‘I will leave later today.’ He looked up in surprise, but a gesture from her silenced him. ‘A carriage is coming to collect me. When your friend is well, you will join us in Tómar. But be careful if you decide to cut south direct from here. That will take you through mountains, away from the Pilgrims’ Way, and there you will find all manner of vicious bandits. Better to follow the route west from here through Compostela and beyond.’
He nodded.
‘Besides, you both deserve to experience the splendour of Santiago de Compostela. I must give you one word of warning, though. It is my understanding that a group of horsemen came through here less than a week ago. One of the castle caretakers told me. I am reliably informed that they were sent by that snake, the Archbishop of Sens.’
Luc stopped eating in mid-mouthful. The rough-hewn cell at San Juan de la Peña and the table, laid with obscene instruments of torture, flooded his memory. The sensation of the barbed whip against his cheek was so real that he found himself brushing his fingers against his face, to remove the irritation. He shook himself violently, chasing the spectre from his mind.
‘He doesn’t give up easily.’
Since leaving Santo Domingo de la Calzada in the dead of night, they had had no further contact with the archbishop’s men. Indeed, by avoiding towns and cities, Luc had dared to hope that they might have finally escaped his clutches. But it appeared that such was not to be the case. He breathed out in frustration, but squared his shoulders and returned to his meal. He and Aimée had evaded them so far. They could do it for a few more days.
The old lady watched him covertly. She felt again the raw fear that this big man had inspired in her the previous evening. She had been woken from a cosy daydream by the appearance of the huge figure with a vicious flashing knife. She thanked the Almighty once again that she had not fainted or died of fright. She also thanked Him for allowing her to maintain a semblance of normality in the face of such naked aggression. She reached across and laid her hand on his arm.
‘Choose the way you wish. It would take a brave bandit to tackle you, Luc. But if you’ve never been to Santiago before, it’s a wonderful and memorable experience.’
He caught her eye and held it. He was on the point of opting for the mountains and the bandits, preferring them to the evil archbishop, when there was a sound from the other side of the room. It was Aimée.
He was at her side in a flash. Her face was no longer deathly pale. To his delight, he saw that a rosy flush had spread across it and sweat was beading at her temples. He laid his hands against her cheeks and was rewarded by the sight of her eyes opening, closely followed by her lips.
‘Thank God, I feel warm.’ Her voice was weak, but comprehensible. He leant closer to hear her next words. ‘We will go to Compostela together, after all.’
She drifted off into sleep. Her breathing was regular and she looked peaceful. Glancing up, Luc caught the old lady’s eyes. Her hands were clasping the crucifix around her neck and her lips were mouthing a prayer. He stood up.
‘We’ll take the Pilgrims’ Way to Santiago de Compostela as you advise.’ His mind was made up. ‘Then we’ll follow you to Tómar. Aimée is going to get better now. Everything will be all right. Thanks be to God.’
‘Thanks be to God,’ the Lady Alice repeated.
* * *
Aimée made good, steady progress. After Lady Alice had left with her precious cargo, Luc spent time resting and recuperating. He prepared food, acted as nurse to Aimée, and tidied the house.
Altogether, they were in the little house for almost two weeks, and Luc delightedly watched Aimée get stronger day by day. The old lady had left a leg of ham, two dozen eggs, a string of sausages and a larder full of vegetables, wine, oil and flour. Twice each day Luc prepared hot meals for them. At first he ate most of the food, as Aimée would only accept a little soup. Gradually, as the days wore on, she started to eat solid food again and the improvement in her condition became more marked. He experimented with making bread in the little oven at the side of the fire. By the end of the second day, he was able to produce good flat loaves of unleavened bread. The fire itself never went out and the pile of wood behind the house shrank visibly. Leave nothing behind, Lady Alice had said. It looked as if Luc would do just that.
