Ten Jews for ten thousand shillings. “Perhaps that’s the price of a man,” thought Arnau.
“Forty thousand, and no culprits.”
“No.”
“I’ll appeal to the king.”
“You know that the king has enough problems with the war against Castille without looking for more with his son. That was why he named him his lieutenant.”
“Forty-five thousand, but no one guilty.”
“No, Arnau, no ...”
“Ask him!” Arnau exploded. “I beg you,” he added apologetically.
WHEN HE WAS still several yards from it, Arnau was hit by the stench from the synagogue. The streets of the Jewry looked still more wretched than before: furniture and possessions were strewn everywhere. From inside the houses came the sounds of the friars demolishing walls and floors in their search for the body of Christ. When Arnau saw Hasdai, he had to struggle to keep his composure. Hasdai was accompanied by two rabbis and two leaders of the community. Arnau’s eyes were stinging. Could it be from the acid fumes of urine coming from inside the synagogue, or simply because of the news he had to give them?
For a few moments, to a background noise of groans and wails, Arnau watched as the others tried to get fresh air into their lungs: what could it be like inside? All of them cast anxious glances at the streets around them; for a while they seemed to hold their breath.
“They want culprits,” Arnau told him when the five men had recovered. “We started with fifteen. Now it’s down to five, and I hope that—”
“We can’t wait, Arnau Estanyol,” one of the rabbis interrupted him. “One old man has died today; he was sick, and our doctors could do nothing for him, not even moisten his lips. And we are not allowed to bury him. Do you know what that means?” Arnau nodded. “Tomorrow, the stink of his decomposing body will be added to—”
“Inside the synagogue,” Hasdai said, “we have no room to move. No one ... no one can even get up to relieve themselves. The nursing mothers have no more milk: they have suckled their own babies and tried to feed the other infants. If we have to wait many more days, five culprits will be nothing.”
“Plus forty-five thousand shillings,” Arnau pointed out.
“What do we care about money when we could all die?” the other rabbi added.
“Well?” asked Arnau.
“You have to try, Arnau,” Hasdai begged him.
Ten thousand more shillings speeded up the infante’s reply ... or perhaps he never even got the message. Arnau was summoned the next morning. Three culprits.
“They are men!” Arnau said accusingly to the magistrate.
“They are Jews, Arnau. Only Jews. Heretics who belong to the crown. Without the king’s favor they would already be dead, and the king has decided that three of them have to pay for the profanation of the host. The people demand it.”
“Since when has the king been so concerned about his people?” thought Arnau.
“Besides,” the magistrate insisted, “it will mean that our seafarers’ problems are solved.”
The old man’s body, the mothers’ dried-up breasts, the weeping children, the wailing and the stench: Arnau nodded in agreement. The magistrate leaned back in his chair.
“On two conditions,” said Arnau, forcing him to listen closely once more. “First, the Jews themselves must choose the guilty men.” The magistrate nodded. “And secondly, the agreement has to be ratified by the bishop, who must promise to calm the faithful.”
“I’ve already done that, Arnau. Do you think I want to see another massacre of Jews?”
THE PROCESSION LEFT the Jewry. All the doors and windows were shut, and apart from the piles of furniture, the streets seemed deserted. The silence inside the Jewry was in stark contrast to the hubbub outside, where a crowd had gathered around the bishop, standing there with his gold vestments gleaming in the Mediterranean sunlight, and with the countless priests and black friars lining Calle de la Boqueria, separated from the people by two lines of the king’s soldiers.
When three figures appeared at the gates of the Jewish quarter, a loud shout rent the air. The crowd raised their fists, and their insults mingled with the sound of swords being drawn as the soldiers prepared to defend the members of the procession. Shackled hand and foot, the three men were brought in between the two lines of black friars. Then, with the bishop of Barcelona at its head, the group set off down the street. The presence of the soldiers and the friars was not enough to prevent the mob from throwing stones and spitting at the three men being slowly dragged past them.
Arnau was in Santa Maria, praying. It was he who had taken the infante’s final decision to the synagogue, where he had been met by Hasdai, the rabbis, and the community leaders.
“Three culprits,” he said, trying to meet their gazes, “and you can ... you can choose them yourselves.”
None of them said a word. They merely stared at the streets of the Jewish quarter and let the cries and laments from inside the synagogue guide their thoughts. Arnau did not have the heart to negotiate any further, but told the magistrate as he left the Jewry: “Three innocent men ... because you and I know that this idea of the profanation of Christ’s body is false.”
Arnau began to hear the uproar from the crowd as he approached Calle de la Mar. The hubbub filled Santa Maria; it filtered in through the gaps in the unfinished doors, it climbed the wooden scaffolding surrounding the unfinished structures as rapidly as any workman, and filled the vaults of the new church. Three innocent men! How did they choose them? Did the rabbis make the choice, or did they come forward voluntarily? Arnau remembered Hasdai’s expression as he looked out at the devastated streets of the Jewry. What had been in his eyes? Resignation? Or had it been the look of someone ... saying good-bye? Arnau trembled; his legs almost gave way, and he had to cling to the prayer stool. The procession was drawing near to Santa Maria. The noise was getting louder and louder. Arnau stood up and looked toward the door that gave onto Plaza Santa Maria. The procession would soon be there. He stayed inside the church, staring out at the square, until the shouts and insults became a reality.
He ran to the church door. Nobody heard his cry. Nobody saw him in tears. Nobody saw him fall to his knees when he caught sight of Hasdai being dragged along in chains with curses, stones, and spit raining down on him. As Hasdai went past Santa Maria, he looked straight at the man who was on his knees beating the ground in despair. Arnau did not see him, and continued flailing at the beaten earth until the sad procession had disappeared and the earth was turning red from his bleeding fists. Someone knelt in front of him and gently took his hands.
“My father wouldn’t want you to harm yourself for him,” said Raquel. Arnau glanced up at her.
“They’re going ... they’re going to kill him.”
“Yes.”
Arnau searched the face of this girl who had grown into a woman. Many years ago, he had hidden her underneath this very church. Raquel was not crying, and although it was very dangerous, she was wearing her Jewish costume and the yellow badge.
“We have to be strong,” said the girl he remembered.
“Why, Raquel? Why him?”
“For me. For Jucef. For my children and Jucef’s children, and for our grandchildren. For all the Jews of Barcelona. He said he was already old, that he had lived enough.”
With Raquel’s help, Arnau got to his feet. They followed the noise of the crowd.
The three men were burned alive. They were tied to stakes on the top of bonfires of twigs and branches, which were set alight while the Christians were still baying for revenge. As the flames enveloped his body, Hasdai looked up to the heavens. Now it was Raquel’s turn to burst into tears; she hugged Arnau and buried her face in his chest.