Cathedral of the Sea (60 page)

Over the next few months, Guillem cast his nets wide. He talked to friends, to anyone who owed him favors, and sent messages to all his agents: What kind of situation was Grau Puig, the Catalan baron and merchant, really in? What did they know about him, his business affairs, his finances... his solvency?

As the seagoing season was coming to an end, and ships were heading back to the port of Barcelona, Guillem started to receive replies to his inquiries. Invaluable information! One night, after they had closed the countinghouse, Guillem remained seated at the table.

“I have things to do,” he told Arnau.

“What things?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

The next morning as the two men sat at the counting table before breakfast, the Moor said to Arnau: “Grau Puig is in desperate straits.” Was that another gleam in Arnau’s eye? “All the money changers and merchants I’ve talked to are agreed: his fortune has been swallowed up—”

“Perhaps it’s only malicious gossip,” Arnau said, interrupting him.

“Wait, look at this.” Guillem handed him his agents’ letters. “Here’s the proof. Grau Puig is in the hands of the Lombards.”

Arnau thought about what that meant: the Lombards were money changers and merchants, agents of the big banking concerns in Florence and Pisa. They were a tight-knit group who always looked after their own interests; their members dealt with one another or with their headquarters. They had a monopoly on the trade in luxury cloths: woolen fleeces, silks, brocades, Florentine taffeta, Pisan veils, and many other goods. The Lombards helped no one, and allowed others to have a part of their trade only so as not to be expelled from Catalonia. It was never a good idea to be in their hands. Arnau glanced at the letters, then dropped them on the table.

“What are you suggesting?”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want: his ruin!”

“They say that Grau Puig is an old man now, and it is his wife and children who run his business affairs. Just imagine! His finances are precarious: if any venture failed, everything would come crashing down, and he would not be able to pay his debts. He would lose everything.”

“Buy up their debts,” said Arnau coldly, without moving a muscle. “Do it discreetly. I want to be their chief creditor, but I don’t want anyone to know. Make sure one of his ventures does fail... No, not one,” said Arnau, correcting himself, “all of them!” he said, thumping the table so hard even the heavy ledgers shook. “As many as you can,” he said more calmly. “I don’t want them to escape me.”

AT THE HEAD of his fleet, King Pedro the Third returned victorious to Barcelona after conquering Sardinia. The whole of the city rushed down to the beach to receive him. As everyone cheered, the king disembarked on a special wooden bridge built in front of Framenors convent. His retinue of nobles and soldiers also came ashore to a Barcelona willing and ready to celebrate his victory over the Sardinians.

Arnau and Guillem shut the countinghouse and went down to the beach along with all the others. Then Mar joined them to help celebrate in honor of the king: they sang and danced, listened to troubadours, ate sweetmeats, and then, as the sun was setting and the September night air began to grow cool, they returned home.

“Donaha!” shouted Mar as soon as Arnau opened the front door.

Still bubbling with emotion from the celebrations, the girl ran into the house, still shouting for Donaha. But when she reached the kitchen doorway, she suddenly came to a halt. Arnau and Guillem looked at each other. What was going on? Had something happened to Donaha?

They ran to Mar’s side.

“What is... ?” Arnau started to ask.

“Arnau, I don’t think all this shouting is the proper way to receive someone you haven’t seen in such a long time.” He heard a male voice that sounded familiar to him.

Arnau had been pushing Mar out of the way, but stood rooted to the spot when he heard these words.

“Joan!” he cried after a few moments’ pause.

Mar watched as he went into the kitchen, arms open wide, to greet the figure in black who had so frightened her. Guillem put his arm round her.

“It’s his brother,” he whispered in her ear.

Donaha was crouched in a corner of the kitchen, trying to hide.

“My God!” exclaimed Arnau, clasping Joan round the waist. “My God!” he went on repeating, as he lifted him clean into the air not once but several times.

Smiling broadly, Joan managed to struggle free from his grasp.

“You’ll break me in two!”

But Arnau was not listening to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, this time seizing him by the shoulders. “Let me look at you! You’ve changed!”

“It’s been thirteen years,” Joan tried to say, but Arnau would not listen.

“How long have you been in Barcelona?”

“I came...”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

With each question, Arnau shook his brother’s shoulders.

“Are you here to stay this time? Tell me you are!”

Guillem and Mar could not help smiling. The friar saw them: “That’s enough,” he said, pushing Arnau away. “Enough. You’ll squeeze me to death.”

Arnau stood back to survey him. Only the bright, lively eyes reminded him of the Joan who had left Barcelona. Now he was almost bald, thin, and hollow-cheeked ... and the black habit hanging from his shoulders only made him look worse. Joan was two years younger than him, but he looked much older.

“Haven’t you been eating? If the money I sent wasn’t enough—”

“No,” Joan butted in, “it was more than enough. Your money served to nourish ... my spirit. Books are very expensive, Arnau.”

“You should have asked for more.”

Joan waved away the suggestion, then sat down at the table opposite Guillem and Mar.

“Aren’t you going to present me to your goddaughter? I see she’s grown a lot since your last letter.”

