Cathedral of the Sea

Arnau remembered the fat, sweating money changer who had always been very friendly to him.

“What happened?”

“He wasn’t sufficiently cautious. His clients began to reclaim their deposits, and he couldn’t meet their demands.”

“Will he be able to?”

“I don’t think so.”

ON AUGUST 29, the king disembarked after his victorious campaign in Mallorca. As soon as the Catalan fleet arrived at the islands, Pedro the Cruel had fled Ibiza after taking and plundering it.

A month later, Eleonor arrived. All the Estanyol family, including Guillem despite his initial protests, moved to the palace on Calle de Montcada.

Two months later, the king granted an audience to the thane of Montbui. The previous day, Pedro the Third had sent envoys to ask for a fresh loan from Arnau. When it was granted, he gave short shrift to the castellan, and upheld all Arnau’s proclamations.

Two months later, when the six months the law allowed for an abatut to settle his debts had elapsed, the money changer Castello was beheaded outside his countinghouse in Plaza del Canvis. All the city’s money changers were forced to witness the execution from the front row of spectators. Arnau saw Castello’s head severed from his body at the executioner’s first accurate blow. He would have liked to close his eyes as many others did, but found it impossible. He had to see it. It was a reminder to exercise caution, and he would never forget it, he told himself as his colleague’s blood ran down the scaffold.

42

HE COULD SEE her smile. Arnau could still see his Virgin smile, and life was smiling at him too. Two years had passed, and despite political turmoil his business ventures were prospering, bringing him handsome profits, part of which he donated to the poor or to Santa Maria. With time, Guillem was forced to admit he was right: the common people repaid their loans, coin by coin. His church, the temple to the sea, was still growing: work was now going on to build the third central vault and the octagonal towers on either side of the main front. Santa Maria was filled with artisans: marble cutters and sculptors, painters, glassmakers, carpenters, and the smiths working on the iron railings. There was even an organist, whose work Arnau followed with interest. What would music sound like in this marvelous church? he wondered. After the death of the archdeacon Bernat Llull and two canons who had followed him, the post was now filled by Pere Salvete de Montirac. Arnau had a good relationship with him. Others who had died by now were the master builder Berenguer de Montagut and his successor, Ramon Despuig. Work on the church was now directed by Guillem Metge.

It was not only with the provosts of Santa Maria that Arnau had close relations. His economic situation and his newly acquired social rank brought him into contact with the city councillors, aldermen, and members of the Council of a Hundred. His opinion was much sought after in the exchange, and his advice was followed by traders and merchants alike.

“You ought to accept the position,” Guillem told him.

Arnau thought about it. He had just been offered one of the two posts of consul of the sea of Barcelona. The consuls were the highest authorities for all aspects of trade in the city. They acted as judges in mercantile matters and had their own jurisdiction, independent of all other institutions in Barcelona. This gave them the authority to mediate in any problem related to the port or port workers, as well as to ensure that the laws and customs of commerce were respected.

“I don’t know whether I could—”

“Nobody could do it better, Arnau, believe me,” Guillem interrupted him. “You can do it. Of course you can.”

Arnau agreed to take over as consul when the two currently in office had finished their term.

The church of Santa Maria, his business concerns, his future duties as consul of the sea—all this created a wall around Arnau behind which he felt comfortable, so that when he went back to his new home, the palace in Calle de Montcada, he did not realize what was going on inside its imposing gateway.

Although he had fulfilled the promises made to Eleonor, he also made sure that the guarantees he had given her were respected, so that his dealings with her were reduced to an absolute minimum. Mar meanwhile was a wonderful twenty-year-old who still refused to be married. “Why should I when I have Arnau? What would he do without me? Who would take his shoes off? Who would look after him when he gets back from work? Who would talk to him and listen to his problems? Eleonor? Joan, who’s more and more devoted to his studies? The slaves? Or Guillem, whom he spends most of the day with anyway?” she reasoned to herself.

Every day, Mar waited impatiently for Arnau to return home. Her breathing quickened whenever she heard him knocking at the door in the gate, and the smile returned to her lips as she ran to greet him at the top of the staircase that led up to the principal rooms of the palace. When Arnau was out during the day, her life was both boring and a torture.

“Not partridge!” she heard the shout from the kitchens. “Today we are going to eat veal.”

Mar turned to confront the baroness, who was standing in the kitchen doorway. Arnau liked partridge. She had gone with Donaha to buy them. She chose them herself, hung them from a rack in the kitchen, and checked on them each day. When she decided they had hung long enough, she went down early in the morning to pluck them.

“But... ,” Mar tried to object.

“Veal,” Eleonor insisted, glaring at her.

Mar turned to look at Donaha, but the slave merely gave a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“I decide what is eaten in this house,” the baroness went on, addressing all the slaves in the kitchen. “I say what happens here!”

With that, she turned on her heel and left.

Eleonor waited to see what would happen following this explosion. Would the girl turn to Arnau, or keep their argument secret? Mar also thought it over. Should she tell Arnau? What would she gain by that? If Arnau took her side, he would argue with Eleonor, who when it came down to it was mistress of the house. And if he didn’t support Mar? Her stomach churned. Arnau had once said that he could not afford to offend the king. What if