“Because wickedness,” he told him, whispering across the hearth where they slept, “is one of the four natural illnesses mankind is born with as a result of original sin, and women’s wickedness is greater than any other in the world,” said Joan, repeating word for word what he had heard his masters tell him.
“What are the other three illnesses?”
“Avarice, ignorance, and apathy, or the inability to do good.”
“But what has wickedness got to do with Aledis?”
“Women are wicked by nature, and take pleasure in tempting men onto the paths of evil.”
“Why?”
“Because women are like moving air, like vapor. They shift constantly, like the breeze.” Joan could remember the priest who had made that comparison standing there, his arms outstretched, his hands waving around his head. “Secondly, because women, by nature—because they were made that way—have so little common sense, and therefore have no way of keeping their natural wickedness in check.”
Joan had read all this, and a lot more besides, but was unable to put the ideas into words. The wise men also stated that women were by nature cold and phlegmatic, and it was well-known that when something cold finally caught fire, it burned fiercely. According to authority, women were without doubt the antithesis of men, and were therefore incoherent and absurd. One had only to look at the difference in their bodies: women’s bodies were broad at the base and narrow at the top, whereas a well-formed man’s body should be the opposite, narrow from the chest down, but broad in the chest and back, with a short, vigorous neck and a large head. When a woman was born, the first letter she pronounced was an “e,” which was a letter to complain with; men by contrast first said the letter “a,” the first letter of the alphabet, opposed to “e.”
“It’s not possible. Aledis is not like that,” Arnau objected.
“Don’t be fooled. Apart from the Virgin, who conceived Jesus without sin, all other women are the same. Even your guild’s ordinances say so! Don’t they prohibit adulterous relations? Don’t they insist that any man who has a friendship or lives with a dishonest woman be expelled?”
Arnau had no response to that argument. He had no opinion about the arguments of wise men and philosophers, and however much Joan insisted, he was not really interested; but he could not go against the rules of his guild. He knew what they were, and the aldermen had warned that if he broke them he would be expelled. And the guild could not be wrong!
Arnau was extremely confused.
“So what’s to be done? If all women are evil ...”
“First you must marry,” Joan butted in, “and once you are married, then follow the teachings of the Church.”
To get married ... The thought had never crossed Arnau’s mind, but... if that was the only solution ...
“What does one have to do once one is married?” he asked, his voice trembling at the thought of being with Aledis forever.
Joan returned to the arguments he had learned from his masters: “A good husband should strive to control his wife’s natural wickedness by applying the following principles: firstly, woman should be governed by the man, and should submit to him.
Arnau listened in silence to his brother’s words.
“Joan,” Arnau said once he had finished. “Do you think I could marry Aledis?”
“Of course! But you ought to wait awhile until you have made your way in the guild and can support her. In any case, it would be wise to speak to her father before he promises her to anyone else, because if he does that, you are lost.”
The image of Gasto Segura and his few blackened teeth seemed to Arnau like an unsurmountable obstacle. Joan guessed what his brother was afraid of.
“You have to do it,” he insisted.
“Would you help me?”
“Of course.”
Silence returned to the two straw pallets ranged on either side of the hearth.
“Joan,” said Arnau after a few moments.
“What is it?”
“Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
The two brothers tried hard to sleep, but found it impossible. Arnau was too excited at the idea of marrying his beloved Aledis. Joan was lost in memories of his mother. Could Pone the coppersmith have been right? Wickedness was natural in women. A woman should be ruled by man. A man should punish his wife. Could the coppersmith have been right? How could he respect his mother’s memory and give his brother this kind of advice? Joan remembered his mother’s hand poking out of the tiny window of her prison, caressing his head. He remembered how he had hated—and still did—the coppersmith Ponc ... but what if he had been right?
OVER THE NEXT few days,
