“The Phocian Greeks are known to have used the harbor at Marseilles,” the tutor added.
“You say our enemies have better ports than us?” asked Josep, the eldest. “And yet we defeat them: we’re the lords of the Mediterranean!” he said, repeating the words so often heard from his father. The other children agreed: how was it possible?
Grau turned to their tutor for the explanation.
“Because Barcelona has always had the best sailors. We don’t have a harbor, and yet ...”
“What do you mean, we don’t have a harbor?” protested Genis. “What’s this then?” he said, pointing to the beach.
“This is not a harbor. A harbor needs to be a sheltered place, protected from the open sea, but this...” The tutor waved his hands toward the waves lapping on the shore. “Listen, Barcelona has always been a city of sailors. Many years ago, there was a harbor here, like all the other cities your father mentioned. In Roman times, ships sheltered behind the Mons Taber, which was over there somewhere ... ,” he said, pointing to inside the city walls, “but gradually the land took over from the sea, and the harbor disappeared. Then there was the Comtal harbor, but that has gone too, and so has Jaime the First’s, which was also sheltered by another small natural outcrop, the Puig de les Falsies. Do you know where that is now?”
The four children stared at one another, then turned to Grau. Laughing, he pointed his finger downward, as if trying to hide his gesture from the tutor.
“Here?” all four of them chimed.
“Yes,” replied the tutor, “we’re standing on it. But that one disappeared too ... so Barcelona was left without a harbor, but by then we were a sea-faring city, with the best sailors, and we still are ... even though we have no harbor.”
“Well, then,” Margarida objected, “why is a harbor so important?”
“Your father can explain that better than me,” said the tutor. Grau nodded.
“It’s very, very important, Margarida. Do you see that ship?” He pointed to a galley surrounded by small craft. “If Barcelona had a harbor, we could unload it at a quay without needing all those people to unload the merchandise. Besides, if a sudden storm blew up now, the ship would be in great danger because it is so close to shore. It would have to leave Barcelona.”
“Why?” Margarida wanted to know.
“Because it couldn’t ride out the storm here: it might sink. Why, it’s even made explicit in the Ordinances of the Barcelona Coast. There it stipulates that in case of any storm, ships must seek refuge in either the harbor at Salou or at Tarragona.”
“So we don’t have a harbor,” said Guiamon sorrowfully, as if he had been robbed of something of the utmost importance.
“No,” said his father, laughing and putting an arm round his shoulder. “But we’re still the best sailors! We’re the lords of the Mediterranean! And we do have the beach. Here is where we ground our boats when they are not on a voyage, and it’s here that we repair and build them. Can you see the shipyards? There at the far end of the beach, where those arches are.”
“Can we go onto the boats?” Guiamon asked.
“No,” said his father, suddenly serious again. “Boats are sacred, my boy.”
Arnau never went out with Grau and his children, still less with Guiamona. He was always left at home with Habiba, but later on, his cousins would tell him all they had seen and heard. They had explained everything about the beach and the boats.
And there the boats were that Christmas night. All of them! The small ones: cockboats, skiffs, and gondolas. The medium-sized vessels: cogs, dromonds, gallivats, pinks, brigantines, galliots, and barques. And even some larger ships: naos, carracks, caravels, and galleys, which despite their size were forced by royal decree not to sail between October and April.
“Look at them all!” Guiamon exclaimed.
On the shore at Regomir they could see some fires burning, with watchmen sitting round them. Scattered along the beach from Regomir to Framenors rose the silent boats, lit only by the moon.
“Follow me, sailors!” commanded Margarida, raising her right arm.
Captain Margarida led her men through storms; they fought pirates, boarded ships, won battles. They leapt from one ship to the next, defeating Genoese and Moors, whooping in triumph as they regained Sardinia for King Alfonso.
“Who goes there?”
The three of them stood paralyzed with fright in the bottom of a skiff.
“Who goes there?”
Margarida poked her head over the side. Three torches were coming toward them.
“Let’s get away from here,” Guiamon whispered, tugging at his sister’s dress.
“We can’t,” she said. “They’re right in front of us.”
“What about over toward the shipyards?” asked Arnau.
Margarida looked over toward Regomir. Another two lighted torches were heading toward them from that direction.
“It’s not safe that way either.”
“The boats are sacred!” Grau’s words echoed in all their minds. Guiamon began to sob, but Margarida silenced him. A cloud covered the moon.
