment had been prosperous and happy.

         The king awoke, if in fact he had been asleep, more worried than he had been when he had lain down in the hammock, and he spent the rest of the afternoon thinking, seeking counsel in his thoughts from his most faithful confidant, the wise Merlin, who lived on top of the world, the only place – so it was said – where all of time could be seen, with no before or after.

         The next day, very early, he called his counselors together. Alarmed, they began to gather according to the ancient customs, ones that could still be seen in the sculptures of the churches, forming a single arch on both sides of the throne. And when he had all of them before him, he spoke to them in the following manner:

         “As you can see, yesterday we had to get up from the table as soon as we had eaten and without having either dessert or an after-dinner liqueur, because of the concern for my succession that weighs heavily upon us. You, my counselors and tutors of my sons, only praise each one of them separately and for this reason we cannot come to a decision. However, when we were resting in the hammock, King Arthur himself, our ancient predecessor, brought light to our nation and issued a mandate. He ordered us to make two keys to the kingdom, one of gold and the other of iron, and to assign them according to our judgment to each of our sons.”

         The counselors, looking at the others in their group, were beside themselves with joy at the problem’s having been resolved so easily. The king ordered them to be silent and continued:

         “This solution, which might seem to be a good one, has its disadvantages. If the successor is the one who holds the key of gold, there is nothing to fear; the kingdom will prosper and happiness will reign. For many years. On the other hand, if the successor holds the key of iron, with that key he will open the door to every thief, swindler, and troublemaker there is, bringing ruin to the people, weakening the crown, and a fierce wind will topple the castles one by one, tearing up the trees in the forest by their roots, invading and sacking the towns that until now have always been prosperous and happy.

         “After this revelation we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening deep in thought, after consulting as always with Merlin, the wise one of the world, but we have the solution that is the most beneficial to our country. However, in order for it to work neither you nor anyone else will know how the keys are to be assigned. My will is to serve you by giving my throne to the one whom fortune chooses. So be it.”

         Having said this, the king arose, while his counselors remained silent and still on their benches.

         And so it was that Arturo, the second of the line that bore the name, ordered his wise alchemist to create the two keys in such a way that, by means of alloys and a special coating, nobody except he himself could discover by looking at them which was the gold key and which the one of iron. When they were ready, the king placed them in separate boxes where they awaited the proper moment to be given to their owners.

II

         The years passed and the princes reached the age when they had to assume the responsibilities of their rank. The king, who was old now, listened – not without sadness – to the counsel of knights when they proposed that he delegate the leadership of the border disputes to his sons.

         Before they left, Arturo called the royal sons, Afonso and Pedro, to himself and spoke to them as follows:

         “My dear sons, tomorrow you set off to the war which the many enemies of this happy kingdom are forcing us to wage. Because I am old and know very well that I will not see you again, I have the task of bestowing upon you the keys to the kingdom. However, you must know that in accordance with higher mandates, I ordered these two keys to be made. They are different: one is made of gold and the other of iron. The gold key will open the doors of the kingdom to good fortune and the one of iron, to misfortune and subjugation, although the persons who recognize this in time can act to lessen the bad effects. This is why neither of you will know which key has been assigned to you, just as I myself do not know. This is because they were made by the wizard Merlin, who has always come to my aid in time of need. When suggesting this solution to me, he used an alloy to make them the same to the eyes, touch, and in the sound they make. In this way, when I die, one of you must return to take my place, such that the first to arrive must send his brother into exile because he will have the other key and that would lead to revolt. If the king dies, then his brother will take his place. Each of you, therefore, may think he has one or the other of these keys, and thus his actions will always be in accordance with the idea that he has the better key. Then each will try to free the kingdom from ruin, because it should not be known which one of you holds the key to destruction.”

         The two brothers looked at each other, wondering which would be the one chosen by destiny, but at that moment they could not see one another well because a shadow cast by a cloud darkened the room. The monarch opened an inlaid desk and took two identical boxes from it. To prove that he hadn’t chosen either of them on purpose, he moved the boxes back and forth in front of him several times, his eyes closed. When he felt he’d done that enough, he opened his eyes and continued speaking:

         “Afonso, my favorite because of your intelligence and ability to lead, I give this key to you. Because you have a noble character, but so noble it is somewhat cruel and selfish, if you open your reign with it, you must take care to treat your people well; always being of good intention and seeking the best for this kingdom. If, when I die, you are the first to come to rule, your reign can thereby be extremely happy, if it is such that you rule with the golden key you will know how to maintain order and each person will seek the best way to serve you. But if yours is the key of iron, your reign would then be just as unfortunate, because nobody would be free from the terror of being punished by you.

