Cathedral of the Sea

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?

57

MAR 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 ... ?”