Cathedral of the Sea

“Why did you tell me he had died, Francesca?” asked the younger of the two prostitutes.

“He’s my son, Aledis.”

“Arnau is your son?”

Francesca nodded, at the same time gesturing to Aledis to keep her voice down. The last thing in the world she wanted was for anyone to find out that Arnau was the son of a common prostitute. Fortunately, the people around them were too absorbed in the dispute among the nobles in front of them.

The argument was unresolved. When he saw that no one else would take the lead, Joan decided to intervene.

“You may be right in what you affirm,” he cried from behind the outraged baroness, “and may refuse to pay homage, but that does not absolve you from fulfilling your duties and pledging your obedience to them. That’s the law! Are you willing to do so?”

The thane of Montbui knew the friar was right. He looked around the other nobles to judge their opinion. Arnau gestured for Joan to come closer.

“What does this mean?” he whispered to him.

“It means they save face. Their honor is intact if they do not swear fealty and homage to ...”

“To a person of lower rank,” Arnau helped him out. “You know that has never troubled me.”

“They refuse to swear homage to you or to be your vassals, but the law obliges them to fulfill their duties to you and pledge their obedience, recognizing that they hold their lands and honors in your name.”

“Is that something similar to the capbreus they make the peasants accept?”

“Something similar.”

“We will pledge our obedience,” said the thane.

Arnau paid him no attention. He did not even look at him. He was thinking: perhaps this was the solution to the peasants’ misery. Joan was still leaning over him. Eleonor was no longer there: her eyes were staring out beyond the spectacle in front of her, at her lost illusions.

“Does that mean,” Arnau asked Joan, “that although they will not legally recognize me as their feudal lord, I can still give them orders that they must obey?”

“Yes. They are concerned above all about their honor.”

“Good,” said Arnau, standing up unobtrusively and gesturing to the scribe to come over. “Do you see the gap between the nobles and the others?” he asked when he was beside him. “I want you to stand there and repeat word for word in the loudest voice you can everything I am about to say. I want everyone to hear what I am to say!” As the scribe made his way to the open ground behind the nobles, Arnau smiled wryly at the thane, who was waiting for some response to his pledge of obedience. “I, Arnau, baron of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui ...”

Arnau waited for the scribe to repeat his words:

“I, Arnau,” the scribe duly called out, “baron of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui ...”

“... declare null and void on my lands all those privileges known as malpractices ...”

“... declare null and void ...”

“You cannot do that!” shouted one of the nobles over the scribe’s words.

When he heard this, Arnau glanced at Joan to confirm that he did indeed have the power to do what he was suggesting.

“Yes, I can,” he said shortly, after Joan had backed him up.

“We will petition the king!” shouted another noble.

Arnau shrugged. Joan came up to him on the dais.

“Have you thought what will happen to all those poor people if you give them hope and then the king rules against you?”

“Joan,” said Arnau, with a self-confidence that was new to him, “I may know nothing about honor, nobility, or the rules of knighthood, but I do know what is written in my account books regarding all the loans I have made to His Majesty. Which, by the way,” he added with a smile, “have been considerably increased for the Mallorca campaign since my marriage to his ward. That I do know. I can assure you that the king will not question my decisions.”

Arnau looked at the scribe and gestured to him to continue: “... declare null and void on my lands all those privileges known as malpractices ... ,” shouted the scribe.

“I annul the right of intestia, by which a lord has the right to inherit part of the possessions of his vassals.” Arnau went on speaking clearly and slowly, so that the scribe could repeat his words. The peasants listened quietly, caught between astonishment and hope. “Also that of cugutia, by which lords may take half or all of the possessions of an adulterous woman. That of exorquia, which gives them part of the inheritance of married peasants who die without issue. That of ius maletractandi, which allows nobles to mistreat peasants at their will, and to seize their goods.” Arnau’s words were met with a silence so complete that the scribe decided the crowd could hear their feudal lord’s proclamation without any help from him. Francesca gripped Aledis’s arm. “I annul the right of arsia, which obliges peasants to compensate their lord for any fire on his land. Also the right of firma de espoli forzada, which gives the lord the right to sleep with a bride on her wedding night ...”

The son could not see it, but in the crowd that was starting to react joyously as they realized Arnau meant what he was saying, an old woman—his mother—let go of Aledis’s arm and raised her hands to her face. Aledis instantly understood. Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned to embrace the older woman. At the foot of the dais, nobles and knights were noisily debating the best way to present the problem to King Pedro.