Inside the city gates it was, if anything, even more crowded. As well as innkeepers and their touts, there were moneychangers and vendors selling everything from fresh fish to pieces of the True Cross. There were jugglers, minstrels, dancers and even prostitutes plying for trade, although it was barely lunchtime. Certainly a pilgrim with money would want for nothing here in Santiago. Luc helped Aimée through the noisy throng, his wallet safely tucked into the waistband of his breeches. He was delighted at the obvious chaos and confusion. All the better to help them avoid detection.
Finally they emerged from the narrow streets into a wide square, paved with huge slabs of marble. The crowd thinned, as the pilgrims spread out across the broad expanse, all eyes in one direction: the cathedral. Walls of golden stone, towers reaching up to the sky, a mass of sculpture and, in the middle of the base, the most wonderful of all, the Pórtico de la Gloria. Luc led her across towards it, threading his way through the clusters of awestruck pilgrims. There were crowds just standing in solemn contemplation of more beauty than any of them had ever seen in all their lives. Struggling through the crowds, he led her first to the central column.
‘Here we are. We’ve done it.’ She 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 Luc 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 spot without his help being needed and 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.
She turned back towards Luc and breathed. ‘Now you.’
Solemnly, he placed his hand against the smooth stone and closed his eyes, mouthing a silent prayer of thanks. They had carried out their mission and they could be proud of what they had achieved. Then a crowd of pilgrims pushed them on through the doorway into the cathedral itself. This was another awe-inspiring sight. The central aisle stretched out before them, the roof so very high above them, seemingly floating on majestic golden pillars of stone. Just below the roof, a gallery led around round the whole building, a few tiny figures visible high above them. Far down at the end of the aisle stood the altar and the sepulchre of Saint James. These were almost invisible behind the mass of pilgrims packing the cathedral.
The noise made by the crowds of people in the cathedral was deafening, especially for somebody who had grown used to the silence of the monastery, and the quiet of the open road. There were voices of men, women and children of all ages, and from all parts of the world. All of them were exclaiming and shouting as they admired the magnificence of the interior.
Aimée reached out and let her free hand run across the smooth rounded stone of a pillar. Its size and strength, reaching up to the heavens, took her breath away. She tightened her grip on Luc’s arm and asked, ‘Where’s the Apostle’s tomb?’
He turned her head slightly to the right and spoke directly into her ear. ‘Down there.’
‘Can we go?’ She was keen, as he was, to reach the true end of the pilgrimage. He looked down at her and marvelled at her strength and determination, as well as her beauty. She was truly a woman among women, and he loved her dearly. He knew that now, without a shadow of a doubt. He bent his head down so that his mouth was touching her ear and kissed her softly before speaking.
‘I love you, Aimée. I love you and I’ll never leave you.’
Her face jerked up towards his, a soft smile on her lips as she heard the words for which she had been hoping for so long. ‘Never?’
‘Never.’ He knew he meant it.
The crowd from behind caught up with them. They were pushed slowly, but inexorably, down the length of the cathedral to the altar. Beneath this lay the sepulchre of the saint. As they approached, Luc described the imposing stone statue of Saint James above the altar. He was dressed as a pilgrim, complete with cloak and hat, and the right forefinger of the statue pointed downwards towards the site of his tomb, below the altar. Luc found himself thinking once again of the magic of the cloak he had worn on his back all the way from the Pyrenees. As he did so, he mouthed a prayer that the protection of the Almighty would extend from here all the way to the safety of Portugal.
The mass of pilgrims around the altar were about twenty or thirty deep. The remains of the saint lay down a narrow staircase and everybody wanted to see for themselves. After waiting an eternity, without getting any closer to it, Luc took Aimée by the shoulders. He struggled out of the throng towards one of the side chapels, where they could catch their breath.
‘Too many people?’ She had to shout in his ear to make herself heard. ‘Why don’t we just stay here for a moment? Then I would really like to go to confession.’
He shouted agreement. They knelt side-by-side, backs against the side wall of the aisle, heads bowed, both praying to the saint. She prayed for Luc, for his safety and happiness, and he prayed for her. As he prayed, Luc could feel the never-ending stream of pilgrims passing by in front of them. Somehow, this didn’t disturb him. They were, after all, on holy ground. He felt sure they would be shielded from their enemies, as long as they stayed inside the cathedral. He abandoned himself to his prayers. When he finally stood up again he felt purged, restored by his communion with the Almighty. She reached out to him and stood up in her turn.
‘Can we go to confession now?’
He shouted in agreement. They followed the crowd in the direction of the chapel of San Salvador, where another crowd of pilgrims waited. Inside the chapel, a dozen priests were hearing the confessions of the pilgrims. This had to be done, prior to receiving the all-important Compostela certificate. This document would be conclusive proof that each had indeed successfully undertaken the pilgrimage. Obtaining this vital confirmation could have dramatic consequences. For some, it meant the papal pardon, which would relieve them of time they could expect to spend in Purgatory. For others, it was the extinguishing of a debt, forgiveness of sins, or the completion of a sentence imposed by a court for some misdoing.
