Chasing Shadows

by Chasing Shadows (retail) (epub)

  ‘Is it my imagination or is it getting warmer?’

  She reached for his shoulder under his covers and felt him bathed with sweat. Raising herself to her knees, she stripped a couple of layers off the bed. ‘Is that better?’

  ‘Much.’ He sounded much more his old self. She felt such a wave of happiness sweep over her that she kissed him on the cheek. This elicited a muffled reaction and what could have been an attempt at a smile, but it was difficult to tell.

  ‘Is there anything you need?’

  He replied quietly, but quite clearly. ‘A drink of water would be really good. I think I must be dehydrated.’ She easily located the untouched bottle of mineral water on the bedside table and twisted the cap off. With her assistance he raised his head enough to be able to drink from the bottle.

  ‘Small mouthfuls.’ She remembered her mother’s words from her childhood days. Obediently, he sipped slowly and, after a few moments, slumped back onto the pillow. She laid the bottle back on the table and touched his forehead once more. This time it felt warm and dry and this cheered her. His hand reached up to her head. Gently, he pulled her down until his lips almost touched her ear. Only then did he murmur so softly that it was all she could do to make out his words.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She felt what might have been the lightest of kisses on her ear and then he released her, lay back and breathed out deeply. She sat back upright again, delighted that he seemed to be feeling better now. She also found herself wondering whether he had really kissed her, or whether it had been no more than a movement of his lips.

  Chapter 14

  Spanish Pyrenees, April 1314

  ‘How’re you feeling?’ Aimée felt Luc stir on the mattress beside her and was on her knees beside him in an instant.

  For a moment there was no response. Then he yawned deeply and stretched his whole body. When he replied, she was relieved to hear his voice sounding normal again.

  ‘Better. Much better. How long have I been in bed?’

  ‘Most of the day. You woke up a few times, but you’ve spent most of the time sleeping. Can you remember what happened?’

  He raised his hand to his forehead and rubbed the huge blue and red bruise tentatively. ‘I remember. Did the Whip get away?’

  ‘He disappeared out into the snow just as you slipped and banged your head. You never know, he may have frozen to death by now.’ She tried to keep her voice positive and light, delighted his memory appeared unimpaired by the blow to the head. In truth, she had spent the whole day lying here beside him, checking to see that he was comfortable, but all the while struggling to control the overwhelming sense of terror the bandit leader’s voice had aroused in her. Hearing Luc once more in control of his faculties brought her a wave of relief. She reached across and laid her hand against his cheek tenderly. ‘You can’t imagine how happy I am that you’re all right.’

  ‘And me, Aimée, and thank you for looking after me. I’m really pleased my head feels almost normal again. At least, the overpowering pain across my forehead’s now just about gone. About all I can feel now’s a dull ache from my shoulder.’

  He pulled himself into a sitting position and swung his arms around cautiously. He was immensely relieved to feel that he still had full movement in both, the knife blade not having severed any major muscle.

  ‘Did they clean the wound?’

  His question reminded her of the moment when the burning coal had been pressed onto his shoulder, the cut swamped with aguardiente. She had heard a hiss as the spirit caught fire and a sharp intake of breath from the onlookers. Unable to see what had happened, she had been conscious of the sounds, and then the bitter smell of burning hair and flesh.

  ‘It was well done.’ She spared him the details. ‘The innkeeper has considerable experience of knife wounds.’

  She heard him grunt with satisfaction. The bedclothes rustled as his fingers probed the bandages around his shoulder.

  He turned towards her and spoke quietly, his mouth so close to her ear that she felt his warm breath on her. ‘Did I tell you we’re supposed to be going to a monastery?’

  ‘San Juan de la Peña, yes. And it’s all arranged,’ she was quick to explain. ‘It’s all right, I didn’t say a thing. It was the innkeeper’s idea. He says it’s off the normal pilgrimage route and he knows a monk there who’ll help us.’ She kept her voice as low as his.

