Cathedral of the Sea (72 page)

“Then what?” grunted Eleonor, still staring straight ahead of her.

“Then I’ll lose my brother. Perhaps we’re still in time to do something. This is going to end badly ...,” thought Joan.

“Speak to him ...,” he insisted.

“Are you mad, Friar?”

“What if he won’t accept the marriage? What if Felip de Ponts tells him everything? Talk to him before the host sets off. For the love of God, do it, Eleonor!”

“For the love of God?” As she spat out the words, she turned to face him. “You speak to your God. Do it, Friar.”

They followed Arnau toward the
bastaix
pennant. They met Guillem, who as a slave was not allowed to bear arms.

When he saw her arriving, Arnau frowned.

“She’s a ward of mine as well,” she said.

The city councillors gave the order. The army of the people of Barcelona began to march out of the square. The pennants of Sant Jordi and the city were at the head, followed by that of the
bastaixos
and then all the other guilds. Three thousand men against a single knight. Eleonor and Joan fell in beside them.

Outside the city, the host was joined by more than a hundred peasants from Arnau’s lands. They were happy to come to the defense of someone who had treated them so generously. Arnau noticed that no other nobles or knights were among them.

Grim-faced, Arnau walked alongside the pennant with the
bastaix
column. Joan tried to pray, but the words that usually came so readily to him now stubbornly refused to appear in his mind. Neither he nor Eleonor had ever imagined that Arnau would call out the
host.
Joan was still deafened by the noise of the three thousand men clamoring for justice and vengeance for a citizen of Barcelona. Many of them had kissed their daughters before they left; more than one, already strapped into their armor, had cupped their wives’ chins in their hands and told them: “Barcelona defends its own ... especially its women.”

“They will lay waste to poor Felip de Ponts’s lands as if it were their own daughter who had been abducted,” thought Joan. “They will try him and execute him, but first they will give him the chance to talk ...” Joan looked at Arnau, who was still marching along in silence.

By evening, the host had reached Felip de Ponts’s lands. It came to a halt at the foot of a small hill atop of which the knight’s fortress was perched. It was nothing more than a peasant farmhouse; its only defenses consisted of a small tower rising on one side. Joan studied the farmhouse, then surveyed the army awaiting its orders from the city councillors. He looked at Eleonor, who avoided his gaze. Three thousand men to take one simple farmhouse!

Joan shook himself and ran to where Arnau and Guillem were standing, next to the councillors and other prominent citizens of Barcelona, beneath the Sant Jordi pennant. As he drew near, he could hear them discussing what to do next. His stomach wrenched when he realized most of them were in favor of attacking the farmhouse without warning or offering de Ponts the chance to surrender.

The councillors began to give orders to the guild aldermen. Joan looked at Eleonor, but she was staring straight ahead at the farmhouse. Joan went up to Arnau: he wanted to speak to him, but found it impossible. Guillem was standing proudly beside him; he glanced at the friar with a look of scorn. The guild aldermen passed on the orders to their columns. Sounds of preparation for battle could be heard. Torches were lit; the sound of swords being drawn and crossbows tightened rose through the evening air. Joan turned to look at the farmhouse, and then again at the host. The men began to march on the building. There would be no concessions: Barcelona would show no mercy. Arnau drew his dagger and set off with all the rest, leaving the friar behind as he advanced on the house. Joan glanced despairingly toward Eleonor; still she showed no reaction.

“No ... !” shouted Joan as his brother strode away from him.

His cry was swallowed up in a murmur that spread through the ranks of the entire host. A man on horseback had emerged from the farmhouse. It was Felip de Ponts, slowly riding his horse down toward them.

“Seize him!” shouted one of the councillors.

“No!” shouted Joan again. Everyone turned in his direction. Arnau looked inquiringly at him. “A man who surrenders should not be seized and made captive.”

“What’s this, Friar?” one of the councillors asked. “Do you think you can give orders to the Barcelona host?”

Joan looked at Arnau.

“A man who surrenders should not be taken captive,” he implored his brother.

“Let him give himself up,” Arnau conceded.

Felip de Ponts looked first for his accomplices, then turned to face the men gathered beneath the pennant of Sant Jordi, among them Arnau and the city councillors.

“Citizens of Barcelona,” he shouted, loud enough for the whole army to hear, “I know the reason why you are here today. I know you are seeking justice for one of your citizens. Here I stand. I confess to being the perpetrator of the crimes I am accused of, but before you take me prisoner and lay waste to my buildings, I beg you for the chance to speak.”

“Do so,” one of the councillors authorized him.

“It is true that, against her will, I have abducted and lain with Mar Estanyol ...” At this, a murmur ran through the ranks of the host, forcing him to break off for a moment. Arnau’s hands gripped his crossbow. “I did so at the risk of losing my life, aware that this is the punishment for such an offense. I did it, and if I were born a second time I would do it again, because such is the love I have for this girl, such the despair I felt at seeing her waste her youth without a husband beside her to help her enjoy the fruits God blessed her with, that my emotions overcame my reason, and I behaved more like an animal crazed with passion than one of King Pedro’s knights.” Joan could sense the entire army listening intently, and willed the knight to say the right thing. “For being an animal, I hand myself over to you; but as the knight I long to become once more, I solemnly swear to marry Mar Estanyol and to love her for the rest of my life. Judge me! I am not prepared, as our laws provide, to give her up to another husband of the same social rank. I would kill myself rather than see her with anyone else.”

Felip de Ponts finished his speech and waited, proud and erect on his steed, defying an army of three thousand men. The host was silent, trying to take in all that they had heard.

“Praised be the Lord!” shouted Joan.

Arnau stared at him in astonishment. Everyone, including Eleonor, turned to look at the friar.

“What do you mean by that?” Arnau asked him.

