‘You’re big enough and strong enough to have killed the monk with your bare hands. I dare say you’ve done that sort of thing before.’ Thomas was staring at him with an ironic smile. ‘Just like I know you think you could kill me with that dagger you keep up your sleeve, if you wanted to.’ He did not, however, roll up his own sleeves and Luc watched his hands very carefully.
‘Who are you?’
‘Thomas. I already told you that.’
Luc glanced around. They were still clear of prying ears. ‘Did you kill the friar?’ He kept his tone level. The other man’s stare didn’t waver.
‘What if I did?’
‘Are you telling me you killed Friar Laurent?’
‘I’m just saying, why should that bother you if I did? He represented the Catholic Church and the pope. Everything you hate and fear.’
‘Why should I hate and fear the Church?’ Luc glanced around again. This conversation was moving into dangerous waters.
‘We’re neither of us children, Luc. I know who you are. You can probably guess who I am. You’re a fugitive. And it’s the Catholic Church, my Catholic Church, you’re running from.’ His expression hardened. ‘And the Church is going to get you, and get what you’re carrying. You can’t escape. You and the girl are pawns in a much bigger game; you must know that by now.’
Luc tensed his muscles. He could feel the blood pulsing in his throat. The other man smiled and took a half step back.
‘Before you launch yourself at me, Templar, remember this. You’re getting old now. You’re no longer as fit and fast as you once were. You’ve been running and hiding for too long. Me, I’m a specialist. Try me, if you like, but don’t forget you’ve been warned. You won’t get your knife out of its sheath.’
They stood like that for a full minute, without another word being uttered. Finally, Luc dropped his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a croak. He saw the triumph in the other’s eyes.
‘So why kill the friar? Surely he’s one of your own?’
‘He was, but he was weak. He took a liking to you, or more probably to the pretty girl. As a result, he betrayed the trust placed in him by His Holiness. He betrayed the Church, my Church.’ Thomas’s voice was harder now. ‘He died so that you could be arrested and tried for his murder.’
Luc was genuinely surprised now. This man, this assassin, was prepared to kill a member of the Church just like that? Thomas was happy to explain.
‘Today, on the road, everybody in our group heard the stonemason accuse you of being a Templar. By the way, my compliments on your acting skills. What was it you said? “I have a horror of weapons and all forms of violence.” I almost laughed out loud. I killed the mason, because I didn’t want you to be killed by him. We want you alive, you see?’
Now Luc did. It made perfect sense. The friar had been killed while Luc was away from the inn. He had been alone and so had no alibi. The stonemason had accused him of being a Templar in front of the friar. There was a macabre logic in the idea of Luc killing Friar Laurent, before he could reveal what he had heard to the bishop. The other man’s eyes were watching closely. He saw the comprehension dawn on Luc’s face.
‘That’s right. All it’ll need now is a word or two from me, and all these fine pilgrims will turn against you. Without us having to dirty our hands, or more importantly, show our hand, they’ll denounce you to the authorities. They’ll have you in chains in the wink of an eye.’
Luc had no illusions as to his fate if that ever happened. His thoughts turned to Aimée. It was too horrible to contemplate. He hung his head in sheer dejection. Thomas laughed and wiped his mouth with his right hand.
Luc had been waiting for just such an opportunity. He leapt forward, making no attempt to reach for his hidden dagger. He saw the other man’s hand snake down from his face to his side and the knife appeared like magic. But the extra distance his hand had to travel meant that Thomas was still lifting the point upwards when Luc’s left hand slammed into his windpipe. This was followed by Luc’s right palm thudding into the man’s nose with brutal force. The nose shattered under the effect of the blow and Luc pushed it upwards, into the man’s brain. Thomas died on his feet.
Luc caught him before he could fall and rested the body against the wall. There was a faint clink as the knife fell out of the dead man’s hand. Luc scanned the room anxiously, but nobody in the shadows of the dormitory appeared to have noticed anything.