  ‘That’s perfect. The abbot of Santa Cristina gave me the name of an old monk there who holds the secret. And he’ll give us somewhere to rest up and hide until the archbishop’s men have gone past. I wonder if it’s the same monk.’ He reached down and laid the back of his hand against her cheek. ‘I owe you my life, Aimée. If you and the innkeeper hadn’t joined in, I might well be dead now.’ He reached across and took her hand in his. ‘Thank you.’

  She kissed the palm of his hand. ‘There’s only one person in this room who’s saved a life. And that’s you. Without you, Luc, God alone knows what would have happened to me.’

  He retrieved his hand from hers. The same sense of impropriety still affected him. She was, after all, a woman, and a beautiful one as well. And he, as a Templar knight, had taken vows of chastity. He cleared his throat nervously and returned his mind to the message the Abbot of Santa Cristina had given him.

  ‘San Juan de la Peña, that’s it all right. And from there, all the way to Portugal.’ He turned back and looked down at her. He flexed his arm muscles and took a few deep breaths. ‘I thought that the arrangement was that I was the one who would be looking after you. For the last few days it would seem to have been the other way round.’

  Chapter 15

  Abbey of San Juan de la Peña, Spanish Pyrenees, April 2016

  ‘Are we there yet?’ Amy was pretending to be a petulant child.

  ‘I’m delighted to say that, yes, we’ve almost arrived.’ Luke, too, was glad to get there, even though they had only left the Hostal Somport little more than half an hour before. The succession of bends, coupled with the pitted road surface, had started to make him feel decidedly queasy again. ‘Mind you, I’m sure it’ll be worth it. So,’ he adopted a professorial tone, ‘Tell me, Ms Hardy, what do you know about this monastery?’

  ‘I’m glad you asked me that, Doctor Patterson.’ She pulled herself up straight and affected a serious air. ‘The monastery of San Juan de la Peña is unique. It is without doubt one of the oldest monasteries in Europe. It was reputedly founded in the eighth century but, even more than its antiquity, it is the construction itself that impresses.’

  ‘That sounds like it came straight out of a guide book.’ He was laughing, but he had to admire her memory. A sign indicated the monastery was only two kilometres ahead. ‘Just a few more minutes and we’re there. So, go on, Ms Hardy.’

  ‘It is straight out of a guide. While you’ve been throwing up, Doctor Patterson, some of us have been studying on the internet.’ She continued her recitation from memory. ‘The whole structure is tucked at the foot of a towering, curved cliff. The cloisters and church are built into the rock face itself. Arriving on the winding road from Jaca, there seems no sign of it until, at the very last moment, the road drops down a hundred metres through the trees and the monastery suddenly appears.’

  ‘What a memory!’ At that moment, the road sloped steeply down. ‘Here we go. Trees all around and, yes, there’s the monastery.’

  He pulled off the road into about a foot of slushy snow, switched off the engine and threw the door open gratefully, gulping in great lungfuls of the cold mountain air. ‘Your guide was dead right about the winding road!’

  ‘You having a relapse?’ Her voice was studiously light.

  ‘Nothing a bit of fresh air can’t cure.’ He picked his way round the front of the big vehicle and helped her out. Both of them were wearing boots and jackets, but in no way felt overdressed in the frosty morning air. His stomach and the small of his back still felt cold, and he pulled the jacket tighter around him. However, in spite of
his discomfort, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the surroundings. He did his best to render it into words for her.

  ‘We’ve parked right on the corner, directly alongside the monastery. The cliff face sweeps up for a long, long way above us and curves back so that you can’t see the top. There’s a load of chicken wire spread across much of it, no doubt to lessen the risk of a chunk of rock falling down and killing some unsuspecting pilgrim.’

  ‘Are there any pilgrims here?’ Instinctively she reached up to tidy her hair.

  ‘Not a soul. Anyway, there’s a high stone wall around the base of the cliff, above which you can just see the tops of the arches and columns of the cloisters. These are built directly into the rock face. The funny thing is that the straight lines and geometric patterns of the buildings seem to be squashed by the rounded shape of the rock above. Sort of like a wave of volcanic lava gradually engulfing it, or rather enfolding it.’

