The Staircase and the Story About It

From the top the steps looked bad. From the first one down, they look worse. They fall away at about the same angle as a ladder leaned against a wall, and they are not really a staircase at all. They are a groove cut into the rock, roughly as wide as a doorway in places and narrower in others, with the sea showing pale green at the bottom of the gap. Polly hops down the first few and finds them uneven. Every step is a slightly different height.

There is a story about this place, and everyone tells it. In the year fourteen twenty, an army from Aragon laid siege to the town, and its soldiers are said to have carved this entire staircase into the cliff in one single night, in secret, in order to climb up and take the citadel by surprise.

It is a wonderful story. It is also almost certainly not true. A researcher looked at the problem carefully more than a hundred years ago and pointed out two difficulties. First, nearly two hundred steps cannot be cut into solid limestone in one night by anybody. Second, there were guard towers along this stretch of wall, and men hammering at rock all night are not easy to miss.

Polly sits down on a step about a third of the way toward the sea. Below her a large seabird comes gliding along the cliff, so low that its wingtip nearly touches the water, and it does not flap once the whole way past. The real answer to who cut these steps, and why, is somewhere further down.