Cathedral of the Sea

Arnau agreed, hesitantly at first, but then with more conviction. Of course Bernat would understand! Hadn’t he himself fought so that they could become free citizens of the city?

When they looked back at the center of the square, they saw that a third man had joined the two stewards: the standard bearer from the merchants’ guild. He did not wear armor, but had a crossbow strapped across his back and wore a sword at his belt. A short while later, the standard of the silversmiths was fluttering alongside the others; slowly the square filled up with banners displaying all kinds of symbols and figures: the furriers’ banner, the surgeons and barbers’, the ones for the guilds of carpenters, coppersmiths, potters ...

The freemen of Barcelona began gathering beneath the banner of their trade. As required by law, they each came armed with a crossbow, a quiver with a hundred bolts, and a sword or spear. Within two hours, the sagramental of the city of Barcelona was ready to move off in defense of the city’s privileges.

By then, Arnau had understood from Joanet what this was all about.

“Barcelona not only defends itself when necessary,” Joanet told him. “It also goes on the attack if anyone threatens it.” He spoke excitedly, pointing to the soldiers and their banners, proud of the way the city had responded. “It’s fantastic! You’ll see. With any luck, we’ll be out of Barcelona for a few days. If anybody mistreats an inhabitant of the city or attacks its rights, they are denounced ... well, I’m not sure who they are denounced to, whether it’s the magistrate or the Council of a Hundred, but if the authorities decide the charge is justified, they call the host together beneath the banner of Sant Jordi—can you see it over there in the center of the square, flying higher than all the others? The bells are rung, and people pour out into the streets shouting, ‘Via fora!’ so that all the inhabitants know what is going on. The leaders of each guild bring out their banners, and their members gather under them to set off for battle.”

Wide-eyed, Arnau tried to take in everything that was going on around him. He followed Joanet through the different groups congregated in the square.

“What do we have to do? Is it dangerous?” Arnau asked, impressed by the vast array of arms on display.

“No, usually it’s not dangerous,” Joanet replied, smiling. “Remember that if the magistrate has called the citizens to arms, he has done it not only in the name of the city but of the king as well. That means we never have to fight the royal troops. Of course, it depends on who the aggressor is, but generally when a feudal lord sees the Barcelona host approaching, he usually gives in to their demands.”

“So there is no battle?”

“That depends on what the authorities decide, and the feudal lord’s attitude. The last time, a castle was destroyed, and then there was a battle, with deaths, attacks, and ... Look! Your uncle must be over there,” said Joanet, pointing to the potters’ banner. “Let’s go and see!”

Beneath the banner, Grau Puig stood in his armor with the three other guild aldermen: he was wearing boots, a leather jacket that protected him down to midcalf, and a sword. The city’s potters crowded around their four leaders. As soon as Grau saw the young boys, he signaled to Jaume, who stepped in front of them, blocking their way.

“Where are you two going?” he asked them.

Arnau looked at Joanet for support.

“We’re going to offer to help the master,” said Joanet. “We could carry his food ... or whatever else he wants.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Jaume replied.

As he turned away, Arnau asked his friend: “Now what do we do?”

“It doesn’t matter!” said Joanet. “Don’t worry. There are plenty of people here who would be pleased to have our help. Anyway, I’m sure he won’t notice if we join in.”

The two boys started to mingle with the crowd, studying the swords, crossbows, and lances, and admiring the men dressed in armor. They tried to follow their lively conversation.

“What’s happened to the water?” they heard someone shout behind them.

Arnau and Joanet looked round. Their faces lit up when they saw it was Ramon smiling at them. All around him, a group of twenty or more bastaixos, armed and powerful-looking, were staring in their direction.

Arnau felt for the waterskin on his back. He must have looked so crestfallen when he could not find it that several of the men laughed and came to offer theirs.

“You always have to be ready when the city calls,” they said jokingly.

The army of citizens left Barcelona behind the banner bearing the red cross of Sant Jordi. They were heading for the village of Creixell, close to Tarragona, where the villagers had seized a flock of sheep that was the property of the city butchers.

“Is that so bad?” Arnau asked Ramon, whom they had decided to accompany.