Cathedral of the Sea

by Ildefonso Falcones

“I have already told you it is a very serious matter.”

  “My brother is very rich.” Joan met Nicolau Eimerich’s gaze.

  “Are you, an inquisitor, trying to buy the Holy Office?”

  “Fines are permitted as payment for lesser offenses. I am sure that if you offered Arnau a fine ...”

  “As you well know, that depends on how serious the offense is. The accusation against him—”

  “Eleonor has no right to accuse him of anything,” Joan interrupted.

  The grand inquisitor got up from his seat and confronted Joan, pressing his hands on the table.

  “So,” he said, raising his voice, “both of you know it was the king’s ward who made the accusation. His own wife, the king’s ward! How could you imagine she would do such a thing if Arnau had nothing to hide? What man mistrusts his wife? Why not a business rival, or one of his assistants, or even a neighbor? How many people has Arnau sentenced as consul of the sea? Why couldn’t it have been one of them? Answer me, Brother Joan: why the baroness? What sins is your brother hiding for him to be so sure it was her?”

  Joan shrank back in his seat. How often had he used the same tactic? Plucking words from the air in order to ... But how did Arnau know it had been Eleonor? Could it be that he had really... ?

  “It wasn’t Arnau who put the blame on his wife,” Joan lied. “It was me.”

  Nicolau Eimerich raised his hands to the heavens. “And how do you know it was her, Brother Joan?”

  “She hates him ... No!” he tried to correct himself, but Nicolau was already pouncing on his words.

  “Why would she do that?” cried the inquisitor. “Why would the king’s ward hate her husband? Why would a good, God-fearing Christian wife come to hate her husband? What kind of wrong can her husband have done her to awaken such hatred? Women were born to serve men; that is the law on earth and in heaven. Men beat women, but the women do not hate them for it; men keep women shut up, and are not hated for that either. Women work for their husbands, and fornicate with them when the man so wishes. They have to look after them and submit to them—but none of that creates hatred. So what precisely do you know, Brother Joan?”

  Joan clenched his teeth. He should not say anything more. He felt defeated.

  “You are an inquisitor. I demand you tell me all you know,” shouted Nicolau.

  Joan still said nothing.

  “You are forbidden to protect sin. Whoever is silent about a sin is more guilty than a person who commits one.”

  In his mind’s eye, Joan saw an endless number of village squares, with the inhabitants shrinking in the face of his diatribes.

  “Brother Joan”—Nicolau spat the words as though they were distasteful, pointing to him across the table—“I want his confession by tomorrow. And pray that I don’t decide to judge you as well. Oh, and Brother Joan!” he added as the friar was about to leave the room. “Make sure you change your habit. I have already received complaints. And from what I can see ...”

  Nicolau waved disdainfully at Joan’s habit. As he left the chamber, glancing down at the filthy, threadbare folds of his tunic, Joan almost bumped into two men who were waiting in the grand inquisitor’s antechamber. With them were three armed men who stood guard over two women in chains: an old woman and a younger one, whose face ...

  “What are you doing still here, Brother Joan?” asked Nicolau Eimerich, coming to the door to receive his visitors.

  Joan delayed no longer, but scurried off down the corridor.

  JAUME DE BELLERA and Genis Puig went into Nicolau Eimerich’s office. After casting a rapid glance at Francesca and Aledis, Eimerich left them in the antechamber.

  “We have heard,” said the lord of Bellera once they had presented themselves and taken seats, “that you have arrested Arnau Estanyol.”

  Genis Puig fiddled nervously with his hands in his lap.

  “Yes,” said Nicolau curtly, “it’s public knowledge.”

  “What is he accused of?” Genis Puig interjected. The nobleman at his side glared at him. “Don’t speak; don’t say a word until the inquisitor asks you to,” he had warned him many times.

  Nicolau turned to Genis. “Don’t you know that is a secret?”

  “I beg you to forgive my friend,” Jaume de Bellera quickly said, “but you will soon see why we are so interested. We have heard that there is an accusation against Arnau Estanyol, and we wish to back it up.”

