The monk nodded. ‘I knew you weren’t just anybody. So I’ve been travelling with a celebrity, have I?’
‘Please keep that to yourself, Laurent. I would imagine that the price on my head would keep any one of these pilgrims happy till the end of his days.’ He knew he was taking a chance revealing his identity. Nevertheless, it was better if the friar thought his pursuers were after him for himself, rather than for what he might be carrying. If, indeed, he really was carrying something precious. He found himself wondering yet again how on earth he could have something without realising it.
‘Here you are, sir. Chicken soup and a plate of stewed beef.’ The serving girl leant across him and deposited the food on the table. He gave her a silver coin and received a handful of copper in change.
‘Save my seat, Laurent, will you? I’ll just take the soup to Aimée.’ He carried the bowl through to the next room. It was a long, vaulted barn of a room, with bunks and mattresses scattered across the floor. Half were already occupied. He saw Aimée, Beatrice and her daughter in one corner. Stepping carefully, he made his way across to them.
‘Here, Aimée, I’ve got you some soup.’ She was looking comfortable and relaxed, sitting on a bench as she waited to be allocated a mattress. The other two made room for him beside her.
‘I’m not really very hungry, Luc.’ They had been eating very well over the past two days.
‘I thought you might say that so I just got you some soup. It’ll do you good.’ She gave him a smile and he handed the bowl down to her. ‘Is there anything else you need?’
She stretched out her hand. ‘No, thank you, Luc. With Beatrice and Jeanne looking after me as well as you, not even the Queen of France could be better cared for. You must be starving. Go and eat. All I ask is to have you beside me when you come back here to sleep.’
He squeezed her hand and left her with the ladies.
The beef was hot and tasty. As he ate his way through it, the friar outlined their plans for the next days. By this time they had realised that it was easy to get news of the route ahead by swapping experiences with pilgrims who had already completed their pilgrimages and were coming back in the opposite direction.
‘Tomorrow’s an easy day. We should be in Nájera by midday.’ Friar Laurent sounded glad. He and all of his group were feeling the strain after weeks on the road. ‘And if anybody’s feeling a bit under the weather, we’ll be heading on from there to Santo Domingo de la Calzada.’
Luc had already heard of that town. Many pilgrims had spoken about it and he knew it was the site of a famous pilgrims’ hospital. ‘I’m sure we’ll all welcome an easy stage for a change. We’ve done a lot of walking.’ He finished the last piece of meat and mopped up the gravy with his bread. ‘I think I’m going to turn in now. I just hope that the archbishop and his men spend the next month in Logroño, waiting in vain for us to pass.’
‘If I hear anything, I’ll tell you. You can depend on me, Luc.’
At that moment, the door opened and a last pilgrim pushed his way in. He was carrying a heavy pack and he looked tired. Luc stood up from the table and pointed to the place where he had been sitting.
‘Here, there’s a seat if you want it.’
The man shrugged off his pack and gave a sigh of relief.
‘That’s very good of you. I’m worn out.’
‘I recommend the stewed beef.’ Luc clapped the newcomer on the shoulder, picked up his own bag, and made his way through to Aimée.
At first he couldn’t find her and he looked round in some alarm. Had the archbishop’s men sneaked her away while he was eating? Then, mercifully, he saw Beatrice waving, beckoning him over.
‘I’ll take you to your room, Luc.’ He looked up in surprise. Private rooms were not normally found in pilgrim hostels. Beatrice smiled. ‘Looks like you’re the lucky ones tonight. You’re through here. Come on, I’ll show you.’
She led him to the other side of the room, weaving in and out among the bunks and palliasses before stopping at a low doorway and waving him inside. It was a good, clean room with two comfortable-looking beds, side by side. Aimée was already in one of the beds, a candle lantern hanging from the ceiling. Beatrice caught his arm and whispered. ‘If you need anything, you know where to find me.’
‘Thanks so much, Beatrice.’ She turned and left.
