Chasing Shadows
Page 27
She had finished her soup by this time. ‘That’s it. He sees his enemies moving in, so they dash up the stair.’
‘The spiral stone stair,’ he added for the sake of accuracy.
‘Up the spiral stone stair.’ She accepted the embellishment gracefully. ‘They reach the top and run desperately halfway around the cathedral before he spots another door.’
‘A low doorway leading out onto the roof.’ He was enjoying his artistic input.
She nodded at his intervention and continued. ‘They run out onto the roof…’ She corrected herself before he could chip in. ‘Onto the gently sloping lead-covered roof of the cathedral. After wedging the door shut behind them, he leads her along to the far end of the west façade, directly above the Pórtico de la Gloria. In front of them is a drop of a hundred feet or more onto the stone slabs below, while above them on both sides the towers rise up, offering no hope of escape.’
The waiter reappeared, bearing a tray with hot terracotta dishes still steaming from the oven, and set them down on the table. He collected the empty soup plates and left.
‘Very, very hot. Brown gravy and what looks like chunks of potatoes and chicken bubbling in it. Smells wonderful.’
She nodded, keen to continue her story. ‘Suddenly he sees a builders’ block and tackle on the far edge of the cathedral, where repairs to the roof are being carried out. Helping her across the uneven roof to it, he looks over the edge. He spots a few little figures scurrying about on the rain-swept square below and reaches for the rope.’
‘Always assuming that he’s not as afraid of heights as I am,’ he added mildly.
She reached for her fork and prodded the steaming plate in front of her. As she tried to spear a piece of meat, he made a suggestion.
‘Alternatively, how about this as a version?’ He had already tried a bite and was nursing a burnt tongue in consequence. ‘And watch out for the chicken, it’s absolutely boiling. They spot the enemy closing in on them and make a break for it, up the spiral stone stair to the gallery. They start running along the gallery, perched high up above the crowds below…’
‘…vertiginously high.’ She was keen to put in her own contribution.
‘They start running along the gallery, perched vertiginously high above the crowds below. Suddenly, he sees a cluster of enemy soldiers emerge onto the gallery from another stair, just a short way in front of them. He stops dead and spins round. He and the girl start off again in the opposite direction, but their way is blocked by another group of soldiers. These men come charging out of the next stairway along, less than a stone’s throw ahead. He stops, looking back over his shoulder at the heavily armed platoon behind him, and then forward to the soldiers advancing towards him. He feels for a weapon, but has nothing more than a dagger up his sleeve.’
He picked up another piece of chicken and immediately had to take a big gulp of wine to avoid getting burnt again. He swallowed and gave her another warning, before taking up the story once more. ‘Chicken’s still boiling. Take it easy. Anyway, he looks desperately downwards into the main aisle of the cathedral, packed with crowds of pilgrims, blissfully unaware of the drama being played out high above their heads. Even worse, he sees that the soldiers are armed with crossbows.’
She had taken his advice and was sensibly waiting for the chicken dish to cool down. ‘But what about my scenario of the pair of them on the roof? Couldn’t he stick the girl in the bucket on the hoist and then leap on after her and lower them hand-over-hand to the ground? By the time their pursuers manage to break the door down and get out onto the roof, they’d be well away. Once safely on the square, they’d be able to elude their pursuers and make good their escape through the narrow streets. How about that?’
He thought about it for a moment, eager to see a happy ending to their story. The chicken casserole was gradually cooling and he risked another mouthful. It really was excellent. He took his time while considering the various options. Finally he decided.
‘Yes, I reckon that’s the way it happened. After all, he was strong enough to lower the two of them safely to the ground. Why not? And once they were clear of the cathedral they could head for sanctuary in Portugal.’ He took a mouthful of red wine.
‘Just imagine.’ She was still waiting for the chicken to cool. ‘Trapped up there on the gallery. They both knew what awaited them at the hands of the Inquisition. She, in particular, would have been terrified at the thought of torture. Can you imagine being tortured at all? But when you’re blind…?’
Luke shivered at the thought, having seen enough medieval instruments of torture in museums to turn anybody’s stomach. He knew, with a sinking feeling, that there was only one way it could end. He chose to say it before she had to.
‘There would have been only one way out. He would have taken her in his arms. I can’t imagine that they would have been able to travel all that way together without getting emotionally involved. He would have taken her in his arms and then, as the archers took aim, he would have turned to her and whispered that he loved her. And then the two of them would have fallen from the gallery a hundred feet to the stone floor below and certain death.’ He took another mouthful of wine, feeling saddened by this version of events.
