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 Rossello.” 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?”
