Page 28 of Under a Spanish Sky

He reached for what turned out to be a thick oiled wool cloak, lined with silver fur. He wrapped it round her, and saw the look of gratitude on her face as she felt the thick fur against her skin. ‘Thank you, Brother Michael.’ Her voice was husky.

‘Bless you, my child. Bless both of you.’ The old man turned to Luc and asked in a businesslike fashion, ‘So, tell me now. What do you need from me?’

Luc’s answer came back immediately. ‘Food, drink and a hiding place. Somewhere we can remain undiscovered for at least a couple of days, until the hue and cry dies down.’

Brother Michael’s smile didn’t leave his face. ‘I know just the place.’

After waiting anxiously for the noise of footsteps in the corridor outside to subside, the old man opened the door.

When he was satisfied, he led the two of them back towards the main entrance.

Before they reached the hallway, they turned off into the refectory.

At the far end they saw a lighted doorway.

Steps led down to the kitchen where the pile of blazing logs in the fireplace cast enough light for them to make their way safely around the tables.

They tiptoed past the barrels and open sacks.

Luc cradled Aimée’s head so as to avoid the festoons of onions and garlic, cooking pots, sausages and hams, all hanging from the vaulted ceiling.

Aimée heard scurrying by her feet and she realised that the paws responsible for it were surely bigger than mice.

With a shiver, she pulled her cosy new cloak tighter round her and gripped Luc’s arm. Then they suddenly stopped.

Brother Michael caught Luc’s eye and pointed across towards the fireplace.

Slumped back on a grain sack was a young monk, his sleeves rolled up, his forearms still covered in flour and dough.

He was fast asleep. Although he looked as if nothing short of a peal of bells would wake him, they tiptoed past, trying not to make a sound. He didn’t stir.

They passed from the kitchen into a storeroom.

At the far end of the room, there was a hatch, set in the wall.

Michael went over and pulled it inwards.

It slid smoothly open on well-oiled hinges.

Cold air came rushing in. Luc realised this was an outside wall and the hatch the main rubbish shoot.

He leant out and peered around, dreading what he thought he might see. He was not disappointed.

The clouds had cleared and the moon had risen, bright in the sky clear, illuminating the scene he had feared.

The hatch opened onto a steeply sloping wooden ramp that stuck out from the sheer cliff face.

Down this, the monastery refuse would slide freely, before dropping vertically hundreds of feet to the rocks below.

He felt the familiar knotting of the stomach muscles that his fear of heights always produced.

Instinctively he clutched the sides of the hatch and stepped back.

‘That’s the way, my son.’

Brother Michael’s hand was pointing straight out of the opening. For a moment Luc found himself wondering if the old man had lost his reason. Their eyes met in the twilight and the old man chuckled.

‘Look up, Luc, not down.’

Hesitantly Luc leant out again and obeyed.

Above him a series of metal brackets were set into the cliff, leading up from the opening, but it was too dark to see where they led.

There seemed to be little more than bare cliff above them.

Once again he felt the dizziness of fear.

It took all his strength to speak normally when he ducked back into the kitchen.

‘Where do the steps lead?’

‘About twenty or thirty feet above us there’s a path.

’ Brother Michael could read the fear in Luc’s eyes, so he hastened to reassure him.

‘A good, wide path, Luc. It runs around the cliff for a few hundred feet before disappearing into the trees. About halfway along there’s a hermit’s cell.

It was part of the original monastery hundreds of years ago, before this building was constructed.

It’s dry and you’ll be comfortable there for as long as you want.

When you feel the time is ripe, you can walk round the path and make your escape. Will it do?’

‘It’ll have to do.’ Aimée’s voice held none of the fear that she knew Luc was feeling. ‘If it’s a choice between falling off a cliff, or being mutilated by the archbishop and his soldiers, I’ll take my chances with the cliff any day. Right, Luc?’ She raised her face towards him.

Put in those terms, there was no doubt about it.

Since childhood Luc had suffered from acute vertigo.

Through adolescence he had hoped it would improve but, if anything, it had got worse.

He remembered his early years in the Order, moving from castle to castle in the deserts of the Holy Land.

Many times he had been more afraid of the view downwards from the battlements than the hail of arrows launched towards them by the enemy hordes.

Aimée’s hand tightened on his arm. ‘Don’t worry, Luc, I’ll go first.’ Her voice was quiet, but quite level. ‘If I can do it, anybody can.’

She pressed her head against the side of his chest. Her face turned up towards him, the flickering of the fire highlighting her cheekbones. He pulled himself together.

‘You’re right. It’s the only way. I’ll go first, don’t worry, but before that I need a few bits and pieces.

’ He roused himself and set off round the storeroom and kitchen, searching carefully in all the drawers, until he found the cutlery drawer.

Gently, so as not to wake the sleeping baker, he sifted through the different knives until he found what he wanted: a replacement for his lost dagger.

He pulled out a vicious carving knife with a bone handle.

