At last the nobles arrived. As impatient as his mistress, a servant came rushing into the room to tell Eleonor they were coming. The baroness went to look out of a window; when she turned again to face the others, her face was beaming with delight. The nobles and knights who lived on her lands had obviously made great efforts. Their fine clothes, swords, and jewels stood out among the crowd of peasants dressed in their gray, sad tunics. The grooms led their horses behind the platform, where their neighing and stamping broke the silence with which the poor peasants had greeted the arrival of their lords. The servants set up elaborate seats, covered in bright silks, beneath the dais. This was where noblemen and knights were to swear fealty to their new masters. The peasants instinctively moved away from the final line of seats in order to leave a space between them and the privileged.

Eleonor looked out of the window again. She smiled as she saw the wealth and power her new vassals were displaying so openly. Followed by her retinue she made her way to the dais, and sat before them all, like a true queen.

Eleonor’s scribe, who today was introducing the proceedings, began by reading King Pedro the Third’s decree, which gave as dowry to the royal ward Eleonor the baronies of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui, with all the vassals, lands, and rents that they contained ... As the scribe was reading this, Eleonor drank in his words: she felt herself observed and envied—hated even, why not?—by all those who until now had been vassals of the king. They would still owe him their loyalty, of course, but from now on there would be someone else between them and their sovereign : her. Arnau, by contrast, was not even listening to the scribe’s speech: he merely smiled back at all the peasants he had visited and helped, when they greeted him.

In the midst of the crowd of people were two women dressed in vivid colors, as befitted their condition as common prostitutes. One was already old; the other was mature but still beautiful, and unabashedly displayed her charms.

“Nobles and knights,” shouted the scribe, this time succeeding in capturing Arnau’s attention, “do you swear fealty to Arnau and Eleonor, barons of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui?”

“No!”

The refusal seemed to rend the sky. The former thane of Montbui castle had risen to his feet to reject the oath in a thunderous voice. A low murmur spread among the peasants grouped behind the nobles. Joan shook his head as though he had expected something of this sort; Mar looked uneasy, as if she did not know what she was doing up on the platform in front of all these people; Arnau was at a loss; and Eleonor’s face had turned as pale as wax.

The scribe turned to the platform, expecting instructions from his mistress. When none were forthcoming, he took the initiative.

“You refuse?”

“We refuse,” boomed the thane, sure of himself. “Not even the king can oblige us to pay homage to someone who is of lower rank than ourselves. That is the law!” Joan nodded sadly. He had not wanted to tell Arnau as much. The nobles had tricked Eleonor. “Arnau Estanyol,” the thane went on, “is a citizen of Barcelona, the son of a runaway serf. We will not pay homage to the runaway son of a landed serf, even if the king has granted him the baronies you spoke of!”

The younger of the two women in the crowd stood on tiptoe to get a better view of the dais. Seeing all the nobles seated in front of it had aroused her curiosity, but now when she heard the name of Arnau, citizen of Barcelona and a peasant’s son, her legs began to give way beneath her.

With the crowd still murmuring in the background, the scribe once again turned toward Eleonor. So did Arnau, but she made no sign to either of them. She sat transfixed. After the initial shock, her astonishment had turned to anger. Her face had gone from white to bright red; she was shaking with rage and her hands were grasping the arms of her chair so tightly it seemed as though she wanted to claw into the wood.

“Why did you tell me he had died, Francesca?” asked the younger of the two prostitutes.

“He’s my son, Aledis.”

“Arnau is your son?”

Francesca nodded, at the same time gesturing to Aledis to keep her voice down. The last thing in the world she wanted was for anyone to find out that Arnau was the son of a common prostitute. Fortunately, the people around them were too absorbed in the dispute among the nobles in front of them.

The argument was unresolved. When he saw that no one else would take the lead, Joan decided to intervene.

“You may be right in what you affirm,” he cried from behind the outraged baroness, “and may refuse to pay homage, but that does not absolve you from fulfilling your duties and pledging your obedience to them. That’s the law! Are you willing to do so?”

