Cathedral of the Sea (98 page)

Nicolau sat back in his chair.

“Your friend,” he said, “is a free man. Nobody gives money away. Why would anyone, however great a friend, give away fifteen thousand pounds?”

“Arnau Estanyol has only been set free by the
host.”

Guillem stressed the word “only”; Arnau could still be seen to be subject to the Holy Inquisition. The crucial moment had arrived. He had been weighing it up during the long hours he had been kept waiting in the antechamber, while he was staring at the weapons of the Inquisition’s guards. He had to be careful not to underestimate Nicolau’s intelligence. The Inquisition had no authority over a Moor ... unless Nicolau could prove there had been a direct attack on the institution. Guillem could never offer an inquisitor a deal directly. It had to be Eimerich who made the suggestion first. An infidel could not be seen to be trying to buy off the Holy Office.

Nicolau looked at him challengingly. “You’re not going to catch me out,” thought Guillem.

“Perhaps you are right,” said Guillem. “It’s true, there is no logical reason why, with Arnau a free man, anyone should want to offer such a large amount of money.” The inquisitor’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t really understand why they asked me to come here. I was told you would understand, but I share your invaluable opinion. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

Guillem waited for Nicolau to make up his mind. When the inquisitor sat up in his seat and opened his eyes wide, he knew he had won.

“Leave us,” Nicolau instructed the Jew. As soon as the little man had shut the door, Nicolau went on, although he still did not offer Guillem a seat. “It may be true that your friend is free, but the case against him has not been completed. Even if he is a free man, I can still sentence him as a relapsed heretic. The Inquisition,” he continued, as though talking to himself, “cannot dictate death sentences; that must come from the secular power, the king. Your friends,” he said, “ought to know that the king’s will may change. Perhaps someday ...”

“I am sure that both you and His Majesty will do what you have to,” replied Guillem.

“The king has a very clear idea of what is for the best: that is, fighting against the infidel and taking Christianity to all the far corners of the kingdom. But as for the Church: sometimes it is difficult to know what is best for a people with no frontiers. Your friend Arnau Estanyol has confessed his guilt, and that confession must be punished.” Nicolau paused, and stared again at Guillem.

“You have to be the one,” the other man insisted with his look.

“And yet,” said the inquisitor when he saw that Guillem was not going to say anything, “the Church and the Inquisition have to show themselves merciful, if by that attitude they can secure benefits for the common good. Would your friends-rhe people who have sent you-accept a lesser sentence?”

“I’m not going to bargain with you, Eimerich,” thought Guillem. “Only Allah, praised be his name, knows what you might obtain if you arrested me; only Allah knows if there are eyes spying on us from behind these walls, or ears listening to us. It has to be you who proposes the solution.”

“Nobody would call into question whatever the Inquisition decides,” he answered.

Nicolau stirred in his chair.

“You asked for a private audience on the pretext of having something to offer me. You’ve said that some friends of Arnau Estanyol could arrange it so that his main creditor renounces a debt of fifteen thousand pounds. What is it you want, infidel?”

“I know what I don’t want,” was all Guillem replied.

“All right,” said Nicolau, rising from his seat. “A minimum punishment: he is to wear the cloak of repentance in the cathedral every Sunday for a year, and in return your friends will ensure that the credit is canceled.”

“In Santa Maria,” Guillem said, somewhat to his own surprise. The words seemed to have come spontaneously from deep inside him. Where else but Santa Maria could Arnau fulfill his punishment?

M
AR TRIED TO keep up with the men carrying Arnau on their shoulders, but she could not force her way through the crowd. She remembered Aledis’s last words: “Take care of him,” she had shouted above the uproar of the
host.
She was smiling.

Mar had rushed off, pushing against the human tide that threatened to sweep her away.

“Take good care of him,” Aledis repeated, with Mar still looking at her and trying to get out of the way of the rush of people. “I wanted to, but that was many years ago ...”

All of a sudden she was gone.

Mar almost fell to the ground and was trampled. “The
host
is no place for women,” grumbled a man who pushed her out of his way. Mar managed to turn round. She looked for the banners that were already entering Plaza San Jaume at the far end of Calle del Bisbe. For the first time that morning, Mar dried her tears, and from her throat came a roar so loud it silenced all those around her. She did not even think about Joan. She shouted, pushed, kicked at the men in front of her, forcing them to make room for her.

The
host
gathered in Plaza del Blat. Mar found herself quite close to the Virgin, which was still dancing on
bastaixos
shoulders over the stone in the center of the square. But there was no sign of Arnau ... Mar thought she could see some men arguing with the city councillors. Perhaps ... yes, he was in the midst of them. She was only a few steps away, but the square was very crowded. She clawed at the arm of a man who would not let her through. The man drew a dagger and for a brief moment... But in the end, he burst out laughing and gave way. Arnau should have been directly behind him, but when Mar managed to get past, the only people she found were the councillors and the
bastaix
alderman.

