Cathedral of the Sea

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.

“What is that infidel doing in here?” he cried. “Do they have to mock us in this way?”

The captain of the guard did not know what to say. He had been concentrating so intently on the inquisitor that he had not seen Guillem come in with the councillors. Guillem was on the point of telling him that he was in fact baptized a Christian, but thought better of it: despite the grand inquisitor’s efforts, the Holy Office did not have any jurisdiction over Jews and Moors. Nicolau could not threaten or arrest him.

“My name is Sahat de Pisa,” Guillem said out loud, “and I should like to speak to you.”

“I have nothing to say to an infidel. Throw him out...”

“I think you will be interested in what I have to say.”

“I don’t care what you think.” Nicolau gestured to the captain, who drew his sword.

“Perhaps you will be interested to learn that Arnau Estanyol is abatut,” said Guillem, backing away from the soldier’s sword. “You will not be able to use a single penny of his fortune.”

Nicolau gave a deep sigh and stared up at the chamber roof. Although the captain received no fresh order, he put down his weapon and stopped threatening Guillem.

“What do you mean, infidel?” the inquisitor asked.

“You have Arnau Estanyol’s books; look at them closely.”

“Do you think we haven’t?”

“Did you know that the king’s debts have been pardoned?”

It was Guillem himself who had signed the receipt and given it to Francesc de Perellos. As the Moor had discovered, Arnau had never withdrawn his authority over his affairs.

Nicolau did not move a muscle. Everyone in the tribunal had the same thought: that was why the magistrate had refused to intervene.

Several seconds went by, with Guillem and Nicolau staring at each other. Guillem knew precisely what was going through the grand inquisitor’s mind: “What are you going to tell the pope? How are you going to pay the money you promised him? You’ve already dispatched the letter; he is bound to receive it. What will you say to him? And you need his support against a king whom you have always confronted.”

“And what has all this got to do with you?” Nicolau eventually asked.

“I could explain ... in private,” said Guillem, when Nicolau gestured impatiently at him.

“Barcelona has risen against the Inquisition, and now an infidel dares demand a private audience with me!” Nicolau complained in a loud voice. “Who do you think you are?”