‘No.’ He jumped to his feet, stamping them to restore the circulation. She followed him up and took his arm.
‘Any ideas?’
‘Well actually, yes. I suggest we head off back down to the main valley and look for a restaurant. I haven’t eaten properly for almost three days and I’m starving. Come to think of it, I could…’
‘No beer till tomorrow. Do as the doctor tells you.’ She spoke in her stern she-who-must-be-obeyed tone.
‘Yes doctor,’ he said meekly and led her back to the car.
Chapter 16
Abbey of San Juan de la Peña, Spanish Pyrenees, April 1314
As soon as night fell, Luc slipped out of the undergrowth with Aimée. It was good to get moving after a day spent crouching in the back of the cart that had brought them down here from the inn. They flitted across the track and up to the monastery door. Luc stopped just before the great gate and pulled her into the shadows where a pile of firewood was stacked. He squeezed her into the shelter of the logs and put his mouth by her ear.
‘I’ll be back in just a few minutes. I want to see if the monk we’re supposed to contact is here, if he knows about us and is willing to help, before dragging a woman into a monastery. I’m afraid you’d be rather obvious in there.’
‘God be with you Luc.’ She hugged him tight and kissed him on the cheek.
He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze and made for the entrance.
Inside the monastery, there should have been an air of calm devotion, the quiet of meditation and the tranquillity of a hermitage. Instead, as Luc slipped in through the big doors, there was chaos, confusion and a noisy bustle. The main entrance hall was teeming with men; soldiers, monks and a number of self-important-looking civilians. Voices were raised and shouts exchanged. The sacred walls reverberated with unaccustomed activity.
For Luc it couldn’t have been better. The hood of his leather cloak was pulled down around his face just in case, but the precaution appeared to be quite unnecessary. As he had been instructed, he made his way along a side corridor leading to a series of individual monks’ cells. He reached the penultimate door on the right and tapped softly on the rough wood. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed. The door swung open, revealing a bare white cell. It contained little other than a narrow bed, a crucifix and a white-haired monk.
‘Brother Michael?’
The old man looked sharply up from his reading and then nodded as Luc recited the words he had memorised.
‘My friend told me you could help explain a passage from the Scriptures for me. Seek and ye shall find is the passage in question.’
A smile spread across the old man’s face. His long straggly beard curled upwards as he grinned.
‘May the Lord be praised. I’ve been waiting all winter long. I expected you months ago, Bertrand.’
Luc shook his head. ‘Alas, Bertrand didn’t make it. He was attacked and killed as he tried to cross the mountains. I’ve been sent to take over from him. My name’s Luc.’
The old man’s eyes fell, as did his tone. ‘Another brave man gone? Will it never stop?’ Then, after a few moments, he visibly roused himself. ‘The Lord be praised for affording you his protection, Luc. I feared the worst tonight. At first, when I heard all the commotion and saw the soldiers, I thought they must be onto you. Then I heard the news, and you can imagine my relief. Here, come in, take off your cloak and sit down, my son.’
He pushed aside what looked like a wolf skin and made room for Luc on the bunk. He carefully folded Luc’s leather cloak and set it on a low shelf while Luc closed the door behind him and made his way over to the old man. He sat down as bidden. Leaning towards the old man, he kept his voice low.
‘What news, Brother Michael? What happened tonight?’
‘It’s about the bandit, my son. Haven’t you heard? The soldiers are the King of Aragon’s men. They’ve just captured the one they call the Whip; one of the most fearsome bandits in this whole area. He’s being held prisoner in one of the cellars here, until they take him to Jaca to judge him.’
Luc sat back and stretched his legs, a whistle of surprise escaping his lips. So the evil Whip had finally got his just desserts. No doubt he had become vulnerable after losing his companions and the soldiers had caught up with him. And there was no doubt what his fate would be: death, sooner rather than later. Almost certainly this would be by the most unpleasant means so as to serve as a warning to any other potential bandits. In spite of his hatred of the man for what he had done to Aimée, Luc shivered at the thought of what kind of suffering he would be made to endure.