“Where is Arnau?” she asked. She was panting and perspiring freely.

The imposing bastaix, wearing the key to the Sacred Urn round his neck, looked down at her. It was a secret. The Inquisition ...

“I’m Mar Estanyol,” she said, stumbling over the words. “I’m the orphaned daughter of Ramon the
bastaix.
You must have known him.”

No, he had not known him, but he had heard of him and his daughter, and of the fact that Arnau had adopted her.

“Run down to the beach,” was all he said.

Mar crossed the square and flew down Calle de la Mar, which had emptied of people. She caught up with them outside the Consulate: six bastaixos were carrying Arnau shoulder-high. He was still stunned from all that had happened.

Mar wanted to throw herself on them, but one of the bastaixos stood in her way; the man from Pisa had given them clear instructions: nobody should know where they were taking Arnau.

“Let go of me!” shouted Mar, her feet flailing in the air.

The
bastaix
had lifted her by the waist, trying not to hurt her. She weighed less than half of any of the stones or bundles he had to carry every day.

“ARNAU! ARNAU!”

How often had he dreamed he was hearing that voice? When he opened his eyes, he saw he was being carried by a group of men whose faces he could not even make out. They were taking him somewhere in a hurry, without speaking. What was going on? Where was he? Arnau! Yes, it was the same plea he had once seen in the eyes of a young girl he had betrayed, in the farmhouse of Felip de Ponts.

“Arnau!” The beach. His memories mingled with the sound of the waves and the salty breeze. What was he doing on the beach?

“Arnau!”

The voice came from afar.

The
bastaixos
entered the water, heading for the small boat that would take Arnau to the larger vessel Guillem had hired, which was waiting farther offshore. The salt water splashed Arnau.

“Arnau!”

“Wait,” he muttered, trying to raise himself. “That voice ... who ... ?”

“A woman,” said one of the
bastaixos.
“She won’t cause any problem. We ought to ...”

Arnau was standing by the side of the boat, still supported under the arms by the
bastaixos.
He looked back at the beach. “Mar is waiting for you.” Guillem’s words silenced everything going on around him. Guillem, Nicolau, the Inquisition, the dungeons—it all came flooding back to him.

“My God!” he cried. “Bring her here, I beg you.”

One of the
bastaixos
rushed over to where she was still being held.

Arnau saw her running toward him.

The
bastaixos,
who were also looking at her, turned their attention to Arnau when he struggled free of their grasp; it seemed as though the gentlest of the waves might knock him over at any time.

Mar came to a halt beside Arnau, who was standing there with his arms by his sides. She saw a tear fall down his cheek. She stepped forward and kissed it away.

Neither of them said a word. Mar herself helped the
bastaixos
lift him into the boat.

THERE WAS NO
point in his going openly against the king.

Ever since Guillem had left, Nicolau paced up and down his chamber. If Arnau had no money, there was no point sentencing him either. The pope would never release him from the promise he had made. The man from Pisa had him trapped. If he wanted to keep his word with the pope ...

His attention was distracted by hammering at the door, but after glancing at it, he carried on walking up and down.

Yes. A lesser punishment would safeguard his reputation as an inquisitor. It would also avoid any confrontation with the king, as well as providing him with enough money to ...

More hammering on the door. Nicolau looked over at it again.

He would have loved to have sent that Estanyol to the stake. What about his mother? What had become of her? She must have taken advantage of the confusion ...

The hammering echoed through the room. Nicolau flung the door open.

“Whar ... ?”

Jaume de Bellera was standing there, his fist raised to pound once more.

“What do you want?” asked the grand inquisitor, glancing across at the captain who should have been guarding the antechamber. He was pinioned against the wall by Genis Puig’s sword. “How dare you threaten a soldier of the Holy Inquisition!” Nicolau roared.

Genis lowered his sword and stared at his companion.

“We’ve been waiting a long time,” said the lord of Navarcles.

“I have no wish to see anyone,” Nicolau said to the captain, who had struggled free from Genis. “I’ve already told you that.”

The inquisitor made to close the door, but Jaume de Bellera prevented him from doing so.

“I am a Catalan baron,” he said slowly and carefully, “and I demand respect for my rank.”

Genis bellowed his agreement, and lifted his sword again to prevent the captain from coming to Nicolau’s aid.

Nicolau looked into the lord of Bellera’s face. He could call for help; the rest of the guards could be there in a moment, but those desperate eyes ... Who knew what two men used to imposing their authority could do? He sighed. This was far from being the happiest day of his life.