by Luz Gabás
The day before the men were due to join up with the Aragonese army, Cecilia informed Brianda that Gisabel was there.
“I didn’t know what to do,” said Gisabel, heavily pregnant with her third child, “but I came to tell you that Father Guillem has been sent for to give extreme unction to your mother—”
Brianda nodded and asked her to wait. She looked for Corso and told him that she wanted to go to Lubich.
“Fine,” he agreed, “but this time I’ll go with you.”
They ordered the servants to prepare their horses, and at midday they crossed the gate of Anels.
Nothing had changed, Brianda thought as they took the fork. The same autumnal colors surrounded Lubich. The same damp carpet of leaves that reminded her of her childhood escapades. The sounds of the forest had yet to succumb to winter’s breath. The house where she was born, the thick walls of the buildings, and the high tower were all there, indifferent to the comings and goings of the people. And it was familiar Remon, now Gisabel’s husband, who took the reins of her horse. However, on approaching the main entrance to the house, a surge of anger coursed through her veins. The 1322 lintel with the name of the first Johan of Lubich had been ripped out. In its place was a stone on which the crest of Cuyls was crudely carved. She felt like screaming but held back. In that silence brought about by the proximity of death, her anger for that affront would seem incomprehensible to anyone but herself.
With Corso behind her, Brianda climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. She went without hesitation along the west passage, at the end of which were what had been her parents’ bedchambers. She crossed a small room with rich furniture and fixed her eyes on the half-open door that led to the bedroom. She stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and entered.
At one side of the large canopied bed, whose thick material had been moved aside and gathered with black bows, and with his back to her, sat Jayme, stroking Elvira’s hand despondently. On hearing footsteps, he turned and quickly got to his feet. In seconds, his surprise turned to aggression.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my mother,” Brianda answered in a firm voice.
“You mean to say good-bye to her,” he muttered.
“More reason than ever to ask you to leave us alone for a few minutes.”
Jayme hesitated but left. Corso followed him to the small room.
Brianda neared the bed. She barely recognized her mother in that motionless, thin, pale figure. She took a chair and sat beside her in silence for a moment until she noticed Elvira opening her eyes.
“Mother, it’s me, Brianda.”
Elvira managed a weak smile.
“I’ve been told I have a grandchild and you have called him Johan.”
“In honor of my father.”
“He was a good man and husband.”
“I would have said you had a different opinion.”
“What do you know?” Elvira sighed. “Answer me, Brianda: Are you happy with that Corso?”
“Completely.”
“More than with Marquo, who you didn’t think was a bad suitor?”
Brianda nodded.
“I was barely a girl when I met Jayme,” continued Elvira with difficulty. “He has always been my Corso. They separated us.”
Brianda frowned.
“Then you should have understood my marriage to Corso.”
“Perhaps I was wrong—”
“Yes, Mother, you were. Wrong about him and Lubich.”
“Daughters do not perpetuate houses. Nobility and lineage die out with them …” She paused. “Have you met Lorien?”
Brianda shook her head.
“He is very like you.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“He is not to be blamed for my actions, Brianda. Promise me that you will watch over him. Like it or not, he will always be your brother.”
Brianda remembered her father’s request before being murdered in the tower. “No matter what happens, keep the name of Lubich alive.” A promise made to someone on the edge of death was sacred.
“He already has someone to mind him, Mother.”
Elvira closed her tired eyes.
“Live in peace, Daughter,” she murmured. “Rancor rots the soul. Forget about the suit and be content with what you have.”
“I can’t,” said Brianda obstinately.
“You are stubborn and proud, like your father. The world he fought for had ended years ago, and he didn’t want to see it—” She put out her hand to take Brianda’s, which she squeezed tightly. “I have always wanted the best for you. Lubich is too heavy a burden for a woman—”
The pressure of her hand ceded, and Elvira fell asleep.
Brianda felt a knot forming in her throat. For a few moments, she sobbed in silence. Then, she leaned over her mother and placed a kiss on her cheek, conscious that it was her last good-bye. She sat up, dried the tears that scored her face, and went toward the door, where Father Guillem had just appeared. Brianda remembered the first time she had seen him, in that hospital in Monzon. She wondered if he would take the same care, would use his perfect diction, clarity, and firmness in seeing off her mother. She remembered how emphatic he had been that there was no reason to fear death if one was in a state of grace to receive God, accepting Him as the only savior of one’s soul. She had often thought about those words and the effort the priest had put into helping the man have a good death. She thought about her father’s murderers, about those who had killed Nunilo, about Jayme of Cuyls, about her own mother … May God forgive her for her thoughts, but how easy, simple, and even unjust it felt that all of them, because of their fear of death, were given the last-minute option to repent every sin they had committed.
“I have missed you lately at church, Brianda,” said Father Guillem. “And your husband as well. Maybe the abbot didn’t remind you of your obligations when he married you.”
Brianda reddened slightly. Father Guillem, going against Elvira and Jayme’s wishes and corroborating Abbot Bartholomeu’s words, had not been able to question the validity of her marriage to Corso. Nevertheless, he never missed an opportunity to reproach them for preferring the services of the Besalduch monastery, where they had also baptized the baby, to his own.
