Cathedral of the Sea

Never once did he look back, and when he reached the farm he did not allow himself even a moment’s rest. Leaving Arnau in his cradle, Bernat picked up a sack and stuffed some flour and dried vegetables in it. He put in a wineskin filled with water, and another full of milk, then added salt meat, a bowl, a spoon, and some clothing. Last came some coins he had kept hidden, a hunting knife, and his crossbow. “How proud Father was of this crossbow!” he thought, feeling its weight in his hand. He had always told Bernat when he was teaching him how to use it, how their ancestor had fought with it alongside Count Ramon Borrell in the days when the Estanyols were freemen. Free! Bernat strapped the child to his chest and loaded up all the other things. He would always be a serf, unless ...

“As of now we are fugitives,” he whispered to his son as he headed off toward the woods. “Nobody knows these forests like we Estanyols do,” he told him when he had reached cover. “We have always hunted here.” He pushed through the undergrowth until they came to a stream. He stepped down into the water until it was knee-height, then started walking against the current. Arnau had closed his eyes and was asleep, but Bernat went on talking to him: “The lord’s dogs are not very alert, they’ve been badly handled. We’ll go up to the top, where the woods are denser and no one can hunt us on horseback. That means the lord and his friends have never been up there. They would get their fine clothes torn. As for the soldiers ... why would they go up there to hunt? They get all they need by stealing from us. We can hide there, Arnau. I swear no one will find us.” He stroked his son’s head as he waded upstream.

In midafternoon he came to a halt. The woods had become so thick that their branches overhung the stream and blotted out the sky. He sat on a rock and looked down at his legs: the water had made them white and wrinkled. It was only then that he realized how much they ached, but he did not care. He put down the sack and crossbow and untied Arnau. The boy had opened his eyes once more. Bernat diluted some milk in water, added flour, stirred the mixture, and then brought the bowl up to the infant’s lips. Arnau wrinkled his face in disgust. Bernat wiped one of his fingers clean in the stream, dipped it into the mixture, and tried again. After several attempts, Arnau responded, allowing his father to feed him from his finger. Soon afterward, he closed his eyes and fell fast asleep. All Bernat ate was a chunk of salted meat. He would have liked to rest, but he knew there was still a long way to go.

The Estanyol cave, his father had called it. Night had fallen by the time they reached it, after stopping once more for Arnau to have some food. The cave entrance was a narrow slit in the rocks, which Bernat, his father, and his grandfather used to close up with branches to protect them from storms or animals on the prowl.

Bernat lit a fire just inside the cave, then took a torch to make sure no wild animal had chosen it for a lair. He settled Arnau on a pallet he made from his sack and some dry twigs, and fed him again. This time, the infant took the food gladly, and then fell into a deep sleep. Before he could eat more than a mouthful of meat, Bernat did the same. They would be safe from Llorenç de Bellera here, he thought as he closed his eyes and matched his breathing to that of his sleeping son.

No SOONER HAD the master blacksmith told him of the discovery of his apprentice’s dead body in a pool of blood, than Llorenç de Bellera galloped out of the castle with his men. Arnau’s disappearance and the fact that his father had been seen in the castle pointed directly toward Bernat. Now de Bellera sat astride his horse in the Estanyol farmhouse yard, and smiled when his soldiers informed him that to judge by the disorder inside, it seemed Bernat had fled and taken his son with him.

“You were fortunate when your father died,” he growled, “but now all this will be mine! Go and find him!” he shouted to his men. Then he turned to his steward and commanded: “Draw up a list of all the goods, chattels, and animals on this property. Make sure it’s all there, down to the last grain of corn. Then join the search for Estanyol.”

Several days later, the steward appeared before his lord in the castle keep.

“We’ve searched all the other farmhouses, the woods, and the fields. There is no sign of Estanyol. He must have gone to hide in a town, perhaps in Manresa or—”

With a wave of his hand, Llorenç de Bellera silenced him.