Cathedral of the Sea

In the end, there was no battle. The lord of Creixell had managed to escape through a secret tunnel that led from the castle to the beach, behind the army. When he saw Barcelona’s army drawn up in the valley, the village mayor gave the order to comply with all the city’s demands. The villagers released the flock and the shepherd, agreed to pay a large sum of money in compensation, promised to obey and respect Barcelona’s privileges in the future, and handed over two men who they said were to blame for the insult. They were taken prisoner at once.

“Creixell has surrendered,” the ambassadors informed the army.

A murmur ran through the ranks. The occasional soldiers sheathed their swords, put down their crossbows and spears, and took off their armor. Soon, shouts of triumph, jokes, and laughter could be heard on all sides.

“Where’s the wine, boys?” Ramon teased them. “What’s the matter?” he said, seeing them rooted to the spot. “You would have liked to have seen a battle, wouldn’t you?”

The expression on their faces spoke for itself.

“But any one of us could have been wounded, or even killed. Would you have liked that?” Arnau and Joanet quickly shook their heads. “You should see it in another light: you belong to the biggest and most powerful city in the principality. Everyone is afraid of challenging us.” Arnau and Joanet listened, wide-eyed.

“Go and fetch wine, boys. You’ll have the chance to drink to our victory too.”

The flag of Sant Jordi returned with honor to Barcelona. Alongside it strode the two boys, proud of their city, its citizens, and of being part of everything. The Creixell prisoners were paraded through the streets in chains. Women and crowds of curious onlookers applauded the army and spat on the captives. Stern-faced and proud, Arnau and Joanet marched with the others all the way to the magistrate’s palace, where the prisoners were handed over. Then they went to visit Bernat, who, relieved to see his son back safe and sound, soon forgot the scolding he was going to give him, and instead listened contentedly to the story of his new adventures.

12

SEVERAL MONTHS HAD gone by since the excitement that had taken him to Creixell, but little had changed in Arnau’s life. While he waited for his tenth birthday, when he would become an apprentice in Grau’s workshop, he spent his days with Joanet, roaming the streets of the fascinating city, giving the bastaixos water, and above all, enjoying watching the new Santa Maria church grow. He prayed to the Virgin and told her all his worries, delighting in the smile he thought he could see on her lips.

As Father Albert had told him, when the main altar of the Romanesque church disappeared, the Virgin was taken to the small Jesus chapel in the ambulatory behind the new main altar, between two buttresses and protected by tall, strong iron bars. It was the bastaixos who provided for the chapel. They were the ones who looked after it, guarded it, cleaned it, and made sure it was always lit by fresh candles. Although it was the most important chapel in the new church, the place where the sacraments were kept, the parish had granted it to these humble workers from the port of Barcelona. Many nobles and rich merchants were happy to pay to build and endow the other thirty-three chapels that would be part of Santa Maria de la Mar, Father Albert told them. But this one, the Jesus chapel, belonged to the bastaixos, so the young water carrier never had any problem getting close to the Virgin.

One morning, Bernat was sorting through the few possessions he kept under their pallet. It was here that he hid the coins he had managed to rescue during their flight from his farmhouse nine years earlier, and the meager wage his brother-in-law paid him, which would nevertheless help Arnau get on once he had learned the potter’s trade. All of a sudden, Jaume entered the room. Surprised because the assistant usually never came there, Bernat stood up.

“What is it?”

“Your sister has died,” Jaume said hurriedly.

Bernat could feel his legs giving way. He flopped onto the mattress, money bag still in hand.

“Wha ... What happened?” he stammered.

“The master does not know. Her body was cold this morning.”

Bernat dropped the bag and buried his face in his hands. By the time he lowered them again and looked up, Jaume had disappeared. With a lump in his throat, Bernat recalled the little girl who had worked in the fields alongside him and his father, the girl who never stopped singing as she looked after the animals. Bernat had often seen his father pause in his task and close his eyes, allowing himself to be carried away for a few moments by her happy, carefree voice. And now ...

Arnau’s face showed no reaction when his father told him the news at mealtime.

“Did you hear me, son?” Bernat insisted.