The thane of Montbui knew the friar was right. He looked around the other nobles to judge their opinion. Arnau gestured for Joan to come closer.

“What does this mean?” he whispered to him.

“It means they save face. Their honor is intact if they do not swear fealty and homage to ...”

“To a person of lower rank,” Arnau helped him out. “You know that has never troubled me.”

“They refuse to swear homage to you or to be your vassals, but the law obliges them to fulfill their duties to you and pledge their obedience, recognizing that they hold their lands and honors in your name.”

“Is that something similar to the capbreus they make the peasants accept?”

“Something similar.”

“We will pledge our obedience,” said the thane.

Arnau paid him no attention. He did not even look at him. He was thinking: perhaps this was the solution to the peasants’ misery. Joan was still leaning over him. Eleonor was no longer there: her eyes were staring out beyond the spectacle in front of her, at her lost illusions.

“Does that mean,” Arnau asked Joan, “that although they will not legally recognize me as their feudal lord, I can still give them orders that they must obey?”

“Yes. They are concerned above all about their honor.”

“Good,” said Arnau, standing up unobtrusively and gesturing to the scribe to come over. “Do you see the gap between the nobles and the others?” he asked when he was beside him. “I want you to stand there and repeat word for word in the loudest voice you can everything I am about to say. I want everyone to hear what I am to say!” As the scribe made his way to the open ground behind the nobles, Arnau smiled wryly at the thane, who was waiting for some response to his pledge of obedience. “I, Arnau, baron of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui ...”

Arnau waited for the scribe to repeat his words:

“I, Arnau,” the scribe duly called out, “baron of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui ...”

“... declare null and void on my lands all those privileges known as malpractices ...”

“... declare null and void ...”

“You cannot do that!” shouted one of the nobles over the scribe’s words.

When he heard this, Arnau glanced at Joan to confirm that he did indeed have the power to do what he was suggesting.

“Yes, I can,” he said shortly, after Joan had backed him up.

“We will petition the king!” shouted another noble.

Arnau shrugged. Joan came up to him on the dais.

“Have you thought what will happen to all those poor people if you give them hope and then the king rules against you?”

“Joan,” said Arnau, with a self-confidence that was new to him, “I may know nothing about honor, nobility, or the rules of knighthood, but I do know what is written in my account books regarding all the loans I have made to His Majesty. Which, by the way,” he added with a smile, “have been considerably increased for the Mallorca campaign since my marriage to his ward. That I do know. I can assure you that the king will not question my decisions.”

Arnau looked at the scribe and gestured to him to continue: “... declare null and void on my lands all those privileges known as malpractices ... ,” shouted the scribe.

“I annul the right of intestia, by which a lord has the right to inherit part of the possessions of his vassals.” Arnau went on speaking clearly and slowly, so that the scribe could repeat his words. The peasants listened quietly, caught between astonishment and hope. “Also that of cugutia, by which lords may take half or all of the possessions of an adulterous woman. That of exorquia, which gives them part of the inheritance of married peasants who die without issue. That of ius maletractandi, which allows nobles to mistreat peasants at their will, and to seize their goods.” Arnau’s words were met with a silence so complete that the scribe decided the crowd could hear their feudal lord’s proclamation without any help from him. Francesca gripped Aledis’s arm. “I annul the right of arsia, which obliges peasants to compensate their lord for any fire on his land. Also the right of firma de espoli forzada, which gives the lord the right to sleep with a bride on her wedding night ...”

The son could not see it, but in the crowd that was starting to react joyously as they realized Arnau meant what he was saying, an old woman—his mother—let go of Aledis’s arm and raised her hands to her face. Aledis instantly understood. Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned to embrace the older woman. At the foot of the dais, nobles and knights were noisily debating the best way to present the problem to King Pedro.

“I declare null and void all other duties that poor peasants have been obliged to fulfill, apart from the right and proper levies on their lands. I declare you free to bake your own bread, to shoe your animals, and repair your gear in your own forges. I declare you women and mothers free to refuse to give suck to the children of your lords without payment.” At this, lost in her memories, the old woman could not stop the tears flowing. “And also to refuse to serve unpaid in their households. I further free you from having to offer gifts to your lords at Christmas and to work on their lands for no reward.”

