His arms round Hasdai’s daughter, Arnau could not take his eyes off his friend’s burning body. At first he thought he saw him bleeding, but the flames quickly took hold. All of a sudden, he could no longer hear the crowd shouting; all he saw was them raising their fists menacingly ... and then something made him look to his right. Fifty paces or so from the crowd, he saw the bishop and the grand inquisitor standing next to Eleonor. She was talking to them and pointing directly at him. Beside her was another elegantly dressed woman, whom he did not at first recognize. Arnau met the inquisitor’s gaze as Eleonor continued to point at him and shout.
“That Jewish girl is his lover. Just look at them. Look at the way he is embracing her.”
Arnau had his arms tightly round Raquel, who was sobbing desperately on his chest as the flames rose skyward, accompanied by the cheers of the mob. Turning his eyes away from this horror, Arnau found himself looking at Eleonor. When he saw the mixture of deep-rooted hatred and joyous revenge on her face, he shuddered. It was then that he heard the woman standing next to his wife laugh, the same scornful, unforgettable laugh that had been engraved on his memory since childhood: the laugh of Margarida Puig.
47
THIS WAS A revenge that had been a long time coming, and involved many more than Eleonor. A revenge for which the accu-JL sation against Arnau and Raquel was only the start.
The decisions Arnau Estanyol had made as baron of Granollers, San Vicenc dels Horts, and Caldes de Montbui had ruffled the feathers of the other Catalan nobles. They were afraid of the winds of rebellion stirring their own serfs ... Several of them had been obliged to use more force than ever needed before to stifle a revolt among the nobles that was demanding the abolition of privileges which Arnau—that baron who had been born a serf—had reneged on. Among them were Jaume de Bellera, son of the lord of Navarcles, whom Francesca had suckled as a boy, and someone from whom Arnau had taken his house, his fortune, and his way of life: Genis Puig. After losing, Genis had been forced to live in the old Navarcles house that belonged to his grandfather, Grau’s father. The house was a world away from the palace on Calle Montcada where he had spent most of his life. Both these men spent hours lamenting their ill fortune and plotting revenge. Revenge which, if his sister Margarida’s letters were true, was about to come to fruition...
ARNAU ASKED THE sailor giving evidence to wait. He turned to the court usher of the Consulate of the Sea, who had burst into the chamber.
“A captain and soldiers sent by the Holy Inquisition wish to see you,” the usher whispered in Arnau’s ear.
“What do they want?” asked Arnau. The usher shrugged. “Tell them to wait until the hearing is over,” Arnau told him, before urging the sailor to continue his testimony.
Another sailor had died during a journey, and the owner of the ship was refusing to pay his heirs more than two months’ wages. The widow claimed that the contract had not been in terms of months, and that since her husband had died at sea, she ought to be paid half his total wage.
“Go on,” said Arnau, looking over at the widow and her three children.
“No sailor is ever paid by the month ...”
Suddenly the courtroom doors crashed open. A captain and six soldiers of the Inquisition came in wielding their swords. They pushed the usher aside and stood in the middle of the room.
“Arnau Estanyol?” the captain asked, looking directly at him.
“What is the meaning of this?” Arnau protested. “How dare you interrupt—”
The captain stepped forward until he was directly in front of Arnau. “Are you Arnau Estanyol, consul of the sea, baron of Granollers?”
“You know very well I am, Captain,” Arnau interrupted him, “but—”
“By order of the tribunal of the Holy Inquisition, you are under arrest. Come with me.”
The court missatges made to defend the consul, but Arnau motioned to them to be still.
“Be so kind as to stand aside,” Arnau asked the captain.
The soldier hesitated a moment. Arnau calmly motioned with his hand for the intruders to move closer to the door. Still glaring at his prisoner, the captain stepped aside just enough for Arnau to be able to see the dead sailor’s relatives.
“I find in favor of the widow and her children,” Arnau ruled imperturbably. “They are to receive half of the total wage for the journey, and not the two months, as the ship owner is claiming. That is the resolution of this court.”
Arnau thumped the table, stood up, and faced the captain.
“Now we can go,” he said.
THE NEWS OF Arnau Estanyol’s arrest spread throughout Barcelona, and from there, nobles, merchants, and even peasants took it to the rest of Catalonia.
A few days later, in a small village to the north of the principality, an inquisitor who was busy putting the fear of God into a group of inhabitants suddenly heard it from an officer of the Inquisition.
Joan stared at him.
“It seems it is true,” the officer insisted.
The inquisitor turned toward the group of people. What had he been saying to them? What was this about Arnau being arrested?
He glanced at the captain, who nodded.
Arnau?
The small crowd began to shift uneasily. Joan wanted to go on, but could not find the words. He turned to the captain again; the man was smiling.
“Aren’t you going to continue, Brother Joan?” said the officer. “These sinners are waiting.”
Joan turned to him. “Let’s go to Barcelona,” he said.
On their way back to the city, Joan passed close by the baron of Granollers’s lands. If he had turned aside a little from his route, he would have seen how the thane of Montbui and other knights who owed allegiance to Arnau were already riding through their lands to threaten the peasants that they would soon see the return of practices Arnau had abolished. “They say it was the baroness herself who accused Arnau,” someone said.
But Joan did not pass through Arnau’s lands. Ever since they had begun their journey, he had not said another word to the captain or anyone else in their small party, not even the scribe. There was no way he could not hear what they were saying, however.
“It seems they’ve arrested him for heresy,” said one of the soldiers, loud enough for Joan to hear.
“The brother of an inquisitor?” another soldier shouted.
“Nicolau Eimerich will make him confess everything he is trying to hide,” the captain replied.
Joan remembered Nicolau Eimerich well. How often had he congratulated him on his work as an inquisitor?
“We have to fight heresy, Brother Joan ... We have to seek out sin beneath people’s virtuous exteriors: in their bedrooms, their children, their spouses.”
And Joan had done the same. “You should not hesitate to use torture to obtain a confession.” He had done the same, tirelessly. What torture could they have used on Arnau for him to confess to heresy?
Joan quickened his pace. His filthy, shabby black habit hung stiffly down his legs.
“IT’S HIS FAULT I am in this situation,” Genis Puig said, pacing up and down the chamber. “I, who once had—”
“Money, women, and power,” the baron interrupted him.
But Genis paid no attention.
“My parents and brother died as starving peasants. They died from illnesses that thrive only among the poor, and I—”
“A mere knight who has no soldiers to offer the king,” the baron said, wearily finishing the phrase he had heard a thousand times.
Genis Puig came to a halt in front of Jaume, Llorenç de Bellera’s son.
“Do you think it’s amusing?”