He sat down on his bed and pulled off his boots. Then he removed his jacket, blew out the candle and stretched out on the bed alongside her. He reached across and took her hand. She didn’t stir.
Luc found it hard to get to sleep. At first he wondered if it might be the stew, but he didn’t feel any digestive problems. As he tossed and turned, he gradually realised what was stopping him sleeping. It was his mind. Thoughts kept sweeping through his head. And what these thoughts kept telling him was that there was something wrong. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but something wasn’t right.
Always one to trust his instincts, he slipped out of bed and padded across to the door. Gripping his knife in one hand, he used the other to ease the door open. The big dormitory was peaceful, if you ignored the snoring. The snores of the stonemason were unmistakable; Luc had heard quieter battle cries in the Holy Land. Nevertheless, the pilgrims all around were fast asleep, the fatigue of their daily march rendering them immune to interruptions. A single lantern gave just enough light for him to see around the room and he noticed nothing untoward.
He closed the door once more. This time he wedged a chair against it. He took the other chair and placed it against the wall, below the high window. Climbing up, he was able to see out. He found himself looking into the yard of the hostel, where two or three dogs were also fast asleep in the moonlight, tethered to rings set in the walls. This, more than anything else, reassured him. The dogs would be woken if anybody came into the yard and their barking would be sure to wake him. He returned to bed and finally managed to drift off.
Chapter 23
Pilgrims’ Way, Northern Spain, May 1314
Luc was woken at daybreak by a cock crowing in the yard, followed by a cacophony of barking. He jumped out of bed, climbed onto the chair and looked out again. The reason for the barking was immediately visible. A scrawny tabby cat was walking disdainfully across the yard, just out of range of the dogs. Somewhat reassured, he climbed back down and returned the chair to its original place. The other chair was still wedged in position. Easing it out of the way, he opened the door a fraction and glanced out. The pilgrims in the big room were beginning to stir and everything looked normal. He closed the door and sat back on his bed. He was relieved, but the feeling of uncertainty remained.
‘Good morning.’ He felt her hand rub against his arm. He turned towards her.
‘Good morning to you. Sleep well?’
‘Mmmh. I slept like a log. You’ve got nice warm hands.’ She sounded blissfully content. He smiled with her. Maybe they had truly left the archbishop and his men back in Logroño.
‘So, are you fit enough for a short walk? Today’s only half a day.’
‘That sounds wonderful after all the walking we’ve been doing. Now if you’d just point me in the direction of Beatrice, she promised to look after me this morning.’
There was almost a holiday atmosphere among the members of their group that morning, knowing it would be a short day. The terrain made for easy walking, too, as the track weaved its way through vineyards and almond groves, without any serious hills to climb. The weather was calm and clear, the sun warm on their cheeks. Aimée walked arm in arm with Beatrice and her daughter while Luc followed twenty or thirty paces behind. As they passed alongside a low hill, Friar Laurent dropped back to talk to him.
‘You always like to be at the back of the group, don’t you, Luc?’
‘I suppose I do, Laurent. In my fighting days, I always chose to ride at the tail, rather than up in the vanguard. In my experience, more attacks come from the rear than from straight ahead.’
‘And your fighting days, Luc, are they over
now?’ The friar gave him a searching look. ‘I was wondering what future a warrior monk might have, now that his order has been abolished.’
Luc was prevented from answering by the sound of hooves coming up the track behind them. Ever vigilant, he swung round to check. It was a single rider. Even from a distance, it was clear to see that he was mounted on a mule, the long ears sticking out like horns either side of the beast’s head. Definitely not the mount an archbishop would choose. Luc relaxed as the rider approached.
‘Good morning. Buen camino.’ The man gave the traditional pilgrim greeting. Luc nodded but stayed silent, letting the friar reply.
‘And buen camino to you, my friend. We’re nearly at our destination for today. Where are you bound on that fine mount?’
‘Santo Domingo de la Calzada. They tell me the cathedral was built by the saint himself. I hope I get there in time to see all the sights.’
