Cathedral of the Sea (7 page)

“If anyone manages to live in Barcelona for a year and a day without being arrested by the lord,” he remembered someone saying, “they can acquire the status of residents, and become freemen.” All the other serfs had fallen silent. Bernat had looked at them: some had closed their eyes and clenched their teeth; others were shaking their heads in disbelief; still others were smiling up at the sky, dreaming of breaking the chains that tied them to the land.

“So all you have to do is live in the city?” asked one of the youngsters who had been staring skyward. “Why can people become freemen by living in Barcelona?”

The eldest serf confirmed what had been said: “Yes, you need only to live in Barcelona for a year and a day.”

Eyes shining, the young lad urged him to explain further.

“Barcelona is a very rich city. For many years now, from the days of Jaime the Conqueror to those of Pedro the Great, all our kings have asked it for money to wage war, or for their courts. The citizens of Barcelona granted them the money, but in return won special privileges. One day when he was at war with Sicily, Pedro the Great himself had them all written down in a charter ...” The old man hesitated.
“Recognoverunt procures,
I believe it is called. That is where it is laid out how we can become freemen. Barcelona needs workmen, people who are free to work.”

The next day, the youth did not appear on the lord of Navarcles’s lands. Nor the day after. His father was there, but he did not say a word. Then, three months later, the youth was dragged back in chains, with the threat of the whip at his back; even so, all the other serfs thought they could see a gleam of pride in his eyes.

From the summit of the Sierra de Collserola, on the old Roman road between Ampurias and Tarragona, Bernat gazed down at freedom ... and the sea! He had never even imagined, let alone set eyes on, that huge, seemingly endless expanse. He had heard from traders that Catalonia was the master of lands beyond the waves, but ... this was the very first time he had been confronted with something he could not see the far end of. “Beyond that mountain. After you cross that river ...” He had always been able to point to the spot in the distance that a stranger was asking him about. Now he scanned the horizon line, standing silently as he took it all in, gently caressing the unruly curls that had grown on Arnau’s head since they had been in hiding.

Then he turned his attention to the land by the shore. He could see five ships close in, near the island of Maians. This was another novelty: until that day, Bernat had seen only drawings of ships. To his right, he saw the mountain of Montjuic, which also swept down to the sea, and was surrounded by fields and plains; then the city of Barcelona itself. From the low promontory of the Mons Taber in the center, hundreds of buildings spread out in all directions : low houses built one on top of another, but also magnificent palaces, churches, and monasteries ... Bernat wondered how many people lived there, because all of a sudden, the buildings came to an end: the city was like a beehive crammed inside walls, with open fields beyond. There were forty thousand people living there, Bernat recalled someone telling him.

“How is anyone going to find us amongst forty thousand people?” he mused, looking down at Arnau. “You’ll be a freeman, my son.”

Bernat was certain they could hide in the city. He would look for his sister. But first he had to get in through a city gate. What if the lord of Navarcles had sent out a description of him? That birthmark of his ... But during the three nights of his walk down from the hills, he had been devising a plan. He sat on the ground and picked up a hare he had shot with his crossbow. He slit its throat and let the blood drip onto the small pile of sand he had cupped in his hand. He stirred blood and sand together and, as the mixture dried, spread it around his right eye. Then he put the hare back in his sack.

As soon as he could feel that the mixture had dried, and he could no longer see out of his eye, he set off down the hill toward the Santa Anna gateway, on the northernmost side of the western wall. Lots of people were lined up to get into the city. Arnau was awake by now, and Bernat carried on stroking his head as he slipped in among the crowd, dragging his feet as he did so. A barefoot peasant bent double under an enormous sack of turnips turned toward him. Bernat smiled at him.

“A leper!” shouted the peasant, dropping his sack and jumping out of his way.

To his astonishment, Bernat saw the whole line of people in front of the gate rushing to one side or the other, leaving the track littered with sacks, food, a couple of carts, and several mules. Even the blind men clustered around the Santa Anna gateway began to stir.

Arnau started to cry, and Bernat saw some of the soldiers at the gate draw their swords, while others made to close the heavy wooden doors.

“Go to the lazaretto!” someone shouted at him.

“But it’s not leprosy!” Bernat protested. “I simply got a branch in my eye! Look!” He lifted his arms and waved them about. Then, carefully placing Arnau on the ground, he started to take off his clothes. “Look!” he repeated, showing everybody his strong, healthy body, with no signs of disease or wounds. “Look! I’m a peasant farmer, but I need a doctor to cure my eye, or otherwise I won’t be able to work.”

An official pushed one of the soldiers toward him. He came to a halt a few paces from Bernat and surveyed him.

“Turn round,” he said, gesturing with his finger.

Bernat did as he was told. The soldier looked him up and down, then shook his head to the official. Another man at the gateway pointed with his sword toward the bundle at Bernat’s feet.

“What about the boy?”

Bernat bent down to pick Arnau up. He stripped off his clothes with his right side pressed against him, then held him up horizontally, holding him by the side of his head so that no one would spot the birthmark.

Looking back at the gate, the soldier shook his head once more.

“Cover that wound,” he said. “If you don’t, you won’t get anywhere in the city.”

The line re-formed outside the gate, which swung open. The peasant with the turnips picked up his sack again, avoiding looking at Bernat.

Bernat passed through the gateway with one of Arnau’s shirts covering his right eye. The soldiers gazed after him, but made no move to follow him. Leaving Santa Anna church on his left, he followed the rush of people into the city. He turned right into the Plaza Santa Anna, looking down at the ground the whole time. As the peasants spread out through the streets, gradually Bernat saw fewer and fewer bare feet, or rope and leather sandals, until all at once he found himself staring at a pair of legs covered in flame red stockings, with tight-fitting shoes, made entirely of some fine material, that ended in such long points that at the end of each of them was a tiny golden chain that led back to the ankles.

