Cathedral of the Sea

were all naked! For a moment she was afraid her breathing might give her away. One of the apprentices was touching himself as he lay on his mattress!

“Who are you thinking of?” asked the lad who lay closest to the wall where Aledis was hiding. “The master’s wife?”

The other apprentice made no reply, but kept on rubbing his penis, back and forth, back and forth ... Aledis began to perspire. Without realizing what she was doing, she slid a hand between her legs and, staring at the boy who was thinking of her, quickly learned how to give herself pleasure. She came even before the young lad did, and slumped to the ground beside the wall.

The next morning, Aledis walked by the apprentices’ bench exuding desire. Without thinking, she came to a halt in front of the apprentice she had seen the night before. Eventually, he could stand it no longer and surreptitiously glanced up. She knew it was true that he had been thinking of her, and smiled to herself.

That afternoon, Aledis was called back down to the workshop. The tanner was waiting for her behind the apprentice.

“My love,” he said when she came up to him, “you know I don’t like anyone disturbing my apprentices.”

Aledis saw the lad’s back. It was crisscrossed by ten thin bloody lines. She said nothing. She did not return to the workshop that night, or the next one, or the one after that, but by mid-July she was there time and again, caressing her body with Arnau’s hands. He was on his own! His eyes had told her so. He had to be hers!

23

BARCELONA WAS STILL in the midst of celebrations.

It was a humble dwelling, like all those the bastaixos lived in, even if this one belonged to Bartolome, one of the guild aldermen. Like most of their houses, it was situated in one of the narrow side streets that led down from Santa Maria, Plaza del Born, or Pla d’en Llull to the beach. The big kitchen was situated on the ground floor, with walls made of adobe bricks. Above it was another floor, with wooden walls, that had been added later.

Arnau could feel his mouth watering at the meal Bartolome’s wife had prepared: fresh white wheat bread; beef with vegetables fried with strips of bacon right in front of them in a big pan on the fire, and seasoned with pepper, cinnamon, and saffron! There was also wine with honey; cheese; and sweetmeats.

“What are we celebrating?” asked Arnau. He was seated at the table with Joan opposite him, Bartolome on his left, and Father Albert to his right.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” said the priest.

Arnau turned to Joan, but he said nothing.

“You’ll soon see,” Bartolome repeated. “For now, just eat.”

Arnau shrugged and gladly accepted the bowl of meat and half loaf of bread that Bartolome’s eldest daughter handed him.

“This is my daughter Maria,” said Bartolome.

Arnau nodded, without lifting his gaze from his bowl. When the four men had been served, and the priest had blessed the meal, they made a start on the food. Bartolome’s wife, their daughter, and four other young children did the same, sitting on the floor, although they had only the usual stew.

Arnau savored the meat and vegetables. What strange flavors he could taste! Pepper, cinnamon, and saffron—they were what noblemen and rich merchants ate. “When we boatmen unload sacks of spices,” one of them had told him on the beach one day, “we pray that they don’t fall into the sea or get spoiled somehow. If they did, there would be no way we could pay to replace them: it would be prison for sure.” Arnau tore off a chunk of bread and put it in his mouth, then picked up the glass of wine with honey ... Why were they all staring at him like that? Although they tried to hide it, he was convinced the other three were studying him. Joan seemed to be looking steadfastly down at his food. Arnau concentrated on his own food once more; he took one, two, three spoonfuls, and then suddenly looked up: he could see Joan and Father Albert making signs at each other.

“All right, what’s going on?” Arnau insisted, putting his spoon down on the table.

Bartolome grimaced. “What can we do?” he seemed to be asking the others.

“Your brother has decided to take the habit and join the Franciscan order,” Father Albert said at last.

“So that’s what it is!” Arnau picked up his cup of wine, turned to Joan, and raised it, a smile on his lips. “Congratulations!”

But Joan did not raise his cup. Nor did Bartolome or the priest. Arnau sat with his cup of wine in midair. What was going on? Apart from the four smaller children, who were still blithely eating their food, all the others were gazing at him intently.

Arnau put his cup down.

“Well?” he asked his brother.

“I can’t do it.”

Arnau twisted his mouth.

“I can’t leave you on your own. I will enter the order only when I see that you are with ... a good woman, the future mother of your children.”

As he spoke, Joan glanced over at Bartolome’s daughter, who hid her face.

Arnau sighed.

“You ought to get married and have a family,” Father Albert insisted.

“You can’t stay on your own,” Joan repeated.

“I would consider it a great honor if you were to accept my daughter Maria as your wife,” Bartolome quickly added. The young girl clung to her mother. “You’re a good, hardworking man. You’re healthy, and a devout Christian. I am offering you a good woman, and would give you a large enough dowry for you to buy your own