Cathedral of the Sea

trying to encompass the entire storehouse, “all this was filled with wheat, but now ...”

Arnau spotted lined up against one another the big earthenware jars that Grau had manufactured.

“Get started!” shouted their leader.

Holding a parchment in his hand, the manager of the warehouse started pointing to the jars. “How on earth are we going to carry such full jars?” Arnau wondered. It was impossible for one man to carry all that weight. But the bastaixos formed pairs, and after tipping the jars slightly to put ropes round them, they threaded a long pole through the ropes, lifted it together, and set off for the beach.

Clouds of dust started to swirl around. Arnau coughed still more. When it was his turn, he heard Ramon shout: “Give the boy one of the small ones, one with salt in it.”

The warehouse manager looked at Arnau and shook his head. “Salt is expensive,” he said, addressing Ramon. “If he drops the jar ...”

“Give him one with salt!”

The grain jars measured about three feet in height, but the one Arnau had to carry was about half that size. Even so, when Ramon helped him lift it onto his back, he could feel his knees buckle.

Ramon squeezed his shoulders. “It’s time to show your worth,” he whispered.

Bent over, Arnau took a step forward. He grasped the handles of the jar firmly and pushed his head until he could feel the leather thong biting into his forehead.

Ramon watched as he set off unsteadily, putting one foot in front of the other slowly and carefully. The warehouse man shook his head again. The soldiers said nothing as the boy passed by them.

“This is for you, Father!” Arnau muttered between clenched teeth when he felt the heat of the sun on his face. The weight was going to split him in two! “I’m not a child any longer, Father; can you see me?”

Ramon and another bastaix walked behind him, carrying a large grain jar on a pole. They watched as Arnau almost fell over his own feet. Ramon shut his eyes.

“Are you still hanging there?” Arnau was thinking, the image of Bernat’s body imprinted on his mind. “Nobody can make fun of you anymore! Not even that witch and her stepchildren!” He steadied himself under the load and set off again.

He reached the shore. Ramon was smiling behind him. Nobody said a word. The boatmen came and relieved him of the salt jar before he reached the sea. It took Arnau several moments before he could straighten up again. “Did you see me, Father?” he muttered, peering at the sky.

When he had unloaded his grain jar, Ramon patted Arnau on the back.

“Another one?” the boy asked in all seriousness.

Two more. When Arnau had deposited the third salt jar on the beach, Josep, one of the guild leaders, came up to him.

“That’s enough for today, my lad,” he told him.

“I can do more,” replied Arnau, trying not to show how much his back was hurting.

“No, you can’t. Besides, I can’t have you going round Barcelona bleeding like a wounded animal,” he said in a fatherly way, pointing to thin trickles of blood running down Arnau’s sides. Arnau put a hand to his back, then glanced at it. “We’re not slaves; we’re freemen, working for ourselves, and that’s how people should see us. Don’t worry,” the alderman said, seeing how disappointed Arnau looked. “The same has happened to all of us at one time or another, and we all had someone who told us to stop working. The blisters you have on your neck and back have to harden, to form a callus. That will only take a few days, and you can be assured that from then on, I won’t let you rest any more than the others.”

Josep handed him a small bottle. “Make sure you clean the wounds properly. Then have some of this ointment rubbed on. It will help dry out the wounds.”

As he listened to the man, Arnau relaxed. He would not have to carry anything more that day, but the pain and the tiredness from the sleepless night he had just experienced left him feeling faint. He muttered a few words of good-bye and dragged himself home. Joan was waiting for him at the door. How long had he been there?

“Did you know I’m a bastaix now?” Arnau said when he reached the doorway.

Joan nodded. He knew. He had watched his brother on his last two journeys, clenching teeth and fists as he saw each unsteady step, praying he would not fall, shedding tears at the sight of his blotched purple face. Now Joan wiped away the last of his tears and held out his arms. Arnau fell into his embrace.

“You have to put this ointment on my back,” Arnau managed to say as Joan helped him upstairs.

That was all he did say. A few seconds later, collapsed flat out on the pallet with his arms outstretched, he fell into a deep, restorative sleep. Trying not to wake him, Joan cleaned his wounds with hot water that Mariona brought up to him. The ointment had a strong, sharp smell. He spread it on, and it seemed to take effect immediately, because Arnau stirred but did not wake up.

That night it was Joan who could not sleep. He sat on the floor next to his brother, listening to him breathe. He allowed his own eyelids to droop whenever the sound was regular and quiet, but started awake whenever Arnau moved uncomfortably. “What’s going to become of us now?” he wondered from time to time. He had talked to Pere and his wife; the money Arnau earned as a bastaix would not be enough to keep them both. What would happen to him?

“Get to school!” Arnau ordered the next morning, when he saw Joan busy helping Mariona with her household chores. He had thought about it the previous day: everything should stay the same, just as his father had left it.

Mariona was leaning over her fire. She turned to her husband, who spoke before Joan could even answer.

“Obey your elder brother,” he told him.

Mariona’s face creased in a smile. Her husband, though, looked serious: how were the four of them going to