Shaking his mind back to their own situation, he realised with relief that things were by no means as bad as they had first seemed. He turned to the old man.
‘They told me you would give me a very precious object. Do you have it?’
The old man looked at him in surprise. ‘But you already have it, my son. Didn’t you know?’
Luc couldn’t believe his ears. ‘I already have it? How can that be? The abbot of Santa Cristina told me you would let me have it…’ His voice tailed off helplessly.
‘Well you have it, Luc. I know you have.’ The old monk was smiling gently.
Luc shook his head in exasperation. ‘Brother Michael, I really don’t have it. I can assure you of that.’ He was almost snorting with frustration.
The old monk looked at him in surprise. ‘You mean you genuinely don’t know?’ His voice was astounded. ‘Nobody told you?’ But no sooner had he said it than he realised. ‘Of course, it’s better that you shouldn’t know. That way you can give less away, in the event that they should capture you.’
‘But I’m telling you, I don’t have anything. You must believe me.’ Luc was close to exploding. ‘Do you hear me, Brother Michael? I do not have it.’ It was a struggle to keep his voice to a whisper and his hands from grabbing the old man and shaking him.
‘Luc.’ Brother Michael’s voice was stronger now, with a note of authority. Luc looked across and caught his eye. He found himself wondering who this old monk was, what he had been before retreating to the isolation of the mountains. ‘Luc, I ask you to believe me. You do, indeed, carry this most precious of things. I know you do! You may not realise now, but you have it. I give you my word on all that I hold holy. You have it.’ He crossed himself and Luc followed suit, blankly.
‘But, Brother Michael…’
‘You have it! Trust me. Now…’ The old man returned to the matter in hand. ‘You said “we”. You have a travelling companion?’
‘Yes. Her name’s Aimée. She was Bertand’s wife. We were brought here by some friends from up the valley. Unaware that this was my true objective, they gave me the name of one of the brothers here, who would be able to help us.’
The old man cut in sharply.
‘I don’t need or want to hear his name, Luc. Where’s your friend Aimée now?’
‘She’s waiting outside, hiding by a woodpile.’ He decided there was no point in pursuing the question of the precious object for now. ‘Can you at least provide us with somewhere to shelter for a few days, until it’s safe to resume our journey to Compostela?’
‘I believe I can. I know a place where you’ll be able to rest safe and undiscovered until the coast is clear. Then you can leave and take your most precious of cargoes with you.’ The old monk’s eyes were far away and his expression one of rapture.
‘Can I go and fetch Aimée?’
‘Yes of course. The woodpile, you say? Excellent. Just beyond that woodpile, there’s a small service door. I’ll go and unlock it, if you would like to go and get her. Once you’re both inside, I’ll show you to your place of safety. A few days lying low and then, if God wills it, you’ll be free to join a group of passing pilgrims and finish your journey to Compostela.’
Luc thanked him warmly and slipped out into the long passage once more.
This time, as he passed through the hall, it was empty and he felt much more conspicuous. The main door w
as half open, the shadows outside deep and sinister. His sixth sense told him there was something wrong. He stopped by the door and searched the darkness, but couldn’t see anything out of place. After a brief hesitation, he skirted round the side of the gateway to the woodpile. He called out her name as quietly as he could. There was no reply. He moved a few steps closer and whispered her name once more.
A sudden movement from behind him was followed by a massive shove in the small of his back. As he staggered forward, trying desperately to turn towards his aggressor, a heavy blow caught his shins with a numbing pain. He fell headlong onto the ground. Before he could move a muscle, he felt himself roughly caught by the arms. He was thrown forward onto his face, and he felt the impact of many knees on his back and legs. A silky voice spoke out from the darkness.
‘Shackle him. He’s as strong as an ox and quite desperate. Get chains and get them quickly.’ With a crushing sense of despair, Luc recognised the voice as belonging to the Archbishop of Sens himself, Philippe de Marigny, his erstwhile, unwitting, travelling companion and sworn enemy.
