Cathedral of the Sea полностью

The captain stared at all the bastaixos. He almost made the mistake of saying something hasty that he might regret, but then thought better of it. Some of the stone carriers had already gone up to Arnau, clapping him on the back and ruffling his hair.

“If it wasn’t the boy, who was it?” the captain asked.

“I think I know who it was,” came the voice of Ramon from the far side of the main altar.

Behind him, two of the bastaixos he had spoken to earlier were dragging in a third, stocky man.

“It would be him,” someone in the crowd agreed.

“That was the man!” shouted Arnau as soon as he saw him.

The Mallorcan had always caused trouble in the guild, until one day they discovered he had a concubine and expelled him. No bastaix was allowed to have a relationship with anyone other than his wife. Nor could his wife: if she did, he was also dismissed from the guild.

“What is that boy saying?” the Mallorcan protested as he was pushed into the ambulatory.

“He accuses you of having stolen the money from the bastaixos’ collection box,” Father Albert told him.

“He’s lying!”

The priest sought out Ramon, who nodded his head slightly.

“I also accuse you!” Ramon shouted, pointing at him.

“He’s lying too!”

“You’ll get the chance to prove it in the cauldron at the Santes Creus monastery.”

A crime had been committed in a church. The Peace and Truce Charter established that innocence had to be proved by the ordeal of boiling water.

The Mallorcan went pale. The aldermen and the soldiers looked inquiringly at the priest, but he indicated that they should not say anything. In reality, the ordeal by boiling water was no longer used, but the priests often still employed the threat of plunging a suspect’s limbs into a cauldron of boiling water to obtain a confession.

Father Albert narrowed his eyes and studied the Mallorcan.

“If the boy and I are lying, I’m sure you will withstand the boiling water on your arms and legs without having to confess to any crime.”

“I’m innocent,” the Mallorcan protested.

“As I’ve told you, you’ll have the chance to prove it,” said the priest.

“And if you’re innocent,” Ramon butted in, “explain to us what your dagger was doing inside the chapel.”

The Mallorcan turned on him.

“It’s a trap!” he said quickly. “Somebody must have put it there to make me look guilty! The boy! It must have been him!”

Father Albert opened the chapel grille again, and came out carrying the dagger.

“Is this yours?” he asked, thrusting it in his face.

“No ... no.”

The guild aldermen and several bastaixos came over to the priest and asked to examine the knife.

“It is yours,” one of the aldermen said, weighing it in his hand.

Six years earlier, as a consequence of all the fights that had broken out in the port, King Alfonso banned the stone carriers and other free workmen from carrying hunting knives or other similar weapons. The only knives they could carry were blunt ones. The Mallorcan had refused to obey the order, and had often shown off his magnificent dagger to the others. It was only when he was threatened with expulsion from the guild that he had agreed to go to a blacksmith’s to have the point filed smooth.

“Liar!” one of the bastaixos cried.

“Thief!” shouted another.

“Someone must have stolen it to incriminate me!” the Mallorcan protested, trying to break free from the two men holding him.

It was then that the third bastaix who had gone with Ramon to find the Mallorcan came back. He had been to search the man’s house.

“Here it is,” he called out, waving a purse. He handed it to the priest, who passed it on to the captain.

“Seventy-four pounds and five shillings,” the captain announced after counting the coins.

As the captain was counting, the bastaixos had encircled the Mallorcan. They knew none among them could ever hope to have so much money! When the count was finished, they flung themselves on the thief. Insults, kicks, punches—all rained down on him. The soldiers did not intervene. The captain looked across at Father Albert and shrugged.

“This is the house of God!” shouted the priest, pushing the stone carriers away. “We’re in the house of God!” he repeated, until he was next to the Mallorcan, who was rolled up into a ball on the floor of the church. “This man is a thief, and a coward too, but he deserves a fair trial. You cannot take the law into your own hands. Take him to the bishop’s palace,” he ordered the captain.

Someone took advantage of his talking to the captain to aim one last kick at the Mallorcan. When the soldiers dragged him to his feet, others spat on him. The soldiers led him out.

AFTER THE SOLDIERS had left Santa Maria with their prisoner, the bastaixos came up to Arnau, smiling and apologizing. Then they gradually drifted away. Eventually, the only people left outside the Jesus chapel were Father Albert, Arnau, the three guild aldermen, and the ten witnesses called for whenever the guild’s collection box was involved.