Chasing Shadows

by Chasing Shadows (retail) (epub)

  ‘The window; it looks big enough to get through. I imagine there’s a long drop below it. Just help me to get through and I’ll do the rest.’ He panted as he spoke. His words were slurred. ‘Help me. I beg of you. You’d do it for a dog.’

  His tone was pleading. The complete change from man of action, evil or otherwise, to pathetic wreck was all too evident.

  ‘Do it.’

  Luc looked round in surprise at the sound of Aimée’s voice. She took a deep breath and repeated her words.

  ‘Do it. Help him.’ Her tone was insistent.

  Luc looked closely at her face and saw the determination. For a moment he still hesitated. Then he gave her hand an encouraging squeeze and made his way over to the window. It was wide enough for even his broad shoulders. He leant out as far as he dared, straining to see what lay below. After the glow of the torch, he could see nothing but blackness. He turned back, pulled a handful of straw from the floor, held it to the torch until it flared, and then threw it out. He followed it down with his eyes, watching the flame fall away into space, while he started to count. He reached eleven before a brief shower of red sparks showed where it hit the ground, hundreds of feet below.

  ‘It’s a very long way down.’ He was speaking more to himself than to the others. He looked back at the two of them. On the one side stood the victim, physically and mentally scarred for life by an act of barbarism. On the other side lay the crumpled remains of the cause of her grief. He cleared his throat.

  ‘I won’t be a party to murder, whatever the justification.’ His voice gained in strength, as his thoughts cleared. He met the eyes of the bandit leader. ‘However, I will help you to take your own life. At the same time I’ll give you the opportunity to help in some way to make amends for the terrible scars you’ve left on Aimée, and who knows how many other victims.’

  The man, whose initial reaction had been one of abject despair, looked back at him in gratitude. ‘Anything. I’ll do anything.’

  Luc had been thinking fast. The straw on the floor came from a bale in one corner. Maybe, just maybe, it might work. He outlined his plan to both of them. He was gratified to see immediate agreement from the man on the floor. More importantly, there was a new sense of purpose on the face of the girl.

  ‘Listen, as a plan it’s risky in the extreme, but we’ve run out of options. Aimée and I will somehow contrive to hide ourselves under the remains of that straw. Once we’re covered, that’s where you come in.’ He looked down at the agonised face of the bandit. ‘You’ll throw yourself from the window. But you only jump after making enough noise to alert and bring the guards. Is that clear?’

  The other man nodded twice, rapidly, comprehension on his face. ‘How do I get over to the window?’ His eyes flicked down to his grotesquely angled legs.

  ‘I’ll carry you over and put you on the window sill. But remember I’m counting on you to get the guards in here first. They need to believe that the three of us have jumped to our deaths. All right?’

  He knew it was a long shot, but anything was worth trying. If all went well, the soldiers wouldn’t spot their bodies under the straw. It was tentative, to say the least.

  They had some good luck when he found that the cave floor sloped away to one side. This formed a depression, where they would be more likely to pass unseen. He helped Aimée to stretch out as far into the corner as possible, and scattered straw loosely over her. He stepped back and looked down critically. She might just about escape a hurried glance, but a dedicated searcher wouldn’t be fooled for long. Knowing there was no other option, he shrugged and prepared a line of straw beside her, which he would do his best to scatter over himself as he lay down. Then, finally, he went over to the other man.

  The bandit’s face was chalky white and his eyes unnaturally bright. Luc stared down at him for a moment, but there was no answering glance. There was no point in waiting any longer so he bent down and lifted the man by the shoulders and thighs. The sudden pain must have been unbearable and the man fainted. Quickly, before he returned to consciousness, Luc carried the body across the room, and propped it in the window frame. It would only take a slight effort to slip through and over the edge. He was turning to check his hiding place when the bandit stirred, emitting a long, low moan of agony. His face screwed up. He tried to move a leg. The stab of pain, caused by the movement, opened his eyes.

  After a momentary delay while his brain came to terms once again with his surroundings, a look of understanding and relief crossed his face. He caught Luc’s eye and spoke hoarsely.

