you will proceed with sensitivity and care while resolving this delicate matter.’
Amaia didn’t reply, but took the opportunity to examine more closely this Armani-suited priest, who impressed her less by what he knew about her than by the influence he seemed to wield over the company, including the Archbishop, who had agreed with all Father Sarasola’s statements, without the priest having turned to him once to seek his approval.
As soon as they stepped through the door into Plaza Santa María, Amaia addressed her superior.
‘Commissioner, I think—’
‘I’m sorry, Salazar,’ he interrupted. ‘I know what you’re going to say, but my hands are tied. Father Sarasola holds a senior position at the Vatican. So get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible and move on.’
‘I understand that, sir, but I have no idea where to start or what to expect. I simply don’t think this case is right for my team.’
‘You heard what he said, they want you.’
He climbed into his car, leaving her with a frown on her face, gazing at Jonan, who was chuckling.
‘Can you believe it?’ she exclaimed. ‘Inspector Salazar’s skills as a detective and her knowledge of the area make her the best person to investigate this case of vandalism vulgaris. Can someone explain to me what went on in there?’
Jonan was still chuckling as they walked over to the patrol car.
‘It’s not that simple, chief. What’s more, this VIP from the Vatican specifically asked for you. Father Sarasola, also known as Dr Sarasola, is attaché to the Vatican in defence of the faith.’
‘You mean he’s an inquisitor.’
‘I don’t think they like to be called that nowadays. Shall I drive or will you?’
‘I’ll drive. I want you to tell me more about this Dr Sarasola. Doctor of what, exactly?’
‘Psychiatry, I think; possibly other things. I know he’s a prelate of Opus Dei with a lot of influence in Rome, where he worked for many years with Pope John Paul II, as well as being advisor to his predecessor when he was still a cardinal.’
‘Why would an attaché to the Vatican in defence of the faith take such an interest in a local affair like this? And how did he hear about me?’
‘As I said before, he’s an important member of Opus Dei, so he receives regular reports about everything that goes on in Navarre. As for his interest in the case, perhaps that can be explained, like he said, by the concern that there’s an element of hatred or vengeance towards the Church due to, how did he put it, the misinterpretation of a historical concept.’
‘A concept you appear to agree with …’
Jonan looked at her, taken aback.
‘I noticed the way you and Inspector Iriarte responded to this yesterday morning. You seemed more worried than the parish priest and the chaplain.’
‘That’s because Iriarte’s mother is from Arizkun, as is my grandmother, and anyone who comes from there takes what happened in the church very seriously …’
‘Yes, I heard what Sarasola said about parishioners understanding the significance and being disturbed, but what did he mean?’
‘You’re from the valley, you must have heard of the agotes.’
‘The agotes? You mean the people who lived in Bozate?’
‘They lived all over the Baztán Valley and in Roncal, but mostly they were concentrated in a ghetto in Arizkun, which is now part of the Bozate neighbourhood. What else do you know about them?’
‘Not much, to be honest. They were artisans and they were never really assimilated.’
‘Pull over,’ Jonan ordered.
Amaia looked at him in surprise, but said nothing. She found a space by the roadside, stopped the car and turned round in her seat to study Deputy Inspector Etxaide, who gave a loud sigh before beginning:
‘Historians disagree about where the agotes came from originally. They were thought to have crossed the Pyrenees into Navarre during the Middle Ages, fleeing war, famine, plague and religious persecution. The most widely accepted theory is that they were Cathars, members of a religious sect persecuted by the Inquisition. Another theory suggests they were deserters from the Visigoth armies who sought refuge in the leprosy colonies of southern France and became infected with the disease themselves – one of the reasons why they were so feared. A third explanation is that they were bandits and social outcasts, forced into serfdom by the feudal lord of the area, who at that time was Pedro de Ursua. The remains of one of his fortresses still exist to this day in Arizkun. And that would explain why most of the agotes lived in Bozate.’
‘Yes, that’s more or less what I thought: a group of social outcasts, lepers or fleeing Cathars who settled in the valley in medieval times. But what does this have to do with the desecration of the church in Arizkun?’
‘A great deal. The agotes lived in Bozate for centuries and were never allowed to integrate into society. Treated as second-class citizens, they were prohibited from settling outside Bozate, running businesses or marrying outside their group. As artisans they worked with wood and hides, because those trades were seen as dirty and dangerous. They were obliged to wear identifying markings sewn into their clothes, even to ring a bell, like lepers, to warn passers-by of their presence. And, in common with many periods throughout history, the Church, far from encouraging their integration, did the exact opposite. We know they were Christians and observed and respected Catholic rites, yet the Church treated them like pariahs. They had a separate baptismal font, and the holy water they used was thrown away. They were forbidden from approaching the altar, often forced to remain at the back of the nave and to enter the church through a different, smaller door. In Arizkun, they were kept apart from the other parishioners by a grille, which was later removed in recognition of the deep shame the recollection of this treatment arouses in the people of Arizkun even to this day.’
‘Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You’re telling me that the exclusion of a racial group in the Middle Ages is the historical misunderstanding Father Sarasola referred to in his attempt to explain the current desecration of the church in Arizkun?’
‘Yes.’ Jonan nodded.
‘The same exclusion suffered by Jews, Moors, Gypsies, women, witch doctors, the poor, etc. If as you say, on top of everything else, they were suspected of spreading leprosy, then it’s hardly surprising they were excluded. The mere mention of that dread disease must have been enough to strike terror into the hearts of the entire population. I know that dozens of women in the Baztán Valley were accused of witchcraft and burnt at the stake, many of them denounced by their neighbours – and those were women who’d been born and bred in the valley. Anything that deviated from the norm was thought to be the work of the devil, for which countless minorities and ethnic groups throughout Europe suffered as a consequence. No country’s history is free of such episodes. I’m no historian, Jonan, but I know that during the Middle Ages the whole of Europe reeked of human flesh, burnt at the stake.’
‘That’s right, but the agotes were excluded for centuries. Generation after generation were deprived of the most basic rights;
