Chasing Shadows

by Chasing Shadows (retail) (epub)

  He quite literally stumbled across her. His foot encountered her soft form and he fell headlong over her. She stirred and unwrapped her head from the waterlogged fur. His relief was so great that he took her face in his hands and hugged her to his chest. She coughed wearily.

  ‘Success?’

  ‘Yes.’ He pulled her to her feet and shouldered the two packs. He encircled her painfully thin body with his arm. She was shivering with cold. ‘Come on, there’s warmth and shelter waiting for us down the hill. Walk with me.’

  He led her off down the hillside as fast he could. She was so weak that he found himself carrying her most of the way, along with the two packs. By the time they reached the house, he felt almost as drained as she did. Lady Alice had been busy and a wonderful smell of mulled wine filled the air. The fire blazed so brightly that the whole room was lit up. He led Aimée in and pulled off her soaking cloak. Lady Alice helped her out of her equally wet dress, until she stood shivering in her shift in front of the fire. The old lady then produced a thick woollen blanket and wrapped it round her twice, cocooning her like a newborn baby. Gently, Luc helped her onto a deep, soft mattress to one side of the fire and watched as Lady Alice pressed a mug of the hot wine into her hands.

  ‘Take this, my dear. You need something warm inside you.’

  Aimée was barely able to hold the mug, but, with Luc’s assistance, she drank most of it.

  Only then did he throw off his leather cloak and his own soaking tunic. Lady Alice handed him another blanket and a mug of wine. He settled down gratefully on the other side of the fire and savoured the hot, sweet drink. With heavy eyelids, he watched the old lady move around the room, picking up the wet clothes and hanging them to dry in front of the fire. She still had a proud, patrician air about her, in spite of the humble surroundings in which she now found herself. She limped around, tidying the room, for all the world like a menial servant. If she felt any bitterness at her change of station, it didn’t show. Indeed, she managed to give the impression that she took pride in what she was doing. In particular, he saw a glow of satisfaction on her face as she picked up his leather cloak. She set it to dry before the fire with a reverence that even his tired eyes couldn’t fail to notice.

  Chapter 28

  Pilgrims’ Way, Northern Spain, May 2016

  They almost missed dinner that evening. It was only when Amy pressed her Snoopy watch and heard that it was almost nine o’clock that they roused themselves. She rolled across towards him, relishing the feel of his naked body against hers. Her whole body was tingling with joy and she felt a desire to scream her happiness at the top of her voice. Instead, she managed something far more prosaic.

  ‘Hungry?’

  He yawned and stretched. ‘You know me.’

  She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. ‘I do now, that’s for sure.’

  He caught her hand in his and raised it to his mouth, kissing each of her fingers in turn. ‘I love you Amy. I love you so very, very much. You can’t imagine how much I love you.’

  She grinned. ‘Well, I love you even more.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t.’

  ‘Oh yes I do.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Do.’ She reached up and kissed him gently on the lips. ‘So, like I said; food?’

  ‘Well, if you insist.’

  Downstairs Anna, the Romanian girl, had prepared an excellent meal for them. Amy insisted on getting him a big beer first, and then they opted for a bottle of Rioja. She felt happier than she could ever remember, as the events of this evening in this magical place had finally chased away so many of the demons of the past. They didn’t speak much at first. There was no need. Then, as they enjoyed their starter, the conversation turned, as ever, to their medieval characters.

  ‘I’ve just had a thought.’ His voice was almost apologetic, and Amy pricked up her ears. ‘You remember the Holy Grail?’

  She spluttered into her gazpacho. ‘I thought those words were taboo?’

  ‘Yes, well…’ Still the apologetic tone. ‘I might just have come up with an idea of what our man might have been carrying that was so precious. No,’ he was quick to explain himself, ‘I’m not coming round to thinking that it might have been the Holy Grail after all. Don’t worry. But I was thinking of something similar.’

  ‘Like what?’ He had her full attention now. ‘What on earth could be similar to the Grail?’

  ‘Well…’ he sounded decidedly sheepish. ‘Maybe the Holy Shroud?’

