Cathedral of the Sea (67 page)

BUT WHEREAS ARNAU rose each day feeling increasingly pessimistic, Eleonor was in a very different frame of mind.

“She has summoned the nobles, peasants, and other inhabitants on Assumption Day,” said Joan, who as a Dominican friar was the only one among them who had any contact with the baroness.

“What for?”

“So that they can pay her ... pay you both homage,” he said. Arnau waved for him to continue. “According to the law ...” Joan spread his palms, as though to say, “It was you who asked,” and went on: “According to the law, any noble may at any time demand of his vassals that they renew their vows of fealty and homage to the noble. It’s logical that, as they have not done so before now, Eleonor wishes them to do so now.”

“Do you mean to say they will come?”

“Nobles and knights are not obliged to attend a commendation ceremony of this kind. They can instead come and swear fealty in private, provided they do so within a year, a month, and a day of being called upon to do so. However, Eleonor has been talking to them, and it appears they will come. After all, she is the king’s ward. Nobody wants to offend her.”

“What about the husband of the king’s ward?”

Joan made no reply. Yes, there was something in his look ... Arnau knew he was keeping something back.

“Do you have anything more to say to me, Joan?”

The friar shook his head.

ELEONOR ORDERED A platform to be built on the plain below the castle. She dreamed of nothing but Assumption Day. How often had she seen not merely noblemen but whole towns swear fealty to her guardian, the king? Now they would do the same for her. She was the queen, the sovereign in her own lands. What did she care that Arnau would be next to her? Everyone knew that it was to her, the king’s ward, that they were swearing allegiance.

She grew so nervous that as the day drew closer, she even allowed herself to smile at Arnau. He was some distance from her, and it was only the ghost of a smile, but it was a smile nonetheless.

Arnau hesitated, then forced his own lips into a curling grimace.

“Why did I smile at him?” Eleonor cursed herself, and clenched her fists. “Stupid woman! How could you humiliate yourself like that before a vulgar money changer, a runaway serf?” They had been at Montbui for more than six weeks now, yet Arnau had not once come near her. Wasn’t he a man? When no one was looking, she would glance at his strong, powerful body, and at night all alone in her room she even dreamed of him mounting and fiercely taking possession of her. How long had it been since she felt like this? But he humiliated her with his disdain. How dared he? Eleonor bit her bottom lip savagely. “His time will come,” she told herself.

On the feast day of the Assumption, Eleonor rose at dawn. From the window of her lonely bedroom she could see the plain and the high dais she had ordered built. The peasants were beginning to gather round it; many of them had gone without sleep in order not to be late for their lord’s summons. Not a single nobleman was yet to be seen.

T
HE SUN HERALDED a hot, glorious day. The clear, cloudless sky, similar to the one that almost forty years earlier had greeted the wedding celebration of a serf called Bernat Estanyol, rose like a bright blue dome over the heads of the thousands of vassals. The hour was fast approaching, and Eleonor, dressed in her finest robes, paced nervously up and down the great hall of Montbui castle. What had happened to the nobles and knights? Dressed as usual in his black habit, Joan was resting in an armchair, while Arnau and Mar, as though detached from the scene, shot each other amused looks whenever they heard Eleonor sighing anxiously.

At last the nobles arrived. As impatient as his mistress, a servant came rushing into the room to tell Eleonor they were coming. The baroness went to look out of a window; when she turned again to face the others, her face was beaming with delight. The nobles and knights who lived on her lands had obviously made great efforts. Their fine clothes, swords, and jewels stood out among the crowd of peasants dressed in their gray, sad tunics. The grooms led their horses behind the platform, where their neighing and stamping broke the silence with which the poor peasants had greeted the arrival of their lords. The servants set up elaborate seats, covered in bright silks, beneath the dais. This was where noblemen and knights were to swear fealty to their new masters. The peasants instinctively moved away from the final line of seats in order to leave a space between them and the privileged.

Eleonor looked out of the window again. She smiled as she saw the wealth and power her new vassals were displaying so openly. Followed by her retinue she made her way to the dais, and sat before them all, like a true queen.

Eleonor’s scribe, who today was introducing the proceedings, began by reading King Pedro the Third’s decree, which gave as dowry to the royal ward Eleonor the baronies of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui, with all the vassals, lands, and rents that they contained ... As the scribe was reading this, Eleonor drank in his words: she felt herself observed and envied—hated even, why not?—by all those who until now had been vassals of the king. They would still owe him their loyalty, of course, but from now on there would be someone else between them and their sovereign : her. Arnau, by contrast, was not even listening to the scribe’s speech: he merely smiled back at all the peasants he had visited and helped, when they greeted him.

In the midst of the crowd of people were two women dressed in vivid colors, as befitted their condition as common prostitutes. One was already old; the other was mature but still beautiful, and unabashedly displayed her charms.

“Nobles and knights,” shouted the scribe, this time succeeding in capturing Arnau’s attention, “do you swear fealty to Arnau and Eleonor, barons of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui?”

“No!”

The refusal seemed to rend the sky. The former thane of Montbui castle had risen to his feet to reject the oath in a thunderous voice. A low murmur spread among the peasants grouped behind the nobles. Joan shook his head as though he had expected something of this sort; Mar looked uneasy, as if she did not know what she was doing up on the platform in front of all these people; Arnau was at a loss; and Eleonor’s face had turned as pale as wax.