  ‘You’re a good man. You’ve kept your word. Now I’ll do what you want me to do. I hope it helps you to make good your getaway. Don’t look so worried.’ His tone was momentarily sharper. ‘I’m not going to ask you for your forgiveness. Now give me the torch and lie down and hide.’

  Luc spread straw over himself and did his best to squeeze into the inadequate depression in the cave floor. After a few moments he heard the screams and watched the ensuing scene out of the corner of his eye. The man by the window screamed and shouted, louder and louder, until the sound of running footsteps was heard in the corridor. As the door burst open, the bandit turned towards the window.

  ‘Wait for me.’ And he launched himself into the void.

  ‘May God have mercy on his soul.’ Luc murmured to himself as he hugged the ground.

  The group of soldiers ran across to the window. One peered out, just in time to see the blazing torch smash into the rocks below, still in the hand of the bandit.

  ‘Good God Almighty. They’ve jumped. Quick. Tell the archbishop.’

  They streamed back out as fast as they had come in. No sooner had the footsteps receded than Luc was on his feet. He pulled Aimée roughly with him, his arm round her waist, half-carrying her. They ran out of the door and into the corridor, then raced up the stairs that still echoed to the sound of the guards’ boots until they found themselves once more in the main entrance hall. Mercifully it was empty at this time of night. The main doors were solidly bolted and any attempt to open them would have taken time and made a lot of noise, alerting the soldiers to the fact that he and Aimée were, in fact, far from dead.

  The sound of approaching voices came drifting down the corridors and he made up his mind. ‘This way. Hold tight to me and run, Aimée, run for your life.’

  He dragged her down the corridor, past the refectory and the cloister until they reached the door of Brother Michael’s cell. Running footsteps in the main hall told him they had no time to lose. Without any preamble, he threw open the door, pulled her into the shadowy interior, and closed the door softly behind them.

  ‘Brother Michael. Are you there?’ His voice was an urgent whisper. There was a movement and then, to his immense relief, he heard the old man’s voice.

  ‘May The Lord be praised. He has delivered you from the valley of the shadow of death.’

  There was a rustling sound, then a small oil lamp flared into light. The old man’s eyes glittered in the orange glow, his face split by a smile which went from ear to ear. He leapt up and came over to them, hugging them with some emotion. ‘As soon as I heard about your capture, I ran to tell the abbot what was happening in the storeroom. Now I was on the point of trying to organise your rescue. I was just wishing I’d let you tell me who your other contact here at San Juan was. That would have made two of us.’ He laughed shyly. ‘Well, one and a half really. I never have been much of a man of action. More of the contemplative cleric, myself. Anyway, I was all set to try, although I fear I wouldn’t have furthered your cause to any great extent.’

  Luc clapped his hands around the old man’s shoulders. ‘Brother Michael. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You’ve saved our lives tonight.’ Then he moved on to more pressing matters. ‘I would imagine we have a few hours, maybe even until first light, before they discover that there’s only one, not three bodies at the foot of the cliff. At that point, the first thing that will happen, I feel sure, will be a thor
ough search of the monastery. Our luck won’t hold for long.’

  ‘You’re right, my son. There’s been terrible trouble here all evening with the King of France’s lackey, the archbishop, pressing for a full search and although our abbot has resisted strongly, it’ll be a different matter in the morning. I’m fortunate to have neighbours who are older and deafer than I myself and I have little fear of detection. However, I had a moment of blind panic a short while ago, when I found your cloak on my shelf.’

  With an embarrassed grin he handed over the heavy leather cloak. Luc was about to put it on, as the temperature in the old man’s cell was close to zero, when he noticed that Aimée, who had lost her cloak, was shivering with cold. He made to hang it over her shoulders, but the old monk was ahead of him.

  ‘No, Luc. Keep your cloak. For your friend, I would humbly offer this.’

  He reached for what turned out to be a thick oiled wool cloak, lined with silver fur. He wrapped it round her, and saw the look of gratitude on her face as she felt the thick fur against her skin. ‘Thank you, Brother Michael.’ Her voice was husky.

  ‘Bless you my child. Bless both of you.’ The old man turned to Luc and asked in a businesslike fashion. ‘So, tell me now. What do you need from me?’