At least there was more order to this part of the cathedral. Rope lines had been set up, six or seven abreast, attached to heavy wooden posts. The pilgrims were shepherded into lines by bored-looking novices, in an attempt to streamline this most vital part of the pilgrimage procedure. Luc and Aimée let themselves be guided into the line nearest the wall and settled down to wait their turn. He counted about twenty people before them in the queue. Lowering his head towards Aimée, he spoke softly into her ear, no longer needing to shout, as the chaos around the altar was a good way behind them.
‘There are a good twenty people in front of us, so it’s going to take a while. Mind you though, I’ve never seen confessions as quick as these. Either the pilgrims have led blameless lives, or the priests are in a hurry. Are you all right to wait for a while?’
She gripped his forearm and smiled. ‘As long as is necessary. It’s the one thing every pilgrim has to do, isn’t it?’
Yes, he agreed mentally, it was indeed the one thing they all had to do. Indeed, the thought rushed urgently into his head, this chapel would be the perfect place for anybody lying in wait for a particular pilgrim. All they had to do was be patient, and their prey would come straight to them. Nervous tension flooded through his body. Aimée sensed it.
‘What is it, Luc?’ Her question went unanswered.
He swung round, eyes searching every face in the crowd. He looked beyond the sea of cheery, healthy faces, waiting eagerly for this culminating act of their journey. He scanned the chapels and niches on the opposite side of the aisle. Then he turned his attention once more to the chapel of S
an Salvador. The procession of pilgrims into the lines continued steadily, without a break. He saw nobody suspicious, no face he recognised, but the warning bells were ringing in his head. He bent towards her and whispered urgently.
‘We’ll look for somewhere else to have our confessions heard. I’m worried they may have this chapel under observation. Come on, let’s get out of here.’ Her face instantly showed concern.
He took her arm and, murmuring apologies to the people behind him, started to push back through the line. All the time, his eyes searched anxiously all around them. A few people looked surprised that they should have chosen to drop out of the line when so close to their goal. But they all moved good-naturedly out of the way.
Luc and Aimée emerged from the end of the rope lines. He stopped, unsure whether to turn right and make for the exit, or to try for the anonymity of the crowds around the main altar once more. As he was weighing up the possibilities, a noisy altercation broke out behind them. It was caused by a group trying to push into the queues. Luc suddenly noticed that the handful of novices who had been directing the pilgrims had disappeared. Casting around over the heads of the passers-by, he caught a glimpse of black robes scampering off along the aisle. He turned back in the opposite direction, desperately searching for signs of danger.
Then he saw them.
Chapter 32
Santiago de Compostela, May 2016
‘Hold on tight. We’re going to have to make a run for it.’ Luke had to shout to make his voice heard over the wind. He caught Amy round the waist and they set off.
Their exit from the sanctuary of the cathedral took them from the sublime into the teeth of an Atlantic gale. The wind collapsed their umbrella, and the horizontal rain set about soaking them in a very short space of time. His intention of viewing the intricate south façade, the Puerta de las Platerías, was hastily replaced by the search for somewhere to eat, and quick. They ran for the shelter of the maze of narrow streets radiating out from the cathedral and soon found a restaurant that looked welcoming. They dived inside and were shown to a table near the back of the long, low, stone-vaulted room. Down there it was peaceful, dry and warm.
The waiter came with the menus and to enquire if they desired an aperitif. Hearing no response from Luke, Amy made a quick decision. ‘Two glasses of cava, please.’ As the waiter went off to get the sparkling wine, she reached across the table and found his hand.
‘I thought we’d better celebrate our arrival here.’
There was only a grunt in reply.
‘What’s up, Luke?’ There was a long pause before he replied.
‘Yes, celebrate, of course.’ He sounded very hesitant. She gave his hand a squeeze.
‘What is it?’ Even without seeing his face, she could tell there was something wrong. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’
‘No, no. I’m fine.’ He had to wait while the waiter returned with their drinks. He pushed her glass across the table to her. He watched as she raised it and held it out in his direction.
‘Cheers.’
He clinked his glass against hers and studied her over his drink. There was a smile on her face, tempered with slight concern that he was perhaps not his usual self. While he was trying to find the words to explain what he was feeling, she did it for him.
‘So, are you feeling a bit let down, now that it’s finished?’ In spite of herself, in spite of all that had passed between them and in spite of the long talks they had had over the past few days, she began to feel apprehensive. ‘So, are you thinking of doing the pilgrimage again with another girl?’ She did her best to keep her tone light.
His reply, this time, was immediate. She heard him place his glass on the table. There was a movement. Then his hands caught the sides of her face and he pulled her towards him. He kissed her on the lips. ‘No, my darling, that is definitely not what I am thinking.’
A discreet cough indicated the return of the waiter. Luke sat back as the man took their order. They decided on the Tourist Menu. The waiter gave them a smile and moved away.
Amy reached across the table and found his hand again. ‘So, what is it, then?’