Arnau fell silent for a few moments, his eyes fixed not on the squabbling nobles but on the throng of peasants beyond them. They were waiting to hear something more. One thing more! They all knew it, and were waiting impatiently for Arnau to speak again. One more thing!

“I declare that you are free!”

The thane leapt up and shook his fist at Arnau. All around him, the nobles stood and shouted their fury.

“Free!” sobbed the old woman as the peasants cheered wildly.

“From this day on, a day when nobles have refused to pay homage to the king’s ward, the peasants who work on the lands that are part of the baronies of Granollers, San Vicenc, and Caldes de Montbui are to be treated exactly the same as those in New Catalonia, the baronies of Entenca, Conca del Barberà, the counties of Tarragona and Prades, the Serraga and Garriga, the marquisate of Aytona, the territories of Tortosa and Urgell ... the same as in all the nineteen regions of Catalonia conquered thanks to the efforts and the blood of your fathers. You are free! You are peasants but never again in these lands will you be serfs, and nor will your children or your children’s children!”

“Nor will your mothers,” Francesca murmured to herself. “Nor will your mothers,” she said again, before dissolving into floods of tears once again, and clutching Aledis, who was close to tears herself.

Arnau had to leave the dais in order not to be overwhelmed by the peasants rushing to congratulate him. Joan helped Eleonor away: she was unable to walk on her own. Behind them, Mar was trying to control the emotions she felt were about to explode inside her.

When Arnau set off back toward the castle, the plain began to empty of people. After agreeing on how they would present their complaint to the king, the nobles galloped off, paying no heed to those on foot, who were forced to leap off the tracks into the fields to avoid being knocked down by the furious horsemen. Nevertheless, as they headed back to their farms, there were smiles on all the peasants’ faces.

Soon the only ones left near the dais were the two women.

“Why did you lie to me?” asked Aledis.

This time the old woman turned to face her.

“Because you did not deserve him ... and he was not meant to live with you. You were never meant to be his wife.” Francesca said this without hesitation. She said it coldly, despite the emotion still choking her.

“Do you really think I don’t deserve him?” asked Aledis.

Francesca wiped away her tears, and soon was once again the energetic, determined woman who had run her business for so many years.

“Haven’t you seen what he has become? Didn’t you hear what he just said? Do you think his life would have been the same if he had been with you?”

“What you said about my husband and the duel ...”

“All a lie.”

“That I was being pursued ... ?”

“That too.” Aledis frowned and glared at Francesca. The old woman was not intimidated. “You lied to me too, remember?”

“I had my reasons.”

“So did I.”

“You wanted me for your business... I see that now.”

“That was one of the reasons, I admit. But do you have anything to complain about? How many naive girls have you fooled in the same way since then?”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you ...”

“Remember, the choice was yours.” Aledis looked doubtful. “Some of us never had a choice.”

“It was very hard, Francesca. To reach Figueres, dragging myself there with all that I went through, and with what result?”

“You live well, better than many of those nobles here today. You lack for nothing.”

“My honor.”

Francesca straightened as far as her bent body would permit. She turned to confront Aledis.

“Listen, Aledis, I know nothing about honor or honors. You sold me yours. Mine was stolen when I was still a girl. Nobody gave me any choice. Today I cried in a way I have never allowed myself to do before, and that is enough. We are what we are, and it serves no purpose for either of us to think about how we became it. Let others fight for their honor. You saw today what they are like. Who among them knows what honor really is?”

“Perhaps now that those privileges have been abolished ...”

“Don’t fool yourself; the peasants will continue to be poor, wretched souls with nowhere to lay their heads. We have had to struggle hard to gain what little we have, so forget about honor: that is not for ordinary people.”

Aledis looked around her at the peasants streaming away. They might no longer have to submit to their lords’ abusive privileges, but they were still the same men and women deprived of hope, the same starving, barefoot children dressed in rags. She nodded and put her arms round Francesca.