Cathedral of the Sea

The host gathered in Plaza del Blat. Mar found herself quite close to the Virgin, which was still dancing on bastaixos shoulders over the stone in the center of the square. But there was no sign of Arnau ... Mar thought she could see some men arguing with the city councillors. Perhaps ... yes, he was in the midst of them. She was only a few steps away, but the square was very crowded. She clawed at the arm of a man who would not let her through. The man drew a dagger and for a brief moment... But in the end, he burst out laughing and gave way. Arnau should have been directly behind him, but when Mar managed to get past, the only people she found were the councillors and the bastaix alderman.

“Where is Arnau?” she asked. She was panting and perspiring freely.

The imposing bastaix, wearing the key to the Sacred Urn round his neck, looked down at her. It was a secret. The Inquisition ...

“I’m Mar Estanyol,” she said, stumbling over the words. “I’m the orphaned daughter of Ramon the bastaix. You must have known him.”

No, he had not known him, but he had heard of him and his daughter, and of the fact that Arnau had adopted her.

“Run down to the beach,” was all he said.

Mar crossed the square and flew down Calle de la Mar, which had emptied of people. She caught up with them outside the Consulate: six bastaixos were carrying Arnau shoulder-high. He was still stunned from all that had happened.

Mar wanted to throw herself on them, but one of the bastaixos stood in her way; the man from Pisa had given them clear instructions: nobody should know where they were taking Arnau.

“Let go of me!” shouted Mar, her feet flailing in the air.

The bastaix had lifted her by the waist, trying not to hurt her. She weighed less than half of any of the stones or bundles he had to carry every day.

“ARNAU! ARNAU!”

How often had he dreamed he was hearing that voice? When he opened his eyes, he saw he was being carried by a group of men whose faces he could not even make out. They were taking him somewhere in a hurry, without speaking. What was going on? Where was he? Arnau! Yes, it was the same plea he had once seen in the eyes of a young girl he had betrayed, in the farmhouse of Felip de Ponts.

“Arnau!” The beach. His memories mingled with the sound of the waves and the salty breeze. What was he doing on the beach?

“Arnau!”

The voice came from afar.

The bastaixos entered the water, heading for the small boat that would take Arnau to the larger vessel Guillem had hired, which was waiting farther offshore. The salt water splashed Arnau.

“Arnau!”

“Wait,” he muttered, trying to raise himself. “That voice ... who ... ?”

“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.