Chasing Shadows

by Chasing Shadows (retail) (epub)

  ‘Are you tired?’ She could sense it. She was tired as well, and she hadn’t had to drive through the snow. She had always hated doing that. Snow on the ski slopes was one thing, snow on the roads was another. Her mind flicked back, as it so often did, to the years before the accident. Looking back on them now, they seemed idyllic, although she could remember times when she had been miserable or in despair, mostly as a result of problems with boys. Looking back on those episodes now, she wished she could go back to her younger self and tell her to love and enjoy every minute of what had been a wonderful life. Carpe diem was something you so often only appreciate when it’s too late. She gave a little internal sigh. ‘Luke, you should take a break if you’re feeling tired.’

  ‘I’m beginning to feel a bit weary, but I’m okay for the moment. There was a sign back there which said it’s only twenty-odd kilometres to Jaca so it shouldn’t be much longer. What about you? Ready for a Spanish meal?’

  ‘Mmmh. Any kind of meal.’

  He cast a glance across at her and the childlike vulnerability of her pose, curled up with her knees under her chin and her arms wrapped around her ankles. He guided the big vehicle round a corner, the tyres crunching through the foot or so of fresh snow. She turned her face towards him.

  ‘We’re lucky to be in a nice warm car. It must be absolutely horrific outside. My thanks to the driver.’ A more tender note entered her voice. ‘It’s nice being with you.’

  She sounded warm and happy. He wondered if this was the time to open up about his own problems. Maybe some of her happiness might rub off on him. For a moment he was on the point of embarking upon the whole story, but the enormity of the task defeated him. Maybe if they had been sitting together in a café or over the dinner table. But here, while he was having to concentrate hard on staying on the twisty mountain road, he didn’t know how to begin.

  He was still trying to find the right words to explain some of what had happened to him and what was going through his head, when he saw a flashing yellow light coming towards him in the middle of the road. He flicked the gear lever into manual and dropped into first gear, the chunky tyres gripping the road reassuringly and slowing them to a walking pace. He pulled over to the right hand side, bumping off the road onto the verge and watched as the snowplough came majestically by, a bow wave of snow shooting out from the blade on the front. He received a lazy wave from the driver that he acknowledged cheerfully.

  ‘Snowplough?’ She wasn’t really asking the question. The clanking of the chains and the scrape of the plough were unmistakable. Not surprisingly, it was followed by a procession of cars, all with headlights blazing. Luke pushed the gear lever into park, stretched his legs and switched on the radio. Jacques Brel’s Le Plat Pays filled the car. As it finished and a French disc jockey cut in, Luke lowered the volume and turned towards her.

  ‘Yes, it’s a snowplough. Followed by half of Spain by the look of it and, yes, I think it’s really nice being with you, too.’ He hesitated. ‘More than nice. I really can’t think of anybody I would rather be with here, now. Honestly, I can’t…’ He would have said more, but he still didn’t have the confidence. She sensed that he was finding it difficult to talk so she made no comment and they sat in silence, listening to the music.

  At last, the stream of lights coming up the hill ended. Luke nosed the car back out onto the road and into the clear swathe cut by the plough. He accelerated up to a decent speed and delicately tried the brakes. The car slowed obediently, and he gave a sigh of relief.

  ‘So what about our story then?’ Amy turned towards him, determined to cheer him up.

  In fact, Luke was feeling more relaxed now, pleased that the snow was on the decrease. Their invented story was a welcome break from the seriousness of his own personal past and his spirits rose. ‘The authorities are on their heels and they’ve come perilously close. They have to get out of Santa Cristina before daybreak, or they’ll be captured. But, hang on a minute, why am I talking in the plural? Why them and not just him? Surely he’s on his own… isn’t he?’ His voice hesitated and she leapt in.

  ‘He met somebody at Santa Cristina. Somebody he was expecting to meet. But who? Was it something to do with his mission, whatever it was that he had to do?’ Her voice was insistent.