He returned his attention to the dead man. His face was red with blood, but the flow had stopped as soon as it started and the ground around them was clean and unmarked. Luc waited for a few moments for his breathing to slow down, then he tore a piece of cloth from the dead man’s shirt and used it to clean the blood off the lifeless face. Satisfied with the result, he took the dead man’s left arm and pulled it across his shoulders, catching hold of the hand in his own left hand. With his other arm, he gripped the man tightly around the waist. In this way, he managed to frogmarch the lifeless body past the few remaining drinkers in the next room, without attracting their attention. Drunkenness was no cause for alarm. He struggled with the door handle for a moment. Finally, he pulled it open and they disappeared into the night.
Outside, the moon had risen and illuminated the scene. He swung the body over his shoulder in a more comfortable fireman’s lift and set off down a side road. He met nobody, but he scanned every shadow apprehensively. After three or four minutes, he emerged on the river bank. The river was wide and deep at that time of year. Most importantly, it was flowing away from the town centre. Luc slid the body off his back and into the water, watching as it floated off into the night.
He fell to his knees and gave thanks to the Lord for his salvation. Leaning forward, he scooped a handful of water out of the river. As he splashed his face and wiped the sweat off his brow, he found that his hands were shaking. He wasn’t surprised.
Collecting himself, he set off back up the dark street to the inn. He let himself in the door and was pleased to see that the drinkers had all retired to bed. He managed to return to the dormitory without trouble and found that the other members of his group had all gone back to bed. Aimée was left sitting against her pack, listening nervously for his return. He slipped off his jacket and lay down beside her, hugging her warmly. He pulled her ear close to his mouth and covered them both with the blanket. In the darkness, he whispered the events of the last ten minutes.
‘So he was a Church assassin?’ She turned towards him, whispering in her turn.
‘Yes, Aimée. He knew all about us, and he knew we’re carrying something precious.’
‘Well, that’s more than we do.’ For a moment she allowed herself a flash of frustration. ‘So they appear to know our every move?’
‘Yes, so far. Anyway, for the moment, the initiative’s with us. At least until they find Thomas’s body.’
‘So what do we do now?’
‘We get out of here. We get out of Santo Domingo and we find ourselves another bridge. And from now on, we don’t join any other group of pilgrims. We keep ourselves to ourselves. All right?’
She murmured her agreement.
‘Right, pack up your things as quietly as possible. Try not to wake anybody else. There’s just one thing I must do first.’
He slipped out from under the blanket and over to the spot where Thomas’s pack and bedroll still lay. He and Aimée could gain a few precious hours if the others thought Thomas had already left. He lifted both and carried them out to the latrines. By the light of the moon, he dropped them one by one into the depths of the reeking pit. Returning to Aimée, he picked up their packs. Taking her hand, he led her on tiptoe out through the rows of sleeping pilgrims and into the cool night air.
‘Right, from now on, we’re on our own.’
She reached up on her toes and whispered in his ear. ‘Well, there’s nobody I’d rather be with.’ And she kissed him softly on the neck.
Chapter 26
Pilgrims’ Way
, Northern Spain, May 2016
Luke and Amy didn’t reach Ponferrada until early evening. The weather had changed and the day spent driving over the mountains brought back memories of the Pyrenees. Both of them had to dig out jackets they hadn’t expected to use again that trip. The temperature at the top was close to zero and piles of dirty snow at the sides of the road attested to the long hard winter the region had suffered.
Luckily, the rain stopped long enough for them to be able to add their stones to the huge cairn at the top. Alerted to the tradition by his guidebook, they had collected one each from a dried up stream bed a few hours earlier. Up here in the unrelenting downpour, all the stream beds were anything but dried up.
‘They don’t call this region Green Spain for nothing. Northwest Spain has more rainfall than some parts of England.’ Luke had to shout to make himself heard over the roar of the wind. In the distance he spotted a couple of stalwart pilgrims, struggling up the hill towards them, enveloped in bulky yellow capes.
