“Guillem,” said Arnau, “this is Father Juli Andreu. He has replaced Father Albert.”
Guillem nodded awkwardly to the priest. “More loans,” he thought.
“It’s not what you might imagine,” Arnau told him. Guillem felt the bills of exchange in his pocket and smiled. What did he care? Arnau was a rich man. He smiled again, but Arnau misinterpreted his smile. “It’s even worse,” he said seriously.
“What could be worse than lending to the Church?” the Moor almost asked, but thought better of it, and greeted the guild alderman instead.
“We have a problem,” Arnau concluded.
The three men sat gazing at the Moor for a few moments. “Only if Guillem accepts,” Arnau had insisted, ignoring the reference the priest had made to his being only a slave.
“Have I ever told you about Ramon?” Guillem shook his head. “He was a very important person in my life. He helped ... he helped me a lot.” Guillem was still standing next to them, as befitted a slave. “He and his wife died of the plague, and the guild cannot continue to look after his daughter. We’ve been talking ... They’ve asked me ...”
“Why do you want my opinion, Master?”
When he heard this, Father Juli Andreu turned and looked triumphantly at Arnau.
“The Pia Almoina and the Casa de la Caritat can’t cope anymore,” Arnau went on. “They can’t even hand out bread, wine, and stew to beggars every day as they used to. The plague has hit them badly too.”
“What is it that you want, Master?”
“They are suggesting I adopt her.”
Guillem felt for the bills of exchange once more. “You could adopt twenty children if you wished,” he thought.
“If that is your desire,” was all he said.
“I don’t know anything about children,” Arnau objected.
“All you have to do is give them affection and a home,” said Sebastia. “You have the home ... and it seems to me you have more than enough affection.”
“Will you help me?” Arnau asked Guillem, ignoring Sebastia.
“I’ll obey you in whatever way you wish.”
“I don’t want obedience. I want... I’m asking for your help.”
“Your words do me honor. I will willingly help you,” Guillem promised. “In whatever you need.”
THE GIRL WAS eight years old and was called Mar, like Arnau’s Virgin. In little more than three months, she recovered from the shock of losing her parents to the plague. From then on, it was not the clinking of coins or the scratching of pens on vellum that could be heard in the house: it was laughter and the sound of running feet. At their places behind the table, Arnau and Guillem would scold her whenever she managed to escape from the slave Guillem had bought to look after her and run into the countinghouse, but as soon as she had gone, both men always smiled at each other.
Arnau had been angry when Donaha the slave first appeared.
“I don’t want any more slaves!” he shouted, cutting across Guillem’s arguments.
At that the thin, filthy girl dressed only in rags had burst into tears.
“Where would she be better off than here?” Guillem asked Arnau. “If you’re really so against it, set her free, but she will only sell herself to someone else. She has to eat... and we need a woman to look after the child.”
The girl clung to Arnau’s knees. He tried to struggle free.
“Do you know how much she must have suffered?” Guillem said, his eyes narrowing. “If you reject her ...”
In spite of himself, Arnau agreed to take her on.
As well as employing the girl, Guillem found the answer to the problem of the fortune they had gained from the sale of the other slaves. After he had paid Hasdai as the sellers’ agent in Barcelona, he gave all the remaining profits to a Jew whom Hasdai trusted who happened to be in Barcelona at the time.
Abraham Levi arrived one morning at the countinghouse. He was a tall, gaunt man with a scrawny white beard, wearing a black coat and the yellow badge. He greeted Guillem, who presented him to Arnau. Then he sat opposite Arnau and gave him a bill of exchange for the total of the profits.
“I want to deposit this amount with you, Messire Arnau,” he said.
Arnau’s eyes opened wide when he saw how much was involved, and he quickly passed the document to Guillem for him to read.
“But... ,” he started to say, while Guillem feigned surprise at what he was reading, “this is a lot of money. Why do you want to deposit it with me, and not someone of your own...”
“... faith?” said the Jew. “I’ve always trusted Sahat. I don’t think his change of name,” he went on, glancing at the Moor, “will have affected his judgment. I’m going on a journey, a very long one, and I want you and Sahat to put my money to work.”
“For depositing a sum this large, we will immediately owe you a quarter, isn’t that right, Guillem?” The Moor nodded. “But how can we pay you your profit if you’re about to leave on such a long journey? How can we keep in touch with you... ?”
“Why all this fuss?” Guillem wondered. He had not given the Jew precise instructions, but Levi was more than capable of coping.