  ‘His mission…’ He thought hard. ‘We’re talking about the months immediately following the final suppression of the Templars in France. The other countries took their time about imposing any sanctions upon the Templars. Maybe he had no special mission other than that of getting out of the clutches of the king’s men. Maybe he was just trying to escape with his life.’

  ‘Not him.’ Her voice was scornful. ‘This is a man who fought his way through the Holy Land and saw hundreds of his companions die around him. He’s after more than just a way of escape. He had to go to Santa Cristina to get something and he ends up with a travelling companion. But who?’ She was thinking hard.

  His reply came automatically, without his having to think about it.

  ‘His travelling companion is without doubt an intelligent, beautiful, self-opinionated girl who also happens to be blind. Of that I have no doubt.’ He edged the car back across into the deep snow as the lights of another vehicle came slowly uphill towards them and then past.

  ‘Did you say beautiful?’ Her tone was light, but she didn’t fool him.

  ‘Definitely beautiful,’ he answered mischievously, feeling more relaxed in her presence now. ‘In fact she had long golden hair and the lightest blue eyes. But remember that I did say she was self-opinionated. That’s a polite way of saying that she could be a bit difficult when she wanted.’ He concentrated on cutting gently back through the thick snow into the cleared track on the other side of the road.

  ‘And what’s his relationship with her?’ She beat time to the music with her fingers, while he tried to find a way out of the hole he had just dug for himself. It came to him in a flash, just as a sign appeared announcing that Jaca was now only 20 kilometres ahead.

  ‘Who knows? Maybe she’s the wife of a friend of his who’s been marooned at the abbey since before the winter and he’s helping her get away.’ It sounded a diplomatic way out. She was silent for a while before asking:

  ‘What happened to the friend then? Where is he? In Spain or what?’

  ‘Goodness knows. Maybe he was killed, or captured, or maybe he’s waiting for her somewhere else in Spain. Maybe our man’s taking her to him.’ He noted with pleasure that both sides of the road were clear down here and the thick white wall of falling snow in front was finally waning. For the first time that evening he was able to flick the headlights onto full beam without dazzling himself. ‘Not long to go now.’

  ‘I’ve got an idea.’ Amy was concentrating on the story more than he was. ‘Maybe she’ll lead him to someone who has secret information for him. But isn’t it going to be tricky for one man to lead a blind woman all the way to Compostela?’

  ‘You’re telling me!’

  He managed to avoid the first punch, but the second caught him on the shoulder.

  Chapter 8

  Abbey of Santa Cristina, April 1314

  There wasn’t a sound to be heard in the abbey, although it wouldn’t be long before Matins would be called and the sleepy monks would file out of their dormitories into the abbey church. For now, all was still and Luc and Aimée had no trouble getting out of the carriage and making it across the courtyard unobserved. It had started snowing again and their feet left clear tracks in the snow, but Luc could see it wouldn’t be long before these were concealed again. Around them, nothing and nobody stirred. Or so it seemed.

  There was an unexpected movement from their right. A figure detached itself slowly and deliberately from the shadows and stepped towards them. With a swift movement, Luc caught Aimée and pulled her round behind him while at the same time drawing the dagger he kept concealed in his sleeve. The other man spoke in little more than a whisper.

  ‘I should like to come towards you
and shake you by the hand, my son. I would not wish you to misinterpret my movements. That is why I’m announcing my intentions to you in advance. May I approach? I wish you no harm.’

  Aimée was amazed to recognise the voice. She tugged at Luc’s sleeve. ‘Luc, it’s the abbot.’

  Luc weighed up the abbot’s intentions and the potential risk. Then he replied equally quietly.

  ‘Approach me by all means Father, but keep your hands where I can see them.’

  The old man nodded, and crossed the few feet that separated them. He extended both hands in greeting and clasped Luc’s left hand warmly, fully aware that the right hand held the weapon. Then he stepped back a pace and spoke, mainly to Luc, but deliberately loud enough for Aimée to hear as well.

