by Luz Gabás
“Leave Tiles,” murmured Brianda. She looked at Leonor for advice.
Leonor took a handkerchief from her sleeve as her eyes filled with tears. “Perhaps Corso is right. I will look after the house in your absence. I will miss you, especially the little lad,” Leonor said, and she got to her feet. “I’ll tell Cecilia to get ready as well. You must take her to look after Johan.”
When the sun set in the afternoon, Corso, Brianda, Johan, and Cecilia left Anels House. To travel more quickly, they had reduced their belongings to what each of the adults could carry on their horses plus a fourth case that Corso tied to his saddle. The leather bag that hung from his belt contained enough money to cover their needs for at least a year. Young Johan, excited by the adventure, rode with Cecilia.
They did not explain the real reason for their trip to Abbot Bartholomeu, even though he had already heard about the meeting of the council from one of the monks, who had spoken with Domingo the carpenter. Without going into detail, Corso explained he had family in Barcelona that he had not seen since moving to Tiles. The abbot offered them lodging for the night in two adjoining monastic cells.
Hugging Corso in a narrow bed, Brianda prayed that everything would turn out all right. She thought of her trip to Monzon. Seven years had passed. Seven years in which everything had changed. Then, she had gone on a trip to return to a world that would never be the same again. Now she was leaving not knowing when she would return or what she would find if and when she did. If it were not for Corso, everything would look bleak. Beside him, anything seemed bearable, though in a few hours she would have to say farewell to Beles Peak.
At dawn on the following day, Abbot Bartholomeu knocked on the door.
“Get dressed and come out,” he whispered. “They are looking for you.”
37.
“Stay here.” Corso got dressed slowly and adjusted the belt holding his sword.
As he went down the stone steps that led from the cells to the patio, Corso was worried. He stepped outside and froze. A dozen men led by Marquo stood there. Corso recognized several men of the House of Bringuer of Besalduch, and the king’s captain, Vardan, with some soldiers. Abbot Bartholomeu and several monks observed the scene from a distance. Before Corso had time to react, one of the men grabbed his arms and pushed him against the wall, while another man rested the tip of his sword against Corso’s stomach.
“What’s all this about?” shouted Corso.
“A mere precaution so that you can listen to me calmly,” Marquo answered, coming over. “We’re looking for Cecilia. We’ve learned that you wish to take her with you.”
“She looks after my son.”
“Then you will share our worry if I tell you that the lad is in bad hands.”
“Who says so?”
“You were at the council yesterday. The names of witnesses are secret.” Marquo motioned to the two men holding Corso to release him and to go inside in search of Cecilia. “We will escort you back to your house. You’ve chosen a bad time to take a journey, Corso. No one should leave Tiles until we finish what we’ve started, and someone in your position even less so. We need good soldiers for this battle.”
Corso squinted. “And which lord do I serve now?”
Marquo came closer and whispered in his ear. “Mind your tongue, Corso. I know you because I’ve fought with you, but things have changed. You now serve God. Repeat it until you convince yourself, and those of your house won’t have any problems.”
“I don’t know whether to take that as a threat or to thank you,” Corso snarled.
Marquo held his gaze and Corso thought he noticed a touch of confusion, as if the task he had been ordered to carry out was beyond his comprehension, as if he had to use strong words in front of his men due to his position rather than out of conviction. Corso could not help but feel sorry for him. The only thing he could imagine was that Alodia had accused Cecilia and that Marquo had been incapable of challenging his wife.
Screams interrupted their conversation, and the two men reappeared dragging Cecilia, who cried and kicked to free herself. Brianda ran behind her, with little Johan disconsolate in her arms, pleading for Cecilia’s release. Once Brianda understood the situation, she faced Marquo.
“How can you do this to us?” she rebuked him. “You know us better than anybody!”
Corso put an arm around her waist and said in a low voice, “Don’t say another word!”
Brianda shot him a furious look and opened her mouth to reply, but Corso hissed, “We are not in Monzon. This time I don’t know how we could save her.”
Brianda’s eyes filled with tears. She handed Johan to Corso with the intention of going to Cecilia, whose hands were being bound, but Marquo blocked her path.
“Heed your husband, Brianda,” he ordered her in a threatening tone she had never heard before.
Then, Marquo turned to Cecilia and said, “You have been accused as a witch and a poisoner. You have been heard to renounce God and take the devil as your master, adoring and honoring him. As Justice of Tiles it is my duty to present you before the tribunal to answer for your crimes.”
Some of the monks blessed themselves and began to whisper.
Marquo ordered that Cecilia be put on one of the horses and they began to ride off while she screamed, her face covered in tears and her long black hair in knots. “It’s a lie! I’ve done nothing!” She turned her head and looked at Brianda. “Mistress! Don’t let them take me!”
“Where are you taking her?” Brianda demanded.
“We will lock her in Cuyls House until the trial is heard,” Marquo answered. “Fetch your things. You’ll be staying in Tiles.”
Brianda gasped.
