Cathedral of the Sea

by Ildefonso Falcones

  “He’s looking for a fight, son,” Bernat said to calm Arnau when he grew angry again. “We mustn’t fall into the trap.”

  “But we can’t carry on like this all our lives,” Arnau complained another day.

  “We won’t. I’ve heard Jesus warn him several times already. He’s not a good worker, and Jesus knows it. The horses in his care are wild: they kick and bite. It won’t be long before he’s in trouble, my son. It won’t be long.”

  Bernat was right. The consequences of Tomás’s attitude were soon felt. The baroness was determined that Grau’s children should learn to ride. It was acceptable for Grau not to do so, but the two boys had to learn. So several times a week after lessons, Jesus drove Isabel and Margarida in the carriage, and the boys, the tutor, and Tomás the groom walked alongside, the latter leading a horse on a halter. They went to a small field outside the walls of the city, where each of them in turn had riding lessons from Jesus.

  Jesus held a long rope attached to the horse’s bit in his right hand, and led the animal round in circles, while in the other he had a whip to control its movements. The young riders climbed onto their mounts one after another and circled round the head stableman, listening to his instructions and advice.

  One day, from beside the carriage where he was supervising the team, Tomás stared fixedly at the horse’s mouth: all that was needed was a stronger pull than normal, just one. And there was always a moment when the horse took fright.

  Genis Puig was astride the mount. Tomás looked at the boy’s face. Panic. He was terrified of horses and sat stiff as a board.

  Jesus cracked the whip, urging the horse into a gallop. The horse reared its head and pulled on the rope.

  When the leading rein came away from the halter and the horse ran free, Tomás could not stop himself from smiling. He quickly stifled it. It had been easy for him to sneak into the harness room and cut the rope until it hung by a thread.

  Isabel and Margarida gave strangled cries. Jesus dropped the leading rein and tried to stop the horse. It was no use.

  When he saw the rope fall away, Genis started to shriek, and clung to the horse’s neck. This meant that his feet and legs dug into his mount’s withers, which spurred it into a full gallop. It headed straight for the city gate, with the boy still hanging on desperately. When the horse leapt over a small mound, he was thrown off into the air, then rolled on the ground until he came to rest in a clump of bushes.

  Bernat was in the stables. The first he heard was the thunder of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones, and then the baroness shouting. Instead of walking in quietly as they usually did, the horses clattered across the yard. Bernat went out to look, and came across Tomás leading in the horse. It was in a lather, panting heavily through its nostrils.

  “What... ?” Bernat started to ask.

  “The baroness wants to see your son,” Tomás shouted, hitting the animal’s side.

  The baroness’s shrieks could still be heard outside the stables. Bernat looked pityingly at the horse, which was pawing the ground.

  “The mistress wants to see you,” Tomás shouted again as Arnau came out of the harness room.

  Arnau looked at his father, who merely shrugged.

  They went out into the yard. The baroness was livid, waving the whip she always took when she went riding, and shouting at Jesus, the tutor, and all the slaves who had come out to see what was going on. Margarida and Josep were still hanging behind. Genis stood next to the baroness, dirty, bleeding, and with torn clothes. As soon as Arnau and Bernat appeared, the baroness strode toward the boy and slashed his face with her whip. Arnau lifted his hand to his mouth and cheek. Bernat darted forward, but Jesus stepped in between them.

  “Look at this,” the head stableman roared, showing him the severed rope. “This is your son’s work!”

  Bernat took the rope and the halter and examined them. Hand still to his face, Arnau looked at them as well. He had checked them the previous day. He peered up at his father just as he in turn was glancing toward the stable door, where Tomás was observing the scene.

  “It was fine,” Arnau shouted, picking up the rope and halter and shaking them in Jesus’s face. He glanced at the stable door again. “It was fine,” he repeated, as the first tears welled in his eyes.