  ‘I believe I know who you are, but your name shall remain unspoken. I’ve been waiting for you. I waited for your colleague two months ago, but I waited in vain. Tragically, he was killed before I could offer him assistance.’ A look of astonishment appeared on Aimée’s face and the abbot spoke directly to her before she could utter a word. ‘That’s the truth, Aimée. I regret the death of your husband more than you can imagine. There have been many occasions when I would have spoken to you about this, except that natural caution always stopped me.’

  She was speechless. So he had known who she was all along. She was still trying to take this information in as he returned his attention to Luc.

  ‘Do I assume that you weren’t told who your contact at Santa Cristina would be?’ He noted Luc’s almost imperceptible acknowledgement and went on. ‘I imagine you were told merely that you would be contacted. No names. That’s how we’ve always done these things. Each link of the chain only needs to know so much. In this way there’s more chance of the whole chain remaining intact. We both know about the methods which can be used to obtain information, from even the most courageous of men… or women.’ His voice stopped for a moment, his tone bitterly sad. After a brief pause, he turned and raised his eyes towards Luc once more. ‘I have information for you that you will need. I can also confirm what you doubtless already know; namely that you’re in very grave danger. Indeed, if you stay here, you’ll be in custody by midday, I’m sure.’

  In answer to the question on their lips, he continued. ‘I believe I can be of material assistance to you in making good your escape, at least this time. Be mindful, however, that they won’t cease until they’ve caught you or killed you. The frontier means nothing to them. They’ll follow you through Spain as they’ve followed you through France. Be constantly on your guard, and may the protection of the Almighty be with you.’

  Luc straightened up and relaxed. With a smooth movement he slid the dagger back into its sheath and breathed deeply. He spoke quietly.

  ‘I was told to come here to Santa Cristina. That is what Bertrand was trying to do in January. They told me I was to receive something here, something of inestimable value, and take it safely along the Pilgrims’ Way to Compostela.’ His voice betrayed his frustration. ‘I wasn’t told what it is, nor where I am to deliver it.’

  The old man laid his hand on Luc’s forearm. ‘Links on a chain, Luc. I told you.’

  The snow was still falling relentlessly and the silence remained absolute. Now, however, the atmosphere was less menacing and Luc felt the stirrings of hope. A slight movement at his side made him reach out and lay a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. He cast a look towards the abbot and asked quietly. ‘Should we both leave, or is there anything you can do for Aimée?’ He felt her body tense, but the expression on the abbot’s face offered no hope.

  ‘Alas, you must both leave, my son. The order went out from the archbishop.’ His tone when saying the word was acid. ‘The men will be searching the abbey for a man and a woman. No, I’m afraid that there’s no safety for either of you here.’

  Aimée reached up and gripped Luc’s hand tightly. Her expression was one of relief. Luc realised, if he had needed to, that his destiny and hers were now inextricably linked. He nodded before continuing.

  ‘Time is of the essence. What help can you offer us, Reverend Father? Where is this precious object, and how do we make good our escape?’ He eyed the snow falling ever more heavily. He knew there was little chance of escape on horseback. And going on foot through the snowdrifts would be next to impossible.

  ‘There’s a secret way out. It’s a narrow passage that runs right under the abbey. Its existence has been passed on from abbot to abbot since the abbey was founded. I feel confident that its existence is unknown to all here, Luc. When you emerge from the passage, your means of escape will be immediately apparent.’

  Aimée’s hand gripped Luc tighter, and he leant towards her, his voice still low. ‘Aimée, are you sure you’re coming with me?’ The question was rhetorical, the answer inevitable. ‘It’ll be dangerous.’ Again her response was written on her face.

  ‘And if I stay here, Luc? How would you rate my chances of survival?’ Her voice was strong and determined. Deep inside, Aimée knew there was no choice, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Only a few hours earlier, she had been close to taking her own life. Now she had hope and she had Luc. She had known him for years now, since the early days of her marriage to Bertrand, and during the long years of hiding he had been one of the few trusted faces she had seen. He had always occupied a special place in her heart, a very special place. ‘I’m coming with you, Luc. If you’ll have me.’ She pressed herself more tightly against him to reinforce her decision.

