Page 37 of Under a Spanish Sky

Friar Laurent’s group reached Logrono late in the afternoon.

They were all tired, the stonemason in particular.

He was being chivvied along by the rest of the group but, even so, he was a long way behind.

Luc, Aimée and the friar, on the other hand, had deliberately pushed on ahead.

It had been the hottest day so far and there had been precious little shade.

The town looked very welcoming, spread out along the south bank of the vast Ebro river.

As the setting sun dropped to the horizon, the smooth water of the river turned blood red.

Luc took another cautious look around and prayed that this was not an omen.

‘The bridge is only a few hundred paces from us now.’ They had been told about the famous Puente de Piedra, the only bridge for many a long mile in either direction.

From the shelter of a bank of reeds, they could clearly see knots of men at arms on either end of the bridge.

Even without Laurent’s warning, Luc would have realised that this was the perfect place to lay, and then spring, a trap.

The river was wider even than the Seine at Paris and the magnificent bridge was composed of no fewer than eight massive arches.

Although Luc could swim, Aimée could not.

But, even if she had been able to, it was a still very, very long way to the other side.

‘Aimée and I will leave you here, Laurent. You’re right; it’s pretty clear the soldiers are checking everybody as they cross the bridge.

We’ll find another way and, once we’re over, we’ll avoid Logrono completely.

We’ll hope to meet you in Navarrete the day after tomorrow.

’ They had discussed the best course of action the previous night.

If all went well, they would stay on the north bank and follow the river westwards until they found a quieter crossing point.

‘If we’re late, don’t worry about us. You carry on, and we’ll meet in Compostela. ’

‘God protect you both.’ Laurent reached across and traced the sign of the cross on Aimée’s forehead.

‘Thank you for all your kindness.’ Aimée reached out and gripped his arm. ‘If there were more like you in the Church, the world would be a better place.’

‘God bless you, Aimée. Now you’d better hide. The rest of the group will be coming round the corner behind us any minute. Godspeed.’

Luc led Aimée away from the road, down into a small copse of trees. From there, they waited and watched the others pass by and onto the bridge.

‘I hope we see them again.’ Aimée kept her voice low. ‘Beatrice has been such a good friend to me in the short time that I’ve known her.’

‘I’m sure we will. Now, come on and let’s head west. Once we’re out of sight of the city, we can look for a place to stay.’

‘Have you still got money to pay for an inn?’ Aimée had realised months ago that she had no money at all. Luc took her arm and led her back onto the track and across it, onto a smaller path that ran alongside the river.

‘Money?’ She heard him laugh. ‘That’s the least of our problems. They sewed so many pieces of silver into my breeches and waistcoat that I’d probably sink if I ended up in the water. No, money certainly isn’t a problem.’

In fact, the next two days turned out to be very pleasant.

They found accommodation for the next two nights in wayside inns in reassuringly quiet little villages well off the Pilgrims’ Way, far from the eyes of the archbishop’s men.

The only rather unsettling thing, at least as far as Luc was concerned, was that on both occasions they were provided with their own room and, in both cases, only one bed.

As had happened up in the Pyrenees, Luc had woken early to find the warm, soft body of Aimée draped across him.

Now, however, in spite of his scruples, he hadn’t made any attempt to extricate himself.

For Aimée, being able to share a bed with him had been a source of considerable pleasure and an equal amount of frustration.

She was ever conscious that he was a monk and the vows he had taken meant that relations between them had to remain pure and chaste.

Each night, she did her best to stay away from him as she drifted off to sleep, but each morning she found herself clinging to him as if her life depended upon it.

The conflicting emotions this aroused in her occupied her mind for most of the day and, from the silence coming from him, she got the impression that he might be harbouring similar thoughts.

Rejoining Friar Laurent’s group the next night and once more sleeping in a crowded room came as both a disappointment and a relief.

Beatrice was delighted to see Aimée again and was quick to take charge of her, leading her off to the dormitory, while Luc sat down at table alongside Laurent and stretched his back.

‘Wine?’ Friar Laurent pushed a mug of wine across the table to him. Luc took it and drained it. As Laurent leant over to give him a refill, he lowered his voice and asked: ‘How did it go?’

Equally quietly, Luc gave him a brief account of their journey along the north bank of the Ebro. Then he took another mouthful and leant back. ‘So, Laurent, were there really soldiers waiting for us there?’

The monk nodded. ‘Yes, but not Spaniards. Remember, we’re no longer in the Kingdom of Navarre, so the locals bear no allegiance to the French king. But there were several dozen French soldiers and, in their midst, an archbishop, no less.’

Luc caught the attention of a serving girl and ordered soup for Aimée and meat for himself. This news did little to improve his appetite. He looked back at Laurent and shook his head wearily.

‘They don’t give up so easily, do they?’

‘Why do they want you so badly, Luc? Surely it isn’t normal for troops to follow a fugitive all this way from one country to another? And in the company of an archbishop?’ Luc could hear from his tone that the friar was seriously worried.

‘I’ve no idea, Laurent. Maybe it’s because of my rank.’ Luc had never told him anything about himself before, but now it made little difference. ‘My brother, Geoffroi de Charny, died at the stake alongside Jacques de Molay. I suppose my capture would be a feather in the archbishop’s cap.’

Laurent looked up, a half-smile of recognition on his face. Luc spoke hastily, his voice a low whisper. ‘Don’t ever mention that name, Laurent. I’m just Luc. All right?’

