Cathedral of the Sea (79 page)

“Aren’t you going to continue, Brother Joan?” said the officer. “These sinners are waiting.”

Joan turned to him. “Let’s go to Barcelona,” he said.

On their way back to the city, Joan passed close by the baron of Granollers’s lands. If he had turned aside a little from his route, he would have seen how the thane of Montbui and other knights who owed allegiance to Arnau were already riding through their lands to threaten the peasants that they would soon see the return of practices Arnau had abolished. “They say it was the baroness herself who accused Arnau,” someone said.

But Joan did not pass through Arnau’s lands. Ever since they had begun their journey, he had not said another word to the captain or anyone else in their small party, not even the scribe. There was no way he could not hear what they were saying, however.

“It seems they’ve arrested him for heresy,” said one of the soldiers, loud enough for Joan to hear.

“The brother of an inquisitor?” another soldier shouted.

“Nicolau Eimerich will make him confess everything he is trying to hide,” the captain replied.

Joan remembered Nicolau Eimerich well. How often had he congratulated him on his work as an inquisitor?

“We have to fight heresy, Brother Joan ... We have to seek out sin beneath people’s virtuous exteriors: in their bedrooms, their children, their spouses.”

And Joan had done the same. “You should not hesitate to use torture to obtain a confession.” He had done the same, tirelessly. What torture could they have used on Arnau for him to confess to heresy?

Joan quickened his pace. His filthy, shabby black habit hung stiffly down his legs.

“IT’S HIS FAULT I am in this situation,” Genis Puig said, pacing up and down the chamber. “I, who once had—”

“Money, women, and power,” the baron interrupted him.

But Genis paid no attention.

“My parents and brother died as starving peasants. They died from illnesses that thrive only among the poor, and I—”

“A mere knight who has no soldiers to offer the king,” the baron said, wearily finishing the phrase he had heard a thousand times.

Genis Puig came to a halt in front of Jaume, Llorenç de Bellera’s son.

“Do you think it’s amusing?”

The lord of Bellera did not move from the seat from which he had been watching Genis roving round the chamber in the keep of Navarcles castle.

“Yes,” he replied after a while. “Extremely amusing. Your reasons for hating Arnau Estanyol are grotesque compared to mine.”

Jaume de Bellera looked up toward the roof of the keep. “Will you please stop walking up and down?”

“How long will your man be?” Genis asked, still on the move.

Both of them were waiting for confirmation of the news Margarida Puig had hinted at in a previous letter. From Navarcles, Genis had convinced his sister stealthily to win the confidence of the baroness in the long hours Eleonor spent alone in the Puig family house. It was not difficult: Eleonor was desperate for a confidante who hated her husband as much as she did. It was Margarida who insinuated to Eleonor where the baron had come from that day. It was Margarida who had invented the adultery between Arnau and Raquel. And now that Arnau Estanyol had been arrested for having congress with a Jewess, Jaume de Bellera and Genis Puig were ready to take the next step as planned.

“The Inquisition has arrested Arnau Estanyol,” the captain confirmed as soon as he came into the keep.

“So Margarida was—” Genis exclaimed.

“Be quiet,” the lord of Bellera warned him from his seat. “Go on.”

“He was arrested three days ago, while presiding over the Consulate of the Sea tribunal.”

“What is he accused of?” asked the baron.

“That isn’t very clear. Some say heresy, others say it’s because he consorts with Jews, others still say it is because he has had relations with a Jewish woman. He has not been brought before the Inquisition yet; he is being held in the dungeons of the bishop’s palace. Half the city supports him; the other half is against, but they are all clamoring at his money change to claim their deposits back. I’ve seen them. They’re all fighting to get their money.”

“Are they being paid?” asked Genis.

“For the moment, yes, but everyone knows that Arnau Estanyol lent a lot of money to people who didn’t have a penny, and if he cannot call in those loans ... That’s why everyone is fighting to get there first: they don’t think he’ll be able to pay up for long.”

Jaume de Bellera and Genis Puig exchanged looks.

“The fall has begun,” said the knight.

“Find the whore who gave me suck!” the baron ordered the captain. “Shut her in the castle dungeons!”

Genis Puig added his voice to that of the lord of Bellera, urging the official to hurry up.

“That diabolical milk was not meant for me,” he had heard the baron complain time and again. “It was for that son of hers, Arnau Estanyol. And now he’s the one who has money and is the king’s favorite, while I have to endure the consequences of the sickness his mother gave me.”

Jaume de Bellera had been forced to talk to the bishop for the epilepsy he suffered from not to be considered the Devil’s work. All the same, the Holy Inquisition would no doubt see Francesca as possessed.

“I’D LIKE TO see my brother,” Joan abruptly asked Nicolau Eimerich as soon as Joan entered the bishop’s palace.

The grand inquisitor’s eyes narrowed. “Your duty is to make him confess and repent.”

“What is he accused of?”