  Luc’s answer came back immediately. ‘Food, drink and a hiding place. Somewhere we can remain undiscovered for at least a couple of days, until the hue and cry dies down.’

  Brother Michael’s smile didn’t leave his face. ‘I know just the place.’

  After waiting anxiously for the noise of footsteps in the corridor outside to subside, the old man opened the door. When he was satisfied, he led the two of them back towards the main entrance. Before they reached the hallway, they turned off into the refectory. At the far end they saw a lighted doorway. Steps led down to the kitchen where the pile of blazing logs in the fireplace cast enough light for them to make their way safely around the tables. They tiptoed past the barrels and open sacks. Luc cradled Aimée’s head so as to avoid the festoons of onions and garlic, cooking pots, sausages and hams, all hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Aimée heard scurrying by her feet and she realised that the paws responsible for it were surely bigger than mice. With a shiver, she pulled her cosy new cloak tighter round her and gripped Luc’s arm. Then they suddenly stopped.

  Brother Michael caught Luc’s eye and pointed across towards the fireplace. Slumped back on a grain sack was a young monk, his sleeves rolled up, his forearms still covered in flour and dough. He was fast asleep. Although he looked as if nothing short of a peal of bells would wake him, they tiptoed past, trying not to make a sound. He didn’t stir.

  They passed from the kitchen into a storeroom. At the far end of the room, there was a hatch, set in the wall. Michael went over and pulled it inwards. It slid smoothly open on well-oiled hinges. Cold air came rushing in. Luc realised this was an outside wall and the hatch the main rubbish chute. He leant out and peered around, dreading what he thought he might see. He was not disappointed.

  The clouds had cleared and the moon had risen, bright in the clear sky, illuminating the scene he had feared. The hatch opened onto a steeply sloping wooden ramp that stuck out from the sheer cliff face. Down this, the monastery refuse would slide freely, before dropping vertically hundreds of feet to the rocks below. He felt the familiar knotting of the stomach muscles that his fear of heights always produced. Instinctively he clutched the sides of the hatch and stepped back.

  ‘That’s the way, my son.’

  Brother Michael’s hand was pointing straight out of the opening. For a moment Luc found himself wondering if the old man had lost his reason. Their eyes met in the twilight and the old man chuckled.

  ‘Look up, Luc, not down.’

  Hesitantly Luc leant out again and obeyed. Above him a series of metal brackets were set into the cliff, leading up from the opening, but it was too dark to see where they led. There seemed to be little more than bare cliff above them. Once again he felt the dizziness of fear. It took all his strength to speak normally when he ducked back into the kitchen.

  ‘Where do the steps lead?’

  ‘About twenty or thirty feet above us there’s a path.’ Brother Michael could read the fear in Luc’s eyes, so he hastened to reassure him. ‘A good, wide path, Luc. It runs around the cliff for a few hundred feet before disappearing into the trees. About halfway along there’s a hermit’s cell. It was part of the original monastery hundreds of years ago, before this building was constructed. It’s dry and you’ll be comfortable there for as long as you want. When you feel the time is ripe, you can follow the path and make your escape. Will it do?’

  ‘It’ll have to do.’ Aimée’s voice held none of the fear that she knew Luc was feeling. ‘If it’s a choice between falling off a cliff, or being mutilated by the archbishop and his soldiers, I’ll take my chances with the cliff any day. Right, Luc?’ She raised her face towards him.

  Put in those terms, there was no doubt about it. Since childhood Luc had suffered from acute vertigo. Through adolescence he had hoped it would improve but, if anything, it had got worse. He remembered his early years in the Order, moving from castle to castle in the deserts of the Holy Land. Many times he had been more afraid of the view downwards from the battlements than of the hail of arrows launched towards them by the enemy hordes. Amy’s hand tightened on his arm. ‘Don’t worry, Luc, I’ll go first.’ Her voice was quiet, but quite level. ‘If I can do it, anybody can.’

  She pressed her head against the side of his chest. Her face turned up towards him, the flickering of the fire highlighting her cheekbones. He pulled himself together.