“We fulfill those that correspond to us, Father, following the customs of our houses.”
“Lubich is the house you were born in, and it has been able to change.”
“Those who now live in it are the ones who have changed.” Brianda looked back at her mother. “Its people, you, and I will die, but Lubich will continue as it has for centuries.”
Father Guillem considered her words but did not reply. He bowed his head slightly and moved with a heavy step toward the bed where the lady of the house was lying. Brianda noticed that he’d lost some of his vitality. His stay in Tiles was meant to be a short one, a type of preparation in his training before continuing his journey in other climes. Every year, though, the diocese in Barbastro asked him to stay a little longer and to extend his preaching to every village and hamlet in the county. They wanted his work to make up for the local clergy’s ignorance of the issues raised in the Council of Trent. Most of those priests belonged to families from the same village as their parishioners and were barely capable of religious instruction. If that was the will of God, Father Guillem’s trial was long and arduous.
He missed the heat of the lowlands, inhabited by people less reserved and unbending than those from Tiles and its surroundings.
Brianda stayed and listened to the devout man’s prayers for a while.
In the anteroom, after observing him in silence for a lengthy period, Jayme said to Corso, “I’ve been told that you are thinking of going with Pere tomorrow to fight with the Aragonese army.”
Corso did not answer.
Jayme added, “You can send word now that you won’t be going.”
Corso gave him a puzzled look. Instinctively, his hand went for his sword. Jayme cackled.
“You knew …”
“I have kept my contacts at court.”
“You’ve had more than enough time to unmask me. Why do you want to do it now?”
“There is always a right moment to do things. The secretary that the king is looking for has escaped from Zaragoza to some place in these mountains with the intention of fleeing to France. You will go after him.”
“You could do it yourself.”
Jayme looked toward the room where Elvira was.
“I have to be here now. I need someone I can trust to ensure the success of the mission. You can take my men.”
“You are more dangerous than I thought. Does this blackmail have anything to do with the matter of Lubich?”
“Don’t take me for a fool. Brianda’s absurd appeal follows a different route,” responded Jayme, dangerously enigmatic.
The hate he had felt toward Johan had now been transferred to his daughter, but for something much more tangible than ownership of Lubich. Elvira was a strong woman, but the sorrow caused by her daughter’s absence had consumed her. It seemed as if God was punishing him for having loved Elvira and for having dedicated his life to taking revenge on the person who had stolen her from him. Brianda would also suffer his punishment.
Just then Brianda came out of Elvira’s room. Without speaking to or even looking at her, Jayme went past her and into his wife’s room.
“What were you talking to him about, Corso?” Brianda asked.
“Nothing important.”
Corso courteously allowed her to go ahead of him. He had never kept secrets from Brianda before, but for the moment he had no intention of telling her about Jayme’s order. From the expression on her face, he gathered that her meeting with Elvira had been a sad one.
35.
The following morning, Corso sent a messenger to warn Pere that the men from Anels would not be going with him to Zaragoza after all. He hoped that one day he would have the chance to explain his behavior to Pere, who had become a great friend. However, he had no choice. If Jayme had him arrested for being a deserter, he would be sent to the galleys, tortured if not hanged. For this one service to the king, he would be pardoned, which in the past would have meant little to him. He could not help feeling he was betraying the House of Nunilo, but his survival and that of his family depended on this decision.
“Today brings back bad memories of that day at the monastery,” Brianda said, grabbing his cloak. The men were waiting for their master in their saddles. “I asked you to return, but it took so many months that I thought you were dead. I hate that you have to go away again. I’ll pray that nothing happens to either Pere or you.”
In silence, Corso hugged her tightly. He then got on his horse and led the group of armed men, who, though puzzled, faithfully followed him when he signaled to take the fork for Lubich, where they were joined by Jayme’s men, before heading into the mountain forests.
For days, a strong north wind cleared the snow from the fields and the roads. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had started, and December’s cold, sunny days and harsh, icy nights set in. White frost shrouded the bushes.
One morning in December, a messenger brought two pieces of bad news to Anels. Elvira had died and the Aragonese army had failed in its attempt to halt the king’s troops in Zaragoza.
Brianda read the document that Pere had sent to Corso. Her hands shook. Wasn’t Corso with him? The letter said that, in the end, few lords and councils had answered the Justice of Aragon’s call. Those that did had met up in Barbastro, where they spent days, unsure whether to intervene in a battle they saw as distant and lost. Finally, Pere had decided to continue, but when he got near Zaragoza, he learned that the king’s army had entered the city on November 11, after defeating the army of the justice, who was then murdered on His Majesty’s orders. The Count of Orrun had been taken prisoner.
Brianda’s hand went to her mouth. She could hardly breathe. Where was Corso? The justice who was dealing with her appeal for Lubich had been murdered, and the king was in control of Aragon, which would now have to be cleared of rebels. She had grown up convinced that the rebels were those who refused fealty to their count. Now rebels were those who refused it to the king. What was her situation now? Was she suddenly in the rebel camp? Her worry turned to anguish and fury at not knowing where Corso really was. It had been weeks since she had heard from him. She could not believe he had lied to her.