Bernat raised his eyes, and found himself staring at a man wearing an elaborate hat. He was dressed in a black robe shot through with gold and silver threads, a belt also decorated with gold, and leather straps sparkling with pearls and other precious stones. Bernat stood there openmouthed, but the man looked past him as if he did not even exist.

Bernat hesitated, lowered his eyes once more, then gave a sigh of relief. The man had not given him so much as a second look, so he continued on his way down toward the cathedral, which was still under construction. Bit by bit, he plucked up the courage to look around. Nobody seemed to pay him any attention. He stood watching the workmen swarming round the cathedral: some were hewing stone, others were climbing the tall scaffolding that covered the building, still more were hauling on ropes to lift blocks of stone ... Arnau began to whimper, demanding his attention.

“Tell me,” he said to a passing workman, “how can I find the potters’ quarter?” He knew his sister Guiamona was married to one.

“Carry on down this street,” the man said hastily, “until you reach the next square, the Plaza Sant Jaume. There’s a fountain in the middle. There you turn right and continue until you come to the new wall, at the Boqueria gate. Don’t go out into the Raval neighborhood. Instead, walk alongside the wall until you reach the next gateway, Trentaclaus. That’s where you’ll find the potters.”

Bernat struggled to remember all these different names, but just as he was about to ask the man to repeat them, he discovered he had already disappeared.

“Carry on down this street to the Plaza San Jaume,” he whispered to Arnau. “That much I remember. And once we’re in the square, we have to turn right again ... That’s it, isn’t it, son?”

Arnau always stopped crying when he heard his father’s voice. “Now what do we do?” Bernat said out loud. They were in a different square, the Plaza Sant Miquel. “That man only mentioned one square, but we can’t have made a mistake.” Bernat tried to ask a couple of passersby, but none of them stopped. “Everyone is in such a hurry,” he complained to his son. At that moment, he caught sight of a man standing by the entrance to ... a castle? “Ah, there’s someone who doesn’t seem to be rushing anywhere ... Begging your pardon,” he said, touching the man’s black cloak from behind.

Even Arnau, strapped tightly to his father’s chest, seemed to give a start when Bernat jumped back as the man turned round.

The old Jewish man shook his head wearily. He knew that Bernat’s reaction was the result of the Christian priests’ fiery sermons.

“What is it?” he asked.

Bernat could not help staring at the red and yellow badge on the old man’s chest. Then he peered inside what he had at first thought was a fortified castle. Everyone going in and out was a Jew! And they all wore this distinguishing mark. Was it forbidden to talk to them?

“Did you want something?” the old man repeated.

“How ... how do I find the potters’ quarter?”

“Carry on straight down this street,” said the old man, pointing the direction. “That will take you to the Boqueria gate. Follow the wall down toward the sea, and at the next gate you’ll find the neighborhood you’re looking for.”

In fact, the Church had forbidden only carnal relations with the Jews; that was why it forced them to wear the badge, so that nobody could claim not to have realized whom they were consorting with. The priests always railed against them, and yet this old man ...

“Thank you, friend,” said Bernat with a timid smile.

“Thank you,” the old Jewish man replied. “But in the future, take care that no one sees you talking to one of us ... let alone smiling at us.” His lips twisted in a sad grimace.

At the Boqueria gate, Bernat found himself caught up in a crowd of women who were buying offal and goat’s meat. He watched them examining the wares and bargaining with the stallholders. “This is the meat that gives our lord all his problems,” Bernat muttered to his son, and then laughed at the thought of Llorenç de Bellera. How often had he heard him threatening the shepherds and the cattlemen who supplied Barcelona with meat! But he never dared go any further, because anyone taking livestock to the city had the right to graze them wherever they liked in all Catalonia.

Bernat skirted the market and walked down to the Trentaclaus gate. The streets here were wider, and as he drew close to the gate, he saw dozens of pots, bowls, jars, and bricks drying in the sun in front of the houses.

“I’m looking for Grau Puig’s house,” he told one of the soldiers guarding the gate.

THE PUIG FAMILY had been neighbors of the Estanyols. Bernat well remembered Grau, the fourth of eight starving children who could never get enough to eat from their meager landholding. His mother had a special affection for the Puig children, because their mother had helped give birth to Bernat and his sister. Grau was the brightest and hardest-working of them all; that was why, when Josep Puig received a kinsman’s offer for one of them to become a potter’s apprentice in Barcelona, it was Grau he chose. Grau was ten years old at the time.

But if Josep Puig found it hard to feed his family, it was going to be impossible for him to find the two bushels of white flour and the ten shillings his relative was demanding in return for taking on Grau for his five years’ apprenticeship. Added to which were the two additional shillings that Llorenç de Bellera demanded in order to free a serf from his obligations, and the clothes Grau would need for the first two years of his apprenticeship : the master potter had agreed to supply only what was necessary for the last three.

This was what brought Josep Puig to the Estanyol farmhouse with Grau, who was a few years older than Bernat and his sister. Old man Estanyol listened closely to Puig’s proposition: if he endowed his daughter with the list of things Puig outlined and offered them to Grau at once, Puig promised his son would marry Guiamona as soon as Grau reached the age of eighteen and was a qualified craftsman. The old man studied the boy: sometimes, when Grau’s family was in dire need, Grau had come to lend a hand in the Estanyol fields. The boy had never asked for payment, but Estanyol had always made sure he went home with some vegetables or grain. He trusted him. He accepted the offer.