Cathedral of the Sea

“It doesn’t matter!” said Joanet. “Don’t worry. There are plenty of people here who would be pleased to have our help. Anyway, I’m sure he won’t notice if we join in.”

The two boys started to mingle with the crowd, studying the swords, crossbows, and lances, and admiring the men dressed in armor. They tried to follow their lively conversation.

“What’s happened to the water?” they heard someone shout behind them.

Arnau and Joanet looked round. Their faces lit up when they saw it was Ramon smiling at them. All around him, a group of twenty or more bastaixos, armed and powerful-looking, were staring in their direction.

Arnau felt for the waterskin on his back. He must have looked so crestfallen when he could not find it that several of the men laughed and came to offer theirs.

“You always have to be ready when the city calls,” they said jokingly.

The army of citizens left Barcelona behind the banner bearing the red cross of Sant Jordi. They were heading for the village of Creixell, close to Tarragona, where the villagers had seized a flock of sheep that was the property of the city butchers.

“Is that so bad?” Arnau asked Ramon, whom they had decided to accompany.

“Of course it is. Any animals that belong to Barcelona’s butchers have the right to travel and graze anywhere in Catalonia. Nobody, not even the king, can stop any flock or herd that is on its way to the city. Our children have to eat the best meat in the land,” said Ramon, ruffling their hair. “The lord of Creixell has seized a flock and is demanding that the shepherd pay him for grazing and for the right to pass through his lands. Can you imagine what would happen if all the lords and barons between Tarragona and Barcelona did the same? We would never eat.”

“If only you knew what sort of meat Estranya gives us ... ,” thought Arnau. Joanet guessed what was going through his mind and pulled a face. He was the only one whom Arnau had told. He had been tempted to warn his father where the scraps of meat floating in the pot had come from, but when he saw not only how eagerly his father devoured them but the way that all the slaves and workmen in Grau’s pottery threw themselves on the food, he thought better of it, said nothing, and ate along with the rest of them.

“Are there any other reasons for the sagramental to be called?” asked Arnau, still with the foul taste in his mouth.

“Of course. Any threat to Barcelona’s privileges or against a citizen can mean we are called on. For example, if a citizen is held against his will, then the sagramental will go and free him.”

As Arnau and Joanet talked, the army moved up the coast, from San Boi to Castelldefels and then Garraf. As the men passed by, everyone stared silently at them, making sure they kept well out of their way. Even the sea seemed to respect the Barcelona host, the sound of the waves dying away as the hundreds of armed men marched behind the banner of Sant Jordi. The sun shone on them all day, and as the sea was turning to silver in the evening light, they came to a halt in Sitges. The lord of Fonollar welcomed their leaders into his castle, while the rest of the men made camp outside the town gates.

“Is there going to be a war?” asked Arnau.

All the bastaixos stared at him. The only sound was the crackling of their bonfire. Joanet lay fast asleep, his head on Ramon’s lap. Some of the men looked at one another, asking themselves the same question: would there be a war?

“No,” said Ramon, “the lord of Creixell cannot stand against us.”

Arnau looked disappointed.

“He might, though,” one of the guild leaders on the far side of the fire said to encourage him. “Many years ago, when I was about as young as you are now”—Arnau almost burned himself as he leaned forward to catch his words—“the sagramental was called out to march on Castellbisbal, where the lord had seized a flock of cattle, just like the lord of Creixell has done now. But at Castellbisbal, he did not back down, and decided to face our army. He probably thought that the citizens of Barcelona—merchants, artisans, or bastaixos like us—could not fight. But the men of Barcelona stormed the castle, took the lord and his soldiers prisoner, and razed it to the ground.”

Arnau imagined himself wielding a sword, swarming up a ladder, shouting victoriously on the battlements of Creixell castle: “Who dares stand against the Barcelona sagramental?” All the men around the fire could see how excited he was: he was staring intently into the flames, his hands clasping a stick he had previously used to poke the fire with. “I, Arnau Estanyol ...” The sound of their laughter brought him back to Sitges.

“Go and sleep,” Ramon advised him, getting up with Joanet in his arms. Arnau made a face. “You can dream of battles,” the bastaix said to console him.

The night air was cool, but one of the men gave up his blanket for the two boys.

At dawn the next day the army resumed its march on Creixell. They passed through the villages and castles of Geltru, Vilanova, Cubelles, Segur, and Bara. From Bara, they turned inland toward Creixell. About a mile from the sea, the lord of Creixell had built his castle on rocks at the crest of a ridge. It boasted several towers; the houses of the village were clustered round them.

By now it was only a few hours before nightfall. The leaders of the guilds were called together by the councillors and the magistrate. Then the army of Barcelona lined up in battle formation outside Creixell, with banners waving in front of it. Arnau and Joanet roamed behind the lines, offering water to any bastaix who wanted some. Most of them refused, their eyes fixed on the castle. Nobody spoke, and the children did not dare break the silence. The leaders returned and each took his place at the head of a guild. Everyone in the ranks watched as three ambassadors from Barcelona strode toward Creixell; the same number came out of the castle, and the two groups met halfway down the hill.

Like everyone else in the citizens’ army, Arnau and Joanet watched the negotiations without a word.

In the end, there was no battle. The lord of Creixell had managed to escape through a secret tunnel that led from the castle to the beach, behind the army. When he saw Barcelona’s army drawn up in the valley, the village mayor gave the order to comply with all the city’s demands. The villagers released the flock and the shepherd, agreed to pay a large sum of money in compensation, promised to obey and respect Barcelona’s privileges in the future, and handed over two men who they said were to blame for the insult. They were taken prisoner at once.