It was imperative that Aimée should make a full recovery before undertaking the last part of their journey. So he stoked the fire and stirred the pot, cheered by her renewed vitality and healthy colour. Finally, towards the end of the second week, he pronounced her fit to travel. They would set off the next day.
She took the news with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was keen to get moving and finish the journey. On the other, there was the ever-increasing worry as to what would happen when they finally got to Tómar. She knew that this place of safety was the rallying point for all surviving Templars. By the sound of it, the Order was still alive and well in Portugal. What if he returned to his former life as a Templar and failed to renounce his vows? To be left alone would be bad enough, but to be separated from the man she knew she loved would be even worse.
The thought of losing him made her physically sick. Every step towards their destination hastened the day when they might have to part. So she rolled up her belongings that evening with considerable regret. In particular, she regretted leaving this little house. They had lived here to all intents and purposes as man and wife. She loved to talk to him, feel him touch her, stroke her hair or just hold her hand. The thought of losing him was terrifying.
She heard him moving around by the fireside. She made her way over, caught hold of him and burrowed her head into his shoulder. She felt his arms encircle her.
‘If I lose you, I’ll die.’ Her words were muffled by his shirt, and he couldn’t hear.
‘What was that?’ He stroked her hair with his free hand.
‘Nothing.’ She looked up from his shoulder and smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to getting to Santiago.’
Chapter 30
Santiago de Compostela, May 2016
Their last day’s drive was a short one. On the way into Santiago they paused to search for the spot at Lavacolla where the medieval pilgrims would have stopped and bathed. This was a ritual, before embarking upon the final leg of the journey. Unfortunately, the proximity of the airport and a lot of new development made it impossible to get the feel of the place. The ever-increasing downpour hadn’t encouraged them to do much tramping about either. Slightly disappointed, Luke turned off the new highway onto the Monte do Gozo. This famous hill was the first vantage point from which pilgrims arriving along the Pilgrims’ Way would see their destination.
The hill, when they finally located it among a mass of new development, also turned out to be something of a disappointment. Half of the hillside was a huge sprawling twentieth-century pilgrims’ hostel. As they drove nearer, he described it to her as looking like a theme park without the big dipper. He parked the car and they walked out onto the hilltop, and it was then that he saw the big dipper itself.
‘I’m sorry. I know I should be impressed, but it’s awful. Since I was last here they’ve built a monument. I’ve been reading about it. It’s to commemorate the pope’s visit, during the celebrations to mark one thousand years of the Santiago pilgrimages, but, oh dear, oh dear. It’s sort of a concrete bunker with a huge steel horseshoe and a plastic cross on top of it. Oh dear, oh dear.’
She insisted on going over to the monstrosity in question and running her hands along it. She pondered for a moment and then turned to him.
‘First, it’s not concrete, it’s stone, and second, you forgot to mention the mosaic on the side. Are you sure it is really so awful?’
He hesitated and then decided to be brutally frank. ‘I was sparing you that. The mosaic looks as if the pope is throwing scallop shells at another horseshoe. Believe me, you wouldn’t want it on your T-shirt.’
‘Do I hear your “outraged academic” tone by any chance? Anyway, come on, it’s the principle of
the thing that counts. For them it was a major event, which had to be marked somehow or other.’
‘You’re right.’ He smiled and gave her a hug, the umbrella spilling a stream of raindrops neatly down his neck as he did so. He shook himself mentally and physically. ‘Sorry. I’m just a bit disappointed that the first impression of the city we’ve been so looking forward to seeing is less than perfect. That’s all. Anyway, I promise I won’t moan any more. All right?’
In reply she kissed him. Then he walked her across to the edge of the hilltop square and described the view, their hands entwined on the handle of the umbrella.
‘Forgetting for the moment the holiday camp below us and the… the statue behind us, the first thing that hits you is the cathedral. Nowadays it’s surrounded by a mass of buildings, but they wouldn’t have been there in the Middle Ages. It would’ve looked all the more impressive when it stood more or less alone. Two, three, four spires I can count. A mass of pillars, arches, statues and very fancy stonework.’
