Cathedral of the Sea

The Castillians continued firing their catapults at the Catalans, but their aim was so poor that time and again the stones fell harmlessly into the water. Some of them raised plumes of spray in the sea around Arnau’s ship. He and Guillem looked at each other again and smiled. The men on the other ships were still mocking the Castillians, and from the beach more hoots of derision could be heard.

Throughout the day, the Catalans made fun of the Castillian artillery-men, who constantly failed in their attempts to strike home.

“I wouldn’t like to be in Pedro the Cruel’s galley,” Guillem said to Arnau.

“No,” Arnau replied, laughing those bunglers.”

That night was very different from the previous one. Arnau and Guillem helped tend the many wounded men on the ship. They stanched their wounds and then helped lower them into the smaller boats to be taken back to land. A fresh detachment of soldiers boarded the ship, and it was only toward the end of the night that the two men could rest awhile and prepare themselves for the next day.

At first light, the mocking shouts of the Catalans started again. The insults and laughter were taken up by the crowds still lining the shore.

Arnau had run out of crossbow bolts, so he took cover beside Guillem and the two of them surveyed the battle.

“Look,” his friend said, “they are coming much closer than they did yesterday.”

It was true. The Castillian king had decided to put a stop to all the mockery as soon as possible, and was heading straight for Arnau’s ship.

“Tell them to stop laughing,” said Guillem, staring at the oncoming armada.

King Pedro the Third saw the danger. Determined to defend Arnau’s carrack, he brought his galleys as close to the sandbanks as he dared. This time, the battle was so near that Arnau and Guillem could almost touch the royal galley, and could clearly see the king and his knights on board.

The two opposing galleys drew up side by side with the sandbanks in between them. The Castillians fired catapults they had mounted on the prow. Arnau and Guillem turned to look at the Catalan king’s vessel. It had not been touched. The king and his men were still on deck, and the ship did not seem to have suffered any damage.

“Is that a bombard?” asked Arnau as he saw Pedro the Third striding toward a cannon on his own galley.

“Yes,” said Guillem. He had seen them loading it on board when the king had been preparing his fleet for the defense of Mallorca against a Castillian attack.

“A bombard on a ship?”

“Yes,” Guillem said again.

“This must be the first time that’s happened,” commented Arnau, still watching closely as the king gave orders to his gunners. “I’ve never seen...”

“Nor have I ...”

Their conversation was interrupted by the roar from the cannon as it shot a huge stone. They quickly turned to survey the Castillian ship.

“Bravo!” they shouted when they saw the cannonball smash the galley’s mast.

A great cheer went up from all the Catalan fleet.

The king ordered his men to reload the bombard. Taken by surprise and hampered by the fallen mast, the Castillians were unable to return fire. The next Catalan stone was a direct hit on the forecastle.

The Castillians began to maneuver away from the sandbanks.

Thanks to the constant mockery and to the ingenious bombard on the royal galley, the Castillian sovereign was forced to rethink. A few hours later, he ordered his fleet to lift the siege of Barcelona and head for Ibiza.

STANDING ON DECK with several of the king’s officers, Arnau and Guillem watched the Castillian ships recede into the distance. The bells of Barcelona began to ring out once more.

“Now we’ll have to get the ship off the sandbanks,” said Arnau.

“We’ll take care of that,” he heard someone say behind him. He turned and came face-to-face with an officer who had just climbed aboard. “His Majesty is waiting for you on the royal galley.”

King Pedro the Third had heard all about Arnau Estanyol during the two nights of battle. “He’s rich,” the city councillors had told him, “immensely rich, Your Majesty.” The king nodded unenthusiastically at everything they told him about Arnau: his years as a bastaix, his service as a soldier under Eiximen d’Esparca, his devotion to Santa Maria. It was only when he heard that Arnau was a widower that his eyes opened wide. “Rich and a widower,” thought the king. “Perhaps we can get rid of that ...”

“Arnau Estanyol,” one of his camerlingos announced. “Citizen of Barcelona.”

The king sat on a throne on deck, flanked by a large group of nobles, knights, and leading figures of the city who had flocked on board the galley following the Castillian retreat. Guillem stood at the ship’s side, some way away from the group surrounding Arnau and the monarch.

Arnau made to kneel before Pedro, but the king told him to rise.

“We are very pleased with your action,” said the king. “Your intelligence and daring were vital in helping us win this victory.”

The king fell silent. Arnau did not know quite what to do. Was he meant to speak? Everybody was looking at him.

“In recognition of your valiant action,” the monarch continued, “we wish to grant you a favor.”

Was he meant to speak now? What favor could the king possibly grant him? He already had all he could wish