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?”
45
IT 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.
A sudden whisper in the crowd made him switch his attention to the far end of the room.
Mar had come in, on Felip de Ponts’s arm. Arnau saw her pull herself free and come running over to him. She was smiling. She threw her arms open, but instead of embracing him, she suddenly stopped and let them fall by her sides.
Arnau thought he could see a bruise on her cheek.
“What is going on, Arnau?”
Arnau turned to Joan for help, but his brother was still looking down at the floor. Everyone in the room was waiting for him to speak.
“The knight Felip de Ponts has invoked the usatge: Si quis virginem ...,” he muttered at length.
Mar did not move. A tear started to roll down her cheek. Arnau lifted his hand to brush it away, then thought better of it, and the teardrop slid down Mar’s neck.
“Your father ...,” Felip de Ponts began to say from behind them, before Arnau could silence him, “the consul of the sea, has consented to your marriage before the entire host of Barcelona.” He rushed through the words before Arnau could stop him ... or change his mind.
“Is this true?” asked Mar.
“The only thing that’s true is that I would like to hold you ... kiss you ... have you with me always. Is that what a father should feel?” Arnau thought.
“Yes, Mar.”
No more tears appeared in Mar’s eyes. When Felip de Ponts came up and took her arm again, she did not object. Somebody behind Arnau gave a cheer, and all the others joined in. Arnau and Mar were still staring at each other. When a shout of congratulation to the bride and groom rang out, Arnau felt as if he was drowning. Now it was his cheeks that were streaming with tears. Perhaps his brother was right; perhaps Joan had understood what he himself had been unable to see. He had sworn to the Virgin that he would never again be unfaithful to a wife, even if that wife was not of his choosing, out of love for another woman.
“Father?” Mar beseeched him, reaching out her hand to dry his tears.
Arnau’s whole body shook when he felt her fingers on his face. He turned on his heel and fled.
At that moment, out on the lonely, dark road back to the city of Barcelona, a slave raised his eyes to the heavens and heard the ghastly cry of pain issuing from the throat of the girl he had loved and looked after as his own child. He was born a slave and had lived all his life as one. He had learned to love in silence and to stifle his emotions. A slave was not an ordinary man, which was why in his solitude—the only place where no one could restrict his freedom—he had learned to see much farther than all those whose souls were clouded by life. He had seen the love they had for each other, and had prayed to his twin gods that the two he loved most in the world would seize the chance and free themselves from the chains that bound them far tighter than those a slave had to endure.