  ‘But you have nothing…’ His voice tailed off helplessly. ‘Clothes, boots, women’s things…’

  ‘Oh ye of little faith.’ She replied in a lighter tone. ‘What do you think’s in here?’ She held up her shoulder bag. ‘With all these soldiers about, it seemed prudent to plan for immediate departure.’

  In spite of the gravity of the situation Luc was able to smile. ‘So be it.’ He returned his attention to the abbot.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, Father. We owe our lives to you, of that there is no doubt.’

  Before responding, the abbot reached up to his throat. He released the clasp that held his heavy cloak fastened and slipped it off his shoulders. He held it out to Luc. ‘Could I ask one thing of you? Could I persuade you to exchange cloaks with me? This one I wear belonged to the Master of the Temple of Ponferrada, far away on the road to Compostela. Would you do me the favour of wearing it for the rest of your journey, please? I promised him I would return it to him. It’s a good cloak, if not brand new, and from what I can see of the one you’re wearing I would say that this will be warmer and stronger. Would you promise me you’ll do that as a favour?’

  Luc took the heavy leather cloak from him, knowing full well that it was many times better than his old one. He felt touched both at the abbot’s generosity and his tactful approach. He had little doubt in his mind that, if he ever reached Ponferrada, and if the Templar Order were still present there, the Master of the Temple would have never seen it before. He shrugged off his own cloak and held it out to the old man, the cold air biting into his unprotected shoulders. He lost no time in pulling on the leather one, relishing the warmth it provided.

  Seemingly impervious to the freezing temperature, the abbot made no move to put on Luc’s cloak. Instead, he continued more urgently.

  ‘Now listen carefully, Luc. What I must tell you is of the utmost importance. Concentrate hard and commit everything I say to your memory.’

  Luc bent forward.

  ‘The first thing you must know is that the object that cannot be named will be revealed to you further along your journey. I can’t tell you anything about it.’

  ‘You can’t?’ Luc could hardly believe his ears. ‘But I was told to come here to collect it.’

  A more authoritative note entered the old abbot’s voice. ‘Luc, do you remember what I told you about security and links on a chain?’ Luc nodded blankly, feeling like a schoolboy in front of the headmaster. ‘The less information we all carry, the bette
r and the safer for everybody. Just believe me when I say you’ll learn about it at the right time.’

  Luc dropped his head obediently and gave no response.

  ‘Your orders are to follow the directions I am going to give you and take it to safety in Portugal.’

  ‘Portugal?’ Luc only had the vaguest notion as to where this might be.

  ‘As soon as you can, rejoin the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela. Many, many pilgrims follow the way of Saint James every year. There should be safety in numbers for you and, of course, Aimée. Compostela is many weeks away from here in northwest Spain. When you reach that most wonderful of cities, turn south. Portugal extends from there to the Mediterranean sea. Now, listen carefully.’

  Chapter 9

  Spanish Pyrenees, April 1314

  ‘God be with you both.’ The abbot’s hand was raised in blessing and they both crossed themselves. ‘May Our Lord Jesus Christ be with you always.’ He caught Luc’s eye and spoke with feeling. ‘May you succeed, Luc. You carry a heavy burden of responsibility. Carry it well.’ Then he stepped back as Luc manhandled the heavy stone-clad door back into place, leaving him and Aimée alone in the damp, dark tunnel. Luc took her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

  She responded by reaching up and kissing him on the cheek. ‘Just tell me there are no spiders down here.’

  He raised the burning torch and sliced a swathe through a curtain of cobwebs before replying with as much sincerity as he could muster.

  ‘Spiders? No, too cold for them I expect. None around here.’ She clutched his arm and whispered.

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘But make sure you keep your hood up and your head down so you don’t bang your head.’ A spider the size of a small bird materialised in front of him as he spoke and he banished it with a sweep of the flaming torch. Conscious that the torch would not burn for long he crouched down to protect his head and started to creep along the passage, the torch held as high as possible, silently counting his steps so as to have an idea of distance. The tunnel sloped gently downwards and after almost a hundred steps he noticed water running out of a rounded hole set in the side wall and into a channel down the middle. He looked across at Aimée.