  “Look at him cry,” a voice suddenly said. Margarida was pointing at Arnau. “He’s the one to blame for your accident, and now he’s crying,” she added to her brother Genis. “You didn’t cry when you fell off the horse because of him,” she lied.

  Josep and Genis were slow to react, but then they too joined in making fun of Arnau.

  “That’s right, cry, little girl,” one of them said.

  “Yes, go on, cry,” repeated the other.

  Arnau saw them pointing at him and laughing. He could not stop crying! The tears ran down his cheeks, and his chest heaved as he sobbed. He stretched out his arms to show everyone, including the slaves, what had happened to the rope and the halter.

  “Instead of crying, you should say you’re sorry for your carelessness,” the baroness chided him, smiling broadly at her stepchildren.

  Say he was sorry? Arnau looked at his father, a puzzled look on his face. Bernat was staring at the baroness. Margarida was still pointing at Arnau and sniggering with her brothers.

  “No,” he objected. “It was fine,” he added, throwing the rope and halter onto the ground.

  The baroness began to wave her arms in the air, but stopped when she saw Bernat take a step toward her. Jesus caught Bernat by the elbow.

  “She is a noblewoman,” he whispered in his ear.

  Arnau looked at them all, then ran out.

  “No!” SHOUTED ISABEL when Grau said he would get rid of father and son when he learned what had happened. “I want the father to stay here, working for your sons. I want him to be aware at all times we are waiting for his son to apologize. I want that boy to apologize publicly in front of your children. And that won’t happen if you get rid of them. Tell the father that his son cannot come back to work until he has said he is sorry ...” Isabel was shouting and waving her arms. “Tell him he will receive only half his wage until that happens, and that if he looks for other work we’ll make everyone in Barcelona aware of what happened here, so that he won’t be able to make a living. I want an apology!”

  “We’ll make all of Barcelona aware ...” Grau could feel the hair on his body prickle. All those years trying to keep his brother-in-law hidden, and now ... now his wife wanted the whole of Barcelona to hear of him!

  “Be discreet, I beg you,” was all he could think to say.

  Isabel looked at him, her eyes bloodshot with rage. “I want them humiliated!”

  Grau was about to say something, but thought better of it, and pursed his lips.

  “Discretion, Isabel, that’s what we need,” was all he said.

  Grau gave in to his wife’s demands. After all, Guiamona was no longer alive; there were no more birthmarks in the family, and they were all known as Puig rather than Estanyol. When Grau left the stables, Bernat listened with narrowed eyes as the stableman told him of the new conditions.

  “FATHER, THERE WAS nothing wrong with that halter,” Arnau complained that night when the three of them were back in the small room they shared. “I swear it!” he said, when Bernat said nothing.

  “But you can’t prove it,” Joan butted in. He had already heard what had happened.

  “You don’t need to swear it,” thought Bernat, “but how can I explain to you... ?” He remembered how horrified he had been at his son’s reaction in Grau’s stables: “I’m not to blame, so there’s nothing I need to apologize for.”

  “Father,” Arnau repeated, “I swear to you ...”

  “But...”

  Bernat told Joan to be quiet.

  “I believe you. But now, to bed with you.”

  “But...” This time it was Arnau who protested.

  “To bed!”

  Arnau and Joan blew out their c
andles, but Bernat had to wait long into the night until he heard the rhythmic breathing that told him they were fast asleep. How could he possibly tell his son the family was demanding a public apology?

  “ARNAU ...” His VOICE shook when he saw his son stop dressing and glance over at him. “Grau ... Grau wants you to apologize; unless you do...”

  Arnau looked at him inquisitively.

  “Unless you do, he will not allow you back in the stables.”

  He had not even finished speaking when he saw his boy’s eyes take on a seriousness he had never seen before. Bernat looked toward Joan, who had also stopped dressing and stood there openmouthed. Bernat tried to speak again, but the words would not come.

  “Well, then?” asked Joan, breaking the silence.

  “Do you think I should apologize?”

