Cathedral of the Sea

“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.

“Very well, Baron,” he said, “what do you want?”

“You promised you would sentence Arnau Estanyol, but you have let him escape.”

“I do not recall having promised anything, and as for letting him go ... it was your king, the man whose noble line you support, who refused to come to the aid of the Church. Go and demand an explanation from him.”

Jaume de Bellera muttered some unintelligible words and waved his hands in the air.

“You could still condemn him,” he said.

“He has escaped,” Nicolau admitted.

“We’ll bring him to you!” shouted Genis Puig, who was still threatening the captain, but was listening closely to what they were saying.

Nicolau turned to look at him. Why did he have to explain anything to them?

“We provided you with more than enough proof of his sin,” said Jaume de Bellera. “The Inquisition cannot —”

“What proof?” barked Eimerich. These two dolts were offering him a way to save his honor. If he could question their proof... “What proof?” he repeated. “The accusation by someone possessed by the Devil like you, Baron?” Jaume de Bellera tried to say something, but Nicolau silenced him with a scything movement of his hand. “I’ve looked for the documents you said the bishop drew up when you were born.” The two men glared at each other. “But I couldn’t find them.”

Genis Puig let his sword hand drop to his side.

“They must be somewhere in his archives,” Jaume de Bellera spluttered.