  ‘You’re right. It’s the only way. I’ll go first, don’t worry, but before that I need a few bits and pieces.’ He roused himself and set off round the storeroom and kitchen, searching carefully in all the drawers, until he found the cutlery. Gently, so as not to wake the sleeping baker, he sifted through the different knives until he found what he wanted; a replacement for his lost dagger. He pulled out a vicious carving knife with a bone handle. Its blade was honed almost crescent-shaped by years of sharpening. The firelight flickered on the blue steel as he felt the edge appreciatively. Turning back towards the others, he tucked it out of sight into the sheath in the fold of his sleeve, where it lay snugly.

  ‘Here, Luc, take this bread, cheese and ham. Enough to last me a week or two, but surely enough to last even a big man like you a few days.’ The old man’s eyes shone out at him from the shadows. Luc gripped him warmly by the shoulders.

  ‘Brother Michael, you’re a good man.’ He meant it. ‘When all this is over, I’ll come back to thank you properly.’

  ‘It’ll never be over, Luc.’ There was deep sadness in the old man’s tone. ‘It can never be like it was again. The forces of the Antichrist have triumphed and there’s no going back. Before you or any other Templars have the right to return, I’ll be long dead. Make yourself a new life far away from here, Luc. Make good your escape, deliver your most precious of cargoes. Then spend the rest of your life in safety and peace, far away from your oppressors. And make sure you take good care of this courageous and beautiful lady.’ His voice broke, and he wiped his face on his sleeve.

  ‘Did you say beautiful?’ The mischief in Aimée’s voice snapped both of them out of their melancholy, and spurred Luc into action. He shouldered the bag of food, along with a wineskin and a couple of gourds full of water. He kissed Brother Michael on the cheeks and then forced himself to lean out of the opening. He stood there for a few moments, one hand still firmly gripping the window frame, his wounded shoulder throbbing.

  The cold night air drifted gently up the cliff face and brushed his face. It brought with it the smell of the forest, so many hundreds of feet below them. A wave of sickness swept over him. It took all his determination to reach upwards with one hand until he made contact with the first of the iron steps. At least it felt solid. He kept a tight hold on it, as he ducked his head back into the kitchen.


  ‘Till we meet again, Michael.’

  ‘Not in this life, Luc. Of that I’m sure. But I know we’ll meet again in the house of our Father. Look after this lady, look after yourself and may God’s blessing be upon you.’

  Aimée hugged him tightly, and then they were off.

  It probably took less than a minute to climb to the top of the iron steps, and another two or three minutes at most from there to the cave, but to Luc it seemed like eternity. He clutched the rungs of the ladder so tightly as he climbed up that his fingernails drew blood from the palms of his hands. When he reached the path, he made his way along it on his hands and knees, crawling along like a man possessed, which in a way he was. He even went straight past the narrow entrance to the hermit’s cell without noticing it. It was Aimée’s low call that stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘It’s here, Luc. Back here, I’ve found the entrance to the cave.’ Her voice became more indistinct as she disappeared inside the opening. He shuffled backwards along the ledge, terrified of trying to turn on the narrow path, until he heard her voice beside him. He opened his eyes enough to be able to make out the dark opening in the sheer cliff face. For the first time, he realised that his eyes had been clenched tightly shut throughout the whole climb.

  ‘In here, Luc.’

  He saw her in the shadows and crept across to her. She reached out and caught him in her arms, pulling him to her side and, this time, it was she who comforted him as one would a child. Slowly, gradually, he regained control. He opened his eyes and looked around the cave curiously. The moonlight was filtering in through the doorway. As his eyes got used to it, he found he could see reasonably clearly.

  The first thing he saw was a crucifix on the wall by his head. Turning towards it, he murmured a prayer of gratitude to the Almighty, for saving them from the very jaws of death. Aimée joined him in the Lord’s Prayer. Afterwards, she fell silent, grateful for their deliverance, and thankful they were back together. He remained kneeling, facing the crucifix. She could hear him murmuring as he prayed. It was strange for her to hear him reciting the prayers like a priest, and she had to bear in mind that he was a member of a monastic order. Once again she felt almost improper snuggled up against him.