Cathedral of the Sea

“That isn’t very clear. Some say heresy, others say it’s because he consorts with Jews, others still say it is because he has had relations with a Jewish woman. He has not been brought before the Inquisition yet; he is being held in the dungeons of the bishop’s palace. Half the city supports him; the other half is against, but they are all clamoring at his money change to claim their deposits back. I’ve seen them. They’re all fighting to get their money.”

“Are they being paid?” asked Genis.

“For the moment, yes, but everyone knows that Arnau Estanyol lent a lot of money to people who didn’t have a penny, and if he cannot call in those loans ... That’s why everyone is fighting to get there first: they don’t think he’ll be able to pay up for long.”

Jaume de Bellera and Genis Puig exchanged looks.

“The fall has begun,” said the knight.

“Find the whore who gave me suck!” the baron ordered the captain. “Shut her in the castle dungeons!”

Genis Puig added his voice to that of the lord of Bellera, urging the official to hurry up.

“That diabolical milk was not meant for me,” he had heard the baron complain time and again. “It was for that son of hers, Arnau Estanyol. And now he’s the one who has money and is the king’s favorite, while I have to endure the consequences of the sickness his mother gave me.”

Jaume de Bellera had been forced to talk to the bishop for the epilepsy he suffered from not to be considered the Devil’s work. All the same, the Holy Inquisition would no doubt see Francesca as possessed.

“I’D LIKE TO see my brother,” Joan abruptly asked Nicolau Eimerich as soon as Joan entered the bishop’s palace.

The grand inquisitor’s eyes narrowed. “Your duty is to make him confess and repent.”

“What is he accused of?”

Nicolau Eimerich stiffened behind the table where he had received Joan.

“You’re asking me to tell you what he is accused of? You are an accomplished inquisitor—but you wouldn’t be trying to help your brother, would you?”

Joan looked at the floor.

“All I can tell you is that it is very serious. I’ll permit you to see him provided you confirm that the reason for your visits is to obtain Arnau’s confession.”

Ten lashes! Fifteen, twenty-five ... How often had he himself given that command in the past few years? “Until he confesses!” he would instruct the captain accompanying him. And now ... now he was being asked to obtain his own brother’s confession. How was he supposed to do that? Joan’s only reply was to spread his hands in a mute appeal.

“It’s your duty,” Eimerich reminded him.

“He’s my brother. He’s all I have ...”

“You have the Church. You have all of us, your brothers in Christ.” The grand inquisitor fell silent for a while. “Brother Joan, I was waiting for you to arrive. If you don’t accept the terms, I’ll have to take charge of him myself.”

WHEN THE STENCH from the dungeons in the bishop’s palace hit him, Joan could not repress a grimace of distaste. As he was being led down the dark passageway to where Arnau was imprisoned, he could hear water dripping from the walls and rats scuttling out of the way. He felt one run between his legs. He shuddered, as he had done when he heard Nicolau Eimerich’s threat: “I’ll have to take charge of him myself.” What could Arnau have done? How was he going to tell him that he, his own brother, had promised to ... ?

The jailer opened the door to the dungeon. A vast, evil-smelling chamber appeared before Joan. Shadowy figures moved in the darkness, and the clink of the chains that bound them grated on Joan’s ears. The Dominican friar could feel his stomach reacting against the foul conditions and tasted bile in his mouth. “Over there,” said the jailer, pointing to a dark shape hunched in a corner. He left without waiting for any answer. The sound of the door slamming behind him made Joan start. He stood close to the door, searching in the gloom: the only light came in through a small window high up on the outer wall. As soon as the jailer had left, he heard the sounds of chains once more. What seemed like a dozen shadows shifted in front of him. Did that mean they were relieved because it was not them the jailer had come for, or were they desperate for the same reason? Joan had no idea, unable to interpret the groans and laments that surrounded him. He went up to the shadowy bundle that he thought the jailer had pointed to, but when he knelt in front of the figure, the scarred, toothless face of an old woman peered up at him.

He fell backward; the old crone stared at him for a few moments, then hastened to conceal her misery in the darkness once more.

“Arnau?” whispered Joan, still spread-eagled on the floor. Then, when he got no reply, he repeated his brother’s name out loud.

“Joan?”

Joan hastened in the direction the voice had come from. He knelt before another shadowy figure, then took his brother’s head in his hands and pulled him toward him.