Cathedral of the Sea (96 page)

NICOLAU AND BERENGUER were still in the tribunal chamber when they heard the news: the king’s soldiers would not come to their defense, and the Barcelona host was threatening to assault the palace if they did not let them in.

“What do they want?”

The guard looked toward Arnau.

“They want the consul of the sea set free.”

Nicolau went up to Arnau until their faces were almost touching.

“How dare they!” he spat. Then he turned on his heel and sat down again behind the tribunal bench. Bishop Berenguer went with him. “Let them in,” ordered Nicolau.

To set the consul of the sea free; Arnau straightened up as much as his enfeebled condition would allow. Ever since her son had asked her his question, Francesca had been staring blindly in front of her. “‘Consul of the sea.’ I’m that person,” Arnau’s steady gaze told Nicolau.

The five city councillors and the
bastaix
alderman burst into the tribunal. Behind them, trying to go unnoticed, came Guillem, who had asked the
bastaixos
for permission to enter with them. He remained at the door while the other six, weapons drawn, faced Nicolau. One of the councillors stepped forward.

“What—” Nicolau started to say.

“The Barcelona host,” cut in the councillor, raising his voice above the inquisitor’s, “orders you to hand over Arnau Estanyol, consul of the sea.”

“You presume to give orders to the Inquisition?” asked Nicolau.

The councillor did not flinch. “For a second time,” he warned, “the host orders you to hand over the consul of the sea of Barcelona.”

Nicolau blustered, and turned to the bishop for support.

“They’ll attack the palace,” Berenguer said.

“They would not dare,” Nicolau whispered. “He’s a heretic!” he shouted.

“Should you not try him before you decide that?” one of the councillors said.

Nicolau’s eyes narrowed. “He is a heretic,” he insisted.

“For the third and last time, hand over the consul of the sea to us.”

“What do you mean, ‘for the last time’?” asked Berenguer d’Eril.

“Look outside if you really wish to know.”

“Arrest them!” shouted the grand inquisitor, waving his arms at the soldiers guarding the door.

Guillem took a few steps away from them. None of the councillors moved. Some of the soldiers put their hands to their swords, but the captain in charge signaled them to do nothing.

“Arrest them!” shrieked Nicolau.

“They’ve come to negotiate,” argued the captain.

“How dare you—” Nicolau shouted, rising to his feet.

The captain interrupted him: “Tell me how you expect me to defend this palace, and then I will arrest them; the king is not going to come to our aid.” The captain gestured toward the square outside, from where the sounds of the crowd were growing louder every minute. He turned to the bishop for help.

“You can take your consul of the sea,” said the bishop. “He’s free to go.”

Nicolau’s face flushed. “What are you saying ... ?” he cried, grasping the bishop by the arm.

Berenguer d’Eril shook himself free.

“You don’t have the authority to hand over Arnau Estanyol,” the councillor told the bishop. “Nicolau Eimerich,” he went on, “the Barcelona host has given you three chances: now hand over the consul of the sea to us or face the consequences.”

As he was saying this, a stone flew into the chamber and smashed against the front of the long table where the members of the tribunal were placed; even the Dominican friars jumped in their seats. The shouts from Plaza Nova were even louder and more insistent. Another stone came flying in; the clerk gathered up his papers and sought refuge at the far end of the chamber. The black friars who were closest to the window tried to do the same, but the inquisitor gestured for them to remain where they were.

“Are you mad?” whispered the bishop.

Nicolau gazed at everyone in the tribunal one by one, until finally he looked at Arnau. He was smiling.

“Heretic!” he bellowed.

“That is enough,” said the councillor, turning on his heel.

“Take him with you!” pleaded the bishop.

“We only came here to negotiate,” said the councillor, halting as he raised his voice above the noise from outside. “If the Inquisition does not accept the city’s demands and free the prisoner, the host will do so. That is the law.”

Nicolau stood facing them all. He was shaking with rage; his bloodshot eyes bulged. Two more stones crashed into the chamber.

“They will attack the palace,” said the bishop, not caring whether he was heard or not. “What do you care? You have his declaration and his possessions. Declare him a heretic anyway; he will be an outlaw forever.”

By now, the councillors and the
bastaix
alderman had reached the doors of the chamber. The soldiers, all of whom looked terrified, stepped to one side. Guillem was more interested in the conversation between the bishop and the grand inquisitor. All this time, Arnau still stood in the center of the room with Francesca, defying Nicolau, who could not look at him.

