Mar shook her head again.
“I don’t like them.”
“Well, you have to do something,” said Guillem, looking to Arnau for support.
Arnau studied the young girl. She was on the verge of tears. Her head was lowered, but he could tell from her trembling bottom lip and troubled breathing that tears were not far away. Why would a girl react in that way when they had just proposed such good matches for her? The silence lasted an eternity. Eventually, Mar raised her eyes slightly and peered at Arnau. Why make her suffer?
“We’ll go on looking until we find someone she does like,” he said to Guillem. “Do you agree, Mar?”
She nodded, got up from the chair, and left the room. The two men sat staring at each other.
Arnau sighed.
“And I thought the difficult part was going to be telling her!”
Guillem said nothing. He was still gazing at the kitchen doorway through which Mar had disappeared. What was going on? What was his little girl trying to hide? When she had heard the word “marriage” she smiled, and her eyes had lit up, but then afterward ...
“Just wait until you see how Joan reacts when he hears... ,” Arnau grumbled.
Guillem turned to him, but in the end did not reply. What did it matter what the friar thought?
“You’re right. We’d best go on looking.”
ARNAU TURNED TOWARD Joan.
“Please,” he said, “this isn’t the moment.”
They had gone into Santa Maria to calm down. The news was not good, but here, with his Virgin, the constant sounds of the stonemasons, and the smiles of all the workmen, Arnau felt at ease. Joan, though, had found him and would not let him be: it was Mar here, Mar there, Mar everywhere. After all, what business was it of his?
“What reasons can she have against marriage?” Joan insisted.
“This isn’t the moment, Joan,” Arnau said again.
“Why not?”
“Because we are facing another war.” The friar looked startled. “Didn’t you know? King Pedro the Cruel of Castille has just declared war on us.”
“Why?”
Arnau shook his head.
“Because he’s been wanting to do so for some time now,” he growled, raising his arms. “The excuse was that our admiral, Francesc de Perellos, captured two Genoese boats carrying olive oil off the coast of Sanlucar. The Castillian king demanded they be released, and when our admiral paid no attention, he declared war on us. That man is dangerous,” muttered Arnau. “I understand that he has earned his nickname: he is spiteful and vengeful. Do you realize what this means, Joan? We are at war with Genoa and Castille at the same time. Does it seem like a good moment to be bothering ourselves with getting the girl married?” Joan hesitated. They were standing beneath the keystone for the nave’s third arch, surrounded by scaffolding erected for the construction of the ribs. “Do you remember?” asked Arnau, pointing up at the keystone. Joan looked up and nodded. They had been children when the first stone had been put in place! Arnau waited a moment and then added: “Catalonia is not going to be able to finance this. We’re still paying for the campaign against Sardinia, and now we have to fight on another front.”
“I thought you merchants were in favor of conquest.”
“We wouldn’t open any new trade routes in Castille. No, it’s a difficult situation, Joan. Guillem was right.” At the mention of the Moor’s name, Joan looked askance. “We have only just conquered Sardinia and the Corsicans have risen against us: they did so as soon as the king left the island. We are at war with two powers, and the king’s coffers are empty; even the city councillors seem to have gone mad!”
They began to walk toward the high altar.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that there is no money available in Barcelona. The king is pressing ahead with his building schemes: the royal dockyards and the new city wall—”
“But both of them are needed,” said Joan, interrupting him.
“The dockyards, possibly, but after the plague there is no need for the wall.”
“Well, then?”
“Well, the king is still exhausting his reserves. He has obliged all the surrounding villages to contribute to the new wall, because he says one day they will take refuge inside it. He has also created a new tax for it: the fortieth part of all inheritances is to be set aside for its construction. As for the dockyards—all the fines that the consulates collect are poured into building them. And now here we are with another war.”
“Barcelona is rich.”
“Not any longer, Joan, that’s the problem. The more money the city gave him, the more privileges the king granted it. As a consequence, the councillors have taken on so much that they cannot finance everything. They’ve increased the taxes on meat and wine. Did you know that part of the city’s budget went to keeping those prices down?” Joan shook his head. “It used to be half of the city’s budget. Instead of that, now they’ve brought in new taxes. The city’s debts will bring ruin to us all, Joan—you mark my words.”
The two men stood lost in thought in front of the high altar. When they finally left the church, Joan resumed the attack.
“What about Mar?”
