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At least there were mountains. Roderich was grateful for the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees that decorate the horizon visible from his window. They were the only familiar sight because he was in all other aspects “fast entheimt”. Unfortunately, now that they had reached Zaragoza, a city with a name so foreign that he wouldn’t have discredited as the name of an ancient Persian magician in a novel, the mountains were far more distant and only visible on clear days. The name of the city wasn’t the only thing that was foreign to him, when he and his consorts had crossed the mountains he had felt like the very bedrock that Spain was made of was unlike his own, down to the small crocus like flowers that bloomed in the meadows that their guide had explained to him were rare ‘false saffron’. In Zaragoza, he’d been given a room in the palace of the catholic monarchs that had taken residence there after Isabel I of Castile had married Ferdinand II of Aragon but that in the streets was still referred to by the people as the palace of Aljaféria. Though that royal marriage had unified Spain and was the reason he could stay there to visit his Antonio, Aragon was by no means gone. Her belongings and her culture were still found all over the province. However, he wasn’t to meet her until later that month. He felt like in a way, simply by travelling the land he already had met her. She wasn’t the only shadow of a nation that he felt. Besides Spain, that is to say, Castile and Aragon, there was a third presence within these castle walls, an invisible presence, a ghost from the past.
Roderich had never fully realised the reality of the occupation by Arabic forces in the peninsula. When he had Antonio in front of him in Aachen, a fierce proprietor of Christendom, speaking Latin with a quintessentially Romanesque tongue… He had somehow thought that as the occupiers left the peninsula, Antonio was a roman again. That when they left, they took everything with them, left no traces, that whatever was left was carefully purged by his new husband. Yet these walls told a different story. In a moment where he’d been free to roam the halls, he’d let himself be spellbound by the strange arabesque masonry, the ever-spiralling geometrical decorative patterning in the friezes, the archways, the capitals. One gallery from where he could reach the stonework, he had secretly pressed his fingers against it, half expecting it to give way like bee’s wax due to how much it resembled a honeycomb. He let out a quivering breath and whispered the name: the Umayyad dynasty, the caliphate of Cordoba. That strange shadow that seemed to hide in the corners in the palace. Had he made a mistake when marrying Antonio? How much of his husband was still Moorish?
Antonio was always secretive and defensive about his time isolated from the rest of them. Roderich never pressed him for answers. He’d lie in bed next to him and watch Antonio’s quiet breathing and think to himself that Antonio must’ve suffered a lot. Yet he looked at how his own hand looked like porcelain against Antonio’s chest, and he wondered.
These thoughts were tumbling over each other as he was staring out the window, his letter to the bishop abandoned in front of him as his quill was resting idly between his fingers. He felt sick to the stomach again, he’d always get such bad Heimweh, if only Toni could just always visit him in Austria… that would be a perfect world.
“Ah, there you are!”
Antonio snapped him out of his reverie by materializing in the doorframe and looking at him like he was trying to figure him out, like studying a puzzling little flower, like a false saffron, and wondering whether it was edible or not.
“Have you truly been cooped up in here all-day writing? Come, this won’t do, come out and catch some fresh air.”
He’d already strode over and made to pull Roderich along by the arm despite the young man’s protests that it was too hot outside and that he’d tan.
“I gathered some courtiers, we’re going to play music in the courtyard. If you sit in the gallery you won’t tan. Just join it’ll be great. Did you play that Viol a lot?”
‘That viol’ was the lovely Soprano viol that Antonio had given to Roderich when they parted ways after their second visit. Roderich had been familiar with the more European Vieille already and had taken to the instrument like he’d never played anything else. It helped that it was a gift from Antonio, so whenever he missed him too much he could take out the viol, lovingly caress the little wooden face that was carved into the end of the neck with incredible craftmanship, and then by playing and studying bring Antonio a little closer. He’d carefully press down on the strings and would imagine Toni listening and smiling. He’d been playing it when sad or lonely so often he started to feel like he expressed his feelings better through music than through words. So to Antonio’s question, he gave a firm affirmative nod and looked at the case that contained it when he brought it with him here.
“Well bring it! I want to hear!”
Roderich’s heart quickened. He had fantasized about what would happen if he’d play in front of Antonio, that Antonio would listen and understand- that he could say what he wanted to say without words. That Antonio instantly recognised that he’d studied hard just to please him. But now that the moment was here, he felt suddenly nervous.
“Ah, very well, I’ll play for you. But not for your court.”
Antonio looked a little taken aback but then agreed with a smile
“We’ll have fewer instruments then, but it agrees with me.”
Roderich tried to read Antonio and see if he wasn’t upset but he couldn’t tell. He took the dear instrument and tagged along, all the while trying not to be deafened by his heart nervously pounding in his ears. Antonio retrieved his vihuela de mano from the group of courtiers and declared they wouldn’t be joining them until later. They seemed a little disappointed, but Roderich observed from the doorway that the confident way in which Antonio declared he wouldn’t be present, rather than asked to be forgiven for not joining made no one even think of questioning him. He smiled; this is what he adored in Antonio.
Antonio took him to one of the palaces many open courtyards and sat him down underneath the strange honeycomb arches on a railing. With just the two of them in an enclosed garden Roderich thought of the many courtly romance novels he’s read and blushed a bit. Antonio caught on and with a grin took his hand and kissed it.
“So, are we going to play music? Or was this all an elaborate plan of yours so we could exchange kisses?”
Antonio was already scooting a bit closer and his smirk grew. Roderich frowned as his blush deepened but couldn’t hide a smile.