  ‘Sort of like a fat lady sitting on a stool.’ She readily understood the mental picture he was drawing. He laughed in agreement.

  ‘Quite so. Back behind us, there are trees on the slope alongside the road. You can see daylight through the branches and I imagine there’s a precipice just beyond them that drops clean to the valley floor. It’s like being on the corniche above Monte Carlo.’

  ‘One website I found said that San Juan was supposed to be the home of the Holy Grail. Yes,’ she could sense his scepticism, ‘I know, numerous Holy Grails popped up all over the place in the Middle Ages. But I relay the information anyway. Do you suppose our man…?’

  Her question tailed off and he gave it a certain amount of thought. Over the last couple of days since his birthday dinner, the adventures of their medieval hero had been overshadowed by internal physical considerations. In fairness he hadn’t felt at all creative. Now, out here in the fresh air, it seemed a natural topic of conversation. But the idea of the Holy Grail? He protested loudly and with feeling.

  ‘Definitely not another Holy Grail! Chrétien de Troyes, Geoffrey of Monmouth, Richard Wagner and don’t forget Indiana Jones. If I had a pound for every time the Grail’s been mentioned throughout the last thousand years I’d be a rich man. So let’s definitely say that he wasn’t here to look for the Holy Grail. Anything but that!’

  She laughed at his tone and chided him gently. ‘Stop playing the outraged academic. All right, the whole sacred cup thing is highly questionable, but not impossible. And what if it wasn’t a cup at all? That might well just be the imagination of the medieval writers who weren’t sure what they were referring to.’

  ‘Point taken. Not impossible but let’s leave it out of our story anyway.’ He took her arm and they walked across to the walls of the monastery. Amy was still thinking about their story.

  ‘All right then, Luke. So if it wasn’t the Holy Grail, what was it our folk were looking for here then? And if they already picked up their precious treasure at Santa Cristina, why bother coming up here?’

  ‘Erm… still trying to work that out.’

  The doors of the monastery were firmly bolted, although a sign indicated that it would be open to the public that afternoon. Leaving her for a moment, Luke shinned up one of the surrounding walls and looked down into the shadows of the cloisters. The cliff above shielded it from any sunshine and he could see icicles on the capitals of the pillars. Certainly, he reflected, the monks who wintered here in medieval times must have been a hardy breed. He crouched there in silent contemplation for a few moments before jumping back down and returning to her side.

  ‘Closed.’ He saw the disappointment on her face. ‘We can either wait here till this afternoon, if that notice is to be trusted, or we’ll have to come back in a few weeks’ time.’

  ‘Why not?’ Her voice was quite serious. ‘The rate we are going, we won’t get to Santiago de Compostela until some time in May so we could call off here on the way home.’ In spite of her confident tone, the thought of this magical journey ending sent a chill through her. Feeling her shiver, he misinterpreted the cause and propelled her out onto the road.

  ‘It’s certainly chilly! We’ve been sitting in the car for too long, not to mention my lying on my back in bed for the last few days, so let’s make a move!’

  With his hand under her elbow he broke into a trot, pulling her along with him. Together they started to jog along the road away from the monastery and its overhanging cliff face towards the sunshine around the corner of the tortuous road. It took them some minutes until they emerged from the deep shadow and both felt the warmth of the morning sun on their faces. She slowed.

  ‘That feels good enough for me. How about just walking from now on?’

  He slowed to a normal walking pace and looked down towards the main valley. The trees at the roadside had given way to bushes. Less than fifty feet below them he saw the undergrowth change to bare rock and then open space. They were quite literally perched just above a precipice. In spite of himself, he felt the shiver of vertigo that he always got in these situations. He led her to a big rock on the side of the road away from the cliff edge and they sat down. Almost immediately, she sensed his interest drawn to something.

  ‘What is it? What’ve you seen?’