  “Arnau, I gave up everything I had for you to be free. Although they had belonged to the Estanyol family for centuries, I left our lands so that nobody could do to you what they had done to me, to my father and my father’s father ... and now we’re back in the same situation, at the mercy of people who call themselves noble. But there’s a big difference: we can say no. My son, learn to use the freedom it’s cost us so much to win. You and only you can decide.”

  “But what do you advise, Father?”

  Bernat was silent for a moment. “If I were you, I wouldn’t give in.”

  Joan tried to have his say. “They are only Catalan barons! Only the Lord can really grant forgiveness.”

  “How will we live?” asked Arnau.

  “Don’t worry about that, son. I have some money saved that we can use. And we’ll find somewhere else to work. Grau Puig is not the only man with horses.”

  Bernat did not let a single day go by. That same evening, once his work was finished, he started to look for another job for him and Arnau. He found a nobleman’s house with stables where the stableman was happy to see him. There were many in Barcelona who were jealous of the care Grau’s horses received, and when Bernat explained that he was the person responsible, the man was keen to take both of them on. But the next day, when Bernat returned to the stables to confirm something he had already celebrated with his sons, they did not even receive him. “They were not offering enough money,” he lied that night over supper. Bernat tried in several other houses that kept horses, but just when it seemed they were happy to take them on, by the next day the situation had changed completely.

  “You won’t find any work,” a stable hand finally told him when he saw the desperation in Bernat’s face as he stared down at the cobbles of the umpteenth stable that refused him. “The baroness will not permit it,” the man explained. “After you came to see us, my master received a message from the baroness begging him not to give you employment. I’m sorry.”

  “BASTARD,” HE WHISPERED in his ear in a low but steady voice, drawing out the vowels. Tomás the groom jumped and tried to get away, but Bernat grabbed him by the neck from behind and squeezed until he was almost bent double. Only then did he relax the pressure. “If all the nobles are getting messages,” thought Bernat, “it’s because someone is following me.” “Let me go out through another door,” he had begged the stableman. Tomás, who was keeping watch on a street corner opposite the stables, did not see him leave. Bernat came up behind him. “You tampered with the halter so it would give way, didn’t you? And now what do you want?” He pressed down on the groom’s neck once more.

  “What... what does it matter?” Tomás said, gasping for breath.

  “What do you mean?” said Bernat, tightening his grip. The groom thrashed his arms in the air, but could not break free. A few moments later, Bernat could feel Tomás’s body go limp. He let go of his neck and turned him round. “What did you mean by that?” he asked again.

  Tomás took several deep gulps of air before answering. As soon as the color returned to his cheeks, he smiled an ironic smile.

  “Kill me if you like,” he said, still panting for breath, “but you know very well that if it hadn’t been the halter, it would have been something else. The baroness hates you, and always will. You are nothing more than a runaway serf, and your son is the son of a runaway. You will never find work in Barcelona: those are the baroness’s orders, and if it’s not me, it will be someone else who spies on you.”

  Bernat spat in his face. Not only did Tomás not move, but his smile broadened.

  “You have no option, Bernat Estanyol. Your son will have to beg for forgiveness.”

  “I’LL DO IT,” Arnau said wearily that night, fists clenched as he fought back tears after listening to his father’s account. “We can’t fight the nobles, and we have to work. The swine! They’re all swine!”

  Bernat looked at his son. “We’ll be free there,” he remembered promising him a few months after his birth, when they had first set eyes on Barcelona. Was this what he had struggled so hard for?

  “No, my son. Wait. We’ll find another—”

  “They’re the ones who give the orders, Father. The nobles are in charge. In the countryside, in our lands, here in the city.”

  Joan looked on in silence. “You must obey and submit yourselves to your princes,” his teachers had taught him. “Man will find freedom in the Kingdom of God, not in this one.”

  “They can’t control the whole of Barcelona. The nobles may be the ones who have horses, but we can learn some other trade. We’ll find something.”