  The grand inquisitor straightened in his seat. A ward of the king, three priests from Santa Maria who had heard Estanyol blaspheme in the church itself, arguing out loud with his wife. Now a nobleman and a knight. Few accusations could have more convincing witnesses. He nodded to the two men to continue.

  Jaume de Bellera narrowed his eyes at Genis Puig in warning, then began the speech he had so often rehearsed.

  “We think that Arnau Estanyol is the incarnation of the Devil.” Nicolau did not move. “He is the son of a murderer and a witch. His father, Bernat Estanyol, killed a groom in Bellera castle and then fled with his son, Arnau, whom my father was keeping locked up because he knew what he was capable of. It was Bernat Estanyol who led the rising in Plaza del Blat during the first bad year we had: do you remember it? He was executed on the same spot...”

  “And his son set fire to his body,” Genis Puig could not stop himself from exclaiming.

  Nicolau gave a start. Jaume de Bellera gave his companion another warning look.

  “He set fire to the body?” asked Nicolau.

  “Yes, yes, I saw it myself,” lied Genis Puig, recalling what his mother had told him.

  “Did you report him to the authorities then?”

  “I ...” The lord of Bellera tried to intervene, but Nicolau waved to him not to interrupt. “I... was only a child. I was afraid he might do the same to me.”

  Nicolau raised his hand to his chin to hide a sly smile. Then he motioned for the lord of Bellera to continue.

  “His mother, that old woman outside, is a witch. Nowadays she is the mistress of a bawdy house, but she was the one who suckled me, and bewitched me with milk intended for her son.” When he heard this from the nobleman, Nicolau’s eyes opened wide. The lord of Navarcles realized why. “Don’t worry,” he said quickly, “as soon as the sickness became apparent, my father brought me to the lord bishop. I am the son of Llorenç and Caterina de Bellera, the lords of Navarcles. You can verify that no one in my family has ever had the Devil’s sickness. It can only have been that accursed milk!”

  “You say she is a harlot now?”

  “Yes, that too you can verify. She calls herself Francesca.”

  “And the other woman?”

  “She wanted to accompany her.”

  “Is she another witch?”

  “That is for you to decide.”

  Nicolau thought for a few moments.

  “Is there anything more?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Genis Puig intervened. “Arnau killed my brother Guiamon when he refused to take part in his diabolic rites. He tried to drown him one night on the beach ... My brother died soon afterward.”

  Nicolau stared once more at the knight.

  “My sister, Margarida, can confirm it. She was there. She grew frightened and tried to run away when Arnau began to summon the Devil. She can confirm all this for you.”

  “And you did not report Arnau then either?”

  “I’ve only recently learned about it, when I told my sister what I was thinking of doing. She is still terrified that Arnau might harm her; she has lived with that fear for years.”

  “These are very serious accusations.”

  “They are nothing more than Arnau Estanyol deserves,” said the lord of Bellera. “You well know that this man has spent a lifetime undermining authority. On his lands, contrary to his spouse’s wishes, he abolished customary practices. Here in Barcelona he lends money to the poor, and as consul of the sea he is well-known for his habit of giving judgments in favor of the common people.” Nicolau Eimerich liste
ned attentively. “Throughout his life he has sought to undermine the principles on which our social harmony is based. God created the peasants to work the land under the tutelage of their feudal lords. Even the Church, in order not to lose them, has forbidden its serfs to take the habit ...”

  Nicolau intervened. “In New Catalonia many of those customary practices no longer exist.”

  Genis Puig was glancing anxiously at each of them in turn.

  “That is precisely what I am trying to say.” The lord of Bellera chopped the air with his hands. “In our new Catalonia there are no abuses... thanks to our prince, thanks to the Church. We have to populate the lands won from the infidel, and the only way to do that is by attracting new people. That is what our prince has decided. But Arnau is nothing more than the prince ... of darkness.”

  When he saw the grand inquisitor nod imperceptibly at these words, Genis Puig smiled broadly.