Chapter 17
Abbey of San Juan de la Peña, Spanish Pyrenees, April 1314
The door crashed open and flaming torches flooded the dark storeroom with blinding light. Luc blinked hard and squinted as the little room filled with people. As his eyes gradually became used to the brightness, he saw that the Archbishop of Sens had taken up position directly in front of him, safe in the knowledge that Luc was secured to the wall by heavy metal shackles. For a few moments the two men stared at each other. The young archbishop, only a few years older than Luc himself, had a mocking half smile on his face.
There was a movement at the door. The archbishop stepped back to allow space to the men who came crowding in. In spite of his resolve, Luc felt his stomach churn. The men carried a heavy trestle table and set it up between him and the archbishop. Then they began to lay out a collection of implements, slowly and carefully, directly in front of him. There were knives, hooks, heavy leather belts and hoods, gags and blindfolds. Alongside these was as an assortment of evil whips and goads, screws and tongs, along with a brazier of glowing red coals.
Luc raised his eyes from the table and caught those of the archbishop. ‘How will you explain this at your next confession?’ He eyed the man clinically and coldly, doing his best to master his fear.
‘Explain what, my Templar friend?’ The voice was heavy with cruel mockery.
Luc made no reply, but his eyes must have flicked down to the array of instruments of torture before him. The archbishop’s smile broadened, as Luc played into his hands.
‘Oh this?’ He reached down and took his time over selecting a suitable instrument. He finally settled on a cat o’ nine tails, tipped with vicious steel barbs. ‘I have to admit that it would give me a lot of pleasure to see my men use these on you.’ He stretched out his arm until the whip touched the side of Luc’s face, just below the eye. He smiled before continuing.
‘But you see, I’m afraid these are not for you, my friend. At least, not yet. I will not need to use a single one upon you, gratifying as it might be.’ His expression hardened. He turned sharply to one of the soldiers by the door and spat out a command.
‘Bring the woman in.’
Luc’s resolve disappeared as if it had never existed. He looked on aghast as the soldier dragged in a dishevelled, bruised Aimée, her clothes torn and her face bloodied. The archbishop stepped up to her. He took her face in his hand, turning it roughly towards Luc.
‘None of this display is for you, Templar. It is for my men to amuse themselves with upon this young woman. You know her, I believe.’
The mockery was overpowering, but Luc forced himself to take this chance to communicate with Aimée. He shouted as loud as he could at exactly the same time that she, realising that he was finally near her again, shouted to him in her turn. The result was a confused clamour, incomprehensible to both sides. At a sign from the archbishop, a soldier roughly strapped a leather gag across her face. At the same moment, a hairy hand caught Luc’s nose, forcing him to open his mouth in order to breathe. As he did so, a foul-tasting cloth was stuffed into it. They both struggled, but could emit no more than muffled noises.
‘Now then.’ The cleric was enjoying the power of the moment. ‘Prepare her.’ Luc strained against his fetters, cutting his wrists as he did so, but to no avail. One of the soldiers produced a knife and reached forward eagerly, ready to slit the front of her dress. He was halted by a cry from the door.
‘What in the name of the Almighty is this?’
There was general confusion as the soldiers stepped back and a small, misshapen creature limped into the room. He was wearing a threadbare black Benedictine habit that was barely held together by the numerous darns and mends in it. His one good eye took in the scene in a flash. He pushed past the soldiers and made his laborious way across the room, until he was standing directly opposite the archbishop. His fists clenched and unclenched, and the muscles of his face twitched angrily.
‘I asked what you think you are doing here.’ Receiving no response from the archbishop, he continued. ‘This is a holy place, a place of worship, a place of quiet contemplation. There is no place in my monastery for any who do not come in peace and practice the ways of peace. There is no place here for torturers, rapists and perverts.’ His burning stare seared the room and the soldiers shrank back, some crossing themselves. Only the archbishop made any attempt at resistance.