He looked down at her, sorry that she wasn’t able to enjoy the sight for herself, but her expression was happy and interested, no frustration visible.
‘Did the pilgrims come right past here?’ She was trying to get the feel of the place.
‘Absolutely right past us. Follow this road down the hill and you enter the city through the Puerta del Camino, the main gateway. Pilgrims would have been set upon by people selling everything from new boots to miracle cures, all the way from here to the cathedral itself. Mind you,’ he acknowledged with a grin, ‘things haven’t changed a lot since then. Just you wait until we get into the centre.’
They returned to the car and he threaded his way into town through the traffic. A helpful policeman indicated the way to the Parador through a Pedestrians Only zone. Feeling embarrassingly conspicuous in the big vehicle, they bumped across the wet cobbles of the narrow streets until they emerged into the magnificence of the Plaza del Obradoiro and pulled up outside the Hostal de los Reyes Católicos, now a five-star hotel.
Half an hour later, the car safely parked in the garage below the hotel, they emerged, suitably kitted out with boots and waterproofs, to see what millions before them had undergone hardship and suffering to be able to see.
Luke led Amy diagonally across the square to the sweeping stone staircases that led up to the jewel in Santiago’s crown, the Pórtico de la Gloria. Climbing the steps, he navigated his way through the beggars and into the splendour of the cathedral entrance. As they reached the central pillar, he turned to her.
‘Here we are. We’ve done it.’ Amy could hear the animation in his voice. ‘We’re here at the Pórtico de la Gloria. This is the Tree of Jesse. Do you know what you’ve got to do?’
She reached out confidently. Her hands landed on the sculpted marble depicting Christ’s family tree and Luke was impressed to see that she clearly knew what she had to do. He watched as her fingers felt gently up from Jesse at the base, across David and Solomon and up towards Christ himself. The Apostle James smiled down benignly at every pilgrim who entered. Tracing back down again, she found the famous spot without his help being needed. She pressed her right hand against the column, each finger slipping into a depression made by the millions of hands that had pressed upon this self same spot in gratitude for having been allowed to complete their pilgrimage.
‘Just like they did. They made it here. I know they did.’
The same thought had been going through Luke’s head and he grunted in agreement. Amy spent a long time running her hands up all the pillars, full of admiration for the brilliantly alive and human carvings of Master Mateo, eight hundred years previously. Too high for her to reach, he described the scenes further up the arches. These ranged from Adam and Eve to the Deadly Sins and the Final Judgement, all carved in the stone with a lightness and a realism that still shone through after so many centuries. Although he had seen it before, the experience of seeing it again was a joy.
‘Can we go into the cathedral now?’
He led her through the doors and they walked slowly down the main aisle. He gave her a running commentary, his mouth pressed right up against her ear as the hubbub of hundreds of pilgrim voices filled the air. There were columns rising up on both sides to a gallery of smaller arches. Above these, the perfect symmetry of the vaulted roof gave an air of lightness and grace to the building. He walked her along to the main altar and they squeezed down the narrow stone steps into the crypt. Before them was the highly ornate silver coffer, said to hold the remains of Saint James.
From there they walked around to the Chapel of San Salvador, where queues of pilgrims were waiting for confession. Luke stood quietly for a moment, watching the crowd. It was then that he began to feel it, just like the last time he had visited the cathedral.
It was a feeling of companionship. It wasn’t just from being with Amy, although they were really very close now. As he tried to explain to her later, it came from all the millions who had made this same journey, in order to come to this very spot. It was a feeling that he was a part of a huge, timeless, inexorable wave of humanity over the centuries. People of all walks of life, brought together by this act of devotion. What was it they had talked about high up on the Somport Pass? The accumulated joy of millions of people? Would she feel it too?
