...
“Is there no one near here who could... ?”
The peasant anticipated the question. “Everyone is in the same situation, Your Honor. The children are dying.”
Arnau saw Mar raise a hand to her mouth.
“Show me your farm: your granary, the stables, your house and fields.”
“We can’t pay any more, Your Honor!”
The woman had fallen to her knees and was crawling over to where Arnau and Mar stood.
Arnau went over to her and took her by her skinny arms. She shrank beneath his touch.
“What ...”
The children began to cry.
“Don’t hit her, please, Your Honor, I beg you,” pleaded the peasant, coming up to Arnau. “It’s true. We can’t pay any more. Punish me if you must.”
Arnau let go of the woman and withdrew to where Mar was standing, watching in horror what was happening.
“I’m not going to hit her,” Arnau told the man, “or you, or anyone else in your family. Nor am I going to ask you for more money. I just want to see your farm. Tell your wife to stand up, please.”
First their eyes had shown fear, then sadness; now the man’s and woman’s sunken eyes stared at him in bewilderment. “Are we meant to play at being gods?” thought Arnau. What had been done to this family for them to act this way? They were allowing one of the children to die, and yet thought that someone had come to ask them to pay even more.
The granary was empty. So was the stable. The fields were untended, and the plowing gear had fallen into disrepair. As for the house ... if the child did not die of hunger it would die of any disease. Arnau did not dare touch it; it seemed... it seemed as though the infant might snap in two just by moving it.
He took his purse from his belt and pulled out a few coins. He was about to give them to the man, but thought again and got out several more.
“I want this child to live,” he said, leaving the coins on the remains of what must once have been a table. “I want you, your wife, and your two other children to eat. This money is for you, and you alone. Nobody has the right to take it from you. If there are any problems, come to the castle to see me.”
None of the family moved: they were all staring at the coins. They did not even look up when Arnau said farewell and left the house.
Arnau returned to his castle in silence, deep in thought. Mar shared his silence with him.
“THEY’RE ALL THE same, Joan,” Arnau told him one evening when the two men were walking in the cool air outside the castle. “Some of them have been lucky enough to take over uninhabited farmhouses whose owners have died or simply fled the land: who could blame them? They use the land for woods and pasture: that gives them some chance to survive even though they can’t produce crops. But the rest... the rest are in a terrible state. The fields are barren, and so they are dying of hunger.”
“That’s not all,” Joan added. “I have heard that the nobles, your vassals, are forcing the remaining peasants to sign
“Capbreus?”
“They’re documents that accept all the feudal rights that had been allowed to lapse during the years of plenty. There are so few men left that the nobles are making more and more demands so that they can get as much out of them as before, when there were far more serfs.”
Arnau had not been sleeping well for some time now. He had night-mares with all the haggard faces he had seen. Now he found he could not get back to sleep. He had visited all his lands and been generous. How could he allow things to stay as they were? All those peasant families depended on him: they were directly responsible to their lords, but the lords in turn owed their allegiance to him. If he, as their feudal baron, demanded the nobles pay their rents and duties, they would in turn force the wretched peasants to meet the new demands that the thane had through his negligence allowed to be reintroduced.
They were slaves. Chained to the land. Slaves on his lands. Arnau turned to and fro on his bed. His slaves! An army of starving men, women, and children whom nobody considered important... except to extort more and more out of until they died. Arnau recalled the nobles who had come to pay homage to Eleonor: they were all healthy, strong, dressed in fine clothes—happy, fortunate people! How could they have turned their backs so completely on the reality their serfs were forced to live? And what could he do about it?
He was generous. He gave money where he could see it was needed: to him it was a pittance, but it brought delight to the children he saw, and a warm smile to the face of Mar, who never left his side. But he could not carry on doing it forever. If he went on handing out money, the nobles would soon find a way to get their hands on it. They would still refuse to pay him, but would exploit the poorest peasants still further. What could he do?
BUT WHEREAS ARNAU rose each day feeling increasingly pessimistic, Eleonor was in a very different frame of mind.
“She has summoned the nobles, peasants, and other inhabitants on Assumption Day,” said Joan, who as a Dominican friar was the only one among them who had any contact with the baroness.
“What for?”
“So that they can pay her ... pay you both homage,” he said. Arnau waved for him to continue. “According to the law ...” Joan spread his palms, as though to say, “It was you who asked,” and went on: “According to the law, any noble may at any time demand of his vassals that they renew their vows of fealty and homage to the noble. It’s logical that, as they have not done so before now, Eleonor wishes them to do so now.”
“Do you mean to say they will come?”
“Nobles and knights are not obliged to attend a commendation ceremony of this kind. They can instead come