  Bernat saw a gleam of hope appear in his son’s eyes. They widened as if he were trying to absorb strength from his father’s words. “I promised you freedom, Arnau. I must give it to you, and I will. Don’t give up so quickly, little one.”

  Over the next few days, Bernat roamed the streets in search of freedom. At first, once he had finished his work in Grau’s stables, Tomás followed him, without even bothering to keep hidden. Soon, though, he stopped spying on him: the baroness understood she had no influence over artisans, small traders, or builders.

  “It’ll be hard for him to find anything,” her husband tried to reassure his wife when she came to complain about the peasant’s attitude.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked him.

  “Because he won’t find work. Barcelona is suffering the consequences of a lack of planning.” The baroness urged him to continue; Grau was never wrong in his judgments. “The last few years’ harvests have been disastrous,” he explained. “There are too many people in the countryside, so what little they do harvest never reaches the cities. They eat it all themselves.”

  “But Catalonia is big,” said the baroness.

  “Make no mistake, my dear. Catalonia may be big, but for many years now the peasants have not grown cereals, which is what is needed. Nowadays they produce linen, grapes, olives, or dried fruit, but not cereals. The change has made their lords rich, and we merchants have done very well out of it too, but the situation is becoming impossible. Until now we’ve been able to eat grain from Sicily and Sardinia, but the war with Genoa has put a stop to that. Bernat will not find work, but all of us, we nobles included, are going to face problems. And all because of a few useless noblemen...”

  “How can you talk like that?” the baroness cut in, feeling herself under attack.

  “Look at it this way, my love.” Grau was serious in his attempt to explain. “We earn our livelihood from trade, and we’ve done very well out of it. We invest part of what we earn in our own businesses. We don’t use the same ships we had ten years ago, and that’s why we go on making money. But the noble landowners have not invested a thing in their lands or their working methods: they are still using the same implements and techniques as the Romans did. The Romans! They should let their fields lie fallow every two or three years; that way they could produce two or three times as much as they do. But those noble landlords you are so keen to defend never think of the future; all they want is easy money. They are the ones who will be the ruin of Catalonia.”

  “Things can’t be as bad as all that,” the baroness insi
sted.

  “Have you any idea how much a sack of wheat costs?” When his wife made no reply, Grau shook his head and went on: “Close to a hundred shillings. Do you know what the normal price is?” This time, he did not wait for her reply. “Ten shillings unground, sixteen ground. So a sack has increased tenfold in price!”

  “What will we eat then?” his wife asked, unable to conceal her preoccupation.

  “You don’t understand. We’ll still be able to buy wheat... if there is any, because there could come a moment when it runs out—if we haven’t got there already. The problem is that whereas wheat has gone up ten times in price, ordinary people are still receiving the same wages—”

  “So we will have wheat,” his wife butted in.

  “Yes, but—”

  “And Bernat will not be able to find work.”

  “I don’t think so, but—”

  “Well, that’s all that matters to me,” the baroness said. With that, she turned her back on him, weary of listening to all his explanations.

  “Something terrible is brewing,” Grau said when his wife could no longer hear.

  A bad year. Bernat was tired of hearing that excuse time and again. Wherever he tried to find work, the bad year was to blame. “I’ve had to lay off half my apprentices: how can I offer you work?” one artisan told him. “This is a bad year. I can’t even feed my children,” said another. “Haven’t you heard?” a third man told him. “This is a bad year; I’ve had to spend half my savings just to feed my family. Normally a twentieth would have been enough.” “How could I not have heard?” Bernat thought, but went on searching until winter and the cold weather came on. Then there were some places where he did not even dare ask. The children went hungry; their parents did not eat so they could give them something; and smallpox, typhus, and diphtheria began to make their deadly appearance.

  Arnau looked into Bernat’s money bag when his father was at work. At first he checked it each week, but soon he looked every day, often more than once. He could clearly see that their reserves were rapidly being eaten up.