Cathedral of the Sea

  “And six years ago, if I’d been treated like a human being rather than an animal,” Mar said, glancing at Joan, “I would still be at Arnau’s side.”

  The two women fell silent as they again measured each other with their gaze.

  “But I haven’t seen Arnau in twenty years,” Aledis finally admitted. “I’m not trying to compete with you,” she was trying to tell her, in a language only two women could understand.

  Mar shifted her weight from one leg to the other and relaxed her grip on the mule’s halter. She rolled her eyes, and stopped challenging Aledis.

  “I live outside Barcelona. Do you have anywhere to put me up?” she asked after a few moments.

  “I live outside the city as well. I am being put up ... with my daughters, in the Estanyer Inn. But we could arrange something,” she added quickly when she saw Mar hesitate. “What about him?” Aledis pointed her chin at Joan.

  The two women surveyed him, standing there with his bruised face and his filthy, torn habit hanging down from his stooped shoulders.

  “He has a lot to explain,” said Mar, “and we might need him. He can sleep with the mule.”

  Joan waited for the two women to set off again, then followed a few steps behind.

  “‘WHY ARE you here?’ she will ask me. ‘What were you doing in the bishop’s palace?’” Aledis cast a sideways glance at her new companion; she was walking on serenely, pulling at the mule, and not stepping aside for anyone they came across on the way. What could have happened between Mar and Joan? The friar seemed completely crushed ... How on earth could a Dominican allow a woman to send him to sleep with a mule? They crossed Plaza del Blat. Aledis had admitted she knew Arnau, but had not told them she had seen him in the dungeons, begging for her to come close. “What about Francesca? What should I tell them about her? That she’s my mother? No. Joan knew who she was, and knows she wasn’t called Francesca. My dead husband’s mother? What will they say when she is brought in during Arnau’s trial? I ought to have an answer. And when they find out she is a whore? How could my mother-in-law be a whore? Better to pretend I know nothing: but then what was I doing in the bishop’s palace?”

  “OH,” ALEDIS REPLIED when Mar asked her the question, “it was some business related to my deceased husband. Since we were passing through Barcelona ...”

  Eulalia and Teresa glanced at her, but carried on eating out of their bowls. The two women had reached the inn and persuaded the innkeeper to place a third straw pallet in the room where Aledis and her daughters were staying. When she told him he had to sleep in the stable with the mule, Joan made no demur.

  “Whatever you may hear,” Aledis whispered to the girls, “don’t say a thing. Try to avoid answering any questions, and remember: we don’t know anyone called Francesca.”

  The five of them sat down to eat.

  “Well, Friar,” Mar began, “why has the inquisitor forbidden all visits to Arnau?”

  Joan had not touched his food.

  “I needed money for the jailer,” he said wearily, “and since Arnau’s business had no cash, I ordered the sale of some of his commissions. Eimerich thought I was trying to get rid of Arnau’s fortune so that the Inquisition could not get hold of it ...”

  At that moment, the lord of Bellera and Genis Puig came in. They both beamed when they saw the girls.

  “Joan,” Aledis said quickly, “yesterday those two noblemen were bothering my daughters, and I have the impression that their intentions... Could you help me make sure they don’t trouble my daughters again?”

  Joan turned toward the two men while they stood there ogling Teresa and Eulàlia, obviously remembering the previous night. When they caught sight of Joan’s black habit, their smiles vanished. The friar looked at them steadily, and the two nobles sat down quietly at their table, then stared down at the food the innkeeper had brought them.

  “On what charges are they trying Arnau?” Aledis asked Joan when he turned his attention back to them.

  SAHAT WATCHED AS the final preparations were made for the ship bound for Marseilles to leave port. It was a solid, single-masted galley, with a rudder at the stern and two at the sides, and with room for 120 oarsmen.

  “It is a very rapid and safe ship,” Filippo told him. “They’ve had several scrapes with pirates and have always managed to escape. You’ll be in Marseilles in three or four days.” Sahat nodded. “From there you’ll have no problem finding a cargo vessel bound for Barcelona.”

  As he pointed to the galley with his stick, Filippo clung to Sahat with his other hand. Officials, traders, and workmen alike greeted him as they went past, and then did the same with Sahat, the Moor he was leaning on for support.

