Cathedral of the Sea (49 page)

A command rent the air.

The order to attack! The boulders! Arnau got ready to sprint toward them, but felt the captain’s gloved hand holding him back.

“Not yet,” said the officer.

“But ...”

“Not yet,” the captain repeated. “Look.”

He pointed toward the Almogavars.

From among their ranks, another cry went up: “Awake, iron!”

Arnau could not take his eyes off them. Suddenly, all of them took up the cry: “Awake, iron!”

At this, all the Almogavars beat their spears and knives together until the sound drowned out their voices.

“Awake, iron!”

Their steel weapons did start to awaken, sending out showers of sparks as the blades clashed against one another or on rocks. The thunderous noise deafened Arnau. Bit by bit, hundreds and then thousands of sparks flashed in the dark, and the mercenaries were soon surrounded by a halo of bright light.

Arnau found himself waving his crossbow in the air and shouting with them: “Awake, iron!” He was no longer sweating or trembling. “Awake, iron!”

He glanced up at the castle walls: it seemed as if the Almogavars’ battle cry would bring them tumbling down. The ground was shaking, and the bright glow from the sparks grew and grew. All of a sudden, there was the sound of a trumpet, and the shouting changed into a mighty roar: “Sant Jordi! Sant Jordi!”

“Now you can go,” shouted the captain, pushing Arnau forward in the wake of about two hundred men who were charging ferociously up the castle mound.

Arnau ran to seek cover behind the boulders alongside the captain and a company of crossbow men. He concentrated on one of the scaling ladders the Almogavars had placed against the wall, trying to aim at the figures who were fighting off the mercenaries from the top of the battlements. The Almogavars were still shrieking like madmen. Arnau’s aim was true: he twice saw his bolts strike defenders below their chain-mail protection, and the bodies fall back.

As one group of attackers managed to scale the castle walls, Arnau felt the captain’s hand on his shoulder, telling him to stop firing. There was no need to use the battering ram: as soon as the Almogavars had appeared on the battlements, the castle gates opened and several knights galloped out to avoid being taken hostage. Two of them fell to the Catalan crossbow fire; the others succeeded in escaping. Deserted by their leaders, some of the castle defenders started to surrender. Eiximèn d’Esparca and his cavalry forced their way into the castle and laid about them, killing anyone who resisted. The foot soldiers poured in after them.

After he had rushed inside the castle, Arnau came to a halt, crossbow over his shoulder, dagger in hand. It was not needed. The castle yard was strewn with the dead, and those still alive were on their knees, unarmed, begging for mercy from the knights who strode around, broadswords at the ready. The Almogavars were already plundering the castle’s riches: some had entered the castle keep; others were stripping the bodies with a greed that Arnau could not bear to watch. One of them came up and offered him a handful of crossbow bolts. Some of them had missed their aim, but others were stained with blood, and a few still had lumps of flesh caught on them. Arnau hesitated. The Almogavar, an older man who was as tough and wiry as the bolts he was holding out, was surprised at Arnau’s reaction. Then he smiled a toothless smile and offered them to another soldier.

“What are you doing?” the soldier asked Arnau. “Do you think Eiximèn is going to replace your bolts for you? Clean these off,” he said, throwing them at Arnau’s feet.

In a few hours it was all over. The surviving men were shepherded together and manacled. That same night they would be sold as slaves in the camp that followed the Catalan army. Eiximèn d’Esparca’s men set off again to regain the main army. They took their wounded with them, leaving behind seventeen Catalan dead and a blazing fortress that would no longer be of any use to King Jaime the Third and his allies.

E
IXIMÈN D’ESPARCA AND his men caught up with the royal army near the town of Elna the Proud, barely two leagues from Perpignan. The king decided to make camp there for the night. He received the visit of yet another bishop, who once again tried unsuccessfully to mediate on behalf of Jaime of Mallorca.

Although King Pedro had not objected to Eiximèn d’Esparca and his Almogavars taking Bellaguarda castle, he did try to prevent another group of knights from overrunning the tower of Nidoleres on the way to Elna. He arrived too late: by the time he got there, the knights had already taken it, killed all its inhabitants, and set fire to everything.

Nobody, however, dared go near Elna or threaten the people living there. The entire royal army gathered round their campfires and stared at the lights of the town. In open defiance of the Catalan army, its gates were left wide open.

“Why ... ,” Arnau started to ask, seated at one of the fires.

“Why is it called Elna the Proud?” one of the veterans interrupted him.

“Yes ... and why are we showing it so much respect? Why don’t they even bother to shut the gates?”

The soldier stared at the city for a while long before answering.

