clutching hands, and kicked her in the pit of the stomach.
Inside the hut, as she tried to get her breath back, Aledis felt earth and mud scraping against her as the ferryman discharged his lust.
WHILE HE WAITED for the hosts and other armies to assemble, and for their supplies to arrive, King Pedro established his headquarters at an inn in Figueres. This was a town that sent representatives to the Catalan parliament, close to the border with Roussillon. Infante Don Pedro and his knights gathered in Pereleda, while infante Don Jaime and the other noblemen—the lord of Eixerica, Count Luna, Blasco de Alago, Juan Ximenez de Urrea, Felipe de Castro, and Juan Ferrandez de Luna, among others—made camp outside the town walls of Figueres.
Arnau Estanyol was among the royal army. At the age of twenty-two, he had never experienced anything like it. The royal camp, with more than two thousand men still excited by their victory in Mallorca, and keen for more fighting, violence, and booty, had nothing to do but await the order to march on Roussillon. It was the opposite of the quiet routine he knew from the
Arnau was in the habit of strolling round the camp with three other youths who were from Barcelona and were as unused to the ways of war as he. They stared in admiration at horses and suits of armor, which the squires kept spotless at all times and displayed outside their tents in a kind of competition to show whose arms and equipment could shine the most. But if these steeds and armor impressed them, they could not help but be sickened by the amount of filth, the dreadful smells, and the clouds of insects attracted by the mounds of waste created by the thousands of men and animals. The royal officials had ordered that several long, deep trenches be dug to make latrines, as far as possible from the camp and close to a running stream intended to carry away the soldiers’ waste. But the stream was almost dry, and the refuse piled up every day and rotted, giving off a sickly, unbearable stench.
One morning when Arnau and his new companions were walking among the tents, they saw a knight on horseback returning from training. The horse was anxious to get back to its stable for a well-earned feed and to have the heavy armor removed from its breast and flanks. It snorted, raising its legs and kicking out, while the rider tried to control it and reach his tent without doing any damage to the soldiers or gear strewn about the lanes that had been created between the rows of tents. Held in check by a fierce iron bit, the huge, powerful animal chose instead to perform a spectacular dance, spraying anyone and anything it met with the white foaming sweat lathering its sides.
Arnau and his companions tried to get as far as possible out of the way, but unfortunately just at that moment the horse lunged sideways and knocked over Jaume, the smallest of the group. He was not hurt, and the rider did not even notice, continuing on his way back to his tent. But Jaume had fallen onto another group of soldiers, who were busy gaming with dice. One of them had already lost all he could hope to gain from whatever future campaigns King Pedro undertook, and was looking for a fight. He stood up, more than ready to vent the anger he felt toward his gaming colleagues on poor Jaume. He was a strongly built man with long dirty hair and beard. The desperate, frustrated look on his face, which came from losing steadily hour upon hour, would have deterred even the bravest of foes.
The soldier lifted Jaume clear off the ground until he was level with his face. The poor lad did not even have time to realize what had happened to him. In the space of a few seconds, he had been knocked down by a horse, fallen into a dice game, and now he was being attacked by a great roaring brute who shook him and then all of a sudden punched him so hard in the face that blood started to trickle from his mouth.
Arnau saw Jaume dangling from the man’s grasp.
“Let go of him, you swine!” he shouted, surprising even himself.
The others rapidly moved away from Arnau and the soldier. Jaume, who had been so astounded at Arnau’s words that he had stopped struggling, suddenly found himself on his backside on the ground as the veteran dropped him and turned to face the person who had been foolish enough to insult him. Soon, Arnau found himself at the center of a circle of onlookers curious to see what would happen between him and this enraged soldier. If only he had not insulted him ... Why had he called him a swine?
“It wasn’t his fault... ,” Arnau stammered, pointing to Jaume, who still had little idea of what was going on.
The soldier said nothing, but charged straight at Arnau like a bull. His head struck Arnau in the midriff and sent him flying several yards, right through the ring of spectators. Arnau’s chest ached as if it had exploded. The foul-smelling air he had got used to breathing seemed suddenly to have disappeared. He gasped for breath and tried to get to his feet, but a kick in the face sent him sprawling again. His head throbbed violently as he struggled again to breathe in, but before he could do so, another kick, this time to his kidneys, flattened him once more. After that, the blows rained down on him, and all Arnau could do was roll into a ball on the ground.
When the madman finally paused, Arnau felt as if his body had been smashed to pieces, and yet despite all the pain, he also thought he could hear a voice. Still curled in a ball, he tried to make out what it was saying.
He heard it quite clearly, speaking directly to him.
First once, then over and over again. He opened his eyes and saw the circle of people around him, all of them laughing and pointing at him. It was his father’s words that were resounding in his ears: “I gave up all I had for you to be free.” In his befuddled mind he saw images and had flashes of memory: his father hanging from the end of a rope in Plaza del Blat ... He got to his feet, his face a bloody mess. He remembered the first stone he had carried to the Virgin of the Sea ... The veteran had turned his back on him. Arnau recalled the effort it had taken to lift the stone onto his back ... the pain and suffering, and then his pride when he unloaded it outside the church ...
“Swine!”
The bearded veteran whirled round.
“Stupid peasant!” he roared again, before launching himself full-length at Arnau.
No stone could have weighed as much as that swine did. No stone ... Arnau stood up to the man’s charge, grappled with him, and the two men fell onto the sandy ground. Arnau managed to get to his feet before him, but instead of punching him, he grabbed him by his hair and his leather belt, lifted him above his head like a rag doll, and threw him right above the heads of the watching circle.
The bearded veteran fell in a heap on top of them.
But the soldier was not daunted by this show of Arnau’s strength. He was used to fighting, and in a few seconds he was again in front of Arnau, who was standing with feet spread wide in order to meet his charge. This time, however, instead of flinging himself on his opponent, the soldier tried to punch him, but once more Arnau