  “He lends money to the poor,” the nobleman went on, “money he knows he is never likely to recover. God created the rich ... and the poor. It is not right that the poor should have money and marry off their daughters as though they were rich; that is against the will of our Lord. What are those poor people going to think of you churchmen, or of we nobles? Are we not following the precepts of the Church when we treat the poor as they should be treated? Arnau is a devil, the son of devils. Everything he does is designed to prepare for the coming of the Devil through the rebellion of the common people. I beg you to think on all this.”

  Nicolau Eimerich thought about what he had heard. He called in his scribe to note down all the accusations that the lord of Bellera and Genis Puig had made. He sent for Margarida Puig and ordered that Francesca be imprisoned.

  “What about the other woman?” he asked. “Is she accused of anything?” The two men hesitated. “In that case, let her be set free.”

  Francesca was sent to the huge palace dungeon. She was chained to the wall at the opposite end from Arnau. Aledis was thrown out onto the street.

  When he had finished organizing everything, Nicolau Eimerich slumped in his chair. Blaspheming in the temple of our Lord; having sexual congress with a Jewess, befriending Jews; committing murder; engaging in diabolic practices, going against the precepts of the Church—and all of this backed up by priests, nobles, knights... and by the king’s ward. The grand inquisitor leaned back in his chair and smiled to himself.

  “How rich is your brother, Joan? Stupid man! What fine are you talking about, when all that money will fall into the hands of the Inquisition anyway as soon as your brother is condemned to die?”

  ALEDIS STUMBLED AS the soldiers pushed her into the street outside the bishop’s palace. When she regained her balance, she realized that several passersby were staring at her. What was it that the soldiers had shouted? Witch? She was almost in the middle of the street by now, and people were still peering at her. She looked down at her filthy clothes. She felt her brittle, unkempt hair. A well-dressed man walked by, openly staring at her. Aledis stamped her foot and leapt toward him, baring her teeth like a dog attacking its prey. The man jumped backward and then ran off, slowing down only when he realized Aledis was not following him. Now it was Aledis who scrutinized all those around her, forcing them to lower their eyes one by one, although some of them still cast covert glances out of the corner of their eyes to see what she was doing.

  What had happened? Men sent by the lord of Bellera had broken into her house and arrested Francesca as she rested on a chair. Nobody had given them any explanation. The soldiers roughly pushed the girls aside when they tried to intervene; they all turned to Aledis to see what she would do, but she was paralyzed by fear. A few clients ran out of the house, hose around their ankles. Aledis confronted the soldier who seemed to be in charge:

  “What does this mean? Why are you arresting this woman?”

  “On the orders of the lord of Bellera,” the man replied.

  The lord of Bellera! Aledis looked toward Francesca, who was being held under the arms by two soldiers. The old woman’s body had begun to shake. Bellera! Ever since Arnau had put an end to the privileges at Montbui castle and Francesca had told Aledis her secret, the two women had overcome the only remaining barrier between them. How often had she heard the story of Llorenç de Bellera from Francesca’s lips? How often had she seen her weep when she remembered those days? And now ... another Bellera; and Francesca was being taken to the castle, just as when ...

  Francesca was still trembling, held by the two soldiers.

  “Let her go!” Aledis shouted at them. “Can’t you see you’re hurting her?” The two soldiers turned to their captain. “We’ll go of our own accord,” said Aledis, also looking in his direction.

  The captain shrugged, and the soldiers handed the old woman over to Aledis.

  They were taken to Navarcles castle, where they were shut in the dungeons. They were not mistreated, however. On the contrary, they were given food, water, and even bundles of straw to sleep on. It was only now that Aledis understood the reason: the lord of Bellera had wanted Francesca to reach Barcelona in good health. They were taken to the city two days later, in a cart, in complete silence. What for? Why? What did it all mean?

  The noise all around her brought Aledis back to reality. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts, she had hardly realized she had walked all the way down Calle del Bisbe, then Calle Sederes, and had finally entered Plaza del Blat. The fine, sunny spring day had brought even more people than usual into the square. Alongside the grain sellers were dozens of curious onlookers. Aledis was standing under the old gateway to the city; she turned when the smell of freshly baked bread from the barrow on her left reached her nostrils. The baker glanced at her suspiciously, and Aledis remembered how she looked. She did not have a single coin on her. She swallowed hard and walked away, avoiding catching the baker’s gaze.

