Cathedral of the Sea (86 page)

“Francesca.” ALEDIS KNELT beside the old woman, who pulled a face that might have been a smile. “What have they done to you? How are you?” The old woman did not answer. The groaning and wailing of the other prisoners filled the silence. “Francesca, they have taken Arnau. That’s why they brought us here.”

“I know ...”

Aledis shook her head, but before she could ask how she knew, Francesca went on: “He’s over there.”

Aledis turned her head to look at the opposite end of the dungeon. She saw a dark figure standing there, studying them.

“Listen to me,” the words rang out, “you who are visiting the old woman.” Aledis turned again to look in the direction of the figure. “I want to talk to you. I’m Arnau Estanyol.”

“What’s going on, Francesca?”

“Ever since I was thrown in here, he’s been asking me why the jailer says I’m his mother. He says his name is Arnau Estanyol, and that he’s been put in prison by the Inquisition. You can imagine what a torture that has been.”

“What have you told him?”

“Nothing.”

“Listen!”

This time Aledis did not turn round.

“The Inquisition wants to prove that Arnau is a witch’s son,” she explained to Francesca.

“Listen to me, please.”

Aledis could feel Francesca’s hands gripping her forearms. The old woman’s despair only added to the pathos of Arnau’s entreaties.

“Aren’t you ... ?” Aledis struggled to speak. “Aren’t you going to tell him anything?”

“Nobody must know Arnau is my son. Do you hear me, Aledis? If I’ve never admitted it before, now that the Inquisition is on his heels I am even less likely to ... You are the only one who knows it.” The old woman’s voice grew clearer. “Jaume de Bellera ...”

“Please!” came the voice in the gloom.

Aledis turned toward Arnau. She could not see him through her tears, but was careful not to wipe them away.

“Only you, Aledis,” Francesca insisted. “Swear to me you will never tell anyone.”

“But the lord of Bellera ...”

“Nobody can prove it. Swear to me, Aledis.”

“They will torture you.”

“More than life already has? More than the silence now is doing, when I have to say nothing in the face of Arnau’s pleas? Swear it.”

Francesca’s eyes gleamed in the darkness.

“I swear.”

Aledis swore her oath, then flung her arms round Francesca. For the first time in many years, she realized how frail the older woman was.

“I ... I don’t want to leave you here,” she said, sobbing. “What will become of you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Francesca whispered in her ear. “I’ll withstand everything until I’ve convinced them Arnau is not my son.” She struggled to breathe. “One Bellera ruined my life. I won’t let his son ruin Arnau’s.”

Aledis kissed Francesca and sat for a few moments with her mouth pressed against the old woman’s cheek. Then she got to her feet.

“Listen to me!”

Aledis stared at the dark figure.

“Don’t go to him,” Francesca begged her from the floor.

“Come here! I beg you!”

“You won’t be able to bear it, Aledis. You swore to me.”

Arnau and Aledis stared at each other in the darkness. Two shadowy figures. Aledis’s tears glistened as they rolled down her cheeks.

Arnau sank to the ground when he saw the unknown visitor head straight for the dungeon door.

THAT SAME MORNING, a woman riding a mule entered Barcelona by the San Daniel gate. Behind her limped a Dominican friar who did not even look up at the soldiers on guard. The two of them went on in silence through the city until they reached the bishop’s palace, with the friar still trailing behind the mule.

“Brother Joan?” asked one of the guards at the palace doorway.

The Dominican raised his battered face to the soldier.

“Brother Joan?” he asked again.

Joan nodded.

“The grand inquisitor has given orders for us to take you to him as soon as possible.”

The soldier called for the guard, and several of his colleagues came to take charge of Joan.

The woman did not even dismount from her mule.

S
AHAT BURST INTO the store the old merchant had in Pisa, down in the port on the banks of the Arno. Some workmen and apprentices tried to greet him, but the Moor paid them no heed. “Where is your master?” he asked everyone he met, striding among the huge bales of merchandise piled up in the vast establishment. Sahat finally found him at the far end of the building, bent over some lengths of silk.

“What’s happening, Filippo?”

The old merchant straightened up with difficulty. He turned to Sahat. “Yesterday a ship bound for Marseilles arrived.”

“I know. Is something wrong?”

Filippo studied Sahat. How old could he be? One thing was for sure: he was no longer young. He was as well dressed as ever, although he avoided the ostentation that many far less rich than he fell into. What had happened between him and Arnau? Sahat had never wanted to tell him. Filippo remembered the slave arriving from Catalonia, his certificate of emancipation, the money order he brought from Arnau ...

“Filippo!”

Sahat’s cry brought him back to the present. There was no denying, he thought, that the Moor still had the force and energy of a hopeful young man. He did everything with the same great determination ...

