were already full of horses, brought from Valencia with the noblemen from that city, or from the ports of Salou, Tarragona, or from the north of Barcelona.
“Let’s get away from here,” Ramon warned Arnau. “This is going to turn into a real battlefield.”
Just as they were leaving the beach, the grooms led the first steeds down to the water. They were huge warhorses, which kicked, snorted, and threatened to bite, while their handlers struggled to control them.
“They know they’re off to war,” Ramon told Arnau, as they sought cover behind the boats drawn up on the beach.
“They know?”
“Of course. Whenever they’re put on ships, it’s to go to war. Look.” Arnau peered out to sea. Four of the flat- bottomed buses drew up as close to the beach as they could and opened their stern doors: they splashed into the water, revealing the gaping hulls inside. “And those who don’t know,” Ramon went on, “are made nervous by the ones who do.”
Soon, the beach was filled with horses. There were hundreds of them, all big, strong, powerful beasts, warhorses trained for combat. The grooms and squires dodged in and out, trying to avoid the rearing, biting animals. Arnau saw several of them fly through the air or flinch as they were caught on the receiving end of a flashing hoof. Everything was bedlam.
“What are they waiting for?” asked Arnau.
Ramon pointed to the ships once more. Some of the grooms were wading out to them, leading their horses.
“They are the most experienced ones. Once they are on board, they will attract the others.”
And so it proved. As soon as the first horses reached the ships’ ramps, the grooms headed back to the shore. The horses immediately started whinnying loudly.
That was the signal.
The rest of the herd plunged into the water, splashing so much that for a few moments they disappeared entirely from view. Behind them and on either side, a few of the most expert horsemen followed, cracking their whips and driving them toward the ships. Most of their grooms had lost the reins by now, and the horses swam or floundered on their own, careering into one another. For a while, there was total chaos: shouts from all sides, the lash of whips, animals neighing and struggling to climb up onto the ramps, roars of encouragement from the beach. Then, gradually, calm returned to the shore. The ramps were raised, and the horse transports were ready to set sail.
The order to depart came from admiral Pere de Montcada’s ship. All 117 vessels began to pull out of the harbor. Arnau and Ramon walked home along the beach.
“Off they go,” said Ramon, “to conquer Mallorca.”
Arnau nodded without a word. Yes, off they went. On their own, leaving behind their problems and their heartbreak. Cheered off as heroes, their minds set on one thing: war. What he wouldn’t have given to be among their number!
ON THE TWENTY- FIRST of June of that same year, Pedro the Third attended mass in the cathedral of Mallorca,
The news reached Barcelona and spread through the mainland; King Pedro had taken the first step toward keeping his word of reuniting the kingdoms split on the death of Jaime the First. Now all that was left was for him to conquer the territory of the Cerdagne and the Catalan lands on the far side of the Pyrenees: Roussillon.
Throughout the long month that the Mallorca campaign had lasted, Arnau could not get the image of the royal fleet leaving the port of Barcelona out of his mind. When the ships were already some way from the shore, everyone on the beach split up and returned home. What reason did he have for following them? To receive care and affection he did not deserve? He sat in the sand until long after the last sail had disappeared beyond the horizon. “Lucky them, to be able to leave their problems behind,” he said to himself over and over again. Throughout that month, whenever Aledis lay in wait for him on the track up to Montjuic, or when afterward he had to face Maria’s loving attention, Arnau could hear the shouts and laughter of the Almogavar company, and see the fleet slipping into the distance. Sooner or later, he would be found out. A short while earlier, while Aledis was still panting on top of him, someone had shouted from the track. Had they heard the two lovers? They lay for a while holding their breath; then Aledis laughed and fell on him again. The day he was found out... it would mean disgrace, expulsion from the guild. What would he do then? How would he manage to live?
When on the twenty-ninth of June, 1343, the whole city of Barcelona came down to meet the royal fleet assembled in the mouth of the River Llobregat, Arnau had made his decision. The king had to fulfill his promise to conquer Roussillon and the Cerdagne, and he, Arnau Estanyol, would be part of his army. He had to get away from Aledis! Perhaps if he did that, she would forget him, and when he got back ... He shuddered: after all, this was war; men would die. But perhaps when he returned he could take up his tranquil life with Maria once more, and Aledis would no longer pursue him.
King Pedro the Third ordered his ships to enter the port of Barcelona in strict order of hierarchy: first the royal galley, then that of infante Don Pedro, then Pere de Montcada’s, followed by the one Lord Eixerica commanded, and so on.
While the rest of the fleet waited, the royal galley made its way into port and sailed round it, so that everyone who had gathered on the shore could see it and cheer.
Arnau heard how everyone roared their approval as the ship passed in front of them. The bastaixos and boatmen were standing close to the water, ready to build the pontoon for the king. Also waiting next to the
What was going on? Arnau looked at the other bastaixos. How was the king to disembark if not across their bridge?
“He should not land,” he heard Francesc Grony tell Lord Santcliment. “The army should go straight on to Roussillon, before King Jaime can reorganize, or make a pact with the French.”
All those around him were of similar mind. Arnau stared out at the royal galley, still triumphantly sailing around the port. If the king did not land, if the fleet continued on to Roussillon without calling in at Barcelona ... His
