Although he had fulfilled the promises made to Eleonor, he also made sure that the guarantees he had given her were respected, so that his dealings with her were reduced to an absolute minimum. Mar meanwhile was a wonderful twenty-year-old who still refused to be married. “Why should I when I have Arnau? What would he do without me? Who would take his shoes off? Who would look after him when he gets back from work? Who would talk to him and listen to his problems? Eleonor? Joan, who’s more and more devoted to his studies? The slaves? Or Guillem, whom he spends most of the day with anyway?” she reasoned to herself.
Every day, Mar waited impatiently for Arnau to return home. Her breathing quickened whenever she heard him knocking at the door in the gate, and the smile returned to her lips as she ran to greet him at the top of the staircase that led up to the principal rooms of the palace. When Arnau was out during the day, her life was both boring and a torture.
“Not partridge!” she heard the shout from the kitchens. “Today we are going to eat veal.”
Mar turned to confront the baroness, who was standing in the kitchen doorway. Arnau liked partridge. She had gone with Donaha to buy them. She chose them herself, hung them from a rack in the kitchen, and checked on them each day. When she decided they had hung long enough, she went down early in the morning to pluck them.
“But... ,” Mar tried to object.
“Veal,” Eleonor insisted, glaring at her.
Mar turned to look at Donaha, but the slave merely gave a slight shrug of her shoulders.
“I decide what is eaten in this house,” the baroness went on, addressing all the slaves in the kitchen. “I say what happens here!”
With that, she turned on her heel and left.
Eleonor waited to see what would happen following this explosion. Would the girl turn to Arnau, or keep their argument secret? Mar also thought it over. Should she tell Arnau? What would she gain by that? If Arnau took her side, he would argue with Eleonor, who when it came down to it was mistress of the house. And if he didn’t support Mar? Her stomach churned. Arnau had once said that he could not afford to offend the king. What if Eleonor complained to the sovereign over this? What would Arnau say then?
By the end of the day, when Arnau had still not said a word to her, Eleonor smiled scornfully at Mar. From then on, she stepped up her attack on the girl. She forbade her to go with the slaves to the markets, or to go into the kitchens. She put slaves on the door of whichever room she was in. “The lady baroness does not wish to be disturbed,” they would tell Mar if she tried to enter. Day after day, Eleonor found new ways of making her life difficult.
The king. They had to avoid offending the king. Those words were engraved in Mar’s memory; she repeated them to herself time and again. Eleonor was still his ward; she could go and see him whenever she wished. She was not going to be the one who gave Eleonor that excuse!
She could not have been more wrong. Eleonor took little satisfaction from these domestic disputes. All her tiny victories were as nothing when Arnau came home and Mar flung herself in his arms. The two of them laughed, talked together ... their bodies touched. Sitting in an armchair, Arnau would tell her all that had happened during the day: the discussions at the exchange, his business deals, his ships, while Mar kneeled at his feet, entranced by his stories. Wasn’t that the place of his legitimate spouse? At night after dinner he would sit in one of the window openings with Mar in his arms, staring up at the starry sky. Behind them, Eleonor would dig the nails into her hands until they began to bleed; the pain would eventually make her get up and withdraw to her own apartments.
All alone, she considered her situation. Arnau had not touched her since their marriage. She stroked her body, ran her hands over her breasts... they were still firm! Then her hips, and between her legs... As pleasure began to surge through her, she was jolted back to reality: that girl... that girl had taken her rightful place!
“WHA’T WILL HAPPEN when my husband dies?”
She asked the man straight-out, as soon as she had taken a seat at his book-laden table. She could not help coughing; the chamber was full of books, papers, and dust ...
Reginald d’Area studied his visitor unhurriedly. Eleonor had been told he was the best lawyer in Barcelona, an expert interpreter of the Customs and Usages of Catalonia.
“I understand you have no children with your husband? Is that right?” Eleonor frowned. “I need to know,” he said placidly. Everything about him, from his plump frame and friendly expression to his white flowing hair and beard, inspired confidence.
“No, I haven’t had any.”
“I imagine your inquiry concerns the inheritance?”
Eleonor stirred uneasily in her chair.
“Yes,” she said at length.
“Your dowry will be returned to you. As far as your husband’s own inheritance is concerned, he can dispose of it as he wishes in his will.”
“Do I get nothing as of right?”
“You may have use of his goods and properties for a year, the year of strict mourning.”
“Is that all?”
Reginald d’Area was taken aback by her violent retort. Who did she think she was?
“You can thank your guardian King Pedro for that,” he said dryly.
“What do you mean?”
“Until your guardian came to the throne there was a law in Catalonia laid down by King Jaime the First by which the widow could enjoy the whole of her husband’s inheritance for life, if she did not misuse it. But the merchants of Barcelona and Perpignan are very jealous of their wealth, even when their wives are involved. It was they who won the concession from Pedro the Third that widows should have access to the inheritance for a year. And your guardian has made this provision into a law throughout the entire principality ...”
Eleonor was not listening, and got up even before the lawyer had finished speaking. She started coughing again and surveyed his chamber. Why did he need so many books? Reginald stood up as well.
“If you need anything else ...”
Still with her back to him, Eleonor merely raised her hand.
One thing was clear: she needed a child from her husband to secure her future. Arnau had kept his word, and Eleonor had been able to enjoy a very different kind of life: one of luxury, which she had seen while she lived at court, but had been unable to enjoy for herself because of all the royal treasurers’ petty regulations. Now she could spend as much as she wanted; she had all she could wish for. But if Arnau were to die ... And the only thing that stood in her way, the only thing keeping him from her, was that voluptuous young witch. If that witch were not there ... if she disappeared ... Arnau would be hers! Surely she would be capable of seducing a runaway serf.
A FEW DAYS later, Eleonor summoned the friar to her apartments. He was the only one among the Estanyol family with whom she had any dealings.
“I don’t believe it!” said Joan.
“But it’s true, Brother Joan,” said Eleonor, face buried in her hands. “He has not even touched me since we were married.”
Joan knew that Arnau had no love for Eleonor and that they slept in different chambers. That was unimportant: nobody married for love, and most nobles slept apart. But if Arnau had not ever lain with Eleonor, they were not properly married.
“Have you spoken to him about it?” he asked.
Eleonor moved her hands from her face, making sure that Joan got a good view of her reddened eyes.
“I do not dare. I would not know what to say. Besides, I think ...” Eleonor let her suspicions float on the air.
“What do you think?”
“I think Arnau is much closer to Mar than to his own wife.”