  Twenty-five years; it had been twenty-five years since she had last been in these streets, seen these people, and breathed the air of Barcelona. Could the Pia Almoina still exist? They had been given nothing to eat that morning in the castle, and her stomach was reminding her of the fact. She walked back the way she had come, up toward the cathedral and the bishop’s palace. Her mouth began to water as she approached the line of beggars queueing for food outside the Pia Almoina. How often in her youth had she passed this very same spot, feeling nothing but pity for these hungry people who openly showed to anyone who passed by their need for public charity?

  Aledis joined the queue. She lowered her head so that her hair would cover her face, and shuffled along with the rest of them toward the food. She concealed her face still further when she reached the novice, and stretched out her hands. Why did she have to ask for charity? She had a good house, and had saved enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her days. Men still found her desirable and ... a crust of hard bean bread, a cup of wine, and a bowl of soup. She ate everything, with as much enjoyment as all the poor beggars around her.

  When she had finished, she lifted her gaze for the first time. She looked at the throng of beggars, cripples, and old people sitting at the tables. They all kept an eye on their neighbors and clutched their hunk of bread and bowl of soup tightly. What was the reason for her being there? Why had they kept Francesca in the bishop’s palace? Aledis got up. Her attention was caught by a young blond woman dressed in a scarlet robe, walking toward the cathedral. A noblewoman ... out on her own? But if she were not a noble, dressed like that she could only be a ... Teresa! Aledis ran over to her.

  “We took turns outside the castle to find out what was happening to you,” Teresa explained after they had embraced. “It wasn’t hard convincing the soldiers at the gate to tell us.” The young woman winked one of her beautiful blue eyes. “When you were taken out and the soldiers told us you were headed for Barcelona, we had to find some way of getting here. That’s what took us so long. Where’s Francesca?”

  “She’s under arrest in the bishop’s palace.”

&
nbsp; “For what reason?”

  Aledis shrugged. When the two of them had been split up, and the soldiers told her to get out of the palace, she had tried to hear what was going on. “Take the old woman to the dungeons,” was all she heard. Nobody had answered her questions, and they had pushed her out of the way. Her insistence on knowing why Francesca had been arrested led a young friar whose sleeve she was tugging to call the guard. She was thrown out of the palace to shouts of “Witch!”

  “How many of you came?”

  “Eulàlia and me.”

  A glittering green dress came running toward them.

  “Did you bring money?”

  “Of course...”

  “What about Francesca?” asked Eulàlia when she caught up with the other two.

  “She’s been arrested,” Aledis told her. Eulàlia wanted to know why, but Aledis silenced her with a gesture. “I don’t know why.”

  Aledis studied the two young women ... What mightn’t they discover? “I don’t know why she’s been arrested,” she repeated, “but we’ll find out, won’t we, girls?”

  They both smiled mischievously at her.

  JOAN DRAGGED THE muddy folds of his habit all through Barcelona. His brother had asked him to find Mar. How could he appear before her? After leaving Arnau, he had tried to make a pact with Eimerich. Instead of that, like one of the hapless villains he was used to judging as inquisitor, he had condemned himself with his own words, and had served only to make his brother seem more guilty. What could Eleonor have accused him of? For a few moments he thought of going to see his sister-in-law, but when he remembered the smile she had given him in Felip de Ponts’s house, he knew that would be no use. If she had denounced her own husband, what was she going to say to him?

  Joan walked down Calle de la Mar to Santa Maria. Arnau’s church. Joan came to a halt and surveyed it. Although still covered in wooden scaffolding where masons came and went ceaselessly, the proud outlines of Santa Maria were plain to see. All the external walls and their buttresses had been completed. So had the apse and two of the four vaults in the main nave. The tracery of the third vault, on the end of whose keystone the king had paid for the image of his father, King Alfonso, on horseback to be sculpted, was already rising in a perfect arch, supported by a complicated network of scaffolding until the keystone could be lowered into place and the arch could soar free. All that was left to build were the two remaining vaults, and then Santa Maria’s new roof would be complete.