  ‘The Turin Shroud.’ She was almost scoffing. ‘Radiocarbon dating’s shown it to be a fake. A medieval fake. A good one, but nonetheless a fake.’

  ‘Or a copy.’ He spoke quietly and she stopped in her tracks.

  ‘What did you say?’ Her tone had become more serious. He took a mouthful of wine and tried to explain his theory.

  ‘The cloth used to cover the body of Christ, when they took him down from the cross, or so the Church would have us believe. All sorts of experts have studied the cloth. Some have produced arguments to support the hypothesis that blood, sweat and bodily fluids could burn a negative image of a man on a piece of cloth. But the radio carbon dating showed the one in Turin cathedral to be a thirteenth-century fake, as you say. What if it really did exist? What if there really was a Holy Shroud, or at least a very ancient piece of cloth that they believed to be the Shroud?’

  She sat bolt upright. ‘But why make a copy, then?’ She was formulating the answer even as she asked the question. ‘Of course, so that the original could be taken to a place of safety. But why the Templars?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that.’ His voice was less hesitant now. He waited while Anna removed their plates. ‘One of the recurring charges brought against the Templars during their trial was that they worshipped a mysterious head; a head with the power to reduce any who looked upon it to trembling wrecks. Nobody has ever got to the bottom of that one and quite a few have tried. What if there really was such a cloth, and the Templars had got hold of it? Such a relic, particularly in the Middle Ages, when relics were big, big business, would have been worth any amount to a deeply religious order like the Templars.’

  The waitress returned with two huge plates of food. Luke thanked her and gave Amy a running commentary.

  ‘You’ve got two hefty pork chops, a whole chicken breast and two enormous sausages on your plate. It all looks very good and immensely filling. If you’re still feeling hungry after that, there’s a mountain of roast potatoes alongside. Everything’s very hot, including the plates, so be careful. More wine?’

  She shook her head, more interested in his Shroud theory than in food. He went on more confidently. ‘The history of the Turin Shroud is only really documented from the Middle Ages onwards. But, if I remember right, there was talk of it once being in the possession of the de Charny family. Geoffroi de Charny is a name you know well.’

  She certainly did. ‘Knights Templar Preceptor of Normandy. Burnt at the stake along with Jacques de Molay on a little island in the Seine on 18th March 1314. Right back at the start of our story.’ Her voice was awestruck.

  ‘Precisely.’ He was sounding ever more confident. It really could fit. ‘Now, there’s no real conclusive proof that the Shroud was in the de Charny family; in fact there’s doubt as to which branch of the de Charny family that was anyway, but how about this as a scenario? Geoffroi knows that it’s very likely that the Shroud will be discovered and stolen from the Order by King Philip. So he commissions a convincing copy and removes the original. His copy in fact proves to be so convincing that it lasts right up to the present day. In the greatest secrecy, he packs the real Shroud up and sends it to safety in the high Pyrenees.’

  Amy carried on the story. ‘After the execution of Jacques de Molay and Geoffroi de Charny, a Templar knight is sent to pick it up from there and take it to safety.’ Her voice was hushed. She reached across and found Luke’s hand on the tablecloth. ‘But he’s killed before he can collect it, and his wife
is blinded in the battle. She takes refuge in the hospital of Santa Cristina.’ She stopped, an expression of puzzlement on her face. ‘Hang on a minute. That’s not right. How can a Templar knight have a wife? They were monks after all, with a vow of celibacy.’

  ‘That occurred to me too. I’ve been doing a bit of research. Although Templar knights were monks, as you say, there were also a number of married men among their ranks. These were principally engaged for their prowess on the field of battle. They didn’t take religious vows, so there was no reason why they couldn’t be married. They were tolerated for their fighting skills, but they always remained, in a sense, second-class citizens.’

  Amy nodded, satisfied with his explanation. ‘So the first one was a lay Templar with his wife. Our man, who’s a full Templar warrior monk, is sent from Paris to take over from his predecessor. He collects the Shroud and the girl. Together, they set out to take the Shroud to safety over the border in Spain or, more probably, Portugal.’ She sat back, still ignoring her food. ‘That’s uncanny. It really could be. In fact it has to be.’ She squeezed his hand hard and asked half-seriously, half in jest. ‘Do you think you might have been a Templar knight in a previous life?’