‘I suppose what I’m thinking is that, just like our medieval friends, our arrival here is very different from that of all the other pilgrims. For pilgrims, this was their goal, the lode star, the one fixed point in their firmament for weeks, months. Now, they’ve done it. It’s over.’
‘Apart from the minor detail of having to do the whole thing in reverse to get home.’
‘Of course. But, you see, that’s it. They’ve done what they wanted to do and now they’re going home. It’s the end of their adventure. For you and me, this is only the beginning.’
She was smiling again. ‘You’re not still thinking of going to Graceland, are you?’
His voice was still serious. ‘I don’t care where I go, as long as it’s with you.’ He raised his eyes towards her. ‘As long as you’ll still have me. I’m a complicated character.’
She squeezed his hands harder. ‘We’re both complicated characters, Luke. We’ve both had a pasting. But the healing’s started for us both. I know that and you must feel it too. We’re no longer chasing shadows, struggling with memories from our past. We’ve got a future now. A real future, together.’ She heard him grunt again. But it was a happy grunt this time. ‘Of course it isn’t always going to be easy. There’ll be hurdles to overcome, but we’ll manage.’ She listened anxiously for his reply.
‘I know we will, Amy. I know we will.’
She was relieved to hear him sounding more relaxed now. She gave it a few minutes and then decided to return to their medieval story.
‘So, do we think they made it here in one piece? Did they complete their mysterious mission?’
‘No doubt about it. They accomplished their mission all right. Who knows, maybe it really was the Holy Shroud. Maybe it’s lying safe in the vaults of an abbey or castle to this day. Probably Portugal, I would think. No, they made it. At least as far as here.’ He picked up his glass again and clinked it against hers.
‘To them.’
‘To them. And to us.’ He took a sip of wine, his mind now back in the Middle Ages. ‘Of course, I suppose their enemies might have followed them this far. Assuming they knew that were carrying something as immensely valuable as the Holy Shroud.’ Grudgingly, he felt he had to admit the possibility that things might not have gone perfectly.
The waiter returned with local ham and lovely fresh bread. He placed a bottle of red wine and a jug of water on the table in front of them. Amy hardly listened to Luke’s description of the food on her plate. She was turning over possibilities in her mind.
‘I suppose it would have been easy for the bad guys to catch them by keeping an eye on that very same confessional area where we’ve just been. Every pilgrim in those days would’ve had to go there in order to fully complete the pilgrimage.’ She was thinking hard.
He was already well into his food. He finished his glass of cava and poured some red wine. ‘Mind you, they were only really coincidentally pilgrims, weren’t they?’ He looked across at her to check, but she was managing to deal with the ham very well. ‘I don’t suppose they would have been getting their pilgrim passports stamped along the way. Surely there would have been too much risk of being recognised.’
‘Absolutely.’ She agreed. ‘But just think. This is the man who believes he’s carried the true Shroud that wrapped the crucified Christ to safety. Assuming that he was aware of what he was carrying, he would have had to be on a massive religious high at the end of such a trip. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t try to go to confession.’
‘I’m sure you’re right. But what sort of trap might they find themselves in?’
Not surprisingly, he finished his starter before she did. He was happy to sit and watch her. Her mind was clearly not on the food, much more on their couple of characters. She looked pensive, enthralled and lovely. He took a mouthful of wine and felt his face assume a co
ntented smile.
The waiter came to remove the plates and Luke pushed a glass of red wine towards her. ‘Here, some red wine, and there’s water in the other glass.’ Then he tried to finish off the story as best he could. ‘Theoretically he would have been safe in the cathedral,’ he started off cautiously. That was, after all, holy ground.’
‘Try telling that to Thomas-à-Becket.’ Amy’s tone was cynical.
‘Point taken.’ While he was thinking, the waiter returned. The next course was placed before them. After a moment’s hesitation, Luke described it to her as best he could. ‘It looks like we’ve just been served clear soup with bits of chicken skin floating in it. Not necessarily my first choice, if I had a choice, but I’ll try it anyway.’
‘Probably a local speciality.’ She picked up her spoon, tried a mouthful, pronounced herself quite happy to eat it and carried on where he had left off. ‘Just supposing the archbishop’s men were prepared to try to take our man in the cathedral, what chance of escape would he have had? It’s the shape of a Latin cross, a crucifix, right?’
Luke grunted agreement through a mouthful of the delicious soup, chicken skin or no chicken skin.
‘So a minimum of four doors, right?’ Amy continued with the soup, frowning as she tried to think of a way out for their two characters. ‘So, supposing they put guards on all the doors, how would they have got out?’
‘Minimum four doors.’ He was thinking hard too. ‘I would imagine there would have been others. After all, the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela is hardly a fortified church like you would find in Albi or Béziers. There must be other doors. In fact, come to think of it, there was a door set in the wall directly opposite the chapel of San Salvador. Maybe…’ He stopped, realising the significance of the door. ‘No, that’s no good. That door probably leads up to the gallery that runs around the inside of the cathedral. And a long way up it looked, too.’
Chasing Shadows Page 26