Nicolau kept Guillem waiting several hours. When he finally appeared, he was accompanied by a small Jewish man dressed in a black coat and wearing the obligatory yellow badge. The Jew scurried after the inquisitor, carrying several account books under his arm. He avoided looking at Guillem when Nicolau gestured to both of them to step inside his chamber.
He did not ask them to sit down, but himself took a seat behind his big table.
“If what you say is true,” he said, addressing Guillem, “Estanyol is abatut, ruined.”
“You know it’s true,” Guillem replied. “The king does not owe Arnau Estanyol a penny.”
“In that case, I could call the city’s finance inspector,” said the inquisitor. “How ironic if the same city that freed him from the Holy Office were to execute him for being abatut.”
“That will never happen,” Guillem was tempted to reply. “I can easily secure Arnau’s freedom, simply by showing Abraham Levi’s receipt...” But no: Nicolau had not agreed to receive him just to denounce Arnau to the finance inspector. What he wanted was his money, the money he had promised the pope, the money that this Jew (who must be a friend of Jucef’s) had told him was available.
Guillem said nothing.
“I could do so,” insisted Nicolau.
Guillem spread his palms. The inquisitor looked at him more closely.
“Who are you?” he asked at length.
“My name is—”
“I know, I know,” Eimerich said, with a chopping, impatient gesture. “Your name is Sahat from Pisa. What I should like to know is what someone from Pisa is doing in Barcelona defending a heretic.”
“Arnau Estanyol has a lot of friends, even in Pisa.” “Infidels and heretics!” cried Nicolau.
Guillem spread his palms once more. How long would it be before the inquisitor succumbed to the idea of money? Nicolau seemed to have understood. He said nothing for a few moments.
“What do those friends of Arnau Estanyol have to offer the Inquisition?” he finally asked.
“In those books,” said Guillem, nodding toward the tiny Jew, who had not taken his eyes off Nicolau’s table, “there are entries in favor of one of Arnau Estanyol’s creditors. They amount to a fortune.”
For the first time, the inquisitor addressed the Jew. “Is this true?”
“Yes,” replied the Jew. “From the outset, there are entries in the name of Abraham Levi ...”
“Another heretic!” Nicolau exploded.
The three men fell silent.
“Go on,” ordered the inquisitor.
“Those entries have added up over the years. By now, they must amount to more than fifteen thousand pounds.”
A glint appeared in the inquisitor’s narrowed eyes. Neither Guillem nor the little Jew failed to notice it.
“Well?” asked the inquisitor.
“Arnau Estanyol’s friends could see to it that Levi renounced his right to the money.”
Nicolau sat back in his chair.
“Your friend,” he said, “is a free man. Nobody gives money away. Why would anyone, however great a friend, give away fifteen thousand pounds?”
“Arnau Estanyol has only been set free by the host.”
Guillem stressed the word “only”; Arnau could still be seen to be subject to the Holy Inquisition. The crucial moment had arrived. He had been weighing it up during the long hours he had been kept waiting in the antechamber, while he was staring at the weapons of the Inquisition’s guards. He had to be careful not to underestimate Nicolau’s intelligence. The Inquisition had no authority over a Moor ... unless Nicolau could prove there had been a direct attack on the institution. Guillem could never offer an inquisitor a deal directly. It had to be Eimerich who made the suggestion first. An infidel could not be seen to be trying to buy off the Holy Office.
Nicolau looked at him challengingly. “You’re not going to catch me out,” thought Guillem.
“Perhaps you are right,” said Guillem. “It’s true, there is no logical reason why, with Arnau a free man, anyone should want to offer such a large amount of money.” The inquisitor’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t really understand why they asked me to come here. I was told you would understand, but I share your invaluable opinion. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
Guillem waited for Nicolau to make up his mind. When the inquisitor sat up in his seat and opened his eyes wide, he knew he had won.
“Leave us,” Nicolau instructed the Jew. As soon as the little man had shut the door, Nicolau went on, although he still did not offer Guillem a seat. “It may be true that your friend is free, but the case against him has not been completed. Even if he is a free man, I can still sentence him as a relapsed heretic. The Inquisition,” he continued, as though talking to himself, “cannot dictate death sentences; that must come from the secular power, the king. Your friends,” he said, “ought to know that the king’s will may change. Perhaps someday ...”
“I am sure that both you and His Majesty will do what you have to,” replied Guillem.
“The king has a very clear idea of what is for the best: that is, fighting against the infidel and taking Christianity to all the far corners of the kingdom. But as for the Church: sometimes it is difficult to know what is best for a people with no frontiers. Your friend Arnau Estanyol has confessed his guilt, and that confession must be punished.” Nicolau paused, and stared again at Guillem.
“You have to be the one,” the other man insisted with his look.
“And yet,” said the inquisitor when he saw that Guillem was not going to say anything, “the Church and the Inquisition have to show themselves merciful, if by that attitude they can secure benefits for the common good. Would your friends-rhe people who have sent you-accept a lesser sentence?”
“I’m not going to bargain with you, Eimerich,” thought Guillem. “Only Allah, praised be his name, knows what you might obtain if you arrested me; only Allah knows if there are eyes spying on us from behind these walls, or ears listening to us. It has to be you who proposes the solution.”
“Nobody would call into question whatever the Inquisition decides,” he answered.
Nicolau stirred in his chair.
“You asked for a private audience on the pretext of having something to offer me. You’ve said that some friends of Arnau Estanyol could arrange it so that his main creditor renounces a debt of fifteen thousand pounds. What is it you want, infidel?”
“I know what I don’t want,” was all Guillem replied.
“All right,” said Nicolau, rising from his seat. “A minimum punishment: he is to wear the cloak of repentance in the cathedral every Sunday for a year, and in return your friends will ensure that the credit is canceled.”
“In Santa Maria,” Guillem said, somewhat to his own surprise. The words seemed to have come spontaneously from deep inside him. Where else but Santa Maria could Arnau fulfill his punishment?
57
MAR TRIED TO keep up with the men carrying Arnau on their shoulders, but she could not force her way through the crowd. She remembered Aledis’s last words: “Take care of him,” she had shouted above the uproar of the host. She was smiling.
Mar had rushed off, pushing against the human tide that threatened to sweep her away.