Page 49 of Under a Spanish Sky

Luc slept all night and well into the next morning.

In the little house, with the shutters closed and the fire glowing brightly, it was true luxury to relax and enjoy the rare combination of warmth, comfort and less than the usual degree of wariness.

He was vaguely conscious of the old lady moving around, piling wood on the fire, turning their clothes and preparing hot drinks.

When he finally awoke, he realised that the hot drinks had been for Aimée.

She was lying on the soft mattress, swathed in blankets, in spite of the heat of the fire.

She was still looking terribly pale. When Lady Alice saw him stir, she pushed open one of the shutters, flooding the room with unexpectedly bright light from a cloudless sky and sparkling sun.

Aimée looked even sicker in the daylight.

He moved across to her bedside, crouching down beside her and reaching for her hand.

Her eyelids fluttered, but she gave no other sign of life.

He threw a questioning glance over his shoulder to the old lady, who stood back watching them both. In reply she shrugged.

‘She’s in the hands of the Almighty.’ She kept her voice low.

‘She was chilled to the bone when you brought her in last night. She should have warmed up by now, but she’s still as cold as death.

’ Luc shivered at her choice of words, raised his eyes to the heavens, and prayed for Aimée’s recovery.

He prayed as fervently as he had ever prayed for anything in his life, hands tightly clutched together, beseeching the Lord to help her.

Finally he tucked her hand back under the blankets and stood up.

‘Here. You must look after yourself as well, Luc.’ The old lady thrust a bowl of warm milk into his hands. ‘Drink this. I’ll bring you food. Regain your strength; you’ll need it. For both of you.’

He did as he was bidden and then slipped cautiously out of the back door to the latrines.

He washed the sleep out of his eyes with icy water from a wooden bucket and looked around.

The back of the cottage was only a short distance from the river.

The river was in spate, and the water was rushing past with a powerful roar.

The rain of the previous night, coupled with the last of the melting snow from the mountains, had swelled the level to within a few feet of the top of the bank.

It was a crystal-clear day and the sky was a deep blue.

The sun was warm on his back, although the air was still chill.

The house prevented him from seeing the castle, which he knew stood a few hundred paces above him.

He wondered where the Master of the castle was now.

This made him think of the abbot of Santa Cristina and his leather cloak.

The expression of awe and reverence with which the old lady had handled it came back to him.

What was so special about the cloak? He turned urgently back into the house, looking for Lady Alice.

She was sitting on one of the wooden benches alongside the kitchen table.

Her walking stick was propped against the wall beside her.

His cloak lay, neatly folded, on the polished wood before her.

‘Is there something special about the cloak?’ His pulse beat faster as she nodded.

‘What is it?’ He could barely keep his impatience under control. His voice faltered. He watched her reach out and start to open the cloak on the tabletop. Her movements were formal and deliberate, almost as if she were completing a ceremony of some kind.

He watched her spread the cloak out, leather side down.

She reached for a sharp kitchen knife and ran it up the seam where the lining, now crumpled and soiled after his journey, was attached to the strong hide.

She pulled the lining away from the leather and then ran the knife down the other sides.

Reaching down, she removed the dirty fabric completely, revealing the folded layers of cloth that served as insulation.

Delicately, she separated the layers and, from among them, pulled out a piece of material.

With movements ever more respectful, she began to unfold it.

There, before his eyes, materialised the Holy Shroud of the Lord Jesus Christ.

He knew of the Shroud. It had been in their family for generations, before being passed over to the Order.

All senior Templar knights knew its significance.

He had, however, only ever seen the ornate reliquary, in the shape of a head, in which it was kept.

There were those who said that sight of it could kill or worse and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

He had never seen or handled it, let alone thought he would ever wear it upon his shoulders.

He knelt and kissed the edge of the material.

The cloth was long, at least twice his height, and the width of the table.

In spite of the long journey, it seemed miraculously smooth and uncreased.

The image of the crucified Christ stood out clearly before them.

