“Take good care of him,” Aledis repeated, with Mar still looking at her and trying to get out of the way of the rush of people. “I wanted to, but that was many years ago ...”
All of a sudden she was gone.
Mar almost fell to the ground and was trampled. “The host is no place for women,” grumbled a man who pushed her out of his way. Mar managed to turn round. She looked for the banners that were already entering Plaza San Jaume at the far end of Calle del Bisbe. For the first time that morning, Mar dried her tears, and from her throat came a roar so loud it silenced all those around her. She did not even think about Joan. She shouted, pushed, kicked at the men in front of her, forcing them to make room for her.
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.
“We’ve been waiting a long time,” said the lord of Navarcles.
“I have no wish to see anyone,” Nicolau said to the captain, who had struggled free from Genis. “I’ve already told you that.”
The inquisitor made to close the door, but Jaume de Bellera prevented him from doing so.
“I am a Catalan baron,” he said slowly and carefully, “and I demand respect for my rank.”
Genis bellowed his agreement, and lifted his sword again to prevent the captain from coming to Nicolau’s aid.
Nicolau looked into the lord of Bellera’s face. He could call for help; the rest of the guards could be there in a moment, but those desperate eyes ... Who knew what two men used to imposing their authority could do? He sighed. This was far from being the happiest day of his life.
“Very well, Baron,” he said, “what do you want?”
“You promised you would sentence Arnau Estanyol, but you have let him escape.”
“I do not recall having promised anything, and as for letting him go ... it was your king, the man whose noble line you support, who refused to come to the aid of the Church. Go and demand an explanation from him.”
Jaume de Bellera muttered some unintelligible words and waved his hands in the air.
“You could still condemn him,” he said.
“He has escaped,” Nicolau admitted.
“We’ll bring him to you!” shouted Genis Puig, who was still threatening the captain, but was listening closely to what they were saying.
Nicolau turned to look at him. Why did he have to explain anything to them?
“We provided you with more than enough proof of his sin,” said Jaume de Bellera. “The Inquisition cannot—”
“What proof?” barked Eimerich. These two dolts were offering him a way to save his honor. If he could question their proof... “What proof?” he repeated. “The accusation by someone possessed by the Devil like you, Baron?” Jaume de Bellera tried to say something, but Nicolau silenced him with a scything movement of his hand. “I’ve looked for the documents you said the bishop drew up when you were born.” The two men glared at each other. “But I couldn’t find them.”