Cecilia’s cries could be heard until she and her captors crossed the steep stone bridge. Suddenly, a whisper began to form in the surrounding woods and came to them as a wind. On the horizon, above and beyond the trees, pale clouds hovered. A cold sweat covered her body. Trembling, Brianda slid her hand to her belly. She had not said anything to Corso yet as she wanted to wait until she had missed her third period, but her second child was growing there. The day before, she had been afraid that the long journey on horseback could harm it. Now she sensed a much worse threat looming over that new life.
Corso came over and led her back into the building. They gathered their things, loaded the horse, and bade farewell to Bartholomeu.
“You have lived long,” Brianda said to him sadly. “Has there ever been peace here? Can you remember any time in the past when no one came from outside to poison our blood?”
The abbot understood that she was referring to the interference of the king and to the preachings of Father Guillem. However, frowning, he replied, “Daughter, the traitor from within is worse that the traitor without—”
Brianda nodded, seeing in her mind the face of Jayme of Cuyls, now the owner of Lubich. She also thought about Cecilia’s arrest by her own neighbors. The abbot’s words could not have been truer.
They rode in silence and, shortly before midday, they reached Anels House. At the door, Marquo said, “Tomorrow is Sunday. Everyone is expected at the church. Everyone. You have been informed.”
Brianda held his horse’s mane and looked him in the eye. “I beg that you ensure they don’t harm Cecilia.”
Marquo pulled on the reins and left.
That night, Brianda awoke with a start. Unable to get back to sleep, she lit a candle and went to her beautiful writing desk. With the key that always hung from her neck, Brianda opened the secret compartment and took out the papers she had written over the previous years. She reread fragments about the happiest moments in her life, and she became emotional realizing that the love she felt for that soldier she had met by accident in Monzon had only increased month after month. She took a quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote:
What would I not do for you, Corso? I would kill and I would die. I would condemn my soul. All of me is with you, now and forever …
She contemplated her h
usband’s sleeping body for a long time and then hid the pages and the edelweiss pendant in the only place where nobody, not even him, could find them. She considered hiding the Lubich ring as well, but she could not part with it.
She needed the strength of all her ancestors to help her continue without fear.
The following morning, Brianda, Corso, and Leonor went to the church accompanied by the servants from Anels House. Given that everyone had been ordered to attend, they had to bring little Johan with them. There were so many people that the meeting had to be held outside despite the chilling wind. Brianda watched anxiously for Cecilia. The door opened and she saw Jayme, Marquo, Pere, and Father Guillem, followed by Arpayon and a sixth man she did not recognize, but Cecilia was not with them.
Jayme was the first to address the crowd.
“Before the pressing danger that afflicts us, justice must be swift and severe. Yesterday we detained the first witch, who was just about to escape Tiles. Our duty is to act as required. We cannot risk this plague spreading to other areas.”
Jayme asked the stranger to stand beside him. He was tall and good-looking with strong features. He had neither a mustache nor a beard and kept his chin slightly lowered, which made his gaze at people unsettling.
“Gaspar is the seventh son of a couple who produced only male children. Being a man of good standing, saintly, and a friend of God, he has been granted the extraordinary grace and the special virtue to carry out wonders. He has driven back storms, put out fires, and banished plagues of locusts wherever his services were required. He has cured many of rabies and other illnesses, but his most important faculty is another.” Jayme held up a document. “These letters are a license from the Holy Office of the Inquisition of the Kingdom of Aragon recognizing his ability.” He asked the stranger to raise his arms on either side of his body. “You can see the marks of Saint Catherine’s wheel on one arm and a cross on the other.” He paused. “I tell you this so you don’t doubt for a second that he is a real witch-hunter. He can distinguish witches from those who are not.”
A murmur spread among the people. Various women made to leave, but Marquo’s men forced them to stay. Instinctively, Brianda pulled her cloak tighter.
Corso murmured, “The council was held the day before yesterday. Damn this Jayme of Cuyls. He’s had everything planned for a while.”
Gaspar ran his gaze over the crowd and, in a deep voice, said, “The woman I blow on, that woman is a witch. And I will show that she has a mark, which will corroborate my choice.”
He began walking among them in silence. One by one he looked at each woman, scrutinizing them with that strange look of his. From time to time, he raised his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, as if waiting for a revelation. Brianda gripped Corso’s hand in terror. Finally, the man stopped in front of Aldonsa, Leonor’s servant, and blew on her face. Two men came over and rushed her inside the church. Aldonsa did not scream. She just kept shaking her head. Brianda bit her lips to prevent herself from sobbing.
Gaspar continued. Minutes later, he blew on the face of an old woman called Antona and a middle-aged woman named Barbara. Brianda knew they both were from Besalduch. She recriminated herself for immediately noticing that the three women picked so far were old. Her fear was so great that to resist it she needed to console herself by believing the witch-hunter was ignoring the young. She then thought of Leonor, beside her, with Johan gripping her skirts, and her anguish increased. With her eyes closed, Brianda prayed that he would not pick her.
A squeeze of Corso’s hand made her open her eyes.