Amy made a start on the casserole, but it wasn’t long before she declared herself full. She pushed the plate away, wiped her mouth with her napkin and sat back, lost in thought. Somehow their story couldn’t finish like that. Their medieval counterparts deserved to find the happiness they both had found.
Luke looked across the table at her, as the waiter cleared away the plates. He saw the pain on her face, as she considered the fate of their characters. He caught the waiter’s eye and ordered two coffees, keen to get out into the open again and away from this morbid topic of conversation.
She came to a decision. ‘No.’ Her mind was made up and her voice was firm. ‘It’s unthinkable that they should have come so far, against the odds, only to find themselves beaten at the last hurdle. They made it. I know they did. Here,’ she lifted her glass. ‘Let’s drink to them and their happiness. We did it, why not them?’
He reached out with his glass and touched hers. It was only right that their companions for the last thousand kilometres should be as lucky and as happy as they were.
‘To them and their happiness.’ Luke took a mouthful, then added. ‘And to ours, Amy. And to ours.’
They clinked their glasses together and Amy had a sudden thought. ‘That’s funny, we never knew their names, did we?’
Chapter 33
Santiago de Compostela, June 1314
Luc and Aimée found refuge in a small farmhouse on the outskirts of town. By the time they got there, it was almost dark. The weather, if anything, was getting worse. Aimée was exhausted and Luc was little better, the blisters and tears on his palms still bleeding from where the rope had cut into his skin as they made their perilous descent from the roof of the cathedral. He knew they needed shelter, warmth, food and rest and finding the farmhouse was a blessed relief. The farmer’s wife was only too glad to accept a silver coin in exchange for providing them with bed and board.
‘You’re very welcome. We don’t get a lot of pilgrims coming past. The Pilgrims’ Way is a bit south of us, you see. Are you just arriving or just leaving?’
Ruefully, Luc reflected that they qualified on both counts, but he replied cautiously. ‘We’re on our way to Portugal.’
The cheery lady showed them into a fine, large room and busied herself lighting the fire. ‘I’ll get my husband to show you the best way to get there.’ As the fire caught, and the flames began to lick up through the pile of kindling, she replaced the candle on the mantelpiece and withdrew.
‘I’ll have some nice hot food for you just as quickly as I can.’
They stood silently by the fire for some minutes, mentally and physically drained. Finally, wearily, Aimée managed a smile. ‘The warmth of a fire has never felt so good.’
‘Here, give me y
our cloak.’ He removed her cloak and his and hung them up to dry in front of the fire before turning back towards her. She looked so vulnerable, but so beautiful. He reached out his hand and ran it up the side of her face. She raised her hand and caught his, pressing his fingers tightly against her cheek. He moved closer, unable to stop himself. As the flames flickered and the firewood crackled, he leant towards her and they kissed. As they did so, he lost track of their surroundings. The events of that day might as well never have happened. The Shroud, their mission, everything disappeared from his head. All that counted was the two of them.
After a while he pulled back, looked into her face and saw that she was crying.
‘Aimée, what is it?’ He was suddenly concerned.
‘It’s nothing, Luc. It’s happiness, it’s joy, it’s all those things I thought I would never ever feel again.’ She wiped her tears against his chest. ‘When I was in that cold, lonely abbey, I thought the world had come to an end. Today, in the cathedral, it so nearly did. But now, here in this room, I couldn’t ask for more. Life has meaning again. I love you, Luc.’
He pressed his lips against her forehead and hugged her to his chest. ‘I love you, Aimée, and I’ll never leave you.’
And he never did.
Epilogue
If you visit the Romanesque gem that is the Church of Santa Maria do Olival in Tómar in Portugal today and have very good eyesight, you may be able to find a grey stone slab, worn smooth by the passage of feet over the centuries. Some of the inscription is now illegible, but the remaining letters that can be distinguished read as follows:
MC...CLVIII
HI... REQUIE.......NT
LU... ....CH...RN...
ET A.. M.....
CO.....UNX S...I
Latin scholars are generally agreed that the inscription translates as:
1358
HERE LIE
LU... ...CH...RN...
AND A...M......
HIS WIFE
It would appear that, 44 years after the events of this story, Luc and Aimée were still together.
Acknowledgements
With warmest thanks to Grahame Flynn at Devon in Sight and to Darren Walker (along with Jet, the handsome guide dog) for their help and input.
Thanks also to Tony Stevenson for sharing his Latin knowledge and to Diana Hogge, Elaine Brent, Kath McGurl and Ann Trump for being kind enough to read it for me and encourage me to seek a publisher.
Finally, my thanks to Michael Bhaskar at Canelo for believing in me and the book.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © 2017 by T.A. Williams
The moral right of T.A. Williams to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781911420910
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Look for more great books at www.canelo.co