         “Pedro, my favorite for your kindness and skill in the arts that move men to tears, to you I give this other key. If you manage to survive the battle for which you depart tomorrow and arrive first to rule after my death, make sure no one takes advantage of your good heart and use your ability to lead your subjects along the same path, ensuring that none of them, bragging about their virtues in front of the rest, act for their own benefit against the common good. Only in this way will your rule be prosperous, if it be that you receive the golden key, or will you lessen misfortune should you receive the disastrous one that I don’t want to give to either one of you.

         “I am going to dictate one final order from my heart and that is for neither of you to compete over this nor hold vexatious suspicions as to which of you has the key of gold and which the one of iron. And whatever you do, don’t confess your imaginings to your vassals, for your subjects should follow you without hesitation and with the belief that their lord possesses the better key.”

         The three said their farewells with a great show of pain and promises. Once the king had handed each a box with the key inside, he closed the royal desk and retired sadly to the bed where he died shortly afterward.

         The princes went off to war. In accordance with their characters, each chose the men they thought were the best. Afonso had the most recognized knights of the court, the strongest and bravest. In contrast, his brother Pedro got the company of plebeians with few weapons and horses, disorganized and with no training, recruited in the taverns and farmhouses because of their single virtue of fervent loyalty to their lord. When they went through towns and cities, all the ladies’ praise was directed toward Afonso’s minions, and they tossed flowers, ribbons, and lace kerchiefs at them embroidered with the names of the handsomest warriors, each name linked to the mysterious initial of the one who had her eye on him. Pedro, when he left, was not angry at that, although he preferred to avoid the cities cheering for Afonso so his own soldiers would not be discouraged, because they were convinced that they were following the future heir of the prosperity their country deserved.

         The news of Arturo’s death reached the battlefield after several days. The first to hear was Afonso, who had charged a servant with carrying out the old method of lighting a torch in the highest tower of the castle when it happened, after which others spread out along the hills transmitted the signal until it reached the prince who, the moment his followers saw the sign, came and saluted him as king. Not hiding his satisfaction, he got ready to leave the battle and prepare his return in order to hold the funeral of the old king who was being mourned as well as the ceremony of his own coronation. Out of all the knights who had come to serve him, Afonso called a most loyal one aside, Roi Soares de Paiva, who had consistently shown the greatest skill in combat to defeat the large enemy forces.

         “Loyal and devoted Roi, I must speak with you to charge you with a very special responsibility. As you know, I am the legitimate heir to the crown, because I possess the golden key that will bring good fortune to the kingdom. Nevertheless, my brother, prince Pedro, has vassals who think the same thing, and with few weapons and less intelligence, they will recognize him as the successor of my father, the king who has just died. And he just might be, since he has an iron key that, if he were to defeat me, would open the kingdom to misfortune and subjugation. If you wish to serve me, as I expect you do, you must hasten to his campaign to give him the news, and when his forces greet him as the new king, you must capture him, because with exile alone we will never be free of the threat he signifies. Thus I order you to be the one to capture him and make haste to kill him once he gives you the key or you have taken it from him by force, wherever he has hidden it, and you will deliver it to me, your king.”

         And slowly taking his place on the throne that now belonged to him, he finished as his subject looked at him warily:

         “If you don’t want to die, you will not return without the key that was given to Pedro – after you have pierced his heart with it.”

III

         As ordered, Roi Soares de Paiva set out with a few men to the place where Don Pedro was struggling against the enemy. Many of his soldiers had died there and the ones still alive were wounded, one missing a leg and forced to use crutches, another a hand or an arm, and if they weren’t dead from fever they were all darkened and dirty, blood dried on their clothing and in their hair. In the middle of that atrocious scene, the prince himself tried to treat their wounds, bury the dead, when he wasn’t going back and forth to the battlefield, engaging in hand-to-hand combat with the bravest enemies. For this reason it was hard for Roi Soares de Paiva to surround Pedro with his men and take him to where he had no access to aid. There he told him of the old king’s death and the ascent to the throne by his brother, who ordered him taken prisoner as soon as he turned over the key.

         When Pedro refused, saying the key was in a place where nobody except he knew about and nobody but he could retrieve it, Roi Soares and his men tied the prince up, set him on a mule like a load that was all wrapped up, and left with him, leaving the band of wounded men unprotected and at the complete mercy of the enemy. So they set out toward the palace, where the sumptuous ceremony of mourning and the festivities were in preparation.

         When night grew near, a castle with smoke billowing out and a stifling smell of gunpowder appeared along the road. Hoping to ask for shelter in the name of his lord and the new king, Roi Soares uncovered Pedro and the retinue went to the door of the wall. There they were met by people dressed in a strange manner and talking a foreign language, most of the soldiers busy undressing corpses and burning them, destroying walls, hoarding gold jewels and other valuable objects in sacks, all in a great rush. The newcomers quickly saw that the castle had been captured by enemy forces, but they couldn’t turn back, so surrounded and pointing their weapons at them, Pedro and Soares were led to the lord who was the leader of it all.