‘Reverend Father, forgive me, I beg of you. I didn’t have time to visit you formally to appraise you of the situation. This man is a fugitive from justice, a foul devil worshipper and a pederast. He’s about to reveal to us information of the utmost importance to the Holy See.’
‘And to your master, the King of France,’ the little man snapped back with venom. ‘You will no doubt continue to do your evil business, but you will not do it here in this holy place. I will not tolerate it!’
The strength and authority of the voice, in spite of the frailty of the frame from which it emanated, were inescapable. Even the archbishop made no further protest as the abbot ordered that Luc be unfettered and led with Aimée to another room, where they would be kept under lock and key, until they could be moved elsewhere the next morning.
* * *
After the door slammed shut behind them, they fell into each other’s arms. They sat tightly huddled together, leaning against the rough stone wall of the cellar, each drawing strength from the other. Aimée was shaking with overwhelming emotion, tears pouring down her cheeks. Luc cuddled her, as he would have done a baby, stroking her hair until he gradually felt her settle and begin to calm down. He raised his head and stared around the room. He saw nothing in the impenetrable gloom. Not even the thin slits of light either side of the door could make any impression on the darkness of their prison.
‘Who are you?’
The voice, emanating from another part of the pitch-black cell, made Luc’s hair stand on end. The shock of finding that they were not alone was compounded by the voice itself. It elicited a sudden electric reaction in the girl. She sat up so abruptly that her head hit Luc’s chin. Both of them recoiled in pain. Then, through the pain, he heard her desperate whisper. She was close to hysteria.
‘It’s him. It’s him again. I would know his voice anywhere.’
Her voice rose dangerously. Luc continued to stroke her hair with his free hand in an attempt to stop her from losing control altogether. He, too, had realised who it was. He groped in vain for his dagger.
‘If you can reach it, there’s a torch and tinderbox to the right of the door. I’ve seen them use it.’
It was indeed the same voice, but the cocky confidence had gone completely. In its place was resignation and fear. Luc helped Aimée to her feet. He kept one arm around her shoulders while he ran his other hand along the wall until he hit something at shoulder height.
‘Aimée, I’ve found the tinder box. I’m going to need two hands. Are yo
u going to be all right if I remove my arm for a moment?’
He heard a faint murmur in reply.
Carefully, lest he should drop the tinderbox and its all-important flint into the straw on the floor, he released his hold on her. He fumbled until he was able to strike first a single spark, then a stream of them. He was relieved to see them catch. The tar of the torch caught and was soon well alight. He took it in his hand and raised it as high as he could. With his other arm he gripped the trembling girl as he stared around the room.
The cell itself was similar to the one they had been in before, with a slightly lower ceiling and a bigger window opening at the far end. The rough marks on the walls, where it had been hewn out of the bare rock, were still clearly visible. Lying on the floor, directly across the room from them, was the bandit leader himself. Luc saw the unnatural angle of the legs, and the pain on his grey face. The man spoke in a weary voice.
‘They broke my legs, so I couldn’t get away.’
The man was in deep shock. There seemed to be no recognition of either of them in his eyes. A raw, red, broken end of bone protruded through his bloodstained breeches. The pain must have been excruciating. But then, through the haze of suffering, a glimmer of reaction showed. Moments later it was followed by full recognition. But instead of anger or even fear, his expression was one of relief.
‘It’s you. The heavens be praised. I was afraid it might be some cowardly little runt in here with me. I’m truly relieved it’s you. Will you kill me please?’
His request was serious, totally serious. Aimée’s shivering stopped. She clutched Luc’s hand so tightly as to dig her nails into his palm. For his part he found himself torn. A few hours, even minutes earlier, he would have had no compunction about killing this foul creature. Now, here, things had changed. Firstly, they were all prisoners and in a sense they had been brought closer together by adversity. Secondly, it had never been his way to kill another human being in cold blood. Add to this the fact that the only way of killing him would be by strangling the bandit with his bare hands and it was unthinkable. He started to tell him so, but the man’s brain was still working.
Chasing Shadows Page 13