‘That’ll depend on the state of the roads, I suppose. They’ve been good so far.’
‘The cavalry platoon I just overtook told me the Pilgrims’ Way is good all the way to the mountains of León, and they’re much further on. Well, I wish you all the best.’
‘May the love of God go with you.’
The man gave a wave and spurred the mule into an ungainly trot. As the man overtook the rest of their group and disappeared into the distance, the friar turned to Luc.
‘Cavalry? Fancy that!’ There was a twinkle in his eye. ‘You know, Luc, I think this might be a good time to stop for a little break. I can see the roofs of a village off to the right down there. It should offer refreshments, although it’ll force us to make a short detour. Would you object to leaving the Pilgrims’ Way for a while?’
Luc gave him a broad grin. ‘Laurent, you’re a fine man.’
Friar Laurent hastened to rejoin the rest of their group. Unsurprisingly, there was general agreement to the idea of stopping for a break. They took the next turning to the right, heading down towards the houses. They had just reached the little hamlet when the sound of horses and a plume of dust back on the Pilgrims’ Way told Luc the cavalry had passed. He and the friar exchanged glances.
The village didn’t have an inn, but a stall in the middle of the cluster of houses offered wine, ham and bread. The stonemason’s eyes lit up as he spotted the flagons.
‘Excellent choice, friar. I think I’ll just fill my water bottle.’ He headed over to the wine stall eagerly.
‘He’s put enough red wine in there over the last couple of months to rot the leather.’ The friar sat down in the shade next to Luc.
‘Think what it must be doing to his insides.’ Luc lowered his voice. ‘In answer to your question back there, I really don’t know what I’m going to do next. I suppose I’ll have to find a way of earning my living.’
‘But you come from a noble family. You are…’
Luc held up his finger. ‘I’m nobody, Laurent. I’m just Luc. Remember that. Whatever my background, that’s all finished now. I can’t return to my place of birth to reclaim what’s rightfully mine. The king and the archbishop would have me in irons. No, my future, I fear, will have to be outside France.’
The friar heard the sadness in his voice. Before he could offer consolation, they were interrupted.
‘Friar Laurent, could I join you? The sun’s hot for this time of year. Shade’s in short supply.’
Luc looked up. It was the man who had arrived late the previous night. He was stockily built, maybe five years younger than the friar and him. Obligingly, they squeezed along the bench and made room for him on the end, just out of the direct sunlight.
‘Thanks a lot.’ He held out his hand to Luc. ‘I’m Thomas. That’s the second time you’ve given me a seat.’
‘And I’m Luc. Good to meet you. Have you come far?’ The feeling of suspicion was back again.
‘I started at Saintes a month ago. I thought I was going to get held up in the mountains, but the big thaw started just in time.’
‘Did you come over the Somport pass?’
The other man shook his head. ‘No, I took the easy option. Starting at Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, I was over the top in a day’s walk.’
Luc was relieved to hear that. He had no doubt that his escape with Aimée from the archbishop would still be big news at the Abbey of Santa Cristina.
‘So why are you doing the pilgrimage, my son?’ Laurent asked everybody that.
Just for a moment, Luc thought he spotted a slight hesitation before Thomas replied to the friar’s question. ‘Just something I’ve always wanted to do.’ He began to sound more confident. ‘My brother did it a few years ago. He’s told me of the many wonders along the way and, of course, the magnificence of Compostela itself.’ He looked directly at Luc. ‘And what about you?’
‘It’s more for Aimée, really. She needs someone to accompany her.’ Luc had already used this explanation more than once. ‘Who knows? She might get a miracle from the apostle’s tomb.’
‘She’s a brave woman. I know plenty of sighted people who would hesitate before undertaking something like this.’
‘It’s funny. You seem familiar. Have I seen you before?’ Luc could still feel that same sense of unease.
The man’s eyes flashed for a second. ‘Not that I can recall. Where are you from?’
‘Paris.’ It was sufficiently vague as an answer. ‘And you?’
‘Me too. Maybe we met in a market or something.’