Arnau signaled to Mar, and she came round the table to stand in front of Joan. Abashed by the stern look in the friar’s eyes, she kept her eyes on the floor. When he had finished his examination of her, Arnau presented Guillem.

“This is Guillem,” he said. “I’ve talked a lot about him in my letters.”

“Yes.” Joan made no effort to shake him by the hand, and Guillem was forced to withdraw his own outstretched arm. “Do you fulfill your Christian obligations?” he asked coldly.

“Yes...”

“Yes, Brother Joan,” Joan corrected him.

“Brother Joan,” Guillem repeated.

“And over there is Donaha,” Arnau said quickly.

Joan nodded without so much as looking at her.

“Good,” he said, turning to Mar and indicating with his eyes that she could sit down. “You’re Ramon’s daughter, aren’t you? Your father was a good man, a hardworking Christian who feared his Lord, like all
bastaixos.”
He looked at Arnau. “I’ve prayed a lot for him since Arnau told me of his death. How old are you, my child?”

Arnau ordered Donaha to serve their supper, then sat at the table. He realized that Guillem was still standing some way away, as though he did not dare sit down with the newcomer.

“Come and sit, Guillem,” he said. “This is your home too.”

Joan said nothing.

Nobody spoke during supper. Mar was unusually quiet, as if the presence of the friar had robbed her of all spontaneity. For his part, Joan ate frugally.

“Tell me, Joan,” Arnau said when they had finished eating, “what are you doing here? When did you come back?”

“I took advantage of the king’s return. I boarded a ship to Sardinia when I learned of his victory there, and came from the island to Barcelona.”

“Have you seen the king?”

“He would not receive me.”

Mar asked permission to leave the table. Guillem did the same. They both said good night to Brother Joan. After that, the two brothers talked until dawn; with the aid of a bottle of sweet wine, they made up for thirteen years apart.

T
O THE RELIEF of everyone in Arnau’s family, Joan decided to move to Santa Caterina convent.

“That is the proper place for me,” he told his brother, “but I’ll come and visit you every day.”

Arnau, who had noticed how uncomfortable his goddaughter and Guillem had been during supper the previous evening, did not insist more than was strictly necessary.

“Do you know what he said to me?” he whispered to Guillem when they were getting up from their meal at midday. The Moor bent closer. “He asked what we have done to see that Mar is married.”

Without straightening up, Guillem looked across at the girl, who was helping Donaha clear the table. Find a husband for her? Why, she was only ... a woman! Guillem turned to Arnau. Neither of them had ever looked at her as they did now.

“What has become of our little girl?” Arnau whispered.

The two men gazed at her again: she was lively, beautiful, serene, and self-assured.

As she picked up the food bowls, Mar looked back at them.

Her body was already that of a woman: it was curved and shapely, and her breasts were beginning to show underneath her smock. She was fourteen.

Mar glanced at them again, and saw them staring openmouthed at her. This time instead of smiling she looked embarrassed, if only momentarily.

“What are you two staring at?” she bridled. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” she said, standing in front of them defiantly.

They both nodded as one. There was no doubt about it: she had turned into a woman without their even noticing it.

When they were safely in the countinghouse, Arnau said: “She’ll have a princess’s dowry. Money, clothes, a house ... no, a palace!” At this, he turned toward his companion. “What has happened about the Puig family?”

“That means she’ll leave us,” said Guillem, as if he had not heard Arnau’s question.

The two men sat for a while in silence.

“She’ll give us grandchildren,” Arnau said eventually.

“Don’t fool yourself. She’ll give her husband children. Besides, if we slaves cannot have children, we have even less right to grandchildren.”

“How often have I offered to free you?”

“What would I do with freedom? I’m fine as I am. But Mar ... a married woman! I don’t know why, but I’m already beginning to hate her husband, whoever he may be.”

“Me too,” Arnau admitted.

They turned toward each other, and both of them burst out laughing.

“But you didn’t answer my question,” said Arnau once they had recovered their composure. “What’s happened with the Puig family? I want that palace for Mar.”

“I sent instructions to Filippo Tescio in Pisa. If anyone can achieve what you are after, he’s the one.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That he was to pay pirates if necessary, but that the Puigs’ commissions were not to reach Barcelona, and those that had left the port should not arrive at their destinations. That he should steal the goods or set fire to them if need be, but that none of them should arrive.”

“Did he reply?”

“Filippo? No, he would never do that. He will not put anything in writing or entrust the affair to anyone else. If it got out... We have to wait for the end of the seagoing season. That will be in less than a month. If the Puig family’s commissions have not returned by then, they won’t be able to pay their debts. They’ll be ruined.”

“Have you bought up their credit notes?”

“You are Grau Puig’s main creditor.”

“They must be suffering by now,” Arnau muttered to himself.

“Haven’t you seen them?” Arnau turned sharply to him. “They’re down at the beach all the time. Before it was the baroness and one of her children; now that Genis is back from Sardinia, he has joined them. They spend hours scanning the horizon in search of a mast... and when a ship appears and comes into port but isn’t one of theirs, the baroness curses the waves. I thought you knew...”