Page 52 of Under a Spanish Sky

The golden city was steel grey as Luc led Aimée on the final leg of the pilgrimage.

The steady rain, which had accompanied them for the last three days, hadn’t let up.

They had gradually descended from the gorse and heather of the mountains to the jumble of smaller hills around Santiago de Compostela itself.

The sky was gloomy and overcast from misty horizon to misty horizon.

The roads ran with water, the gutters and ditches overflowed.

The city was barely discernible through the rain.

But, in spite of the conditions, there was an air of excitement, anticipation and elation.

Luc and Aimée stood with a hundred or so others on top of the Monte del Gozo, staring for the first time at their goal.

Some around them were in tears, some laughing, some skipping about like infants, others kneeling, some totally prostrate in their joy.

They had stopped in Labacolla earlier that morning.

Along with all the other pilgrims, they had leapt into the icy river water.

In the previous village, Luc had bought fresh clothes for them both.

He had helped her to strip off the old, travel-soiled dress and shift and immerse herself totally in the river.

He hadn’t remarked upon her nakedness and, in the midst of all the others, it had seemed quite natural.

He had stripped in his turn, quite unselfconsciously.

Around them, pilgrims of all complexions had been dancing naked and splashing with noisy glee.

They had all been cleansing themselves in homage to the Apostle James, whose tomb was now finally within reach.

Refreshed and restored by the cold water, they had dressed impatiently, infected with the same enthusiasm that had struck their companions.

On top of his new clothes, Luc had replaced his leather waistcoat, still heavy with more than enough silver coins to get them safely to their destination in Portugal.

For the pilgrims, this marked the end of a long and arduous journey, often filled with danger and grief.

The fact that, for most of them, the whole exhausting route would restart in a few days’ time, as they turned back and headed for home, was ignored for the moment. Now there was only joy and expectation.

From the top of the Monte del Gozo they could just make out the towers of the cathedral. He did his best to describe the scene to her.

‘The cathedral’s immense. The towers rise up far, far into the sky.

’ She gripped his arm tightly, infected by the enthusiasm of those around them.

‘There are spires and towers all over the city. I’ve never seen anywhere like it.

Jerusalem and Rome have many, many churches and monuments, but you don’t get so many in such a small space as you do here. ’

In spite of the increasingly heavy rain, Santiago de Compostela still looked welcoming.

Luc held Aimée to one side as the people around them started to charge down the hill.

Some took off their boots, so as to do homage to the Apostle by arriving barefoot.

Others undertook this final leg of their journey on their hands and knees, as a further sign of adoration and reverence.

Once the bulk of the crowd had gone, Luc took Aimée’s arm and they started to walk down together.

They kept their hoods pulled over their heads.

This was partly for shelter from the incessant downpour, and partly to minimise the risk of discovery, if their enemies were lying in wait.

‘You know, Aimée, it’s actually a good thing it’s raining.

The chances of being spotted are pretty slim.

First, it’s unlikely anybody will be out looking for us on a day like this.

Second, with our heads covered, we should be anonymous.

’ He hoped he was right. They had seen no trace of the archbishop’s men for a long time now. Maybe they really had given up.

As they drew nearer, the city of Saint James was revealed in all its glory as a succession of spectacular buildings emerged from the gloom.

Nobody could fail to be impressed. Like all the others, Luc and Aimée headed straight for the cathedral itself.

They found themselves in the midst of a sea of humanity and he had to fight his way through a mass of vendors, offering all manner of souvenirs. Finally they entered the city.

Inside the city gates it was, if anything, even more crowded.

As well as innkeepers and their touts, there were moneychangers and more vendors.

There were people selling everything from fresh fish to pieces of the true cross.

There were jugglers, minstrels, dancers and even prostitutes plying for trade, although it was barely lunchtime.

Certainly a pilgrim with money would want for nothing here in Santiago.

Luc helped Aimée through the noisy throng, his wallet safely tucked into the waistband of his breeches.

