perhaps?”
“What is your neighbor’s name?”
“Anton the baker.”
The scribe copied out the name.
By the time Joan had finished the interrogations, night was falling. He called the captain in, and the scribe read out the names of all those who were to present themselves to the Inquisition at first light the next day.
THEN AGAIN IT was the silence of the night, the cold, the flickering flame... and his memories. Joan got up once more.
A blasphemous woman, a lecherous man, and a Devil worshipper. “At dawn I shall have you,” he muttered. Could it be true about the Devil worshipper? He had heard similar accusations, but only one had borne fruit. Could it be true this time? How was he going to prove it?
He felt weary, and returned to the pallet to close his eyes. A Devil worshipper...
“Do YOU SWEAR on the four Gospels?” Joan asked as the light of dawn began to filter through the window on the ground floor of the house.
The man nodded.
“I know you have sinned,” said Joan.
Flanked by two tall soldiers, the man who had bought a moment’s pleasure from the young widow turned pale. Drops of sweat stood out on his forehead.
“What is your name?”
“Gaspar.”
“I know you have sinned, Gaspar,” said Joan.
The man stammered: “I ... I ...”
“Confess!” said Joan, raising his voice.
“I...”
“Flog him until he confesses!” shouted Joan, thumping the table with both fists.
One of the soldiers moved his hand to his belt, where a leather whip was hanging. The man fell to his knees in front of the table where Joan and the scribe were sitting.
“No. I beg you. Don’t flog me.”
“Confess.”
With the whip still rolled up in his hand, the soldier pushed him in the back.
“Confess!” cried Joan.
“It ... it isn’t my fault. It’s that woman. She has bewitched me,” the man said in a sudden rush. “Her husband no longer possesses her.” Joan did not react. “She seeks me out; she pursues me. We have done it only a few times, but... but I will never do it again. I will never see her again. I swear it.”
“Have you fornicated with her?”
“Ye ... yes.”
“How often?”
“I don’t know ...”
“Four times? Five? Ten?”
“Four. Yes. That’s right. Four times.”
“What is the name of this woman?”
The scribe wrote it down.
“What other sins have you committed?”
“No ... nothing more, I swear.”
“Do not swear oaths in vain,” said Joan with slow emphasis. “Whip him.”
After ten lashes, the man confessed to fornicating with the woman and with several prostitutes when he went to market at Puigcerda. He also confessed to having blasphemed, lied, and committed an endless number of minor sins. After a further five lashes he remembered the young widow.
“I have your confession,” Joan declared. “Tomorrow you are to be in the square to hear my
The man did not even have time to protest before he was dragged out of the room on his knees by the soldiers.
Marta, Peregrina’s sister-in-law, confessed without any need to threaten her further. Joan ordered her to appear in the square the next day, then urged the scribe to move on to the next case.
“Bring in Anton Sinom,” the scribe told the captain, reading from his list.
As soon as he saw the Devil worshipper enter the room, Joan sat upright in his hard wooden chair. The man’s hooked nose, his high forehead, those dark eyes of his...
He wanted to hear his voice.