“Don’t tease me, Antonio.”
He leaned in and gave Antonio a small kiss on the cheek.
“I had every intention to play music for you."
Antonio nodded and sat back a bit and gave Roderich a tender smile that sent a warmth spreading through his chest. Roderich got in position and put the viol between his legs. He took a deep breath and took the bow to the strings. He took a deep breath and started to sing. It was the song he’d been singing ever since Innsbruck’s precious valley had been swallowed between the pine trees as they had crossed that fateful bend in the road that meant saying goodbye. Roderich had never been good at travel, he was in his essence a very rooted person. He needed the mountains, the pine trees, the fresh crisp winter air, he needed his home. At first, he had thought that this crippling nervousness that took hold of him when he was in unfamiliar territory had to do with the type of creature that he was: wouldn’t it make sense for countries to have to be close to their lands? But the more other’s he met, the more he learned that isn’t necessarily the case. He sang the first tender lines of ‘Innsbruck ich muss dich lassen’, which he had been practising to bring him solace ever since he had left. He had adapted the original choral piece by giving the higher register to his viol and himself singing a fragile tenor second voice.
“ISbruck, ich muß dich lassen
ich far do hin mein strassen
in fremde land do hin
mein freud ist mir genomen
die ich nit weiß bekummen
wo ich jm elend bin.”
It had every property of a learned piece of music, despite its secular subject. In his opinion, the choral harmonies showed a Pythagorean harmony and evoked the harmonies of heaven. It was in every aspect a thing of technical ingenuity. But it was out of place. Singing about Innsbruck and his land in the Spanish summer heat just fell flat. All the emotion he could usually put into it, about missing home and struggling with travel didn’t seem to communicate either.
“Groß leid muß ich yetz tragen
das ich allein thu klagen
dem liebsten bůlen mein ach
lieb nun laß mich armen
im hertzen dein erbarmen
das ich muß von dannen sein.”
The second verse, about parting from your lover was yet another thing very recognisable for him, as he and Antonio often spent large stretches apart from one another. Antonio, however, seemed more concerned with picking dirt out from under his nails than listening. He knew Antonio didn’t know much German, but he hoped he would at least get the gist of it. His voice wavered slightly as he tried to keep Antonio invested in the music all through the last verse.
“Meyn trost ob allen weyben
dein thu ich ewig pleyben
stet trew der eren frumm
nun muß dich Gott bewaren
in aller thugent sparen
biß das ich wider kumm.”
A pledge of faithfulness to the one you’re leaving. It was silent for a moment between them after he finished and Roderich felt like he’d swallowed a brick. Antonio perked up again and took his vihuela.
“You did not enjoy it.”
He must’ve looked hurt because Antonio winced and reassuringly pet his hand.
“Ah no! It was good! I could tell it was technically perfect.”
Antonio was a terrible liar though and with one stern look, Roderich managed to get him to sigh and tell the truth.
“It was just- all the same. And a bit sad, but mostly just that it was the same thing three times, and all the rhythm stayed the same and the distance between the cords stayed the same… It made me feel like I was either at church or just- really bored.”
Roderich was confused, “But- isn’t that what music is supposed to sound like? With regular harmonies? I read in a book-”
Antonio cut him off: “That’s exactly it! It sounds so learned, so lifeless! Shouldn’t music be sweeping? To slowly build and make you feel this- this- Ecstasy! wait, I’ll show you what I learned!”
He started strumming the vihuela. “Ok, you clap along.” Roderich uneasily started clapping, a little off-beat because of the strange rhythm Antonio was creating.
“This is an old one Roderich so you might know it. Hmm, maybe not the words it’s easy, you just sing the refrain with me I’ll do the stanzas. Ok, it’s Santa María, Strela do día, Móstra-nos, pera Déus e nos guía. Got that?”
Antonio was tapping his foot to the rhythm and slapping the wood of his vihuela in between the plucking. Then he suddenly stopped and took a ring of keys of his belt and handed it to Roderich. “Here, shake this- hmm this would be better if we had more players.” But he kept playing until Roderich got the hang of it. Then he started singing with it, the refrain was relatively straightforward but once Roderich got it, Toni started to make strange variations on it that threw him of again.
“No, it’s ok Roderich, you just keep singing the regular version and I’ll vary upon it. Also, the rhythm is rha-pa-pa-pa, rha-pa-papa-pa-pa. Yes, like that.”
Once they sang together like that for a while Antonio inserted stanzas between the refrains where the end of the sentences ended in long drawn out undulating notes. They were unlike anything Roderich had ever heard in a church at home or even at the fair! Though they were singing about Mary, about asking god forgiveness for sins, Roderich felt strange with what was happening. He wasn’t very good at it, but it felt like Antonio was pulling him along in a wild dance. Just as he’d gotten the hang of it, Antonio sped up and harmonized with him. Roderich could feel his body sway from side to side, almost without his will and they moved in perfect unison, rising and falling. He felt his sadness slowly fading and he smiled while singing. The thing Antonio had said about sweeping you away, about ecstasy, he was starting to understand it now. This strange rhythm, and the way Antonio intuitively reacted to what he was doing… it was almost sensual. When they finished his cheeks were red and he was slightly out of breath. Any passer-by would’ve suspected them of exchanging kisses in the garden after all. Perhaps he might as well… He enthusiastically threw himself forward, wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed Antonio on the lips. Nothing as chaste as before, the vihuela awkwardly between them. Antonio was clearly surprised but not complaining.