been a smile. “What have they done to you? How are you?” The old woman did not answer. The groaning and wailing of the other prisoners filled the silence. “Francesca, they have taken Arnau. That’s why they brought us here.”
“I know ...”
Aledis shook her head, but before she could ask how she knew, Francesca went on: “He’s over there.”
Aledis turned her head to look at the opposite end of the dungeon. She saw a dark figure standing there, studying them.
“Listen to me,” the words rang out, “you who are visiting the old woman.” Aledis turned again to look in the direction of the figure. “I want to talk to you. I’m Arnau Estanyol.”
“What’s going on, Francesca?”
“Ever since I was thrown in here, he’s been asking me why the jailer says I’m his mother. He says his name is Arnau Estanyol, and that he’s been put in prison by the Inquisition. You can imagine what a torture that has been.”
“What have you told him?”
“Nothing.”
“Listen!”
This time Aledis did not turn round.
“The Inquisition wants to prove that Arnau is a witch’s son,” she explained to Francesca.
“Listen to me, please.”
Aledis could feel Francesca’s hands gripping her forearms. The old woman’s despair only added to the pathos of Arnau’s entreaties.
“Aren’t you ... ?” Aledis struggled to speak. “Aren’t you going to tell him anything?”
“Nobody must know Arnau is my son. Do you hear me, Aledis? If I’ve never admitted it before, now that the Inquisition is on his heels I am even less likely to ... You are the only one who knows it.” The old woman’s voice grew clearer. “Jaume de Bellera ...”
“Please!” came the voice in the gloom.
Aledis turned toward Arnau. She could not see him through her tears, but was careful not to wipe them away.
“Only you, Aledis,” Francesca insisted. “Swear to me you will never tell anyone.”
“But the lord of Bellera ...”
“Nobody can prove it. Swear to me, Aledis.”
“They will torture you.”
“More than life already has? More than the silence now is doing, when I have to say nothing in the face of Arnau’s pleas? Swear it.”
Francesca’s eyes gleamed in the darkness.
“I swear.”
Aledis swore her oath, then flung her arms round Francesca. For the first time in many years, she realized how frail the older woman was.
“I ... I don’t want to leave you here,” she said, sobbing. “What will become of you?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Francesca whispered in her ear. “I’ll withstand everything until I’ve convinced them Arnau is not my son.” She struggled to breathe. “One Bellera ruined my life. I won’t let his son ruin Arnau’s.”
Aledis kissed Francesca and sat for a few moments with her mouth pressed against the old woman’s cheek. Then she got to her feet.
“Listen to me!”
Aledis stared at the dark figure.
“Don’t go to him,” Francesca begged her from the floor.
“Come here! I beg you!”
“You won’t be able to bear it, Aledis. You swore to me.”
Arnau and Aledis stared at each other in the darkness. Two shadowy figures. Aledis’s tears glistened as they rolled down her cheeks.
Arnau sank to the ground when he saw the unknown visitor head straight for the dungeon door.
THAT SAME MORNING, a woman riding a mule entered Barcelona by the San Daniel gate. Behind her limped a Dominican friar who did not even look up at the soldiers on guard. The two of them went on in silence through the city until they reached the bishop’s palace, with the friar still trailing behind the mule.
“Brother Joan?” asked one of the guards at the palace doorway.
The Dominican raised his battered face to the soldier.
“Brother Joan?” he asked again.
Joan nodded.