The scribe turned to the platform, expecting instructions from his mistress. When none were forthcoming, he took the initiative.

“You refuse?”

“We refuse,” boomed the thane, sure of himself. “Not even the king can oblige us to pay homage to someone who is of lower rank than ourselves. That is the law!” Joan nodded sadly. He had not wanted to tell Arnau as much. The nobles had tricked Eleonor. “Arnau Estanyol,” the thane went on, “is a citizen of Barcelona, the son of a runaway serf. We will not pay homage to the runaway son of a landed serf, even if the king has granted him the baronies you spoke of!”

The younger of the two women in the crowd stood on tiptoe to get a better view of the dais. Seeing all the nobles seated in front of it had aroused her curiosity, but now when she heard the name of Arnau, citizen of Barcelona and a peasant’s son, her legs began to give way beneath her.

With the crowd still murmuring in the background, the scribe once again turned toward Eleonor. So did Arnau, but she made no sign to either of them. She sat transfixed. After the initial shock, her astonishment had turned to anger. Her face had gone from white to bright red; she was shaking with rage and her hands were grasping the arms of her chair so tightly it seemed as though she wanted to claw into the wood.

“Why did you tell me he had died, Francesca?” asked the younger of the two prostitutes.

“He’s my son, Aledis.”

“Arnau is your son?”

Francesca nodded, at the same time gesturing to Aledis to keep her voice down. The last thing in the world she wanted was for anyone to find out that Arnau was the son of a common prostitute. Fortunately, the people around them were too absorbed in the dispute among the nobles in front of them.

The argument was unresolved. When he saw that no one else would take the lead, Joan decided to intervene.

“You may be right in what you affirm,” he cried from behind the outraged baroness, “and may refuse to pay homage, but that does not absolve you from fulfilling your duties and pledging your obedience to them. That’s the law! Are you willing to do so?”

The thane of Montbui knew the friar was right. He looked around the other nobles to judge their opinion. Arnau gestured for Joan to come closer.

“What does this mean?” he whispered to him.

“It means they save face. Their honor is intact if they do not swear fealty and homage to ...”

“To a person of lower rank,” Arnau helped him out. “You know that has never troubled me.”

“They refuse to swear homage to you or to be your vassals, but the law obliges them to fulfill their duties to you and pledge their obedience, recognizing that they hold their lands and honors in your name.”

“Is that something similar to the
capbreus
they make the peasants accept?”

“Something similar.”

“We will pledge our obedience,” said the thane.

Arnau paid him no attention. He did not even look at him. He was thinking: perhaps this was the solution to the peasants’ misery. Joan was still leaning over him. Eleonor was no longer there: her eyes were staring out beyond the spectacle in front of her, at her lost illusions.

“Does that mean,” Arnau asked Joan, “that although they will not legally recognize me as their feudal lord, I can still give them orders that they must obey?”

“Yes. They are concerned above all about their honor.”

“Good,” said Arnau, standing up unobtrusively and gesturing to the scribe to come over. “Do you see the gap between the nobles and the others?” he asked when he was beside him. “I want you to stand there and repeat word for word in the loudest voice you can everything I am about to say. I want everyone to hear what I am to say!” As the scribe made his way to the open ground behind the nobles, Arnau smiled wryly at the thane, who was waiting for some response to his pledge of obedience. “I, Arnau, baron of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui ...”

Arnau waited for the scribe to repeat his words:

“I, Arnau,” the scribe duly called out, “baron of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui ...”

“... declare null and void on my lands all those privileges known as malpractices ...”

“... declare null and void ...”

“You cannot do that!” shouted one of the nobles over the scribe’s words.

When he heard this, Arnau glanced at Joan to confirm that he did indeed have the power to do what he was suggesting.

“Yes, I can,” he said shortly, after Joan had backed him up.

“We will petition the king!” shouted another noble.

Arnau shrugged. Joan came up to him on the dais.

“Have you thought what will happen to all those poor people if you give them hope and then the king rules against you?”

“Joan,” said Arnau, with a self-confidence that was new to him, “I may know nothing about honor, nobility, or the rules of knighthood, but I do know what is written in my account books regarding all the loans I have made to His Majesty. Which, by the way,” he added with a smile, “have been considerably increased for the Mallorca campaign since my marriage to his ward. That I do know. I can assure you that the king will not question my decisions.”

Arnau looked at the scribe and gestured to him to continue: “... declare null and void on my lands all those privileges known as malpractices ... ,” shouted the scribe.

“I annul the right of
intestia,
by which a lord has the right to inherit part of the possessions of his vassals.” Arnau went on speaking clearly and slowly, so that the scribe could repeat his words. The peasants listened quietly, caught between astonishment and hope. “Also that of
cugutia,
by which lords may take half or all of the possessions of an adulterous woman. That of
exorquia,
which gives them part of the inheritance of married peasants who die without issue. That of
ius maletractandi,
which allows nobles to mistreat peasants at their will, and to seize their goods.” Arnau’s words were met with a silence so complete that the scribe decided the crowd could hear their feudal lord’s proclamation without any help from him. Francesca gripped Aledis’s arm. “I annul the right of
arsia,
which obliges peasants to compensate their lord for any fire on his land. Also the right of
firma de espoli forzada,
which gives the lord the right to sleep with a bride on her wedding night ...”