listened to his story.
“I know where you can stay,” he told him. “They are good people. Now tell me, Bernat: you’ve found a good job for Arnau. He’ll earn a wage and will learn a trade. There is always a need for grooms. But what about your other son? What are your plans for Joaner?”
Bernat looked uncomfortable, and told the priest the truth.
Father Albert took them to the house of Pere and his wife. They were an old, childless couple who lived in a small, two-story house close to the beach. The kitchen was on the ground floor, and there were three rooms above it, one of which they could rent.
The whole way there, and while he was introducing them to Pere and his wife, then watching Bernat offer them payment, Father Albert held Joanet firmly by the shoulder. How could he have been so blind? Why had he not realized how much the little boy suffered? To think of all the occasions he had seen him sitting there, gazing into space with a lost look on his face!
Father Albert pulled the boy toward him. Joanet glanced up and smiled.
The room was simple but clean. The only furniture was two mattresses on the floor, the only company the sound of the waves on the beach. Arnau strained to hear the noise of the men working on Santa Maria, which was behind them nearby. They ate the stew that Pere’s wife prepared most days. Arnau looked down at the food, then looked up and smiled at his father. Estranya’s concoctions were a thing of the past now! The three of them ate heartily, watched by the old woman, who seemed ready to refill their bowls whenever they wished.
“Time for bed,” said Bernat, when he had eaten his fill. “We have to work tomorrow.”
Joanet hesitated. He stared at Bernat and, when everybody had got up from the table, headed for the door.
“This is no time to be going out, son,” said Bernat, in front of the old couple.
13
“THEY ARE MY mother’s brother and his son,” Margarida explained to her stepmother when she was surprised that Grau had taken on two more people for only seven horses.
Grau had told Isabel he wanted nothing to do with the horses. In fact, he did not even go down to inspect the magnificent stables on the ground floor of the mansion. His new wife took care of everything: she chose the animals and brought her chief stableman, Jesus, with her. He in turn advised her to employ an experienced groom, whose name was Tomas.
But four men to look after seven horses was excessive even for the way of life the baroness was used to, and she said as much on her first visit to the stables after the two Estanyols had arrived.
Now she encouraged Margarida to tell her more.
“They were peasants, serfs on a lord’s lands.”
Isabel said nothing in reply, but a suspicion was planted in her mind.
Margarida went on: “It was the son, Arnau, who was responsible for my little brother Guiamon’s death. I hate both of them! I’ve no idea why my father has kept them on.”
“We’ll soon find out,” muttered the baroness, her eyes fixed on Bernat’s back as he brushed one of the horses down.
When she brought the matter up that evening, Grau was dismissive.
“I thought it was a good idea,” was all he said, although he did confirm that they were fugitives.
“If my father got to hear of ir ...”
“But he won’t, will he, Isabel?” said Grau, looking at her intently. She was already dressed for dinner, one of the new customs she had introduced into the life of Grau and his family. She was only just twenty, and like Grau was extremely thin. She was not particularly attractive, and lacked the voluptuous curves that he had once found alluring in Guiamona, but she was noble—and her character must be noble too, Grau thought. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want your father to discover that you are living with two fugitives.”
The baroness looked at him, eyes ablaze, then swept out of the room.
In spite of the baroness’s and her stepchildren’s dislike of him, Bernat soon showed his worth with the horses. He knew how to deal with them, feed them, to clean their hooves and frogs, and to look after them when they were sick. He moved easily among the animals: the only part of his work where he lacked experience was in turning them out spotlessly.
“They want them to shine,” he told Arnau one day as they walked back home. “They don’t want to see a speck of dust. We have to scrape and scrape to get all the grit out of their hair, then polish them until they really glisten.”
“What about their manes and tails?”
“We have to cut them, plait them, and put ribbons on them.”
“Why do they want horses with so many ribbons?”
Arnau was forbidden to go near the horses. He looked at them admiringly in the stables, and could see how they responded to his father’s care. What he most enjoyed was when only the two were there and he was allowed to stroke them. As a treat, when there was no one around, Bernat allowed him to sit on the back of one or other of them inside the stable. Usually, though, his tasks meant he was never allowed to leave the harness room. He would clean the harnesses over and over again, greasing the leather, then rubbing it with a cloth until the grease was completely absorbed and the surface of the saddles and reins gleamed. He cleaned the bits and stirrups, then combed the blankets and other pieces of tackle until he had got rid of every last horse hair. Often he had to finish the job by using his hands as a pair of pincers to pull out the fine, needle-like hairs that stuck so closely to the cloth they seemed to be part of it. If there was any time left after he had done all this, he would polish and polish the new carriage that Grau had bought.
As the months went by, even Jesus had to admit Bernat’s worth. Whenever he went into one of the stables, not only did the horses not become alarmed, but more often than not they moved toward him. He touched and stroked them, whispering to reassure them. When Tomas came in, on the other hand, the steeds flattened their ears and retreated to the farthest wall when he shouted at them. What was the matter with him? Until now he had
