Page 46 of Under a Spanish Sky

It was early evening and the sun had long since disappeared behind the hills that encircled the town.

It would soon be dark enough for them to risk an approach.

Both of them were tired after a relentless series of wearying marches and Aimée had developed a persistent hacking cough over the past few days in the high mountains as they climbed up and over the Monte Irago Pass.

It was terribly exposed and windswept up there and Aimée had been exhausted by the time they reached the summit, and Luc little better.

Although the road was clear, drifts of snow still filled the ditches, and it was freezing cold.

As they began the long descent, the rain started.

The next day, the fever struck her and Luc realised that she needed shelter and rest, very urgently.

He uttered heartfelt prayers that the castle at Ponferrada would still have friendly faces waiting for them.

Now, finally, they were in Ponferrada. At long last, the castle was within reach.

Luc was pinning his hopes on what the abbot of Santa Cristina had told him as he passed on his leather cloak to Luc.

The first thing to do was to establish whether or not the Templars were still there.

Aimée was lying stretched out beside him in the sodden heather, wrapped in her fur-lined cloak.

She was half asleep, regularly wracked by violent coughing fits.

He stole a worried glance across at her, before concentrating his attention on the castle, barely visible in the twilight as dusk fell.

It was set in a dominating position, partway up the hillside overlooking the river.

It was massive, and reminded him of the enormous crusader castles that had sheltered him in the Holy Land.

There were two lines of defensive walls, both crowned by battlements and walkways for the defending troops.

A massive stone keep, quite literally a castle within a castle, rose up at the highest point.

Such a fortress would be virtually impossible to storm.

His hopes rose that he might indeed find other remnants of the Order inside.

There was another painful bout of coughing from the little figure beside him and he realised that time was not on their side. If she didn’t get into the warm soon, he could see her condition deteriorating more and more. He reached down and laid his hand on her hair.

‘It’s time for me to go and look for our friends.’ His voice was deliberately more confident than he felt. She wasn’t fooled.

‘Have you seen any signs of Templars?’ Her voice was a croak.

‘No.’ He answered cautiously. ‘But I haven’t seen any signs of the enemy either.

In fact it looks pretty dead. What I’m hoping is that there’s a rearguard of Templars left behind.

Hopefully, the main garrison escaped to safety, maybe to Portugal where we’re supposed to be heading.

’ He stroked her hair as she broke down into a fit of coughing once more, her whole body shaken by the force of the attack.

Finally she rallied enough to be able to murmur:

‘Take care, Luc. They may be waiting for you. Please God you may succeed.’

‘Amen,’ he murmured in his turn and added quietly, ‘Don’t move from here. Stay wrapped up and try to keep warm. I’ll be back shortly.’

He bent and kissed her on the forehead. Then he straightened up and started to make his way down the hill.

Aimée curled herself up as tightly as she could into her cloak and did her best not to give way to the shivers that threatened to engulf her.

What if he was intercepted and captured?

Could it be that he had just walked out of her life forever?

Would he find what he was seeking and would he be able to find her again when he came back?

She bit her lip to hold back not only the shivering but also the tears that were oh so close to flowing.

The sky was overcast and there were neither stars nor moon to light his way.

His progress was hesitant. Every now and then he stopped to check his bearings back up the hill towards the spot where he had left her.

He was all too aware of how easy it would be to miss her in the darkness.

The wind was icy and he wrapped his leather cloak tightly around his shoulders, hoping that she would be warm enough until his return.

The huge bulk of the castle loomed closer and he smelt the burning tar of torches at the gate.

He crept closer and closer until he was less than fifty paces from the heavily fortified entrance.

He sank down behind a rock and searched the shadows for any signs of life.

He looked for any clue as to the present occupants of the castle. Nothing moved.

He looked down the hillside and saw a series of low-roofed houses just above the riverbank.

From the end one he could just make out a flickering light.

Silently, he slipped away from his boulder and down towards that light.