“Filippo! Please!”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” The old man hobbled over to him and leaned on his arm. “You’re quite right. Help me, and we’ll go to my office.”

In the trading circles of Pisa, Filippo Tescio asked few people for help. This public show of confidence by the old man could open more doors than a thousand gold florins. On this occasion, however, Sahat stopped the old man’s slow advance.

“Filippo, please.”

The old man tugged at his sleeve. “News ... bad news. Arnau,” he said, giving him time to recover his balance. “Arnau has been arrested by the Inquisition.”

Sahat said nothing.

“The reasons aren’t very clear,” Filippo went on. “His assistants have started selling his commissions, and apparently his situation ... But that is only a rumor, and probably a spiteful one. Sit down,” said the old man when they reached what he called his office. This was no more than a table on a raised platform from which he supervised the work of three clerks who sat at similar tables to note down all the transactions in huge account books, and from which he could keep an eye on all the activity in the warehouse.

Filippo sighed as he sat down.

“That’s not all,” he added. Seated opposite him, Sahat did not react. “This Easter the people of Barcelona attacked the Jewry. The Jews were said to have profaned a Christian host. They were fined a huge amount, and three of them were executed ...” Filippo could see Sahat’s lower lip start to tremble. “Hasdai.”

The old man looked away from Sahat for a few seconds, to allow him to recover. When he looked back, he saw his lips were drawn in a firm line. Sahat took a deep breath and raised his hands to his face to wipe his eyes.

“Here,” said Filippo, handing him a letter. “It’s from Jucef. A ship from Barcelona bound for Alexandria left it with my agent in Naples, and the captain of the ship heading for Marseilles brought it to me. Jucef has taken over from his father. In the letter he tells me everything that has happened, although he does not say much about Arnau.”

Sahat took the letter, but did not open it.

“Hasdai burned at the stake, and Arnau arrested,” he said, “and me here!”

“I’ve booked you a passage to Marseilles,” Filippo told him. “The ship leaves at dawn tomorrow. From Marseilles it should be easy to reach Barcelona.”

“Thank you,” said Sahat in almost a whisper.

Filippo sat silent.

“I came here in search of my origins,” Sahat began. “To search for the family I thought I had lost. Do you know what I found?” Filippo simply stared at him. “When I was sold as a boy, my mother and five brothers and sisters were alive. I only ever found one of them ... and I’m not sure he was my real brother. He was the slave of a workman in the port of Genoa. When he was pointed out to me, I did not recognize him ... I couldn’t even remember his name. He was limping, the little finger of his right hand was missing, and so were both of his ears. At first I thought he must have had a very cruel master if that was how he punished him, but later I learned that...” Sahat paused and looked across at the old man. He made no comment. “I bought his freedom and made sure he was given a good sum of money, without telling him it was me who was behind all this. The money lasted him only six days: six days during which he was constantly drunk, and managed to spend on gambling and women what to him must have been a fortune. He sold himself as a slave again to his former master in return for a bed and food.” Sahat waved his hand dismissively. “That’s all I found here: a drunken, brawling brother...”

“You also found a few friends ... ,” said Filippo.

“That’s true. I’m sorry. I meant ...”

“I know what you meant.”

The two men sat gazing down at the documents on the table. They could hear the noise and bustle of the warehouse all around them.

“Sahat,” Filippo said finally, “for many years I was Hasdai’s agent, and now, as long as God grants me life, I’ll do the same for his son. In addition, thanks to Hasdai and you, I also became Arnau’s agent. During all that time, I have heard only good things of Arnau, from traders, sailors, or sea captains. The news of what he did for his serfs reached even here! What happened between the two of you? If you had fallen out, he would not have rewarded you with your freedom, still less instructed me to give you all that money. What happened for you to abandon him, while he rewarded you in that way?”

“It was a girl ... an extraordinary girl.”

“Ah!”

“No,” the Moor protested, “it’s not what you think.”

And for the first time in six years, Sahat told him everything that he had until then kept to himself.

“HOW DARE YOU!” Nicolau Eimerich’s angry shout echoed along the corridors of the bishop’s palace. He did not even wait for the guards to leave the room. The inquisitor strode up and down the chamber, waving his arms. “How dare you put at risk something that by right belongs to the Holy Office?” Nicolau turned abruptly toward Joan, who was standing in the center of the room. “How dare you sell off commissions cheaply like that?”

Joan did not reply. He had spent a sleepless night being mistreated and humiliated. He had just had to walk several miles behind the back end of a mule. His whole body ached. He stank, and his filthy, mud-caked habit scratched at his skin. He had not had a bite to eat since the previous day, and he was thirsty. No. He was not going to reply.

Nicolau came up behind him.

“What are you trying to do, Brother Joan?” he whispered in his ear. “Could it be you wish to sell off your brother’s fortune so that the Inquisition cannot have it?”