Gaspar was at that moment in front of Leonor. He squinted his eyes and remained like that longer than he had done with the others. Finally, he shook his head and stepped in front of Brianda, whose relief for Leonor instantly became fear for herself.
She looked into the man’s eyes and saw his determination long before he blew on her face. His warm breath ran over her cheeks as softly as the blade of an accursed scythe, foretelling the death of her body and her soul.
Brianda felt herself faint. Her senses stopped working. As if in a dream, she silently watched how Corso unsheathed his sword and several men knocked him to the ground. She screamed with all her might, but she could not hear her voice. They held her by the arms, but she felt no contact. The tears poured down her cheeks, but she did not taste the salt.
They pushed her inside the cold building and slammed the door behind her. After a while, she did not know how long, the door opened again and Gisabel was thrown in, tearfully repeating the names of her children, the last one newly born. After her, Marquo, Jayme, the lawyer, the witch-hunter, and a dozen soldiers appeared.
They made the women get to their feet one beside the other and undo the stays of their bodices. The witch-hunter filed past them and stopped at Brianda.
“We’ll start with this one.”
He knelt down, lifted her skirt, lowered her stockings, and slowly slid his fingers and his eyes up her legs. When he got to her thighs, he stood up, took her blouse in both hands, and ripped it. Brianda began to sob. It disgusted her that his eyes and his breath set on the places that only Corso’s had up until then.
She glared at Marquo, and he lowered his eyes.
“You have good reason to be ashamed,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Shut up!” ordered Jayme with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Don’t think you’ll be able to fool us any longer with your deceitful words. How did I not see it before? To think I offered to be your father!”
Brianda looked at him with hatred.
“You brought the evil to these lands,” Brianda raged.
Then Gaspar made her lift her arms and stroked her armpits.
“Here is undeniable proof,” he announced triumphantly. “No hair grows beneath her arms.”
Jayme turned to the lawyer. “Write down everything he says, Arpayon. All just trials need proof and legal grounds to proceed.”
Brianda fixed her clothes as best she could and despondently sat on a bench. While they proceeded to examine the other women, her gaze fell on a tiny object on the floor. It was the key that she always wore around her neck on a chain. It had broken when Gaspar ripped her blouse. She bent down and picked it up. She looked for the chain but did not see it. It had probably gone down one of the cracks of the worn wooden floor. She pulled a leather stay from her bodice and broke off a bit, which she put through the eye of the key and knotted.
Aldonsa was the last woman Gaspar studied before the attentive gaze of the other men. He found on her back a mark that was, as he explained, the mark left by the devil’s claw when she became his acolyte. The lawyer finished taking notes, and Jayme ordered the women to remove their jewelry and put it into his leather bag. He told them he would keep it as surety for the costs of the trials and their stay in jail in case their families did not pay.
The women obeyed with sobs and whimpers, but Brianda was frozen, terrified. Jayme did not take his eyes off her father’s ring. When he approached, she turned and ran to the Anels House chapel. She rested her hands on the small statue of the Virgin and dropped the leather cord around the statue’s neck. Now the ring—but Jayme was upon her.
“Give me the ring, Brianda,” he demanded.
Brianda refused.
Jayme raised his hand to hit her but thought better of it and called the men. They held her and forced open her fist. Jayme removed the ring, contemplated it with a cold look, and tried it on the little finger of his right hand.
“It will soon be mine,” he murmured, before tossing it in the bag.
Brianda spat in his face, and he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and punched her in the face, sending her ricocheting against the wall.
“Jayme!” shouted Marquo, quickly approaching.
“Would you defend a witch?” Jayme howled.
“She has yet to be tried!”
Jayme held his gaze, but did not reply. He walked toward the door and ordered the
rest to follow him with the prisoners.
Stunned by the blow, Brianda went outside. She saw Corso tied to a tree, struggling like a savage beast. His dark hair fell over his face, which was bloody. When he at last saw her, Brianda communicated to him through her eyes, concentrating all her energy in convincing him, as she looked into his dark, rebellious eyes, not to say anything, in pleading with him to remain calm, in showing him that the battle had only just begun but that she was prepared to fight for her innocence and her life. She looked to Johan, now crying in Leonor’s arms, so that Corso would understand. If she was captive, he would have to look after their son. Corso clenched his jaw so hard the muscles of his neck tensed up. With pain reflected in each inch of his face, he gave a slight nod and stopped struggling.
Jayme read aloud what Arpayon had written and informed them that the women would be transferred to Cuyls House, which they had turned into a jail, to be interrogated prior to the trial that all accused were entitled to. He also told them that the witch-hunter would remain in Tiles for a while as his work was not finished. Then, Pere interrupted him.
“Brianda of Lubich is of noble birth!” shouted Pere. “Her lineage is entitled to all the rights, privileges, and liberties of this kingdom with or without indictment!”
“If you intend to defend her, that’s your own concern.” Jayme shrugged.
“I will! I will prove that you are wrong! And I demand you free the master of Anels!”
Jayme agreed, and Pere himself cut the ropes.