Cathedral of the Sea (95 page)

“You will confess,” Nicolau assured her, rolling his tongue round the word. “I can assure you, you will confess.”

“VIA FORA!”

The cry disturbed the peace and quiet of Plaza Nova. A boy ran across the square, shouting the call to arms:
“Via fora! Via fora!”
Aledis and Mar looked at each other, and then at Joan.

“The bells aren’t ringing,” he replied with a shrug.

Yet the cry of
“Via fora!”
echoed around the city. Curious citizens came out into Plaza del Blat, expecting to see the Sant Jordi banner next to the stone in the center. Instead of that, they found two
bastaixos
armed with crossbows, who led them to Santa Maria.

In the square outside the church, the Virgin of the Sea had been hoisted on her dais onto the shoulders of more
bastaixos,
who were waiting for the people of the city to gather round. Beside her, the guild aldermen had hoisted their banner and were receiving the steady stream of people coming down Calle de la Mar. One of them had the key to the Sacred Urn round his neck. The crowd round the Virgin grew and grew. To one side, outside Arnau’s countinghouse, Guillem was watching and listening closely.

“The Inquisition has seized a citizen of Barcelona, the consul of the sea,” one of the guild aldermen explained.

“But the Inquisition ...,” someone said.

“The Inquisition is not part of our city.” One of the aldermen interrupted him. “It is not subject to the king either. It does not take orders from the Council of a Hundred, or the city magistrate, or the bailiff. None of them chooses its members—that is done by the pope, who is a foreigner and is interested only in our money. How can they accuse someone who has devoted his life to the Virgin of the Sea of heresy?”

“They only want our consul’s money!” shouted someone in the crowd.

“They’re lying so they can get their hands on our money!”

“They hate the Catalan people,” another alderman said.

The news spread like wildfire among all those gathered in the square. Angry shouts could soon be heard along Calle de la Mar.

Guillem saw the aldermen explaining what was going on to the leaders of the other guilds. Who wasn’t fearful about what might happen to their money? Although of course the Inquisition was to be feared as well. It was an absurd accusation ...

“We have to defend our privileges,” shouted one of those who had been talking to the
bastaixos.

The crowd grew agitated. Soon swords, crossbows, and fists were being waved in the air, to more cries of,
“Via fora!”

The noise grew louder and louder. Guillem saw some city councillors arrive. He immediately went over to the group talking together round the statue.

“What about the king’s soldiers?” he heard one of the newcomers ask.

The alderman repeated the exact words that Guillem had suggested to him: “Let’s go to Plaza del Blat and see what the magistrate does.”

Guillem left them. For a brief moment, he stared at the small stone image the
bastaixos
were carrying. “Help him!” he said in silent prayer.

The group set off. “To Plaza del Blat!” was the cry.

Guillem joined the stream of people flocking back up Calle de la Mar to the square where the magistrate’s palace stood. Few among them knew that the aim of the host was to determine what attitude the magistrate would adopt, so that while the Virgin on her dais was placed in the center of the square where usually the banner of Sant Jordi and the other guild banners would hang, Guillem had no difficulty in getting close to the palace itself.

In the center of the square, the councillors and guild aldermen gathered round the Virgin and the pennant; all had their eyes fixed on the palace. When the rest of the crowd realized what was happening, they all fell silent and turned toward the palace as well. Guillem could feel the tension rising. Had the infante kept his side of the bargain? The king’s soldiers were lined up, swords drawn, between the crowd and the palace. The magistrate appeared at one of the windows, squinted down at the people gathered below him, and disappeared again. A few moments later, a captain appeared in the square. Thousands of pairs of eyes, Guillem’s included, turned to him.

“The king cannot intervene in the affairs of the city of Barcelona,” the captain shouted. “It is for the city to decide whether to call the host or not.”

With that, he ordered the line of soldiers to withdraw.

The crowd watched as the soldiers filed out of the square and disappeared beneath the old city gate. Before they had all left the square, a huge cry of, “Via fora!” rent the air. Guillem trembled.

JUST AS NICOLAU
Eimerich was about to order that Francesca be taken back to the dungeons to be tortured, the sound of bells interrupted him. First came San Jaume, the call for the
host
to gather, and then one by one all the other church bells in the city began to chime. Most of the priests in Barcelona’s churches were faithful followers of Ramon Llull’s doctrines, and so were not opposed to the lesson the city intended to teach the Inquisition.