The friar squinted up at the sun. The sky was still cloudless and it was getting hotter out there by the minute. ‘I don’t reckon we’ve got more than another hour to go. I suggest we get on with it.’
The others, seeing him rise to his feet, followed suit. Luc walked across to Aimée and took her arm. She smiled at him.
‘Hello there. Did I hear you making new friends?’ She caught his hand and squeezed. ‘Tired of me already?’
‘I’ll never tire of you, Aimée.’ He saw the joy in her face. As they started walking back up the track towards the main Pilgrims’ Way, he found himself turning over in his mind something the friar had said earlier. If the Order of the Temple had been abolished, then did that mean that Luc’s vows no longer applied? Did that mean that his relationship with Aimée could develop?’ He swallowed to remove the lump that had formed in his throat and did his best to banish the thought. At least for now.
As usual, he took up station at the rear of the group. As they walked, he pulled Aimée closer and whispered to her about the cavalry. She remained resolutely optimistic.
‘It might not have been the archbishop’s men, Luc. Maybe it was just a local troop patrolling the Pilgrims’ Way.’
Maybe she was right. He had no way of knowing who they were, but he still nursed this feeling of insecurity. And, somehow, he felt that the new man, Thomas, might be involved. However, he decided not to burden Aimée with his worries that might well prove to be unfounded.
Chapter 24
Pilgrims’ Way, Northern Spain, May 2016
As Luke and Amy drove further westwards, the countryside became much flatter and the vegetation ever more sparse. The snows of the Pyrenees retreated to a distant memory, as unbroken spring sunshine sent the temperature rising.
‘Hardly a tree to be seen for miles. Summer here must be brutally hot and arid, even though the mountains aren’t far away.’
Luke found he enjoyed his role as tour guide more and more as the days went by. Amy was a perfect companion and both knew they were feeling ever closer. For her part, she listened attentively, enjoying his company and the historical background he was able to provide. He didn’t just tell her about the historic places they passed. He commented on how wide and good the roads were. Clearly, European Union subsidies had flowed abundantly for many years and the infrastructure had benefited immensely, but now, since the economic downturn, everywhere he looked, he saw unfinished buildings and empty shops and he did his best to describe the desolation to her.
After visiting Logroño, w
here they admired the magnificent old bridge over the River Ebro, they decided to stop for the night at the Parador in the centre of Santo Domingo de la Calzada. Like most of this famous state-owned chain of hotels, this one had been created inside a historic monument. For people with an interest in the Pilgrims’ Way to Santiago, it couldn’t have been more appropriate. The building, erected on the site of an ancient palace of the kings of Navarre, had been a hospital and shelter for pilgrims back in the Middle Ages.
A policeman directed them into the very heart of the beautiful medieval town and across the square in front of the cathedral. A porter came out to take their bags, while another volunteered to take the car and park it for them. Inside, the hotel was splendid. The hall on the ground floor had presumably been the main part of the pilgrims’ hostel. It was a delight, with Gothic arches, sculpted stone, and medieval statues. As they checked in, Luke did his best to describe the place to Amy.
‘Subdued lighting, antique rugs, leather armchairs and oak tables, hanging baskets and some spectacular wooden statuary. I’ve never been in a hotel like this anywhere before in all my life. Certainly a bit different from some of the places I’ve stayed in on my travels.’
‘When we’ve changed, can we come down here for a drink?’ Amy was breathing in the atmosphere of the place. ‘I’ve been to a few good hotels in my time, but there’s something very special about this one.’ She tried to place it. ‘Maybe it’s the sense of peace and tranquillity.’
Luke looked across at the row of keys in the pigeon holes behind the reception desk and concluded that there were very few guests in the hotel. No doubt that added to the sensation of calm. He handed over the passports and signed the registration forms. A porter appeared to collect their bags and lead them to their rooms. These were on the first floor, at the head of a magnificent stairway. The thick pile of the carpet at their feet absorbed the sound of their passing and added to the sensation of peace and quiet.
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