         Alvar de Morasilla, commander-in-chief of the armies of Queen Eleonora, received them while having breakfast on the back patio, surrounded by a small group of followers that included, much against her will, María das Augas Doces, lady of the castle, surrounded by ladies-in-waiting who were teaching her the new language, dance steps, and other customs that were popular in the court.

         “Cheer up, María. Here are some of your countrymen, who will serve as witnesses for your side at the wedding ceremony, since you’re an orphan and a widow and I have nobody from whom to request your hand in marriage.”

         “You will not have my consent,” said María, “except to leave this house, to which you were never invited.”

         “Let’s see what the foreigners think; we don’t want them to believe, judging by your attitude, that the vassals of Eleonora have not come in friendship to establish peace between our kingdoms.”

         Alvar de Morasilla gave a sign for the guards to lower their weapons and invite the prisoners to take a seat and eat, which Roi Soares de Paiva did quite gladly, being very weary and hungry from having traveled so far. Only Pedro, freed and standing, refused to eat anything.

         While they were eating, Alvar asked who they were and where they were going with one of their own held prisoner in that manner, to which Roi Soares replied, saying he was Afonso’s knight and had been ordered to take his brother Pedro to him since a curse would fall on the kingdom if the latter came to rule because of a key he held and other things. As if what Roi explained were one of those stories found in manuscripts that entertained people in the court on winter evenings and night-time summer hunting sessions, Alvar was immensely amused and laughed heartily, to the surprise of Roi and all his retinue.

         “That’s a good story – it really is, right, María? Undoubtedly this is a country with outlandish customs, prone to believing in those marvelous things that in other parts are seen as mere innocent deceptions of the imagination that only uneducated damsels or rustics believe. Well, tomorrow you will set off again. Go with the confidence that I’ll see to this prisoner of yours and his curse, while you, accompanied by my forces, will bear a message to your king, Afonso. If he wishes to continue as king, he must sign a peace treaty with my lady, Queen Eleonora, by which he will name me military governor of the kingdom, allow entry to the noble knights who serve my lady, and provide free passage to my merchants without any regulations or customs fees. If you do all this, at the same time you will be carrying out that fabulous story of prosperity that – how did you say? – belongs to that golden key. If you do not, he will die, not by the hand of his brother, but those of the armies of my most noble lady, may God protect her, and in his stead we will place this noble prisoner who will obey us in every way and you yourself will be killed as the servant of the one against whom we do battle.”

         With great gales of laughter, amid which he repeated parts of the story of the golden key, Alvar de Morasilla arose, offered a hand to María das Augas Doces, returning to his chambers with her, who through the veils of her headdress exchanged a supplicating glance with Pedro in a mutual plea for help, while the guards were already leading him, both arms gripped, to the dungeon.

         In the morning, before dawn broke, Roi Soares set out with the company of Alvar’s loyal men, who told him the horses, banners and documents were already prepared, informing him that Pedro remained in captivity, since he was an important prisoner and was worth as much dead as if he occupied Afonso’s place, according to the answer the latter might give.

         After hours on the road, the burned, deserted fields of battle began to give way to the green flowering ones that were reminiscent of the happy times of Arturo. Still, the homes were closed and no merchant could be seen along the roads to acquire news or undo spells. Seemingly empty, they came to a little town called Lamela, once a land of great festivities, now silent and still. The closed doors and windows were scary, for some reason. Soon they learned that often groups of cloaked figures with swords and hats passed through, ones never seen in that area before.

         “Who are you?” shouted Roi Soares. “Stop, show your faces.”

         “You stop!” they shouted, brandishing their swords, “in the name of our lady, the queen Eleonora.”

         Then they made them dismount and, by way of explanation, Roi Soares showed the documents given to him by Alvar, which was enough for the queen’s guards, some of whom took control of Alvar’s followers, to take such an important messenger into custody. But they didn’t have to spend the night out in the open, or without the wine that kept the soldiers so happy.

         “Open up, innkeepers, if you don’t want to be imprisoned for conspiracy!” bellowed the head of the brigade, still cloaked, as he ordered his men to beat on the entryway that was soundly closed.

         Soon the tavern-keeper appeared, breathing heavily and wiping his hands on a dirty rag. The masked man, sword aloft, gave the order:

         “We are here to carry out the law in the name of Eleonora, to avoid revolt and punish rebellion. Serve these people some wine, Master Touciño, or I’ll stab your goatskin to see if there’s anything in it!”

