Cathedral of the Sea

The lord of Bellera! Aledis looked toward Francesca, who was being held under the arms by two soldiers. The old woman’s body had begun to shake. Bellera! Ever since Arnau had put an end to the privileges at Montbui castle and Francesca had told Aledis her secret, the two women had overcome the only remaining barrier between them. How often had she heard the story of Llorenç de Bellera from Francesca’s lips? How often had she seen her weep when she remembered those days? And now ... another Bellera; and Francesca was being taken to the castle, just as when ...

Francesca was still trembling, held by the two soldiers.

“Let her go!” Aledis shouted at them. “Can’t you see you’re hurting her?” The two soldiers turned to their captain. “We’ll go of our own accord,” said Aledis, also looking in his direction.

The captain shrugged, and the soldiers handed the old woman over to Aledis.

They were taken to Navarcles castle, where they were shut in the dungeons. They were not mistreated, however. On the contrary, they were given food, water, and even bundles of straw to sleep on. It was only now that Aledis understood the reason: the lord of Bellera had wanted Francesca to reach Barcelona in good health. They were taken to the city two days later, in a cart, in complete silence. What for? Why? What did it all mean?

The noise all around her brought Aledis back to reality. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts, she had hardly realized she had walked all the way down Calle del Bisbe, then Calle Sederes, and had finally entered Plaza del Blat. The fine, sunny spring day had brought even more people than usual into the square. Alongside the grain sellers were dozens of curious onlookers. Aledis was standing under the old gateway to the city; she turned when the smell of freshly baked bread from the barrow on her left reached her nostrils. The baker glanced at her suspiciously, and Aledis remembered how she looked. She did not have a single coin on her. She swallowed hard and walked away, avoiding catching the baker’s gaze.

Twenty-five years; it had been twenty-five years since she had last been in these streets, seen these people, and breathed the air of Barcelona. Could the Pia Almoina still exist? They had been given nothing to eat that morning in the castle, and her stomach was reminding her of the fact. She walked back the way she had come, up toward the cathedral and the bishop’s palace. Her mouth began to water as she approached the line of beggars queueing for food outside the Pia Almoina. How often in her youth had she passed this very same spot, feeling nothing but pity for these hungry people who openly showed to anyone who passed by their need for public charity?

Aledis joined the queue. She lowered her head so that her hair would cover her face, and shuffled along with the rest of them toward the food. She concealed her face still further when she reached the novice, and stretched out her hands. Why did she have to ask for charity? She had a good house, and had saved enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her days. Men still found her desirable and ... a crust of hard bean bread, a cup of wine, and a bowl of soup. She ate everything, with as much enjoyment as all the poor beggars around her.

When she had finished, she lifted her gaze for the first time. She looked at the throng of beggars, cripples, and old people sitting at the tables. They all kept an eye on their neighbors and clutched their hunk of bread and bowl of soup tightly. What was the reason for her being there? Why had they kept Francesca in the bishop’s palace? Aledis got up. Her attention was caught by a young blond woman dressed in a scarlet robe, walking toward the cathedral. A noblewoman ... out on her own? But if she were not a noble, dressed like that she could only be a ... Teresa! Aledis ran over to her.

“We took turns outside the castle to find out what was happening to you,” Teresa explained after they had embraced. “It wasn’t hard convincing the soldiers at the gate to tell us.” The young woman winked one of her beautiful blue eyes. “When you were taken out and the soldiers told us you were headed for Barcelona, we had to find some way of getting here. That’s what took us so long. Where’s Francesca?”

“She’s under arrest in the bishop’s palace.”

“For what reason?”

Aledis shrugged. When the two of them had been split up, and the soldiers told her to get out of the palace, she had tried to hear what was going on. “Take the old woman to the dungeons,” was all she heard. Nobody had answered her questions, and they had pushed her out of the way. Her insistence on knowing why Francesca had been arrested led a young friar whose sleeve she was tugging to call the guard. She was thrown out of the palace to shouts of “Witch!”

“How many of you came?”

“Eulàlia and me.”

A glittering green dress came running toward them.

“Did you bring money?”

“Of course...”

“What about Francesca?” asked Eulàlia when she caught up with the other two.