Cathedral of the Sea

Mariona gave him her place at the table, and Arnau started to eat. Opposite him, Gasto Segura was chewing his food with his mouth wide open. Every time Arnau looked up, the tanner was staring at him.

After a while, Simo got up and handed his empty bowl and those of his sisters to Mariona.

“To bed with you,” Gasto said, breaking the silence.

The tanner’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated his gaze on Arnau once more; the young bastaix felt so uncomfortable he stared down at his bowl and heard only the sound of the girls getting up and bidding everyone a timid good night. When their steps had faded on the stairs, he looked up again. Gasto’s interest in him seemed to have waned.

“What are they like?” he asked Joan that night, the first they spent on their straw pallets on each side of the hearth.

“Who?” asked Joan.

“The tanner’s daughters.”

“What do you mean? They’re normal enough,” said Joan, gesticulating to show his incomprehension in a way that his brother could not see in the darkness. “They’re normal girls. At least I suppose so.” He hesitated. “In fact, I don’t really know. I haven’t been allowed to speak to them; their brother didn’t even let me shake their hands. When I went to do so, he stepped forward and kept me from them.”

But Arnau was not even listening. How could eyes like theirs be normal? And they had both smiled at him.

AT FIRST LIGHT next morning, Pere and Mariona came down to find that Arnau and Joan had already put away their mattresses. A short time later, the tanner and his son appeared. None of the women were with them: Gasto had forbidden them to appear until the two lads had gone. Arnau left Pere’s house with their huge brown eyes still imprinted on his mind.

“Today you’re at the chapel,” one of the guild aldermen told him when he reached the shore. The previous evening he had noticed Arnau was staggering under his last load.

Arnau nodded. He was no longer upset whenever he was sent to the chapel. Nobody cast any doubt on the fact that he was a bastaix now; the guild aldermen had confirmed it, and even though he still could not carry as much as Ramon or most of the others, he had shown he was as willing to work as any of them. They all appreciated him. Besides, those brown eyes... they would probably distract him from his work. And he felt tired: he had not slept well next to the hearth. He went into Santa Maria through the main door of the old church, which was still standing. Gasto Segura had not even let them glance at his girls. Why shouldn’t he look at two perfectly normal girls? And that morning he had probably forbidden them ... He tripped over a rope and almost fell. He stumbled on a few yards, getting caught up in more ropes, until he felt a pair of strong hands grip his shoulders. He had twisted his ankle, and cried out in pain.

“Hey!” he heard the man who had helped him say. “You should be more careful. Look what you’ve done!”

His ankle was hurting, but he looked down at the floor. He had pulled out the ropes and stakes that Berenguer de Montagut used ... but ... surely this couldn’t be him? He turned slowly round to see who had helped him. It couldn’t be the master builder! He flushed when he saw he was face-to-face with none other than Berenguer de Montagut. Then he looked round and saw that all the craftsmen had halted in their work and were staring at them.

“I ... ,” he stammered. “If you like ... ,” he said, pointing to the mess of ropes entangled round his feet, “if you like I could help you ... I ... I’m sorry, Master.”

All at once, Berenguer de Montagut’s face relaxed. He was still holding Arnau by the arm.

“You’re the bastaix,” he said with a smile. Arnau nodded. “I’ve seen you here often.”

His smile grew broader. The workmen seemed relieved. Arnau looked down again at the ropes round his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Don’t worry.” The master builder waved to the others to sort out the mess. “Come and sit with me. Does it hurt?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” said Arnau, grimacing with pain as he bent down to free himself of the ropes.

“Wait.”

Berenguer de Montagut got him to straighten up, and knelt down himself to untangle the ropes. Arnau hardly dared look at him, but glanced instead at the workmen. They were watching in astonishment. The master builder on his knees before a simple bastaix!

“We have to take care of these men,” he shouted to everyone once he had freed Arnau’s feet. “Without them, we would have no stones for the church. Come and sit down by me. Does it hurt?”

Arnau shook his head, but he was limping, trying not to cling to the master. Berenguer de Montagut took him firmly by the arm and led him toward some pillars that were lying flat on the ground, waiting to be hoisted into position. The two of them sat on one. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” he said as soon as they were settled. Arnau turned toward him. Berenguer de Montagut was going to tell him a secret! What more could possibly happen to him that morning?

“The other day I tried to lift the block of stone you brought here. I could hardly manage it.” Berenguer shook his head. “I couldn’t imagine taking even a few steps with it. This church belongs to you,” he said, surveying the building work. Arnau felt a shiver run through him. “Someday, when our grandchildren, or their children, or the children of their children are alive, and people look at this, they won’t mention Berenguer de Montagut: it will be you they talk of, my boy.”

Arnau could scarcely speak. The master! What did he mean? How could a bastaix be more important than the great Berenguer de Montagut, the man who had built Santa Maria and Manresa cathedral? Surely he was the important one.

“Does it hurt?” asked the master builder.

“No ... A little. It’s only a slight twist.”