“Take him with you!” The inquisitor finally yielded.

As SOON AS
Arnau appeared with the councillors in the palace doorway, the roars of jubilation spread from the square to the crowded streets nearby. Francesca limped behind them; nobody had noticed when Arnau took her by the arm and led her out of the chamber. As they left the building, though, he had to let go of her, and she stayed in the background. Inside the tribunal chamber, Nicolau stood behind the bench watching them leave, oblivious to the hail of stones coming in through the window. One of them hit him full on his left arm, but the inquisitor did not even move. All the other members of the tribunal had sought refuge on the far side of the room, as far away as possible from the host’s anger.

Arnau had come to a halt behind the soldiers, although the councillors were urging him to go on out into the square.

“Guillem ...”

The Moor came over to him, put his arms round his shoulders, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Go with them, Arnau,” he told him. “Mar and your brother are waiting outside. I still have things to do here. I’ll come and see you later.”

In spite of the councillors’ efforts to protect him, the crowd rushed toward Arnau as soon as he was out in the square. They embraced him, patted him on the back, congratulated him. Row upon row of beaming faces confronted him. None of them wanted to move away to allow the councillors through; all the faces seemed to be calling to him.

The commotion was so great that the group of five councillors and the bastaix alderman were jostled from one side to another. The uproar and the endless sea of faces shook Arnau to the core. His legs began to weaken. He raised his eyes above the crowd, but all he could see was a forest of crossbows, swords, and fists waving to the shouts of the host, over and over again ... He leaned back on the councillors for support, but just as he was about to collapse, he saw a tiny stone figure appear among the weapons, bobbing along with them.

Guillem was back, and his Virgin was smiling at him. Arnau closed his eyes and allowed himself to be carried shoulder-high by the councillors.

HOWEVER HARD THEY
tried to push their way through the crowd, neither Mar and Aledis nor Joan could get anywhere near Arnau. They caught sight of him being carried along as the Virgin of the Sea and the banners began to make their way back to Plaza del Blat. Two others who saw him from amid the crowd were Jaume de Bellera and Genis Puig. Until that moment, they had added their swords to the thousands of other weapons raised at the bishop’s palace. They had even been forced to join in the shouting against the inquisitor, even though deep inside they both urged Nicolau to resist and for the king to change his attitude and come to the defense of the Holy Office. How was it possible that the king they had so often risked their lives for ...

When he saw Arnau, Genis Puig began to whirl his sword in the air and to howl like a man possessed. The lord of Navarcles recognized that cry—he had heard it many times when the knight galloped to the attack, flailing his weapon round his head. Genis’s blade clattered against the crossbows and swords of all those around him. As people started to move away from him, he made straight for the small group carrying the consul of the sea, which by now was about to leave Plaza Nova and head down Calle del Bisbe. How did he imagine he could take on the entire Barcelona host? They would kill him, and then ...

Jaume de Bellera threw himself on his friend and forced him to lower his sword. The men next to them looked on in a puzzled fashion, but the crush of the crowd swept them on toward Calle del Bisbe. As soon as Genis stopped shouting and waving his sword in the air, the gap around them closed up. The lord of Bellera took him to one side, away from anyone who might have seen him launch his charge.

“Have you gone mad?” he asked.

“They’ve set him free ... Free!” answered Genis, staring all the while at the banners that by now were advancing down Calle del Bisbe. Jaume de Bellera forced him to look at him.

“What are you trying to do?”

Genis Puig stared after the banners again and tried to break out of his companion’s grasp.

“To have revenge!” he shouted.

“This isn’t the way,” the lord of Bellera warned him. “This isn’t the way.” He shook Genis Puig until he was forced to respond. “We’ll find a better one.”

Genis stared at him; his lips were trembling.

“Do you swear it?”

“On my honor.”

As THE
HOST
moved out of Plaza Nova, silence returned to the tribunal chamber. The shouts of victory from the last citizens disappeared down Calle del Bisbe, and the grand inquisitor’s labored breathing became evident. Nobody in the room had moved. The soldiers were still standing to attention, keeping as still as possible. Nicolau’s gaze settled on everyone in turn; he had little need to say anything. “Traitor!” he spat at Berenguer d’Eril. “Cowards!” he shouted at the others. When he looked over toward the soldiers, he discovered Guillem standing among them.