But if King Pedro succeeded in bringing together an army of twelve hundred men on horseback and four thousand foot soldiers in Figueres, he also managed to attract another army: the relatives of soldiers—mostly of the Almogavars, who lived like Gypsies and took their families with them wherever they went: tradesmen selling all kinds of goods, and hoping to be able to buy whatever booty the soldiers obtained; slave traders; clergymen; cardsharps; thieves; prostitutes; beggars; and all kinds of hangers-on whose only aim was to try to cream off the army’s spoils. Together, they formed an incredible rear guard that moved at the same pace as the army, but obeyed its own rules—often crueler ones than those to be found in the conflicts they lived off like parasites.
Aledis was simply one more in this motley crowd. The farewell from Arnau was still ringing in her ears. She could still feel the way that her husband’s rough, clumsy hands had forced their way between her legs. The old man’s panting mingled with Arnau’s words in her memory. He had pushed at her, but she had not moved. He had grasped her more firmly, hoping for that fake generosity with which she usually rewarded his efforts. But this time, Aledis closed her legs. “Why did you leave me, Arnau?” was all she could think as Pau fell on her, pushing his penis into her with his hands. She gave way and opened her legs. She felt so bitter she had to stifle a desire to retch. The old tanner started to squirm like a snake on top of her. She was sick beside the bed, but he did not even notice. He was still thrusting away feebly, supporting his flaccid manhood with his hands, and nibbling at her breasts, where the nipples lay flat, unaroused. As soon as he had finished, he rolled off and fell fast asleep. The next morning, Aledis made a small bundle of her scant possessions, took a few coins she had managed to steal from her husband, and went out into the street as usual.
That morning, however, she headed for the monastery at Sant Pere de les Puelles, then left Barcelona and started along the old Roman road that led to Figueres. She walked through the city gates, head down, avoiding looking at the soldiers and restraining the urge to break into a run. Once she was beyond the city walls, she looked up at the bright blue sky and set off toward her new future, smiling broadly at all the travelers coming in the opposite direction toward Barcelona. Arnau had also left his wife; she was sure of it. He must have joined the army to get away from Maria! He could not love that woman. When the two of them made love ... she could tell! When he was on top of her, she could feel his passion! He could not fool her—it was her, Aledis, whom he loved. And when he saw her ... Aledis had a picture of him running toward her, arms outstretched. Then they would escape! Yes, they would run away and be together ... forever!
For the first few hours of her journey, she fell in with a group of peasants returning to their farms after selling their produce. She explained she was going in search of her husband because she was pregnant, and wanted him to know before he went into battle. From them she learned that Figueres was a good five or six days’ walk away, following the same road through Girona. She also had the chance to hear the advice of a couple of toothless old women who seemed so frail that they must break under the weight of the empty baskets they were carrying on their backs, but who nevertheless kept going barefoot, and showed an unbelievable strength for such old, weak creatures.
“It’s not good for a woman to be traveling these roads alone,” one of them told her, shaking her head.
“No, it isn’t,” agreed the other.
A few seconds went by, while they both paused for breath.
“Especially if you are young and beautiful,” the second one added.
“That’s true, that’s true,” the first one concurred.
“What can happen to me?” Aledis asked naively. “The road is full of good people such as yourselves.”
Again she had to wait, while the old women struggled to catch up with their group.
“In this part there are plenty of people. There are lots of villagers who live off Barcelona like we do. But a bit farther on,” one old woman added, still staring at the ground, “when the villages are fewer and there is no large city nearby, the paths become lonely and dangerous.”
This time her companion did not add an immediate comment. Instead she walked on another few steps, then turned to Aledis. “If you are alone, make sure you’re not seen. Hide as soon as you hear a noise. Keep away from other people.”
“Even if they are knights?” laughed Aledis.
“Especially if they are!” one of the old women cried.
“As soon as you hear a horse’s hooves, hide and pray!” added the other.
This time they both shouted the warning together, without even needing to pause for breath. They were so insistent that they came to a halt, and allowed the other peasants to get some way ahead. Aledis’s look of disbelief must have been so obvious that, as they set off again, the two old women repeated their warning:
“Listen, my girl,” said one of them, while the other crone nodded agreement even before she knew what her companion was going to say, “if I were you, I’d go back to the city and wait for your man there. The roads in the countryside are very dangerous, especially now that they are full of soldiers and knights off to fight. That means there is no authority, nobody is in charge, nobody is worried about being caught and punished by the king, because he is so busy with other matters.”
Aledis walked thoughtfully alongside the two old women. Hide from knights on horseback? Why on earth should she do that? All the knights who had ever been to her husband’s workshop had always been courteous and shown her respect. Nor from the many traders who supplied the tanner with his materials had she ever heard any stories of robberies or problems on the roads of Catalonia. Instead, they had regaled the old man and her with terrifying stories of what could happen during sea voyages that took them into the lands of the Moors or even farther, to the territory of the sultan of Egypt. Her husband had told her that for more than two hundred years, Catalan roads had been protected by law and by the king’s authority, and that anyone who dared commit a crime anywhere along them would be punished far more severely than for a similar offense committed elsewhere. “Trade depends on peace on the highway!” he would declare, adding: “How could we sell our products all over Catalonia if the king could not guarantee peace?” He would go on to tell her, as though she were a child, how two hundred years earlier it had been the Church that had first started to take measures to defend the roads. First came the Constitutions of Peace and Truce, drawn up at church synods. If anyone broke them, they faced instant excommunication. The bishops established that the inhabitants of their sees were not to attack their enemies from the ninth hour of Saturday to the first hour on Monday, or during any religious festival. This truce also benefited all members of the clergy and churches, and everyone who was headed toward a church or coming back from one. He went on to explain that these constitutions had gradually been broadened to protect a greater number of people and goods, until they included merchants and farm animals, as well as those used for transport, and then farming implements and houses, the inhabitants of villages, women, crops, olive groves, wine ... and finally, King Alfonso the First extended this official peace to all public highways and paths in his kingdom, ruling that anyone who broke these provisions committed a crime of
Aledis looked at the old women, who had carried on walking in silence, bowed down under their burdens,