  “The weather is fine,” Filippo added, this time pointing his cane up at the sky. “You won’t have any problems.”

  The galley captain came to the side of the ship and waved at Filippo.

  “I have the feeling I may not see you again,” said the old man. Sahat turned to look at him, but Filippo clung to him even more tightly. “I’m growing old, Sahat.”

  The two men embraced at the foot of the ship.

  “Take care of my affairs,” Sahat said, stepping back.

  “I will, and when I am no longer able to,” Filippo said in a shaky voice, “my sons will carry on for me. Then, wherever you may be, it will be for you to give them a helping hand.”

  “I will,” Sahat promised in turn.

  Filippo drew Sahat to him again and kissed him full on the lips. The crowd waiting for this last passenger to come aboard murmured at this show of affection from Filippo Tescio.

  “Godspeed,” the old man said.

  Sahat ordered the two slaves carrying his possessions to go on ahead, then went on board himself. By the time he had emerged at the galley’s side, Filippo had vanished.

  The sea was calm. There was no wind, but the galley sped along thanks to the efforts of its 120 oarsmen.

  “I didn’t have the courage,” wrote Jucef in his letter after he had explained what had happened following the theft of the host, “to escape from the Jewry to be with my father in his final moments. I hope he understands, wherever he may be now.”

  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:Yesterday, the Inquisition arrested Arnau. Today, thanks to a Jew who works in the bishop’s household, I discovered that it was Arnau’s wife, Eleonor, who accused him of being a friend of Jews. Since the Inquisition needs two witnesses to bring a charge, Eleonor has called several priests from Santa Maria de la Mar to testify that they overheard an argument between her and her husband; apparently what Arnau said then is considered sacrilegious and supports Eleonor’s accusation.

  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.

  Ever since you left, Eimerich has been gathering more and more power. He has not even been afraid to publicly challenge the monarch. For years, the king has not paid revenues to the pope, and as a result Urban IV has offered Sardinia to the lord of Arborea, the leader of the rebellion against the Catalans. And after the long war with Castille, there is unrest again among the Corsican nobles. Eimerich, who depends directly on the pope, has taken advantage of all this to openly oppose the king. He insists the Inquisition should have the right to try Jews and other non-Christians, God forbid! But the king, who is responsible for all the Jewries in Catalonia, is strongly opposed to this. Eimerich is still trying to convince the pope, w
ho has no great wish to defend our monarch’s interests.

  But in addition to attempting to attack the Jewries, against the king’s interests, Eimerich has also dared denounce the works of the Catalan theologian Ramon Llull as heresy. For more than half a century now, Llull’s doctrines have been treated with respect by the Catalan Church. Seeing this attack as a personal insult, the king has appointed jurists and philosophers to defend his work.

  In view of all this, I am afraid that Eimerich will try to turn the trial against Arnau, a Catalan baron and consul of the sea, into a new confrontation with the king in order to cement still further his position, while at the same time securing a considerable fortune for the Inquisition. I understand that Eimerich has already written to Urban IV to inform him that he will keep what the king is owed by Arnau to pay the revenues Pedro owes him; so that at one and the same time the inquisitor can wreak his revenge on the king through a Catalan nobleman, and also strengthen his position with the pope.

  I also think that Arnau’s personal situation is delicate, if not desperate. His brother, Joan, is known to be a cruel inquisitor; his wife is the one who has made the accusation against him; my father is dead; and the rest of us, given the charge of befriending Jews and for his own good, dare not show our subbort for him. You are the only one he has left.

  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 fo
rbidden ...”

  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.

  “My lady!” exclaimed Pere, Eleonor’s aged servant, as he opened one of the big gates to Arnau’s palace. “What a joy to see you again. It’s been such a long time ...” Pere fell silent, and nervously motioned her to step into the cobbled yard. “What brings you here?”

  “I’ve come to see Dona Eleonor.”

  Pere nodded and disappeared.

  Mar was overwhelmed by her memories. Everything looked the same: the cool, clean yard with its gleaming cobblestones; the stables opposite; and to the right the impressive staircase leading up to the principal rooms. This was where Pere had headed.

  He came back down the stairs looking disturbed.

  “My lady will not see you.”

  Mar looked up at the first floor of the palace. A shadow flitted behind one of the windows. When had she been in this situation before? When ... ? She looked up again at the windows.