He looked down at her. There was a light smile on her lips. She looked happy, fulfilled and self-assured. In spite of being dealt such cruel blows, she had managed to make a new, happy life for herself. Her joy shone forth on her face, just the same as the joy of all pilgrims would shine forth forever when they finally reached this, their hard-won destination. At first he had pitied her for all that she had lost, then he had envied her for the strength of her resolve. Now, finally, he thanked her for helping him in his struggle to regain his own peace of mind and his happiness.
Chapter 31
Santiago de Compostela, June 1314
The golden city was steel grey as Luc led Aimée on the final leg of the pilgrimage. The steady rain, which had accompanied them for the last three days, hadn’t let up. They had gradually descended from the gorse and heather of the mountains to the jumble of smaller hills around Santiago de Compostela itself. The sky was gloomy and overcast from misty horizon to misty horizon. The roads ran with water, the gutters and ditches overflowed. The city was barely discernible through the rain. But, in spite of the conditions, there was an air of excitement, anticipation and elation.
Luc and Aimée stood with a hundred or so others on top of the Monte del Gozo, staring for the first time at their goal. Some around them were in tears, some laughing, some skipping about like infants, others kneeling, some totally prostrate in their joy. They had stopped in Lavacolla earlier that morning. Along with all the other pilgrims, they leapt into the icy river water. In the previous village, Luc had bought fresh clothes for them both. He helped her to strip off the old, travel-soiled dress and shift and immerse herself totally in the river. He hadn’t remarked upon her nakedness and, in the midst of all the others, it seemed quite natural. He had stripped in his turn, quite unselfconsciously. Around them, pilgrims of all complexions were dancing naked and splashing with noisy glee, cleansing themselves in homage to the Apostle James, whose tomb was now finally within reach.
Refreshed and restored by the cold water, they dressed impatiently, infected with the same enthusiasm that had struck their companions. On top of his new clothes, Luc replaced his leather waistcoat, still heavy with more than enough silver coins to get them safely to their destination in Portugal. For the pilgrims, this marked the end of a long and arduous journey, often filled with danger and grief. The fact that, for most of them, the whole exhausting route would restart in a few days time, as they turned back and headed for home, was ignored for the moment. Now there was only joy and expectation.
From the top of the Monte do Gozo they could just make out the towers of the cathedral. He did his best to describe the scene to her.
‘The cathedral’s immense. The t
owers rise up far, far into the sky.’ She gripped his arm tightly, infected by the enthusiasm of those around them. ‘There are spires and towers all over the city. I’ve never seen anywhere like it. Jerusalem and Rome have many, many churches and monuments, but you don’t get as many in such a small space as you do here.’
In spite of the increasingly heavy rain, Santiago de Compostela still looked welcoming. Luc held Aimée to one side as the people around them started to charge down the hill. Some took off their boots, so as to do homage to the Apostle by arriving barefoot. Others undertook this final leg of their journey on their hands and knees, as a further sign of adoration and reverence. Once the worst of the crowd had gone, Luc took Aimée’s arm and they started to walk down together. They kept their hoods pulled over their heads. This was partly for shelter from the incessant downpour, and partly to minimise the risk of discovery, if their enemies were lying in wait.
‘You know, Aimée, it’s actually a good thing it’s raining. The chances of being spotted are pretty slim. First, it’s unlikely anybody will be out looking for us on a day like this. Second, with our heads covered, we should be anonymous.’ He hoped he was right. They had seen no trace of the archbishop’s men for a long time now. Maybe they really had given up.
As they drew nearer, the city of Saint James was revealed in all its glory as a succession of spectacular buildings emerged from the gloom. Nobody could fail to be impressed. Like all the others, Luc and Aimée headed straight for the cathedral itself. They found themselves in the midst of a sea of humanity and Luc had to fight his way through a mass of vendors, offering all manner of souvenirs. Finally they entered the city.
Chasing Shadows Page 25