Approaching the house, he saw that it was candlelight, escaping through a broken shutter.

He crept to the window, easing himself up until he could look inside.

At first he could distinguish little, apart from a fire burning brightly in an open fireplace directly across the room from him.

Then he saw a slight movement. He realised that someone was sitting directly in front of the fire, shoulders to the window.

It was impossible to see whether this was a man or a woman or, indeed, whether there was anyone else in the room, outside his field of vision.

He crouched down and thought hard. The darkness around him was total, his night vision temporarily ruined by the candlelight.

It was probably this as much as anything that made his mind up for him.

He reached out, slipped his hand through the broken plank and was pleased to feel the wooden bar that held the shutters together.

With a jerk he wrenched it out of its brackets and pulled the shutter outwards towards him.

He sprang up and leapt into the room feet first, his knife in his hand.

Pulling the shutter closed behind him to protect his back, he straightened up.

The figure in the chair started to move, but slowly, terribly slowly.

Luc stepped forward, the flames of the fire reflecting off the vicious blade in his right hand.

He was barely a few feet from the back of the chair.

He knew that he could slit the other’s throat without difficulty if it came to it.

The candlelight struck the side of the face that turned towards him and he stopped in his tracks.

The face before him was that of a woman.

More than that, it was the face of an old woman, her hair white as snow.

Her cheeks were deeply wrinkled, and her skin looked like dry parchment.

He lowered the point of the knife so as not to terrify her any further.

Then she spoke, and the surprise was his.

‘Luc? Luc? It is you, isn’t it?’ Her voice was stronger than her outward appearance. He was stunned. ‘Come here into the light and let me see you again. Come.’

She held out her hands towards him. He felt himself drawn irresistibly across the room to the fireside.

‘God be praised. It is you.’ Her voice was awestruck.

‘You did it. You managed to get here. May the Lord God Almighty bless you and keep you, for you are our salvation.’ As she spoke, the memories came rushing back.

He saw her face, this same face, refined and elegant, framed by the branches of an olive tree, the burning sun of Cyprus casting a moving pattern of light and shade across her.

And alongside was her brother, Theobald Gaudin, the previous Grand Master of the Order.

Luc sank to his knees, slid the knife out of sight up his sleeve and prayed aloud, the words of the ‘Gloria in Excelsis’ coming spontaneously to his lips.

‘Glory be to God on high…’ As he recited the words, she joined in and they both crossed themselves thankfully.

Finally he opened his eyes and saw her holding out her hands to him.

He knelt before her and let her encircle his shoulders with her arms. She didn’t rise.

From the walking stick beside her chair, he could see that this would be difficult for her.

He stood up again, warmed by the fire and heartened by her unexpected presence. His joy was short-lived.

‘They’ve all left, Luc.’

He felt he had been slapped across the face. His hopes, so wonderfully raised, were now suddenly dashed. He sat down heavily on a stool by the fireside.

‘My Lady Alice, would you tell me all you know, please?’

‘The whole garrison left the castle some months ago. Now it’s nominally in the hands of the King of León, but in fact there’s nobody left, apart from half a dozen caretakers.

Those who could headed west towards Santiago de Compostela.

From there they hoped to continue down the coast into Portugal.

Those who were too old, or too sick, entrusted themselves to the king’s men.

’ Her tone soured. ‘In consequence they’re now rotting in the dungeons of León. ’

‘And you, my lady? Did you not wish to follow the others to Portugal?’

‘As you know, my dear brother died more than twenty years ago. I was deemed a harmless old cripple, so they left me alone.’ In spite of her words, there was a twinkle in her eye.

Luc knew that she had enjoyed a privileged position as confidante to many of the leaders of the Order. This included the last Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, and Luc’s own brother, Geoffroi de Charny. Evidently, by virtue of this, she had been chosen to await his arrival.

‘So what do I do now?’ Luc’s voice was low, as was his morale. ‘Come to think of it, how could you be sure that I would happen upon you like this?’