  ‘Beaucéant!’ He hissed the Templar battle cry between his teeth and then relaxed. ‘Who knows? I’ve been finding it hard enough sorting out just this one life of mine, without getting drawn into the complications of reincarnation.’ He looked across the table at her. There was a broad, satisfied smile on her face. ‘Happy?’

  ‘I think I’m going to explode.’

  ‘Don’t do that. Think of the mess. Instead, why don’t you get stuck into your sausage and chips.’

  ‘Food; is that all you ever think of?’

  ‘Well, there’s you…’

  Chapter 29

  Pilgrims’ Way, Northern Spain, May/June 1314

  Luc slept all night and well into the next morning. In the little house, with the shutters closed and the fire glowing brightly, it was true luxury to relax and enjoy the rare combination of warmth, comfort and less than the usual degree of wariness. He was vaguely conscious of the old lady moving around, piling wood on the fire, turning their clothes and preparing hot drinks.

  When he finally awoke, he realised that the hot drinks had been for Aimée. She was lying on the soft mattress, swathed in blankets, in spite of the heat of the fire. She was still looking terribly pale. When Lady Alice saw him stir, she pushed open one of the shutters, flooding the room with unexpectedly bright light from a cloudless sky and sparkling sun. Aimée looked even sicker in the daylight. He moved across to her bedside, crouching down beside her and reaching for her hand. Her eyelids fluttered, but she gave no other sign of life. He threw a questioning glance over his shoulder to the old lady, who stood back watching them both. In reply she shrugged.

  ‘She’s in the hands of the Almighty.’ She kept her voice low. ‘She was chilled to the bone when you brought her in last night. She should have warmed up by now, but she’s still as cold as death.’ Luc shivered at her choice of words, and raised his eyes to the heavens and prayed for Aimée’s recovery. He prayed as fervently as he had ever prayed for anything in his life, hands tightly clutched together, beseeching the Lord to help her. Finally he tucked her hand back under the blankets and stood up.

  ‘Here. You must look after yourself as well, Luc.’ The old lady thrust a bowl of warm milk into his hands. ‘Drink this. I’ll bring you food. Regain your strength; you’ll need it. For both of you.’

  He did as he was bidden and then slipped cautiously out of the back door to the latrines. He washed the sleep out of his eyes with icy water from a wooden bucket and looked around. The back of the cottage was only a short distance from the river. The river was in spate and the water rushed past with a powerful roar. The rain of the previous night, coupled with the last of the melting snow from the mountains, had swelled the level to within a few feet of the top of the bank. It was a crystal clear day and the sky was a deep blue. The sun was warm on his back, although the air was still chill. The house prevented him from seeing the castle, which he knew stood a few hundred paces above him.

  He wondered where the Master of the castle was now. This made him think of the Abbot of Santa Cristina and his leather cloak. The expression of awe and reverence with which the old lady had handled it came back to him. What was so special about the cloak? He turned urgently back into the house, looking for Lady Alice. She was sitting on one of the wooden benches alongside the great long kitchen table. Her walking stick was propped against the wall beside her. His cloak lay, neatly folded, on the polished wood before her.

  ‘Is there something special about the cloak?’ His pulse beat faster as she nodded.

  ‘What is it?’ He could barely keep his impatience under control. His voice faltered. He watched her reach out and start to open the cloak on the tabletop. Her movements were formal and deliberate, almost as if she were completing a ceremony of some kind.

  He watched her spread the cloak out, leather side down. She reached for a sharp kitchen knife and ran it up the seam where the lining, now crumpled and soiled after his journey, was attached to the strong hide. She pulled the lining away from the leather and then ran the knife down the other sides. Reaching down, she removed the dirty fabric completely, revealing the folded layers of cloth that served as insulation. Delicately, she separated the layers and, from among them, pulled out a piece of material. With movements ever more respectful, she began to unfold it.