‘There are two pilgrims over there.’ He gave Amy a brief description. ‘They’re heading east. That means they’ve been to Compostela already, and are on their way home. At least they’ll have the wind behind them.’
‘Is there a good view from up here?’ Amy was hanging onto his arm with her free hand.
‘View? Maybe on a clear day, but today, about one or two hundred yards at most. I think we’ve ascended into the cloud base. Here’s the cairn. It’s enormous.’ He helped her scramble up the massive pile of rocks, until they were on top of it. The mound was made up of thousands upon thousands of stones of all shapes and sizes, deposited there over the centuries.
‘So, is this the top of the pile?’ She raised her face towards him, her expression bright and cheerful. He reflected that her face had been bright and cheerful for the last few weeks now, so different from only a month before. Mind you, he thought to himself, he couldn’t remember being so happy for years either. Particularly since summoning up the courage to tell her about the events in Nigeria, he felt a weight had somehow been lifted from him. He gave her hand a squeeze.
‘This is it. You’re at the top of the cairn.’
‘Do we just drop the stones on the pile?’
‘Unless you want to say a few words.’ He was joking. The weather conditions didn’t invite lingering in the open. To his surprise, that was exactly what she intended to do. She took his stone from him and crouched down. After laying both on the pile she stood up again, her head bowed.
‘We know you got this far. Only a few more days, and you’ll be at your journey’s end.’ She turned back to Luke and caught hold of his arm with both hands. ‘We owe them that. They deserve a bit of good luck for the last part of what’s been a long, hard journey.’
He marvelled at her involvement with the story. But then, he thought to himself, didn’t he also feel the presence of their medieval counterparts? He dropped his eyes to the stones and murmured, ‘Good luck to you both.’
‘It must have been tough for them having to trek all the way up here. But this is the top, isn’t it? Is it all downhill from here to Ponferrada?’
‘As far as the road’s concerned, yes. This is the top of the pass, but the mountain stretches on up into the mist. I don’t know how much higher. Here, we’re at fifteen hundred metres. That’s almost the same as the Somport Pass.’
At that moment, a squall came rushing across the mountainside, bringing another downpour. Luke grabbed Amy round the waist and together they rushed back to the shelter of the car. He received a wave from the stoical pilgrims, whose pace didn’t falter in spite of the rain. He waved back with his free hand, part of him wishing he, too, was making the journey on foot. However, the more rational part of him welcomed the blessed warmth and protection as they slammed the Range Rover doors behind them.
Amy struggled out of her jacket and threw it onto the back seat. She raised her arms and fiddled with her pony tail, the curve of her throat and the outline of her breasts producing an instant reaction in him. For once, he didn’t lift his eyes from her. He just sat there looking at her, a feeling of happiness spreading throughout his body. At long last, after five long years of grieving, he knew he could now move on and there was only one person with whom he wanted this to be. Deep down inside he had known this for weeks, but he was finally able to admit it to himself and act upon his feelings. He cleared his throat. ‘Amy.’ He reached across and took her hand in his. She turned her head towards him in surprise, but he took heart from the smile on her face.
A blast of wind rocked the big vehicle on its suspension and rain battered the windscreen. Amy hardly felt the movement. She sensed that the time had come and her whole body, her whole being was desperate for his touch, desperate for his love. She found herself having to struggle to control her racing heart and spinning head.
‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you for a long time now, Amy. I’ve been putting it off for fear of what you’ll think, but it’s no good, I’ve got to tell you.’ His voice was hesitant, even shy. ‘We share so much, get on so well, and I think about you all the time.’ She felt a rush of emotion and had trouble keeping from jumping out of her seat as she heard him begin to say the words she had been waiting to hear. ‘Even when I was lying in my bed in Jaca feeling like death, I was still thinking of you. I find you fascinating, beautiful and…’ he hesitated, searching for the right word, ‘…and desirable, very, very desirable. After Nicole’s death, I never thought I’d ever feel that way again, and yet it’s happened. It’s a very disconcerting feeling. I want you to believe that.’