“Arnau,” Joan insisted, taking hold of his arm and speaking loud enough for all those around them to hear, “this is nothing more than the result of our own negligence.” Arnau looked startled. “For years we have gone along with Mar’s whims, neglecting our duties toward a beautiful young woman who should already have brought children into the world, as the laws of God decree—and who are we to go against our Lord’s intentions?” Arnau started to say something, but Joan raised his hand to cut him short. “I feel guilty for this. For years I have felt guilty for being too complaisant with a headstrong girl whose life was without meaning according to the precepts taught by the holy Catholic Church. This knight,” he went on, pointing to Felip de Ponts, “is nothing more than the hand of God, someone sent by our Lord to carry out a task we have proved ourselves unequal to. Yes, for years I have felt guilty seeing how God-given beauty and health were being wasted by a girl fortunate enough to be adopted by somebody as good and kind as you. I have no wish also to feel guilty for the death of a knight who, risking his own life, has merely accomplished what we ourselves were incapable of doing. Give your consent to the marriage. I, if my opinion is of any worth, would accept the knight’s proposal.”

Arnau said nothing for some time. The whole army was waiting to hear what he had to say. Joan took advantage to glance round at Eleonor, and thought he could see a triumphant smile on her lips.

“Do you mean to say that all this is my fault?” Arnau asked Joan.

“Mine, Arnau, mine. It’s I who should have instructed you concerning the laws of the Church, and what God’s designs for mankind are, but I never did ... and am sorry for it.”

Guillem’s eyes were blazing.

“What are the girl’s wishes?” Arnau asked Felip de Ponts.

“I am a knight of King Pedro,” the other man replied, “and his laws, the exact same ones that have brought you here today, take no account of the wishes of a woman of marrying age.” A mutter of approval ran through the ranks of the host. “I, Felip de Ponts, a Catalan knight, am offering my hand in marriage. If you, Arnau Estanyol, baron of Catalonia and consul of the sea, do not consent to the marriage, then take me prisoner and judge me. But if you do consent, then the girl’s wishes are of little importance.”

“This is not about her wishes, Arnau,” Joan insisted, lowering his voice. “It’s about your duty. Fulfill it. Nobody asks their daughters’ or their wards’ opinion. The decision as to what is best for them is taken on their behalf. This man has lain with Mar. What she wishes does not really matter now. Either she marries him or her life will be hell. You are the one to decide, Arnau: another senseless death, or the divine solution to our lack of care.”

Arnau turned to his companions. He saw Guillem still staring at the knight, bristling with hatred. He saw Eleonor, the wife the king had forced on him. They met each other’s gaze. Arnau gestured to her for her opinion. Eleonor nodded. Arnau turned back to Joan.

“It’s the law,” Joan insisted.

Arnau looked at the knight, then at the army. They had all lowered their weapons. None of the three thousand men seemed to dismiss Felip de Ponts’s arguments: none of them wanted war. They were all waiting for Arnau’s decision. Such was the law of Catalonia, the law regarding women. What was to be gained by fighting, killing the knight, and freeing Mar? What would her life be like now that she had been abducted and raped? Would she spend it in a convent?

“I give my consent.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then, as Arnau’s decision spread through them, a murmur rose from the ranks of soldiers. Someone shouted his approval. Another man agreed. Several more joined in, until the entire host acclaimed it.

Joan and Eleonor glanced at each other.

A hundred yards away, locked in the tower of Felip de Ponts’s farmhouse, the woman whose future had just been decided was watching the army massed at the foot of the hill outside. Why did they not charge up it? Why did they not attack? What could they be discussing with that wretch? What were they shouting?

“Arnau? What are your men shouting?”

I
T WAS THE shouts from the host that convinced Guillem that what he had heard was true: “I consent.” He clenched his teeth. Somebody clapped him on the back and joined in the shouting. “I consent.” Guillem stared at Arnau and then at the knight. His face seemed relaxed. What could a mere slave like him do? He looked again at Felip de Ponts: now he was smiling. “I have lain with Mar Estanyol ...” That was what he had said: “I have lain with Mar Estanyol!” How could Arnau ... ?

Someone thrust a wineskin at him. Guillem pushed it away.

“Don’t you drink, Christian?” he heard someone ask.

He caught Arnau’s eye. The city councillors were congratulating Felip de Ponts, who was still on his steed. All around him, soldiers were drinking and laughing.

“Don’t you drink, Christian?” he heard again behind him.

Guillem pushed the man off and looked in Arnau’s direction once more. The councillors were congratulating him as well. Despite being surrounded, Arnau met Guillem’s gaze.

Then the crowd, with Joan among them, forced Arnau to head up the hill to the farmhouse. Arnau was still looking back at Guillem.

The entire
host
was celebrating the agreement reached. Some soldiers had lit campfires and sat around them singing.

“Drink to our consul and the happiness of his daughter,” said another man, again offering him a wineskin.

Arnau had disappeared on the track up to the house.

Guillem pushed the wineskin away again.

“Are you refusing to drink to ... ?”

Guillem stared the man in the eye, then turned his back on him and set off walking in the direction of Barcelona. Gradually the noise of the
host
faded in the distance. Guillem found himself alone on the road back to the city. He walked along, dragging his feet ... dragging along with him his feelings, and what little pride as a man he could still feel as a mere slave. All this he dragged along with him back to Barcelona.

Arnau refused the cheese that the trembling old woman who looked after Felip de Ponts’s farmhouse offered him. Aldermen and councillors had all crowded into the large room above the stables, where the big stone hearth stood. Arnau looked in vain for Guillem among the crowd of people. Everyone was talking and laughing, calling out to the old woman for her to serve them cheese and wine. Joan and Eleonor stayed close to the hearth; whenever Arnau looked in their direction, they glanced away.