Nicolau Eimerich stiffened behind the table where he had received Joan.

“You’re asking me to tell you what he is accused of? You are an accomplished inquisitor—but you wouldn’t be trying to help your brother, would you?”

Joan looked at the floor.

“All I can tell you is that it is very serious. I’ll permit you to see him provided you confirm that the reason for your visits is to obtain Arnau’s confession.”

Ten lashes! Fifteen, twenty-five ... How often had he himself given that command in the past few years? “Until he confesses!” he would instruct the captain accompanying him. And now ... now he was being asked to obtain his own brother’s confession. How was he supposed to do that? Joan’s only reply was to spread his hands in a mute appeal.

“It’s your duty,” Eimerich reminded him.

“He’s my brother. He’s all I have ...”

“You have the Church. You have all of us, your brothers in Christ.” The grand inquisitor fell silent for a while. “Brother Joan, I was waiting for you to arrive. If you don’t accept the terms, I’ll have to take charge of him myself.”

WHEN THE STENCH from the dungeons in the bishop’s palace hit him, Joan could not repress a grimace of distaste. As he was being led down the dark passageway to where Arnau was imprisoned, he could hear water dripping from the walls and rats scuttling out of the way. He felt one run between his legs. He shuddered, as he had done when he heard Nicolau Eimerich’s threat: “I’ll have to take charge of him myself.” What could Arnau have done? How was he going to tell him that he, his own brother, had promised to ... ?

The jailer opened the door to the dungeon. A vast, evil-smelling chamber appeared before Joan. Shadowy figures moved in the darkness, and the clink of the chains that bound them grated on Joan’s ears. The Dominican friar could feel his stomach reacting against the foul conditions and tasted bile in his mouth. “Over there,” said the jailer, pointing to a dark shape hunched in a corner. He left without waiting for any answer. The sound of the door slamming behind him made Joan start. He stood close to the door, searching in the gloom: the only light came in through a small window high up on the outer wall. As soon as the jailer had left, he heard the sounds of chains once more. What seemed like a dozen shadows shifted in front of him. Did that mean they were relieved because it was not them the jailer had come for, or were they desperate for the same reason? Joan had no idea, unable to interpret the groans and laments that surrounded him. He went up to the shadowy bundle that he thought the jailer had pointed to, but when he knelt in front of the figure, the scarred, toothless face of an old woman peered up at him.

He fell backward; the old crone stared at him for a few moments, then hastened to conceal her misery in the darkness once more.

“Arnau?” whispered Joan, still spread-eagled on the floor. Then, when he got no reply, he repeated his brother’s name out loud.

“Joan?”

Joan hastened in the direction the voice had come from. He knelt before another shadowy figure, then took his brother’s head in his hands and pulled him toward him.

“Holy Mother of God! What... What have they done to you? How are you?” Joan felt Arnau’s head: the hair was matted; his cheekbones were beginning to stand out from the gaunt cheeks. “Don’t they feed you?”

“Yes,” Arnau replied. “A crust of bread and water.”

When Joan’s fingers came up against the shackles round his brother’s ankles, he quickly drew his hands away.

“Could you do something for me?” asked Arnau. Joan said nothing. “You’re one of them. You’ve always told me the grand inquisitor holds you in great esteem. This is unbearable, Joan. I don’t know how many days I’ve been in here. I was waiting for you...”

“I came as soon as I could.”

“Have you spoken to the grand inquisitor?”

“Yes.” Despite the darkness, Joan tried to hide his features. The two of them fell silent.

“And?” asked Arnau eventually.

“What have you done, Arnau?”

Arnau’s hand tightened on Joan’s arm. “How could you think that ... ?”

“I need to know, Arnau. If I’m to help you, I need to know what they are accusing you of. You must be aware that they never say what the accusation is. Nicolau refused to tell me.”

“So, what did you talk about?”

“Nothing,” Joan said. “I didn’t want to talk about anything with him until I had seen you. I need to know what sort of accusation they are making if I am to convince Nicolau.”

“Go and ask Eleonor.” Arnau remembered how he had seen his wife pointing at him through the flames licking around the body of an innocent man. “Hasdai is dead,” he said.

“Eleonor?” queried Joan.

“Does that surprise you?”

Joan lost his balance, and leaned on Arnau for support.

“What’s the matter, Joan?” his brother asked, trying to steady him.

“It’s this place... and seeing you like this... I feel faint.”

“Get out of here then,” Arnau encouraged him. “You’ll be more use to me on the outside than you will be trying to comfort me in here.”

Joan stood up. His legs were weak. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

Joan called the jailer and left the dungeon. He followed the fat man back up the passageway. He had a few coins on him.

“Take these,” he said. The jailer put them in his purse without a word. “Tomorrow there’ll be more if you treat my brother properly.” The only sound was from rats scurrying along the passage. “Did you hear me?” he insisted. This time the reply was a deep growl that at least silenced the rats.