He stopped and she held her breath, wondering what was going to happen. After a few agonisingly long seconds she heard his voice once more. ‘I just had to tell you.’
She reached across towards his face, letting her hands rest against his cheeks for a few moments, before pulling him gently towards her until their lips met.
It wasn’t a sensuous, passionate kiss; rather more a soft and tender joining of two people. Even so, the intimacy of the touch drained the depths of her emotions and she felt her head swim. As she pressed against him, she felt tears start to trickle down her cheeks. Here, at last, after five long dark years, was her return to happiness. Then she felt him take a deep breath and heard his voice, brimming over with emotion.
‘Oh, Amy…’ She felt a movement and his hands caught hers and squeezed them gently. They sat there in silence for some time until she felt she had better say something.
‘If you only knew just how long I’ve been dying to do that.’ She sensed his relief at the sound of her voice. Then he surprised her.
‘Amy, but there’s something else I’ve really got to say.’ He stopped again and she heard him take another deep, apprehensive breath. For a moment she found she couldn’t breathe, terrified that he might be about to plunge her back into loneliness and misery. She tried hard not to squirm in her seat as she waited for what he might have to say. She heard him clear his throat. ‘I have to warn you that this may well be a big, big mistake for both of us. For you in particular.’ She didn’t release his hands, but she was listening keenly. ‘You’re in a very impressionable state and I may well appear to be much more appealing than I really am. This is, after all, just about the first outing of any length that you’ve had since the accident. I speak the same language as far as our interest in history’s concerned, we like many of the same things, and, of course, I’m your guide. Did you ever have a crush on any of your teachers as a young girl? Well, that could be what’s happening here. Are you with me?’
She had started breathing again some seconds earlier and she now felt almost relaxed once more. She found herself smiling at him, as she heard him swallow hard and try to finish.
‘What I’m trying to tell you is that this may be nothing more than an inevitable and predicable mistake for either or both of us.’ She made no comment, letting him say what he wanted to say, knowing how she felt and becoming more and more confident that he fel
t the same way. ‘What we feel for each other now, what I feel for you and whatever you may feel for me, may well turn out to be just the product of the particular circumstances in which we find ourselves. What I’m trying to say is that you, we, have both got to think this thing through carefully. Try to think logically about our situation before we do something we might regret.’ His voice tailed off, his words at odds with his feelings.
She ran her hands back up to his face, passing her fingers gently over his eyes, then his ears and then she slipped them around his neck. She pulled gently and he bent forward, making no attempt to resist as she kissed him again. Then she crushed her face into his collar and spoke.
‘I wouldn’t regret a thing, Luke. Believe me, I would swap the whole of the last five years of my life for this moment with you right now. I mean that. If you then dumped me here and disappeared, it wouldn’t matter. It would break my heart, but it wouldn’t alter the joy of this and any other moment we can be together like this.’ She let her lips rest against his neck for a few moments. ‘I’m grateful to you for your warning, but I’m ready to take my chances on this just being a quick holiday romance, or some kind of predictable physical occurrence. I don’t happen to think that it is but, like I say, I’m prepared to take the risk.’ To reinforce her words she reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek then she ran her fingers across his face once more. When they got to his mouth she could feel the smile on his lips. ‘I’m glad you’re smiling. Take a look at me, Luke. I’m smiling too.’ She sat back, happy and contented.
‘I phoned Tim earlier this evening.’
Amy wasn’t surprised. She listened carefully, keen to know what had transpired between the two men. There was a pause while he searched for the right words. ‘I spoke to him for quite a long time. I told him more about our trip so far and I told him about you. In particular I told him about my feelings for you. He didn’t seem very surprised.’
Amy found herself smiling. The cunning old priest had known what he was doing all along. ‘So just what, exactly, did you tell him about your feelings for me?’
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