“The
host?”
the grand inquisitor asked inquiringly of Berenguer d’Eril.

The bishop shrugged.

The Virgin of the Sea still stood in the center of Plaza del Blat, waiting for the banners of all the guilds to join that of the
bastaix.
Already, though, many people were heading for the bishop’s palace.

Aledis, Mar, and Joan could hear them approaching. Then all of a sudden, cries of
“Via fora”
began to fill Plaza Nova.

Nicolau Eimerich and Berenguer d’Eril went over to one of the leaded windows. When they opened it, they saw more than a hundred people down below, shouting and waving their weapons in the air. The shouts grew louder when they spied the two provosts.

“What’s going on?” Nicolau asked the guard, starting back from the window.

“Barcelona has come to set its consul of the sea free,” a boy shouted when Joan asked the same question.

Aledis and Mar closed their eyes and set their mouths in a firm line. They felt for each other’s hand, and stared up with tear-filled eyes at the window that had remained half-open.

“Go and fetch the magistrate!” Nicolau ordered the captain of the guard.

With no one paying any attention to him, Arnau got up from his knees and took Francesca by the arm.

“What made you tremble?” he asked her.

Francesca just managed to stop a teardrop from falling down her cheek, but she could not prevent her mouth from twisting in pain.

“Forget me,” she said, her voice choking with emotion.

The uproar outside the windows made all further conversation or thought almost impossible. The host had assembled and was heading for Plaza Nova. It passed beneath the old city gate, and on past the magistrate’s palace. He watched it go by from one of his windows. Then the men marched along Calle de los Seders up to Calle Boqueria and the church of San Jaume, whose bells were still ringing out, and then up Calle del Bisbe to the bishop’s palace.

Still clutching each other by the hand, Mar and Aledis rushed to the end of the street. Everyone was pressed up against the walls to leave room for the
host
to go by: in the vanguard was the banner of the
bastaix
,
then the Virgin under her canopy, and behind her in a riot of color came the banners of all the other guilds of the city.

THE MAGISTRATE REFUSED
to see the Inquisition’s envoy.

“The king cannot interfere in the host of Barcelona’s affairs,” the king’s captain told him.

“But they will attack the bishop’s palace,” said the other man, still panting.

The royal officer shrugged. “Do you use that sword to torture with?” he was on the point of asking him. The Inquisition envoy saw his look, and the two men glared at each other.

“I’d like to see you measure it against a Castillian blade or a Moorish scimitar,” the soldier said, spitting between the other man’s feet.

Meanwhile, the Virgin’s statue had reached the bishop’s palace, swaying on the shoulders of the
bastaixos,
who had been forced almost to run up the street to keep pace with the enraged people of Barcelona.

Somebody threw a stone at the leaded windows.

This one missed, but not the next one, or many of the others that followed.

Nicolau Eimerich and Berenguer d’Eril rushed away from the windows. Arnau was still waiting for an answer from Francesca. Neither of them moved.

Several people started banging on the palace doors. A youth with a crossbow slung over his back climbed up the wall, cheered on by the crowd below. Others followed suit.

“That’s enough!” shouted one of the city councillors, trying to push the people away from the door. “Enough!” he said again. “Nobody is to attack without the city’s approval.”

The men stopped hammering on the door.

“Nobody can attack the building without an order from the councillors and the guild aldermen,” the official repeated.

The people nearest the door fell silent, and word ran through the square. The Virgin steadied, and silence fell throughout all the host. Everyone in the square was staring up at the six men who had scaled the palace walls; the first of them was already level with the smashed window of the tribunal chamber.

“Come down from there!” came the cry.

The five city councillors and the
bastaix
alderman, who was wearing the key to the Sacred Urn round his neck, all shouted at the locked palace door.

“Open in the name of the Barcelona
host!”

“OPEN UP!” THE Inquisition’s envoy banged on the doors of the Jewry, which had been shut as the
host
approached. “Open up for the Inquisition!”

He had tried to reach the bishop’s palace, but all the streets leading to it were thronged with people. There was only one way to get there: by crossing the Jewish quarter, which ran alongside the palace. If he could do that, he might be able to send his master the message: the magistrate was not going to intervene.