Cathedral of the Sea

Halfway up the path to the quarry, Arnau halted, and turned to see the woman who was running toward him.

“Aledis! What are you doing here?”

Aledis fought for breath. What could she tell him?

“Is something wrong, Aledis?”

What could she say?

She bent double, clutching her stomach, again pretending to be retching. Why not? Arnau came up to her and took her by the arms. Just to feel his touch made her tremble.

“What’s the matter?”

Those hands of his! They gripped her forearm fiercely. Aledis looked up: she was pressed close to Arnau’s chest, still glistening with sweat. She breathed in his smell.

“What’s the matter?” Arnau repeated, trying to get her to straighten up. Aledis seized her chance and flung her arms round him.

“My God!” she whispered. She buried her face in his shoulder and began to kiss him and lick his sweat.

“What are you doing?”

Arnau tried to push her away, but Aledis clung even more tightly to him.

Arnau was startled to hear voices beyond a bend in the path. The other bastaixos! How could he explain ... ? It might be Bartolome himself. If they found him there, with Aledis clinging to him, kissing him like that... they would throw him out of the guild! Arnau lifted Aledis round the waist and plunged off the path, behind some bushes. He covered her mouth with his hand.

The voices came near and then continued on their way, but Arnau was no longer paying them any heed. He was seated on the ground, with Aledis on top of him: one of his hands was still round her waist; the other was on her mouth. She was staring at him. Those brown eyes of hers! Suddenly Arnau realized he was holding her close. One hand was across her stomach, and her breasts... her breasts were heaving next to his chest. How many nights had he dreamed of holding her like this? How often had he dreamed of her body? Aledis did not struggle in his grasp; she simply stared at him with those huge brown eyes.

He took his hand from her mouth.

“I need you,” he heard her lips whisper.

Then her lips came close to his, and kissed them. They were soft, sweet, filled with desire.

The taste of her! Arnau shuddered.

Aledis was trembling too.

Her taste, her body ... her desire.

Neither of them said anything more.

That night, Aledis did not go down to spy on the apprentices.

24

IT WAS ALMOST two months since Maria and Arnau had been married in Santa Maria de la Mar. The ceremony had been led by Father Albert, and all the members of the guild of bastaixos had been present, as well as Pere and Mariona, and Joan, who already had the tonsure and the white habit of the Franciscan order. With the promise of increased payments after his marriage, Arnau and his wife chose a house down by the beach. Maria’s family and all the many others who wanted to contribute helped them furnish it: Arnau did not have to do a thing. House, furniture, crockery, linen—all appeared thanks to the efforts of Maria and her mother, who insisted he do nothing. On their wedding night, Maria gave herself to him willingly, even though with little passion. When Arnau woke at dawn the next morning, his breakfast was waiting for him: eggs, milk, salt meat, bread. The same scene was repeated at midday, and that evening, and the next day, and the one after that: Maria always had Arnau’s food on the table. She also took his shoes off, washed him, and helped treat any cuts or wounds he might have. She was always willing in bed. Day after day, Arnau found everything a man could want: food, cleanliness, obedience, care and attention, and the body of a young, attractive woman. Yes, Arnau. No, Arnau. Maria never argued with him. If he wanted a candle, Maria dropped whatever she was doing to fetch him one. If he complained, she smothered him in kisses. Whenever he breathed, Maria ran to bring him air.

The rain was pouring down. The sky suddenly darkened, and flashes of lightning pierced the dark clouds, lighting up the stormy sea. Soaked to the skin, Arnau and Bartolome were standing on the beach. All the ships had left the dangerous open port of Barcelona to seek refuge in Salou. The royal quarry was shut. There would be no work for the bastaixos that day.

“How are things with you, my boy?” Bartolome asked his son-in-law.

“Good, very good ... except...”

“Is there a problem?”

“It’s just that ... I’m not used to being treated as well as Maria treats me.”

“That was what we brought her up to do,” said Bartolome proudly.

“But it’s too ...”

“I said you would not regret marrying her.” Bartolome looked at Arnau. “You’ll get used to it. Enjoy the love of a good woman.”

They were still discussing the matter when they came to Calle de las Dames, a small side street that gave onto the beach. They saw a group of about twenty poor-looking women, young and old, pretty and ugly, healthy and sick, walking up and down in the rain.

“Do you see them?” asked Bartolome, pointing in their direction. “Do you know what they are waiting for?” Arnau shook his head. “On stormy days like today, when the fishing boat captains who are not married have done all they can to stay afloat, when they have commended their souls to all the saints and virgins in the Church and