Cathedral of the Sea (88 page)

Standing in the prow of the galley, Sahat raised his eyes to the horizon. “You and your kind had the courage to live in a Christian city,” he said to himself. He had read and reread the letter many times: “Raquel did not want to escape, but we convinced her she must.”

Sahat jumped to the end of the letter:

It was a very complicated affair, Jucef added. On the one hand, Arnau was a very rich man, and the Inquisition was interested in his fortune; on the other, he was in the hands of a man like Nicolau Eimerich. Sahat had a strong memory of the arrogant inquisitor, who had occupied the post six years before he himself had left Catalonia, and whom he had seen at some religious ceremonies to which he had been obliged to accompany Arnau.

That was how Jucef ended his letter:
You are the only one he has left.
Sahat put the letter into the small chest in which he kept all the correspondence he had had with Hasdai over the past five years.
You are the only one he has left.
Standing at the prow of the galley, with the box in his hands, Sahat gazed out at the horizon. “Row, men ... I am the only one he has left.”

AT A SIGNAL from Aledis, Eulalia and Teresa retired to bed. Joan had already left them some time earlier; Mar had not responded to his farewell.

“Why do you treat him like that?” Aledis asked once the two of them were alone in the dining room. The only sound was the crackling of the almost spent logs on the fire. Mar said nothing. “After all, he is Arnau’s brother...”

“That friar deserves no better.”

As she spoke, Mar did not even raise her eyes from the table, where she was trying to remove a splinter of wood. “She is a beautiful woman,” thought Aledis. Her long, wavy hair hung down over her shoulders. Her features were well defined: plump lips, prominent cheekbones, a strong chin, and a straight nose. On their way from the palace to the inn, Aledis had been surprised at how white and perfect Mar’s teeth looked, and could not help noticing how firm and shapely her body was. Yet her hands were those of someone who had worked hard in the fields: they were rough and calloused.

Mar left the splinter and looked up at Aledis. The two women stared at each other in silence.

“It’s a long story,” she admitted.

“If you want to tell it, I have the time,” said Aledis.

Mar’s mouth twitched, and she let several more seconds go by. Why not, after all? It had been years since she had talked to a woman; years that she had lived wrapped up in herself, doing nothing but work inhospitable lands, hoping that the ears of wheat and the sun would understand her misfortune and take pity on her. Why not? Aledis seemed like a good woman.

“My parents died in the plague outbreak, when I was no more than a child ...”

Mar told her everything. Aledis trembled when Mar spoke of the love she had felt on the plain outside Montbui castle. “I understand,” she almost blurted out. “I also ...” Arnau, Arnau, Arnau; his name came up after almost every five words. Aledis remembered the sea breeze playing on her young body, betraying her innocence, stirring her desire. Then Mar told her about how she had been kidnapped and forced to marry her husband; her confession reduced her to tears.

“Thank you,” said Mar when she could speak again.

Aledis took her hand.

“Do you have any children?” she asked.

“I had one,” said Mar, squeezing her hand. “He died four years ago, as an infant, when there was another outbreak of plague among children. His father never knew him; he didn’t even know I was pregnant. He died at Calatayud defending a king who instead of leading his troops boarded ship in Valencia and set sail for Roussillon to safeguard his family from the plague.” As she spoke, Mar smiled disdainfully.

“What has all this got to do with Joan?” asked Aledis.

“He knew I loved Arnau ... and that Arnau loved me too.”

When she had heard everything, Aledis slapped the table. Night had crept up on them, and the noise resounded through the empty inn.

“Do you intend to denounce him?”

“Arnau has always protected the friar. He is his brother, and he loves him.” Aledis recalled the two young lads who slept in Pere and Mariona’s kitchen; Arnau carrying blocks of stone, Joan studying. “I don’t want to harm Arnau, and yet now ... now I can’t even see him, and I don’t even know if he is aware that I am here and still love him ... They are going to try him. Perhaps, perhaps they will condemn him to ...”

Mar burst into tears once more.

“DON’T BE AFRAID I’m going to break the promise I made you, but I have to talk to him,” Aledis said to Francesca as she was leaving the dungeon.

Francesca tried to make out her features in the gloom. “Trust me,” she added. Arnau had stood up as soon as Aledis came back into the dungeon, but he had not called out to her. He simply listened in silence to the two women whispering together. Where was Joan? He had not been in for two days now, and Arnau had many things to ask him. He wanted him to find out who this old woman was. What was she doing there? Why had the jailer said she was his mother? What was happening with his trial? And his business affairs? And Mar? What had happened to Mar? Something was wrong. Ever since the last time Joan had visited him, the jailer had started treating him just like the rest again: all he got to eat was a crust of bread with stale water, and the bucket had disappeared.

Arnau saw the stranger move apart from the old woman. He started to slump down against the wall, but... but she was heading toward him.

He could see in the darkness that she was coming toward him, and he struggled to his feet. She stopped a few paces away, outside the range of the feeble light that dimly lit this end of the dungeon.

Arnau half closed his eyes to get a better glimpse of her.

“They’ve forbidden all visits to you,” he heard the unknown woman say.

“Who are you?” he asked. “How do you know?”

“We don’t have time, Arn ... Arnau.” She had called him Arnau! What if the jailer came ...

“Who are you?”

Why not tell him? Why not embrace him, offer him some comfort? She wouldn’t be able to bear it. Francesca’s words echoed through her mind. Aledis looked back at her, and then again at Arnau. The sea breeze, the beach, her youth, the long journey to Figueres ...

“Who are you?” she heard once more.

“That doesn’t matter. All I want to tell you is that Mar is in Barcelona, waiting for you. She loves you. She still loves you.”

Aledis could see Arnau slump back against the wall. She waited a few moments. There were noises in the passage. The jailer had given her only a few minutes. More noise. The key in the lock. Arnau heard it too and turned toward the door.

“Would you like me to give her a message?”

The door creaked open. The light from the torches in the passageway cast a stronger light on Aledis.

“Tell her that I too...” The jailer came into the dungeon. “I love her. Even though I cannot...”

Aledis turned on her heel and walked toward the door.

“What were you doing talking to the moneylender?” the fat jailer wanted to know as he locked the door behind her.

“He called me over as I was leaving.”

“It’s forbidden to talk to him.”

“I didn’t know that. I didn’t know he was the moneylender either. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even go over to him.”

“The inquisitor has forbidden ...”

Aledis took out her purse and jingled the coins.

“I don’t want to see you here again,” said the jailer, taking the money. “If you come, you won’t leave.”

All this time, inside the dungeon, Arnau was desperately trying to understand what the strange woman had said to him: “She loves you. She still loves you.” But the memory of Mar was obscured by the light that the torches had cast on a pair of huge brown eyes. He recognized them. Where had he seen them before?

ALEDIS HAD TOLD her she would give him the message.

“Don’t worry,” she had insisted. “Arnau will know you are here, waiting for him.”

“Tell him I love him,” Mar shouted after Aledis as she began to cross Plaza de la Llana.

From the doorway, Mar saw the widow turn back and smile at her. Once Aledis was out of sight, Mar left the inn. She had thought about it on the journey from Mataró; again, when they had not been allowed to see Arnau; and that night over and over again. She left Plaza de la Llana and went part of the way down Calle Boria. She passed in front of the Capilla d’en Marcus and turned right. She came to a halt at the start of Calle de Montcada and stood for a few minutes looking at the noble palaces lining the street.