  When he replied, his voice was awestruck. ‘Eagles. There are five, no six, maybe seven eagles out there. They’re amazing.’ She could hear the note of pity in his voice that she was unable to appreciate the sight. ‘They must be hundreds or probably thousands of feet from the valley floor. The thermal currents here must be just right. The birds have gradually climbed higher and higher. Now they’re only a matter of a hundred yards or so out from where we’re sitting. Beautiful animals.’

  She had no time for pity and thought this a good time to remind him of it. ‘Eagles. I’ve seen them even closer. In fact, when we were in the Rockies, we almost got our sandwiches taken by one.’ He heard the tone and kicked himself.

  ‘Sorry. I was forgetting that you’ve been everywhere and done everything. I bet you even bought the I’ve had my lunch stolen by the eagles T-shirt.’ She punched him in the chest and he caught her fist. They sat like that for a moment without speaking until he spoke quietly. ‘I just wish you could see them.’

  ‘So do I, but I can’t and that’s that.’ Her tone was matter of fact. It had taken her five years to fully come to terms with what had happened. But, here now, with him beside her, holding her hand, she knew she had finally laid that particular demon to rest. She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m pleased for you that you can see them. But I’m really happy just sitting here with you like this.’ She snuggled closer to him and let a more flippant note enter her voice. ‘Who cares about boring old eagles when we can be here like this in peace and quiet?’ A thought struck her. ‘Besides, it’s not all that silent after all. I reckon I can hear the eagles, even if I can’t see them. Anyway, maybe they’re vultures, not eagles. That’s what it said on the Spanish Tourist Board website.’

  He estimated the distance between them and the nearest of the birds. Although they had come a little closer, they were still a good hundred yards out. He concentrated hard and imagined, more than heard, the wind rushing through their feathers. Maybe she really could hear them. He looked down at her affectionately. She was right. It was good to be sat with her like this. Maybe too good, he thought with a guilty start, conscious that he was coming ever closer to abusing his role as guide. He released her hand and pulled back from her. ‘What were we talking about before the eagles or vultures put in their appearance?’

  She crammed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, sorry to relinquish her hold on him. She didn’t need the power of sight to recognise that he was feeling uneasy. Once again, she found herself wondering just what was going through his head. Her voice when she replied was, however, businesslike. ‘Our man, of course. What’s he doing up here anyway?’

  ‘Not looking for the Holy Grail.’ Luke spoke firmly and then, before she could chip in, he continued. ‘And yes, I am trying to think what i
t might have been. Honestly.’

  ‘He’s a Templar. That much we’ve established.’ She was going back over the facts to see whether they could give any help. ‘He’s obviously a good Templar knight, so that rules out money, spite, treachery and all those negative things. It has to be something positive and good.’ She, too, fell silent, so he took up where she had left off.

  ‘Don’t forget that he’s travelling with the girl. Why is that? If he’s as good as you say, then he’ll respect his oath of celibacy, so she has to be with him for a reason. Not just love.’

  ‘No, not just love.’ Her voice gave nothing away. ‘So, if it’s not love, then it must be duty or honour.’ She sounded as if she was concentrating hard.

  ‘Or maybe he’s had to take her with him to protect her from the pursuers. Which reminds me, I wonder what happened to them. Did they give up the chase at the hospital of Santa Cristina? Maybe thinking that the snow would have got him… I mean them.’

  ‘No chance.’ Of this she was quite definite. ‘We’re not just talking about some minor member of the Order escaping with the bishop’s wallet. This is big time. What our man’s carrying or looking for has to be of great value. Great value.’

  An idea began to form in his mind. ‘Maybe he’s already found what he’s been looking for. What if it really is information, something of vital and earth-shattering importance? What if the information is in the head of his blind companion? Could that be it?’

  Amy perked up at the idea. ‘That could be it, you know. The girl was being accompanied across the mountains and her companions were ambushed and killed. Miraculously she survived.’ Her voice rose. ‘Maybe she was blinded in the ambush. Then she had to lie low at Santa Cristina over the winter until our chap appeared to take her away. I wonder what the information could be.’ A mischievous grin appeared on her face. ‘Maybe it’s the whereabouts of the Holy Grail.’