The monk nodded. ‘I knew you weren’t just anybody. So I’ve been travelling with a celebrity, have I?’

‘Please keep that to yourself, Laurent. I would imagine that the price on my head would keep any one of these pilgrims happy till the end of his days.’ He knew he was taking a chance revealing his identity.

Nevertheless, it was better if the friar thought his pursuers were after him for himself, rather than for what he might be carrying.

If, indeed, he really was carrying something precious.

He found himself wondering yet again how on earth he could have something without realising it.

‘Here you are, sir. Chicken soup and a plate of stewed beef.’ The serving girl leant across him and deposited the food on the table. He gave her a silver coin and received a handful of copper in change.

‘Save my seat, Laurent, will you? I’ll just take the soup to Aimée.

’ He carried the bowl through to the next room.

It was a long, vaulted barn of a room, with bunks and mattresses scattered across the floor.

Half were already occupied. He saw Aimée, Beatrice and her daughter in one corner.

Stepping carefully, he made his way across to them.

‘Here, Aimée, I’ve brought you something to eat.’ She was looking comfortable and relaxed, sitting on a bench as she waited to be allocated a mattress. The other two made room for him beside her.

‘I’m not really very hungry, Luc.’ They had been eating well over the past two days.

‘I thought you might say that so I just got you some soup. It’ll do you good.’ She gave him a smile and he handed the bowl down to her. ‘Is there anything else you need?’

She stretched out her hand. ‘No, thank you, Luc. With Beatrice and Jeanne looking after me as well as you, not even the Queen of France could be better cared for. You must be starving. Go and eat. All I ask is to have you beside me when you come back here to sleep.’

He squeezed her hand and left her with the ladies.

The beef was hot and tasty. As he ate his way through it, the friar outlined their plans for the next days.

By this time they had realised that it was easy to get news of the route ahead by swapping experiences with pilgrims who had already completed their pilgrimages and were coming back in the opposite direction.

‘Tomorrow’s an easy day. We should be in Nájera by midday.’ Friar Laurent sounded glad. He and all of his group were feeling the strain after weeks on the road. ‘And if anybody’s feeling a bit under the weather, we’ll be heading on from there to Santo Domingo de la Calzada.’

Luc had already heard of that town. Many pilgrims had spoken about it and he knew it was the site of a famous pilgrims’ hospital.

‘I’m sure we’ll all welcome an easy stage for a change.

We’ve done a lot of walking.’ He finished the last piece of meat and mopped up the gravy with his bread.

‘I think I’m going to turn in now. I just hope that the archbishop and his men spend the next month in Logrono, waiting in vain for us to pass. ’

‘If I hear anything, I’ll tell you. You can depend on me, Luc.’

At that moment, the door opened and a last pilgrim pushed his way in. He was carrying a heavy pack and he looked tired. Luc stood up from the table and pointed to the place where he had been sitting.

‘Here, there’s a seat if you want it.’

The man shrugged off his pack and gave a sigh of relief.

‘That’s very good of you. I’m worn out.’

‘I recommend the stewed beef.’ Luc clapped the newcomer on the shoulder, picked up his own bag, and made his way through to Aimée.

At first he couldn’t find her and he looked round in some alarm. Had the archbishop’s men sneaked her away while he was eating? Then, mercifully, he saw Beatrice waving, beckoning him over.

‘I’ll take you to your room, Luc.’ He looked up in surprise. Private rooms were not normally found in pilgrim hostels. Beatrice smiled. ‘Looks like you’re the lucky ones tonight. You’re through here. Come on, I’ll show you.’

She led him to the other side of the room, weaving in and out among the bunks and palliasses before stopping at a low doorway and waving him inside.

It was a good, clean room with two comfortable-looking beds, side by side.

Aimée was already in one of the beds, a candle lantern hanging from the ceiling.

Beatrice caught his arm and whispered, ‘If you need anything, you know where to find me.’

‘Thanks so much, Beatrice.’ She turned and left.

He sat down on his bed and pulled off his boots. Then he removed his jacket, blew out the candle and stretched out on the bed alongside Aimée. He reached across and took her hand. She didn’t stir.

Luc found it hard to get to sleep. At first he wondered if it might be the stew, but he didn’t feel any digestive problems. As he tossed and turned, he gradually realised what was stopping him sleeping.

It was his mind. Thoughts kept sweeping through his head.

And what these thoughts kept telling him was that there was something wrong.

He couldn’t put a finger on it, but something wasn’t right.

Always one to trust his instincts, he slipped out of bed and padded across to the door.

Gripping his knife in one hand, he used the other to ease the door open.

The big dormitory was peaceful, if you ignored the snoring.

The snores of the stonemason were unmistakable; Luc had heard quieter battle cries in the Holy Land.

Nevertheless, the pilgrims all around were fast asleep, the fatigue of their daily march rendering them immune to interruptions.

A single lantern gave just enough light for him to see around the room and he noticed nothing untoward.

He closed the door once more. This time he wedged a chair against it.

He took the other chair and placed it against the wall, below the high window.

Climbing up, he was able to see out. He found himself looking into the yard of the hostel, where two or three dogs were also fast asleep in the moonlight, tethered to rings set in the walls.

This, more than anything else, reassured him.

The dogs would be woken if anybody came into the yard and their barking would be sure to wake him.

He returned to bed and finally managed to drift off.