When he and the children reached the old gate of Castell de Regomir, they broke into a run. Without giving any explanation, he prevented them from heading back to the Jewry.
Where could he hide children? Arnau led them down to Santa Maria. He came to a halt outside the main entrance. From where they stood, they could see inside the unfinished church.
“You’re not planning to take the children into a Christian church, are you?” the slave asked, panting for breath.
“No,” replied Arnau. “But very close to it.”
“Why didn’t you let us return home?” asked the young girl, who was obviously the eldest of the three and had recovered more quickly than the others from their escape.
Arnau felt his calf. The blood was pouring out.
“Because your homes are being attacked,” he told them. “They blame you for the plague. They say you poisoned the wells.” None of them said anything. “I’m sorry,” he added.
The Moorish slave was the first to react: “We can’t stay here,” he said, forcing Arnau to look up from his wound. “Do as you think best, but hide the children.”
“What about you?” asked Arnau.
“I have to find out what has happened to their families. How will I meet you again?”
“You won’t,” said Arnau, realizing he would not have the chance to show him how to get to the Roman cemetery. “I’ll come and find you. Go down to the beach at midnight, by the new fish stall.” The slave nodded. As they were about to separate, Arnau added: “If in three nights you haven’t appeared, I’ll presume you are dead.”
The Moor nodded again, and gazed at Arnau with his big black eyes.
“Thank you,” he said, before running off toward the Jewry.
The smallest child tried to follow him, but Arnau held him back by the shoulders.
THAT FIRST NIGHT, the Moor did not appear at the meeting point. Arnau waited more than an hour for him after midnight, listening to the distant sounds of disturbances in the Jewry and staring at the red glow that filled the sky. While he was waiting, he had time to think about everything that had happened on this insane day. He had three Jewish children hidden under the high altar of Santa Maria, beneath his own Virgin. The entrance to the cemetery that he and Joanet had discovered long ago was still the same as the last time they had been there. The stairs to Plaza del Born had not yet been completed, so that it was easy to get in under the wooden platform at the entrance, although they had to wait crouching outside for almost an hour, until the guards who were patrolling around the church had left.
The children followed him along the dark tunnel without a word of protest until Arnau told them where they were and warned them not to touch anything if they did not want an unpleasant surprise. At that, the three of them burst into tears, and Arnau had no idea how to respond. Maria would have known how to calm them.
“They’re only dead people,” he shouted. “And they didn’t die of the plague. What do you prefer: to be here, alive among the dead, or outside so that you can be killed?” The sobbing stopped. “I’m going out again now to fetch a candle, water, and some food. All right? Is that all right?” he repeated when they said nothing.
“All right,” he heard the girl reply.
“Let’s see. I’ve risked my life for you, and I’m going to risk it again if anybody discovers I am hiding three Jewish children under Santa Maria church. I’m not prepared to do so if when I get back here you’ve all run off. What do you say? Will you wait for me here, or do you want to go out into the streets again?”
“We’ll wait,” the girl said resolutely.
Arnau returned to an empty house. He washed and tried to tend his wound. He bound it up, filled his old wineskin with water, took a lantern and oil to fill it with, a loaf of dry bread and salt meat, and then limped back to Santa Maria.
The children had not moved from the end of the tunnel where he had left them. Arnau lit the lantern and found himself facing three fearful young deer too frightened to respond to his attempt to reassure them with a smile. The girl had her arms round the other two. All three were dark-skinned, with long, clean hair. They looked healthy and attractive, with gleaming white teeth, especially the girl.
“Are they your brothers?” Arnau asked her.
“We’re brother and sister,” she said eventually, pointing to the smaller of the other two. “He is a neighbor.”
“Well, I think that after all that’s happened and what’s still to come, we had better introduce ourselves. My name is Arnau.”
The girl did the honors: she was called Raquel, her brother was Jucef, and their neighbor’s name was Saul. Arnau asked them more questions by the light of the lantern, while every so often the children cast anxious glances toward the cemetery behind them. They were thirteen, six, and eleven years old. They had been born in Barcelona and lived with their parents in the Jewry. They had been going back there when the mob had attacked them. The slave, whom they had always called Sahat, belonged to Raquel and Jucef’s parents. If he had said he would go to the beach, he would do so; he had never failed them.
“Well,” said Arnau after listening to them, “I think it might be useful to have a look at where we are. It’s been a long time, more or less since I was your age, since I’ve been here—although I don’t think anybody has moved.” He was the only one to laugh. He held the lantern up and crawled to the center of the necropolis. The children remained rooted to the spot, terrified at the sight of the open tombs and skeletons. “This is the best I could think of,” he apologized when he saw their looks of terror. “I’m sure nobody will find you here while we wait for things to calm down outside—”
“What will happen if they kill our parents?” Raquel interrupted him.
“Don’t think of that. I’m sure nothing will happen to them. Look, come here to me. There’s a space with no tombs that’s big enough for all of us. Come on!” He gestured energetically for them to approach him.
In the end he succeeded, and the four of them gathered in a small space that allowed them to sit on the floor
