settled Arnau on a pallet he made from his sack and some dry twigs, and fed him again. This time, the infant took the food gladly, and then fell into a deep sleep. Before he could eat more than a mouthful of meat, Bernat did the same. They would be safe from Llorenc de Bellera here, he thought as he closed his eyes and matched his breathing to that of his sleeping son.
No SOONER HAD the master blacksmith told him of the discovery of his apprentice’s dead body in a pool of blood, than Llorenc de Bellera galloped out of the castle with his men. Arnau’s disappearance and the fact that his father had been seen in the castle pointed directly toward Bernat. Now de Bellera sat astride his horse in the Estanyol farmhouse yard, and smiled when his soldiers informed him that to judge by the disorder inside, it seemed Bernat had fled and taken his son with him.
“You were fortunate when your father died,” he growled, “but now all this will be mine! Go and find him!” he shouted to his men. Then he turned to his steward and commanded: “Draw up a list of all the goods, chattels, and animals on this property. Make sure it’s all there, down to the last grain of corn. Then join the search for Estanyol.”
Several days later, the steward appeared before his lord in the castle keep.
“We’ve searched all the other farmhouses, the woods, and the fields. There is no sign of Estanyol. He must have gone to hide in a town, perhaps in Manresa or—”
With a wave of his hand, Llorenc de Bellera silenced him.
“We will find him. Inform the other barons and our agents in the towns. Tell them one of my serfs has escaped and is to be arrested.” At that moment, Dona Caterina and Francesca appeared. De Bellera’s son Jaume was in Francesca’s arms. When de Bellera saw her, his face fell: she was of no use to him anymore. “My lady,” he said to his wife, “I cannot understand how you permit a strumpet like this to give suck to a son of mine.” Dona Caterina gave a start. “Did you not know that your wet nurse is the whore of all the soldiers in the castle?”
Dona Caterina seized her son from Francesca.
When Francesca learned that Bernat had fled with Arnau, she wondered what could have become of her son. The Estanyol family lands and properties had all passed into the hands of the lord of Navarcles. She had no one to turn to for help, and all the while the soldiers continued to take advantage of her. A crust of dry bread, a rotten vegetable or two—that was the price of her body.
None of the many peasant farmers who visited the castle even deigned to glance at her. If she tried to draw near them, they chased her away. After her mother had publicly disowned her outside the castle bakery, she did not dare return to her family home. She was forced to remain close to the castle, one of the army of beggars fighting over the scraps left by the walls. It seemed her fate was to be passed from one man to the next, and her only nourishment was whatever leftovers the soldier who had chosen her that day cared to give her.
The month of October arrived. Bernat had already seen his son smile, and crawl around the cave and the ground outside. But their provisions had almost run out, and winter was approaching fast. It was time for them to leave.
4
THE CITY LAY spread at his feet. “Look, Arnau,” Bernat said to his son, who was sleeping peacefully strapped to his chest. “There’s Barcelona. We’ll be free there.”
Ever since fleeing with Arnau, Bernat had been unable to get the city out of his mind. It was the one great hope all the serfs had. Bernat had heard them talk about it when they were forced to go and work on their lord’s land, to repair his castle walls or perform any other of the services he demanded. When he heard them whispering carefully so as not to be overheard by the steward or soldiers, Bernat had been merely curious. He was happy working on his farm, and would never have abandoned his father, or fled with him. Yet now, he had lost his lands, and as he’d watched his son asleep inside the Estanyol cave, what the others had said had come back to haunt him.
“If anyone manages to live in Barcelona for a year and a day without being arrested by the lord,” he remembered someone saying, “they can acquire the status of residents, and become freemen.” All the other serfs had fallen silent. Bernat had looked at them: some had closed their eyes and clenched their teeth; others were shaking their heads in disbelief; still others were smiling up at the sky, dreaming of breaking the chains that tied them to the land.
“So all you have to do is live in the city?” asked one of the youngsters who had been staring skyward. “Why can people become freemen by living in Barcelona?”
The eldest serf confirmed what had been said: “Yes, you need only to live in Barcelona for a year and a day.”
Eyes shining, the young lad urged him to explain further.
“Barcelona is a very rich city. For many years now, from the days of Jaime the Conqueror to those of Pedro the Great, all our kings have asked it for money to wage war, or for their courts. The citizens of Barcelona granted them the money, but in return won special privileges. One day when he was at war with Sicily, Pedro the Great himself had them all written down in a charter ...” The old man hesitated.
The next day, the youth did not appear on the lord of Navarcles’s lands. Nor the day after. His father was there, but he did not say a word. Then, three months later, the youth was dragged back in chains, with the threat of the whip at his back; even so, all the other serfs thought they could see a gleam of pride in his eyes.
From the summit of the Sierra de Collserola, on the old Roman road between Ampurias and Tarragona, Bernat gazed down at freedom ... and the sea! He had never even imagined, let alone set eyes on, that huge, seemingly endless expanse. He had heard from traders that Catalonia was the master of lands beyond the waves, but ... this was the very first time he had been confronted with something he could not see the far end of. “Beyond that mountain. After you cross that river ...” He had always been able to point to the spot in the distance that a stranger was asking him about. Now he scanned the horizon line, standing silently as he took it all in, gently caressing the unruly curls that had grown on Arnau’s head since they had been in hiding.
Then he turned his attention to the land by the shore. He could see five ships close in, near the island of Maians. This was another novelty: until that day, Bernat had seen only drawings of ships. To his right, he saw the mountain of Montjuic, which also swept down to the sea, and was surrounded by fields and plains; then the city of Barcelona itself. From the low promontory of the Mons Taber in the center, hundreds of buildings spread out in all directions : low houses built one on top of another, but also magnificent palaces, churches, and monasteries ... Bernat wondered how many people lived there, because all of a sudden, the buildings came to an end: the city was like a beehive crammed inside walls, with open fields beyond. There were forty thousand people living there, Bernat recalled someone telling him.
“How is anyone going to find us amongst forty thousand people?” he mused, looking down at Arnau. “You’ll be
