“No culprits,” Arnau insisted.
“That’s not possible. The infante—”
“No culprits! Twenty-five thousand shillings is a fortune.”
Arnau left the magistrate’s palace not knowing where to go. What could he say to Hasdai? That fifteen Jews had to die? Yet he could not get out of his mind the image of those five thousand people packed into the synagogue with no water or food ...
“When will I have my answer?” he had asked the magistrate.
“The infante is out hunting.”
Hunting! Five thousand people were shut up on his orders, and he had gone hunting. It could not have been more than three hours by horse from Barcelona to Gerona, where the infante, duke of Gerona and Cervera, had his lands, but Arnau had to wait until late the following afternoon to be summoned again by the magistrate.
“Thirty-five thousand shillings and five culprits.”
Ten Jews for ten thousand shillings. “Perhaps that’s the price of a man,” thought Arnau.
“Forty thousand, and no culprits.”
“No.”
“I’ll appeal to the king.”
“You know that the king has enough problems with the war against Castille without looking for more with his son. That was why he named him his lieutenant.”
“Forty-five thousand, but no one guilty.”
“No, Arnau, no ...”
“Ask him!” Arnau exploded. “I beg you,” he added apologetically.
WHEN HE WAS still several yards from it, Arnau was hit by the stench from the synagogue. The streets of the Jewry looked still more wretched than before: furniture and possessions were strewn everywhere. From inside the houses came the sounds of the friars demolishing walls and floors in their search for the body of Christ. When Arnau saw Hasdai, he had to struggle to keep his composure. Hasdai was accompanied by two rabbis and two leaders of the community. Arnau’s eyes were stinging. Could it be from the acid fumes of urine coming from inside the synagogue, or simply because of the news he had to give them?
For a few moments, to a background noise of groans and wails, Arnau watched as the others tried to get fresh air into their lungs: what could it be like inside? All of them cast anxious glances at the streets around them; for a while they seemed to hold their breath.
“They want culprits,” Arnau told him when the five men had recovered. “We started with fifteen. Now it’s down to five, and I hope that—”
“We can’t wait, Arnau Estanyol,” one of the rabbis interrupted him. “One old man has died today; he was sick, and our doctors could do nothing for him, not even moisten his lips. And we are not allowed to bury him. Do you know what that means?” Arnau nodded. “Tomorrow, the stink of his decomposing body will be added to—”
“Inside the synagogue,” Hasdai said, “we have no room to move. No one ... no one can even get up to relieve themselves. The nursing mothers have no more milk: they have suckled their own babies and tried to feed the other infants. If we have to wait many more days, five culprits will be nothing.”
“Plus forty-five thousand shillings,” Arnau pointed out.
“What do we care about money when we could all die?” the other rabbi added.
“Well?” asked Arnau.
“You have to try, Arnau,” Hasdai begged him.
Ten thousand more shillings speeded up the infante’s reply ... or perhaps he never even got the message. Arnau was summoned the next morning. Three culprits.
“They are men!” Arnau said accusingly to the magistrate.
“They are Jews, Arnau. Only Jews. Heretics who belong to the crown. Without the king’s favor they would already be dead, and the king has decided that three of them have to pay for the profanation of the host. The people demand it.”
“Since when has the king been so concerned about his people?” thought Arnau.
“Besides,” the magistrate insisted, “it will mean that our seafarers’ problems are solved.”
The old man’s body, the mothers’ dried-up breasts, the weeping children, the wailing and the stench: Arnau nodded in agreement. The magistrate leaned back in his chair.
“On two conditions,” said Arnau, forcing him to listen closely once more. “First, the Jews themselves must choose the guilty men.” The magistrate nodded. “And secondly, the agreement has to be ratified by the bishop, who must promise to calm the faithful.”
“I’ve already done that, Arnau. Do you think I want to see another massacre of Jews?”
THE PROCESSION LEFT the Jewry. All the doors and windows were shut, and apart from the piles of furniture, the streets seemed deserted. The silence inside the Jewry was in stark contrast to the hubbub outside, where a crowd had gathered around the bishop, standing there with his gold vestments gleaming in the Mediterranean sunlight, and with the countless priests and black friars lining Calle de la Boqueria, separated from the people by two lines of the king’s soldiers.
When three figures appeared at the gates of the Jewish quarter, a loud shout rent the air. The crowd raised their fists, and their insults mingled with the sound of swords being drawn as the soldiers prepared to defend the members of the procession. Shackled hand and foot, the three men were brought in between the two lines of black friars. Then, with the bishop of Barcelona at its head, the group set off down the street. The presence of the