As Luc’s eyes made contact with the face of his Lord, he felt an awesome terror descend upon him and he found himself shielding his eyes from the image.

He felt humble and insignificant, overcome by the thought that he had worn the image of Jesus Christ himself, upon his unworthy shoulders.

He felt he had defiled it. A sense of shame invaded him.

‘Forgive me, Lord. I didn’t know…’ His voice was a terrified whisper. ‘I’m unworthy to even touch this most holy of objects, and yet…’ And yet he had worn it, slept in it. God help him, he had even worn it when he used the latrines. He was overwhelmed.

‘What you did was the most wonderful thing anybody could have done, Luc. You carried our Lord on your back from a place of danger to a place of safety. You are indeed blessed.’ He was startled by the old lady’s voice.

For a moment, it seemed that the man whose pain-racked image lay before him was speaking.

He crossed himself and shook his head incredulously, still unable to accept the magnitude of what had happened.

He had carried his Lord on his back. He shivered, in spite of the blazing fire.

‘The abbot made no mention of the Shroud when he gave me the cloak. I could have left it somewhere or given it away. And then this most precious of things would have been lost.’

‘But you didn’t lose it. You honoured his request that you return it to Ponferrada, just as we all knew you would.’

‘We all knew?’ He stared at her. ‘You and others knew he would pass this on to me?’

‘Luc, the Shroud is the most precious relic in the whole world. Before the arrests started, seven years ago, steps were taken to ensure the safety of our treasure. There are those who only think of material treasure: gold, silver, jewels. For us, some things are worth much, much more. The Shroud was sent to the safest place we could imagine, as far away from King Philip as possible. We sent it for safekeeping to the far mountains, to the abbey of Santa Cristina. When first Bertrand, and then you, were sent there, instructions were given.’

She could see that he was struggling to comprehend what had happened.

‘Here, Luc, help me.’ Her voice was strong once more. ‘We’ll fold the Shroud and I’ll hide it among my linen in this chest. In that way I’ll be able to take it to Tómar in Portugal without hindrance.’

He looked up as he heard and recognised the name. ‘Tómar? I, too, am bound for Tómar. Can’t we travel together?’

‘I’m afraid I must refuse your kind offer of companionship.

I’m instructed to travel separately from you.

I will travel down to Tómar by a circuitous route, heading back east and then dropping down into the lands of the Moors.

’ In answer to something in his eyes, she smiled.

‘I’m an old woman; a harmless old woman. I have no fear of attack.’

‘So, if you’re heading east, which way do I go?’

‘Your mission is complete, Luc. Safety awaits you in Portugal. You must go west.’ She spoke firmly. ‘You go west to Compostela and beyond. From there, you continue to the coast of the great sea. When you reach the coast, you turn south into Portugal and join me, and the others, in Tómar.’

He sat back, digesting what he had heard. Lady Alice didn’t give him time to think. ‘Come, help me. It’s time the Shroud was hidden away from prying eyes.’

Together they folded it. The old lady lifted it gently and limped across to the solid wooden chest, open on the floor.

Luc watched as she placed the priceless relic amid a pile of folded sheets and then added more linen on top of it, until the chest was full.

Lady Alice crossed herself before lowering the domed lid on the chest. She slid a heavy metal padlock into place on the outside.

She turned the key and then slipped it onto a chain around her neck.

‘I will leave later today.’ He looked up in surprise, but a gesture from her silenced him.

‘A carriage is coming to collect me. When your friend is well, you will join us in Tómar. But be careful if you decide to cut south direct from here. That will take you through mountains, away from the Pilgrims’ Way, and there you will find all manner of vicious bandits.

Better to follow the route west from here through Compostela and beyond. ’

He nodded.

‘Besides, you both deserve to experience the splendour of Santiago de Compostela. I must give you one word of warning, though. It is my understanding that a group of horsemen came through here less than a week ago. One of the castle caretakers told me. I am reliably informed that they were sent by that snake, the Archbishop of Sens.’