Two days later, Leonor, Aldonsa, and Cecilia walked with her to the church in Tiles, where Elvira’s funeral was to be held. The inside of the church smelled of damp soil because they had dug a hole in the House of Lubich Manor chapel, near the altar and in front of that of House of Anels House, where they had placed the statue of the Virgin that had finally been completed by the carpenter. Carefully, several men lowered Elvira’s sheet-wrapped body into the hole and, after some prayers, proceeded to cover it with earth. Jayme witnessed the whole process with the expression of a rabid dog. His lips were twisted grotesquely, showing his teeth, and his breathing was agitated. Maybe, Brianda thought, selfishness had prevented her from understanding that love and passion like she felt for Corso were not the exclusive right of a chosen few.
When the funeral was over, Father Guillem asked them to remain seated. A murmur went through the church. Everyone from Lubich, most of the people from Tiles, and some from Besalduch had attended the funeral. Marquo had sat with his wife at the back of the church, near the confessional, that curious closet Brianda had seen when her father gave her the writing desk.
Father Guillem’s face expressed profound unease. Brianda could see quite a few people frowning and pursing their lips in concern.
“Many of you have shared your worries with me,” said the priest, “and in these weeks I have given myself over to deep study and reflection. I fear that as we near the end of this century full of calamities, we are also approaching the final judgment I have told you so much about over the years. I hear the trumpets of angels announcing terrible cataclysms before the chosen ones can sit at the Lord’s side in white clothes and the condemned are thrown into the fires of hell. I wonder if we are following Jesus’s example and teachings for the eternal salvation of our souls or only for earthly happiness. And the answer is that God has given signs of His patience for a long time, but now we have provoked His ire, which wounds and punishes us like sharpened arrows in the form of wars, plague, and illnesses. We can all see that the seasons don’t perform their functions as before, that the land has become exhausted, that the mountains don’t offer the same abundance of pasture, that people die younger, that wolves approach our homes, and that piety and honor are in retreat.”
Father Guillem took a long pause that plunged the church into a deep silence. He clasped his hands and raised them to his chest. He bowed his head, rested his chin on them, and his eyebrows wrinkled even more in painful introspection before he continued.
“I have been reviewing my books, trying to find an answer, and I have concluded that the devil is in our midst.” A murmur spread and only dissipated slowly. “Yes. Virtue and goodness diminish in the presence of the malign and terrible beast of unfathomable size and cruelty that the Bible warns us about in the Book of Job. The enemy ceaselessly tries to do harm to his unsuspecting earthly victim. Nothing and nobody can escape the actions of the master of hell and of his acolytes, whose list of powers is long and worrying.
“They kill the livestock or make them sick by means of powders, fats, castings of the evil eye, words, touchings with the hand or wand. They take the form of wolves to attack the flocks and devour the animals. They burn houses, destroy crops, and make the fields as barren as the women who cannot conceive. They
make attempts on our lives, create accidents and bodily harm. They kill and cause children to disappear. They create caterpillars, locusts, grasshoppers, slugs, and rats that devastate the grass and the fruit. They make the ice more abundant and the temperatures lower. Through curses, spells, and tricks they promise to release captives, fill bags with money, promote undeserving men to honors and dignities, make the old young again, and disturb our feelings and bend our will.”
The door opened and, for an instant, a beam of light filled the church. Brianda looked toward the entrance and saw a shadow projected onto the floor. She had to make a tremendous effort not to cry for joy as Corso entered, looked for her, walked toward the chapel before the curious and perplexed gaze of the congregation, then sat behind her and rested his hand on her shoulder. His clothes were covered in mud, his hair was dirty, and his beard was long and unkempt. Brianda closed her eyes and inhaled the familiar odor of his sweat. She knew he had come straight to the church, unable to wait to see her. Her anger over his lie dissolved. He was alive. He was with her. Nothing else mattered. She raised her hand and rested it on Corso’s.
Father Guillem took up his discourse again.
“I am telling you today about the presence of the malign being so you can unmask it. Be on your guard at night. Watch to see if the air turns sinister around you, if you sense the putrefied smell of its mouth, if you have dreams and nightmares. Be careful, the devil uses them to torment you. He will deaden your senses with his illusions. And you, men of Tiles”—he extended his arm to accompany his words—“guard your women, made by nature of a melancholic, weak, soft, and infirm disposition, inferior to you in physical and moral strength. It is not me who says this, but prestigious theologians, doctors, and jurists. Women are more fragile than men in the face of temptation and, therefore, more inclined to allow themselves to be tricked by the demons and to take the devil’s suggestions as divine. They abound in harsh and vehement passions and maintain their imaginations obstinately. Their avarice is more violent than ours, their minds smaller and less prudent. Their seven essential defects drive them unwillingly toward evil, and these are their gullibility, their curiosity, their more impressionable nature, their greater wickedness, their promptness to avenge, their propensity to despair, and their charlatanism.” He paused. “Let us all implore now, men and women, that God’s mercy may protect us.”