IV

         In their quarters the damsels were sobbing beside the doors and shutters of the windows, huddling in cloths they themselves had embroidered during long winter hours. Some cried in others’ laps, because they had always been the ladies of the castle, even more so since their lady, María das Augas Doces, had entered the solitude of widowhood. They all cried endlessly, the way they’d learned to cry, with the same skill they had for cooking or sewing. The only one who didn’t cry was María. Accustomed to the twists and turns of fortune, she felt that crying was the worst source of the songs that the ladies-in-waiting taught their pupils. She’d married a few months back and her lord, Iago Bernal de Montemaior, fought his fear of the bed by fighting against the greater fear of war, and so there he was, since his beard had started to grow, with one foot in the house and another in battle, where he ended up leaving both feet and his whole body, too fragile to dream of being a warrior, and so he also left the world, having barely met the responsibilities of a spouse or provided refuge for the memory of his seed in the almost virginal womb of María.

         Life in the castle was nevertheless not unpleasant for her. Quite the opposite. Women ran their own lives, controlled and meted out inheritances, had servants and grooms at their service, as well as vassal knights and some remaining from the flock of their deceased lord.

         Stretched out on a divan in her room, María was calm, although distracted, and even slow to notice the slight noise that, like a gust of wind over the high grass, the ladies-in-waiting created when Isabel de Miraflores, her chambermaid, almost like a sister to María, broke into the room, all shaking and upset. Sir Alvar de Morasilla was coming up the private stairway of the lady’s property, the place where no man went who was not to her liking or ever had the right to go, even when her lord and master, Don Iago, was alive. The other ladies ceased their wailing and some of them gathered around Isabel to hear more details, but without stopping, she went to her lady, kneeling on the floor beside her bed. María focused without surprise, as if she had always been waiting for that moment. Slowly she sat up between the burned door jambs and then stood up, and lifted Isabel in order to give her a consoling embrace. They said nothing until, as was foreseen, the clash of arms was heard from the followers of Morasilla who had stationed themselves loudly by the open door of the room, through which Alvar strode into that chamber that for so many years had been peaceful.

         “You are so fearful that you have come yourself, accompanied by guards and weapons, to invade the simple room of a lady?”

         “I have no fear for myself, only for you, my lady. Because you are a woman, you are blind, and I fear you might act unwisely, like trying to escape or some other decision worse than that.”

         “I’d never think of doing that! Would it be wise to try to escape when I’m in my own house?”

         “If you want it to continue being yours, I must ask you to agree to be my wife.”

         “You know very well what my answer is. Do you wish to force me to agree?”

         “We are at war, my lady, and I am the victor. Even so I have come to beg you – consider my great esteem for you.”

         “If that esteem were so great, you would never force me.”

         “What I appreciate at least is a show of respect. It is in my best interest to act correctly and although I am a ferocious warrior when need be, I also know how to behave with a lady of your rank and beauty. Know that, because of my victory, I am already lord and master of your dominion, and of you as well, when I could requisition you for my service and pleasure as a simple prisoner of war.”

         “That would not speak well of you, since that is worse than anything you might do to any enemy, whom at best you could simply kill.”

         “I never killed a woman. I’m proud of that, just like I never let one speak too much. That’s enough for today. Have your ladies-in-waiting prepare you for tomorrow morning and take care that everything looks festive and joyful on your part.”

         “If it must be that way, it will be very unpleasant for me.”

         Alvar’s face, smooth and puffy-cheeked, screwed up, making him look like he was starving with its tautness. A man of war, he had never had time to learn ways to express love or to judge the time needed to soften a woman’s heart. He thought about the wastelands and cold fields that childhood had made into treasures, the silent peasant women, the girls who were too thin beneath their heavy dark skirts of broadcloth. He’d had little contact with ladies in his life, except for the lusty body of some slut in an inn… Nor had he been a great judge of women. Love, he’d come to think, was an exercise that was the same as war, like capturing a castle, laying siege, entering with weapons raised, until combat or exhaustion lowered them. Peace would come afterward. After all, a woman shouldn’t care much whether she had one master or another.

         He turned and left the room. Afterward the clash of lances and the returning of swords to their scabbards ended the scene.

         The damsels emerged once more from their stupor and returned to their agitation and squawking, shouting threats and insults while the metallic sounds of weapons moved off along the halls below. María, in their midst, calmed them with a calm wave of her hand and a proud gesture like a tower. Deep in her eyes a spark glowed, bold and trembling. She told all the women to be silent. Silence and cooperation. She turned to Isabel: if she was willing to help her unconditionally, as their mutual loyalty required, the wedding would take place, but in a manner quite different from the way Morasilla had ordered.

Text © Luísa Villalta Gómez

Translation © Kathleen March