Its blade was honed almost crescent-shaped by years of sharpening.

The firelight flickered on the blue steel as he felt the edge appreciatively.

Turning back towards the others, he tucked it out of sight into the sheath in the fold of his sleeve, where it lay snugly.

‘Here, Luc, take this bread, cheese and sausage. Enough to last me a week or two, but surely enough to last even a big man like you a few days.’ The old man’s eyes shone out at him from the shadows. Luc gripped him warmly by the shoulders.

‘Brother Michael, you’re a good man.’ He meant it. ‘When all this is over, I’ll come back to thank you properly.’

‘It will never be over, Luc.’ There was deep sadness in the old man’s tone.

‘It can never be like it was again. The forces of the Antichrist have triumphed and there’s no going back.

Before you or any other Templars have the right to return, I’ll be long dead.

Make yourself a new life far away from here, Luc.

Make good your escape, deliver your most precious of cargoes.

Then spend the rest of your life in safety and peace, far away from your oppressors.

And make sure you take good care of this courageous and beautiful lady.

’ His voice broke, and he wiped his face on his sleeve.

‘Did you say beautiful?’ The mischief in Aimée’s voice snapped both of them out of their melancholy, and spurred Luc into action.

He shouldered the bag of food, along with a wineskin and a couple of gourds full of water.

He kissed Brother Michael on the cheeks and then forced himself to lean out of the opening.

He stood there for a few moments, one hand still firmly gripping the window frame, his wounded shoulder throbbing.

The cold night air drifted gently up the cliff face and brushed his face.

It brought with it the smell of the forest, so many hundreds of feet below them.

A wave of sickness swept over him. It took all his determination to reach upwards with one hand, until he made contact with the first of the iron steps.

At least it felt solid. He kept a tight hold on it as he ducked his head back into the kitchen.

‘Till we meet again, Michael.’

‘Not in this life, Luc. Of that I’m sure. But I know we’ll meet again in the house of our Father. Look after this lady, look after yourself and may God’s blessing be upon you.’

Aimée hugged him tightly, and then they were off.

It probably took less than a minute to climb to the top of the iron steps, and another two or three minutes at most from there to the cave, but to Luc it seemed like eternity.

He clutched the rungs of the ladder so tightly as he climbed up that his fingernails drew blood from the palms of his hands.

When he reached the path, he made his way along it on his hands and knees, crawling along like a man possessed, which in a way he was.

He even went straight past the narrow entrance to the hermit’s cell without noticing it.

It was Aimée’s low call that stopped him in his tracks.

‘It’s here, Luc. Back here, I’ve found the entrance to the cave.

’ Her voice became more indistinct as she disappeared inside the opening.

He shuffled backwards along the ledge, terrified of trying to turn on the narrow path, until he heard her voice beside him.

He opened his eyes enough to be able to make out the dark opening in the sheer cliff face.

For the first time, he realised that his eyes had been clenched tightly shut throughout the whole climb.

‘In here, Luc.’

He saw her in the shadows and crept across to her.

She reached out and caught him in her arms, pulling him to her side and, this time, it was she who comforted him as one would a child.

Slowly, gradually, he regained control. He opened his eyes and looked around the cave curiously.

The moonlight was filtering in through the doorway.

As his eyes got used to it, he found he could see reasonably clearly.

The first thing he saw was a crucifix on the wall by his head.

Turning towards it, he murmured a prayer of gratitude to the Almighty, for saving them from the very jaws of death.

Aimée joined him in the Lord’s Prayer. Afterwards, she fell silent, grateful for their deliverance, and thankful they were back together.

He remained kneeling, facing the crucifix.

She could hear him murmuring as he prayed.

It was strange for her to hear him reciting the prayers like a priest, and she had to bear in mind that he was a member of a monastic order.

Once again she felt almost improper snuggled up against him.

‘Aimée.’ His voice was low and tired. Suddenly she realised how tired she, too, was feeling.

‘There’s a bunk over against the wall. You should go and lie down.

There’s good dry straw on the floor beside it, where I can sleep quite comfortably.

’ She heard his hands feeling around the cell.

He reached into the far corner and pulled out a dusty sack.

‘Unless I’m mistaken, these are blankets.

’ From it, he produced three crumpled, but still serviceable, woollen blankets.

Maybe the mice and rats didn’t get up here.

‘Here, take these blankets and cover yourself. If you’re as tired as I feel, you’ll probably sleep until sundown.’ He, too, felt exhausted.

‘Will you be beside me?’ she asked hesitantly, her hand gripping his, in spite of her feeling of impropriety.

‘Right beside you. Now go and sleep.’ His voice was kind and caring, like a parent to a child.

She released her hold on him. The narrow bed was quite unexpectedly comfortable.

Wrapping herself in the wonderful new fur-lined cloak, she lay back on the soft straw.

She heard him moving about. There was the smell of cheese as he pulled the bag off his shoulders.

Then the events of the last few hours finally caught up with her and she fell into a deep and well-earned sleep.