Cathedral of the Sea полностью

“I’m a bastaix!” Arnau announced, heading for the few cold scraps left in the pot from the previous evening.

The two old folks looked at each other, and then at the boy, who was eating directly from the ladle, his back to them. He was starving! The lack of grain had affected him, as it had all Barcelona. How was such a puny boy going to be able to carry those heavy loads?

Mariona looked across at her husband, shaking her head.

“God will find a way,” Pere said.

“What did you say?” asked Arnau, turning to face them, his mouth full of food.

“Nothing, my lad, nothing.”

“I have to go,” said Arnau, picking up a piece of stale bread and biting off a chunk. His wish to tell them all that had happened in the square was outweighed by his desire to join his new companions. He said: “When Joan wakes up, tell him where I’ve gone.”

IN APRIL THE ships put out to sea again, after being hauled up on the beach since October. The days grew longer, and the big trading vessels began to enter and leave the city. No one involved—the merchants, owners, pilots—wanted to spend longer than was strictly necessary in the dangerous port of Barcelona.

Before he joined the group of bastaixos waiting on the shore, Arnau stared out to sea. It had always been there, but when he had been with his father they had turned their backs on it after a few steps. Today he looked at it with different eyes: it was going to be his livelihood. The port was filled with countless small craft, two big ships that had just arrived, and a fleet of six enormous men-o’-war, with 260 small boats and twenty-six rows of oarsmen each.

Arnau had heard of this fleet; it was Barcelona itself that had paid for it to help King Alfonso in his war against Genoa, and the city’s fourth councillor, Galcera Marquet, was in command. Only victory over Genoa could open the trade routes again and guarantee the Catalan capital’s prosperity: that was why the city had shown the king such generosity.

“You won’t let us down, will you, lad?” someone said as he stood on the shore. Arnau turned and saw it was one of the guild aldermen. “Come on,” the man said, hurrying on to where the other guild members had congregated.

Arnau followed him. When they reached the group, all the bastaixos smiled at him.

“This isn’t like giving people water,” one of them said. The others laughed.

“Here,” said Ramon. “It’s the smallest we could find in the guild.”

Arnau took the headpiece carefully.

“Don’t worry. It won’t snap!” laughed one of the bastaixos when he saw how gently Arnau was holding it.

“Of course not!” thought Arnau, smiling back at him. “How could it?”

He put the pad on the support and made sure the leather thongs fit round his forehead.

Ramon made sure the support was in the right place.

“Good,” he said, patting Arnau on the back. “All you need is the callus.”

“What callus?” Arnau started to ask, but just at that moment the arrival of the guild aldermen drew everyone’s attention.

“They can’t agree,” one of the aldermen explained. All the bastaixos, including Arnau, looked a little farther down the beach, where a group of finely dressed men were arguing. “Galcera Marquet wants his war galleys to be loaded first, but the merchants want their two ships unloaded beforehand. So we have to wait.”

The men muttered among themselves; many of them sat down on the sand. Arnau sat next to Ramon, the leather strap still on his forehead.

“It won’t break, Arnau,” the bastaix said, pointing to it, “but don’t get any sand in it; that would hurt when you lift your load.”

The boy took off the headpiece and put it away carefully, making sure no sand got in it.

“What’s the problem?” he asked Ramon. “We can unload or load first one lot, then the other.”

“Nobody wants to be in Barcelona longer than necessary. If a storm blew up, all the boats would be in peril, defenseless.”

Arnau surveyed the port, from Puig de les Falsies round to Santa Clara, then turned his gaze on the group of men who were still arguing.

“The city councillor is in charge, isn’t he?”

Ramon laughed and ruffled his hair.

“In Barcelona it’s the merchants who are in charge. They are the ones who have paid for the royal men-o’-war.”