He was delighted at the obvious chaos and confusion.

All the better to help them avoid detection.

Finally they emerged from the narrow streets into a wide square, paved with huge slabs of marble.

The crowd thinned as the pilgrims spread out across the broad expanse, all eyes in one direction: the cathedral.

Walls of golden stone, towers reaching up to the sky, a mass of sculpture and, in the middle of the base, the most wonderful of all, the Pórtico de la Gloria.

Luc led her across towards it, threading his way through the clusters of awestruck pilgrims. There were crowds just standing in solemn contemplation of more beauty than any of them had ever seen in all their lives.

The columns and capitals of the entrance porch were lavishly carved.

Struggling through the crowds, he led her first to the central column.

‘Here we are. We’ve done it.’ She could hear the animation in his voice. ‘We’re here at the Pórtico de la Gloria. This is the Tree of Jesse. Do you know what you’ve got to do?’

She reached out confidently. Her hands landed on the sculpted marble depicting Christ’s family tree and felt gently up from Jesse at the base, across David and Solomon and up towards Christ himself.

The Apostle James smiled down benignly at every pilgrim who entered.

Back down again she found the spot and pressed her right hand against the column, each finger slipping into a depression made by the millions of hands that had pressed upon this selfsame spot in gratitude for having been allowed to complete their pilgrimage.

She turned back towards Luc and breathed. ‘Now you.’

Solemnly, he placed his hand against the smooth stone and closed his eyes, mouthing a silent prayer of thanks.

The sudden arrival of a noisy group of Germans interrupted him and pushed them on through the doorway into the cathedral itself.

This was another awe-inspiring sight. The central aisle stretched out before them, the roof so very high above them, seemingly floating on majestic golden pillars of stone.

Just below the roof, a gallery led round the whole building, a few tiny figures visible high above them.

Far down at the end of the aisle stood the altar and the sepulchre of Saint James.

These were almost invisible behind the mass of pilgrims packing the cathedral.

The noise made by the crowds of people in the cathedral was deafening, especially for somebody who had grown used to the silence of the monastery and the quiet of the open road.

There were voices of men, women and children of all ages, and from all parts of the world.

All of them were exclaiming and shouting as they admired the magnificence of the interior.

Aimée reached out and let her free hand run across the smooth rounded stone of a pillar. Its size and strength, reaching up to the heavens, took her breath away. She tightened her grip on Luc’s arm and asked, ‘Where’s the Apostle’s tomb?’

He turned her head slightly to the right and spoke directly into her ear. ‘Down there.’

‘Can we go?’ She was keen, as he was, to reach the true end of the pilgrimage.

He looked down at her and marvelled at her strength and determination, as well as her beauty.

She was truly a woman among women. He loved her dearly.

He knew that now, without a shadow of a doubt.

He bent his head down so that his mouth was touching her ear and kissed her softly before speaking.

‘I love you, Aimée. I love you and I’ll never leave you.’

Her face jerked up towards his, a soft smile on her lips as she heard the words for which she had been hoping for so long. ‘Never?’

‘Never.’ He knew he meant it.

The crowd from behind caught up with them.

They were pushed slowly, but inexorably, down the length of the cathedral to the altar.

Beneath this lay the sepulchre of the saint.

As they approached, Luc described the imposing stone statue of Saint James above the altar.

He was dressed as a pilgrim, complete with cloak and hat, and the right forefinger of the statue pointed downwards towards the site of his tomb, below the altar.

Luc found himself thinking once again of the magic of the cloak he had worn on his back all the way from the Pyrenees.

As he did so, he mouthed a prayer that the protection of the Almighty would extend from here all the way to the safety of Portugal.

The crowds of pilgrims around the altar were about twenty or thirty deep.

The remains of the saint lay down a narrow staircase and everybody wanted to see for themselves.

After waiting an eternity, without getting any closer to it, Luc took Aimée by the shoulders.

He struggled out of the throng towards one of the side chapels, where they could catch their breath.