Cathedral of the Sea

the forced collection box, and left the chapel.

“I think the boy is telling the truth,” he told the small crowd gathered in the ambulatory. “I don’t think he stole from the box; in fact, I think he tried to prevent the robbery.”

Ramon, who had come out of the chapel behind him, agreed.

“Well, then,” said the officer, “why can’t he answer my questions?”

“I know the reasons.” Ramon nodded agreement again. “And they are convincing ones. If anyone doesn’t believe me, let them say so now.” Nobody spoke. “Now, where are the three aldermen of the guild?” Three bastaixos stepped forward. “Each of you has a key to open the box, don’t you?” The three men agreed. “Do you swear that it has only ever been opened by all three of you together, in the presence of ten guild members, as your statutes specify?” The men swore that it had. “Do you also swear therefore that the final total in the account book should tally with what was in the box?” The three aldermen swore that too. “And you, Captain, do you solemnly swear that this was the purse the boy had on him?” The captain swore. “And that it contains as much as when you found it?”

“Now you are insulting an officer of King Alfonso!”

“Do you solemnly swear it or not?”

Some of the bastaixos pressed round the captain, demanding an answer.

“I swear.”

“Good,” said Father Albert. “Now I’ll go and fetch the account book for the box. If this boy is the thief, what is in the purse should match or be more than the last entry in the book. If there is less, then we ought to believe him.”

A murmur of agreement spread through the assembled bastaixos. Most of them looked at Arnau: all of them at one time or another had been given fresh water from his waterskin.

Father Albert gave the chapel keys to Ramon for him to lock the grille. Then he went to the priest’s house to find the account book, which according to the guild’s statutes had to be kept by a third person outside the association. As far as he could recall, the amount of money in the box was much greater than the sum destined by Grau as payment for his prisoners’ food. That should be irrefutable proof of Arnau’s innocence, he thought with a smile.

While Father Albert went to fetch the book, Ramon set about locking the chapel grille. As he was doing so, he saw something glint inside. He went over and, without moving it, examined the shiny object. He said nothing to anyone. He locked the grille, then rejoined the group of bastaixos waiting for the priest by the boy and the soldiers.

Ramon whispered something to three of them, and they immediately left the church without anyone else noticing.

“According to the account book,” Father Albert said as he showed it to the three guild aldermen, “there were seventy-four pounds and five shillings in the collection box. Now count what there is in the purse,” he said to the captain.

Even before opening it, the soldier shook his head. There was nothing like that sum inside.

“Thirteen pounds!” he declared. “But,” he shouted, “the boy’s accomplice could have run off with the rest.”

“Why would that accomplice leave thirteen pounds with Arnau then?” said one of the bastaixos.

A murmur of assent ran through the crowd.

The captain stared at all the bastaixos. He almost made the mistake of saying something hasty that he might regret, but then thought better of it. Some of the stone carriers had already gone up to Arnau, clapping him on the back and ruffling his hair.

“If it wasn’t the boy, who was it?” the captain asked.

“I think I know who it was,” came the voice of Ramon from the far side of the main altar.

Behind him, two of the bastaixos he had spoken to earlier were dragging in a third, stocky man.

“It would be him,” someone in the crowd agreed.

“That was the man!” shouted Arnau as soon as he saw him.

The Mallorcan had always caused trouble in the guild, until one day they discovered he had a concubine and expelled him. No bastaix was allowed to have a relationship with anyone other than his wife. Nor could his wife: if she did, he was also dismissed from the guild.

“What is that boy saying?” the Mallorcan protested as he was pushed into the ambulatory.

“He accuses you of having stolen the money from the bastaixos’ collection box,” Father Albert told him.

“He’s lying!”

The priest sought out Ramon, who nodded his head slightly.

“I also accuse you!” Ramon shouted, pointing at him.

“He’s lying too!”

“You’ll get the chance to prove it in the cauldron at the Santes Creus monastery.”

A crime had been committed in a church. The Peace and Truce Charter established that innocence had to be proved by the ordeal of boiling water.

The Mallorcan went pale. The aldermen and the soldiers looked inquiringly at the priest, but he indicated that they should not say anything. In reality, the ordeal by boiling water was no longer used, but the priests often still