“Elna the Proud weighs on our consciences ... as Catalans,” he explained. “They know we won’t dare touch them.” With that, he fell silent. Arnau had learned to respect the experienced soldiers’ ways. He knew that if he hurried him, the man would look down on him and refuse to say anything more. All the veterans liked to take their time telling their stories and reminiscences, whether they were true or false, had actually happened or not. And they liked to build up the suspense. In his own good time, the soldier continued his explanation: “In the war against the French, when Elna was our possession, Pedro the Great promised to defend it. He sent a detachment of Catalan knights to do so. But they betrayed the town, fleeing at night and leaving it at the enemy’s mercy.” The veteran spat into the fire. “The French profaned the churches, killed the children by beating their heads against the walls, raped the women, and executed all the men ... all except one. That’s why the massacre at Elna is on our consciences. No Catalan would dare touch the town.”

Arnau looked again at the open gates of Elna the Proud. Then, as he gazed at the campfires of the Catalan forces, he could see that men round each of them were also staring down at Elna in silence.

“Whose life did they spare?” he asked, breaking his own rules about not being impatient.

The veteran studied him through the flames.

“A man called Bastard de Rosselló.” This time, Arnau waited for him to go on. “Years later, that same man guided the French troops through the La Macana pass to invade Catalonia.”

THE ARMY SLEPT in the shadow of the town of Elna.

A short way from them, the camp of hundreds of followers also slept. Francesca gazed at Aledis. Was this the right place? Elna’s history had been told in this camp too, and an unusual silence reigned. Francesca had found herself looking time and again at the town’s open gates. Yes, they were in inhospitable territory; no Catalan would ever be well received in Elna or the surrounding area. Aledis was a long way from home. All it needed was for her to feel she was completely alone.

“Your Arnau is dead,” Francesca told her straightaway after she had sent for her.

Aledis crumpled before her eyes: Francesca could see her visibly shrink inside her green robe. Aledis raised her hands to her face, and the strange silence was broken by the sound of her sobbing.

“How ... how did it happen?” she asked after a while.

“You lied to me,” was all Francesca said coldly.

Shaking and with eyes brimming with tears, Aledis gazed at the older woman and then looked down.

“You lied to me,” Francesca repeated. Aledis said nothing. “You want to know how it happened? Your husband—the real one—the tanner, killed him.”

Pau? That was impossible. Aledis looked up. It was impossible that an old man like him ...

“He turned up at the royal camp and accused Arnau of abducting you,” Francesca went on, disturbing Aledis’s thoughts. She wanted to observe her reactions, especially as Arnau had told her she was afraid of her husband. “He denied it, and your husband challenged him.” Aledis tried to interrupt—how could Pau challenge anyone? “He paid a captain to fight on his behalf,” Francesca insisted, forcing Aledis to remain quiet. “Didn’t you know? When someone is too old to fight, he can pay somebody else to do it for him. Your Arnau died defending your honor.”

Aledis grew desperate. Francesca could see her whole body quake. Her legs gradually gave way, and she sank to her knees on the ground in front of the older woman. Francesca was ruthless.

“I’ve heard that your husband is looking for you.”

Aledis covered her face with her hands again.

“You’ll have to leave us. Antonia will give you your old clothes back.”

That was what she had been after: the look of fear and panic on Aledis’s face!

A host of questions flooded Aledis’s mind. What could she do? Where could she go? Barcelona was at the far end of the earth, and besides, what did she have left there? Arnau was dead! The journey from Barcelona to Figueres flashed through her mind, and she felt all the horror, humiliation, and shame in her every bone. And now Pau was looking for her!

“No ... ,” Aledis stammered out, “I couldn’t do that!”

“I don’t need other people’s problems,” Francesca told her.

“Protect me!” Aledis begged her. “I’ve nowhere to go. I have no one to turn to.”

She was sobbing out loud, still on her knees in front of Francesca. She did not dare look up.

“I can’t. You’re pregnant.”

“That was a lie too,” wailed the girl.

She crawled over to Francesca’s legs. Francesca did not move.

“What would you do in return?”

“Whatever you wish!” Aledis cried. Francesca hid her smile. That was the promise she had been waiting for. How often had she wrung a similar one out of girls like Aledis? “Whatever you wish,” Aledis said again. “Protect me, hide me from my husband, and I’ll do whatever you wish.”

“You know what we are,” the other woman insisted.

What did that matter? Arnau was dead. She had nothing. She had no one left ... apart from a husband who would stone her if he found her.

“Please, I beg you, hide me. I’ll do whatever you want!”

FRANCESCA ORDERED ALEDIS not to go with any of the soldiers; Arnau was well-known in the royal army.

“You’re to work in secret,” she told her the next day, as they prepared to move on. “I wouldn’t want your husband ...” Aledis agreed before she had even finished. “You mustn’t let yourself be seen until the war is over.” Aledis nodded again.

That same night, Francesca sent Arnau a message: “It’s all arranged. She won’t bother you anymore.”