  There, before his eyes, materialised the Holy Shroud of the Lord Jesus Christ.

  He knew the Shroud. It had been in their family for generations, before being passed over to the Order. All senior Templar knights knew its significance. He had, however, only ever seen the ornate head-shaped reliquary in which it was kept. There were those who said that the sight of it could kill, or worse, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He had never seen or handled it, let alone thought he would ever wear it upon his shoulders. He knelt and kissed the edge of the material. The cloth was at least twice his height, even longer than the massive table and the same width as it. In spite of the long journey, it seemed miraculously smooth and uncreased.

  The image of the crucified Christ stood out clearly before them. As Luc’s eyes made contact with the face of his Lord, he felt an awesome terror descend upon him. He found himself shielding his eyes from the image. He felt humble and insignificant, overcome by the thought that he had worn the image of Jesus Christ himself, upon his unworthy shoulders. He felt he had defiled it. A sense of shame invaded him.

  ‘Forgive me Lord. I didn’t know…’ His voice was a terrified whisper. ‘I’m unworthy to even touch this most holy of objects, and yet…’ And yet he had worn it, slept in it. God help him, he had even worn it when he used the latrines. He was overwhelmed.

  ‘What you did was the most wonderful thing anybody could have done, Luc. You carried our Lord on your back from a place of danger to a place of safety. You are indeed blessed.’ He was startled by the old lady’s voice. For a moment, it seemed that the man whose pain-racked image lay before him was speaking. He crossed himself and shook his head incredulously, still unable to accept the magnitude of what had happened. He had carried his Lord on his back. He shivered, in spite of the blazing fire.

  ‘The abbot made no mention of the Shroud when he gave me the cloak. I could have left it somewhere, or given it away. And then this most precious of things would have been lost.’

  ‘But you didn’t lose it. You honoured his request that you return it to Ponferrada, just as we all knew you would.’

  ‘We all knew?’ He stared at her. ‘You and others knew he would pass this on to me?’

  ‘Luc, the Shroud is the most precious relic in the whole world. Before the arrests started, seven years ago, steps were taken to ensure the safety of our treasure. There are those who only think of material treasure; gold, silver, jewels. For us, some things are worth much, much more. The Shroud was sent to the saf
est place we could imagine, as far away from King Philip as possible. We sent it for safe keeping to the far mountains, to the Hospital of Santa Cristina. When first Bertrand, and then you, were sent there, instructions were given.’

  She could see that he was struggling to comprehend what had happened.

  ‘Here Luc, help me.’ Her voice was strong once more. ‘We’ll fold the Shroud and I’ll hide it among my linen in this chest. In that way I’ll be able to take it to Tómar in Portugal without hindrance.’

  He looked up as he heard and recognised the name. ‘Tómar? I, too, am bound for Tómar. Can’t we travel together?’

  ‘I’m afraid I must refuse your kind offer of companionship. I’m instructed to travel separately from you. I will travel down to Tómar by a circuitous route, heading back east and then dropping down into the lands of the Moors.’ In answer to something in his eyes, she smiled. ‘I’m an old woman; a harmless old woman. I have no fear of attack.’

  ‘So, if you’re heading east, which way do I go?’

  ‘Your mission is complete, Luc. Safety awaits you in Portugal. You must go west, Luc.’ She spoke firmly. ‘Go west to Compostela, and beyond. From there, continue to the coast of the great sea. When you reach the coast, turn south into Portugal and join me, and the others, in Tómar.’

  He sat back, digesting what he had heard. Lady Alice didn’t give him time to think. ‘Come, help me. It’s time the Shroud was hidden away from prying eyes.’

  Together they folded it. The old lady lifted it gently and limped across to the solid wooden chest open on the floor. Luc watched as she placed the priceless relic amid a pile of folded sheets and then added more linen on top of it, until the chest was full. Lady Alice crossed herself before lowering the domed lid on the chest. She slid a heavy metal padlock into place on the outside. She turned the key and then slipped it onto a chain around her neck.