Page 6 of Under a Spanish Sky

‘They said my father had a heart attack as we were going down just about the steepest part of the road. I didn’t even realise.

Suddenly we were off the road and falling.

I don’t remember what happened after that until I woke up in the hospital…

’ Her grip on his arm, which had been getting tighter and tighter, suddenly relaxed.

‘It hasn’t been easy. I’m afraid the net result has been to make me grumpy.

At least, I was then.’ She released her hold and sat down on the cold pebbles.

She took a deep breath and did her best to smile.

‘But I’m much less grumpy now, honest.’ She picked up a handful of pebbles and started to throw them into the river, one by one.

After a moment’s hesitation he sat down as well, choosing a place close beside her, but not touching her.

His whole body cried out to him to offer the comfort that she so patently lacked.

He would have put his arm round her and hugged her, but for his sense of propriety.

Apart from anything else, he was, after all, employed as her guide.

The enormity of what she had lost was only too obvious.

He wondered, not for the first time, how he would have coped in similar circumstances.

Certainly the torment he had endured in his own life, which had seemed so overwhelming over the last few years, was put into stark perspective.

She settled back, one pebble remaining in her hand.

He saw her fingers gently feel it and he started to speak, compassionately and cautiously but, as he saw her response, increasingly freely.

‘Thanks for telling me that, Amy. I take that as a great compliment. From what you’ve just said, I imagine you don’t often have conversations like this.

’ He cleared his throat. ‘For what it’s worth, I was just thinking that I couldn’t wish for a better travelling companion.

No grumpiness at all and I certainly don’t know many others as knowledgeable on medieval matters as you. ’

Her expression softened.

‘You’ve lost a lot; a lot that’s irreplaceable, but in return you’ve got some things I haven’t.

You can see that pebble you’ve got in your hand more fully than I can.

I just rely on the one main sense, while you’re seeing it in more ways than I can.

You feel things and hear things so much more intensely than I can.

For all I know you can probably hear the car even though the engine’s switched off. ’

She raised her head and replied in a brighter tone.

‘That’s easy. I can smell it from here and, for that matter, I actually can hear it.

I bet you can too. Listen, can’t you?’ Her arm pointed straight at the car.

He pricked up his ears obediently. She was quite right.

The big engine ticked and crackled as it gradually cooled down in the mountain air.

‘QED.’ He smiled at her and she picked it up from his voice and smiled back.

Then, in more serious vein, he added quietly, ‘And never convince yourself that your problems are insurmountable. I can tell you from very painful personal experience that everybody has problems, some physical and visible, others, the worst kind, invisible inside the mind.’ In response to something he read in her face, he made a promise.

‘I’ll tell you all about it one of these days. ’

Her eyes crinkled into a little smile as she heard that he had correctly interpreted her unspoken question.

She had always known he was secretive about his past, but this was the first time he had hinted that he, too, might be suffering some hidden trauma.

She turned back towards the river, glad she had said what she had said, feeling ever more comfortable with him and wondering what had happened to him that he wasn’t saying.

Raising her arm, she lobbed the last stone into the freezing water.

Then she took a deep breath and turned her head back towards him.

‘Thanks, Luke. It’s good to talk.’ She dried her hands against the sides of her jeans and reached for his arm, her expression relaxed once more. ‘So, onwards and upwards?’

They were soon back on the road, heading up towards the mountains.

Luke watched the massive snow-covered barrier in front of them coming ever closer and wondered just how daunting it must have appeared to a medieval pilgrim on foot.

Beside him, Amy was thinking along the same lines. Her voice broke into his thoughts.

‘So our man must have come up this selfsame road?’

‘No alternative. If you’re a pilgrim going to Santiago de Compostela, you need to get over the Pyrenees. And there’s only one pass at the end of this valley.’

‘What about the road? Would that have been there in those days?’ She sounded pensive, and he realised how important their invented story was becoming for her, although there was still a lot of detail missing.

About all they knew was that they had a big strong hero who was trying to get away from somebody, but they still hadn’t decided who he was or just when the story was taking place.

‘I’m sure there would have been a road, but it certainly wouldn’t have been smooth tarmac.

But, whatever the road surface, if he’s trying to escape from the authorities, he wouldn’t have been able to use it, at least during daylight hours.

He would never have dared run the risk of being seen.

Remember his dark secret!’ Although at this stage they still had to establish exactly what the dark secret might be, she replied totally seriously.

‘But how on earth can he get up the valley if he can’t use the road? Surely they would have set up roadblocks and so on.’

‘Absolutely. No, he must have either disguised himself or concealed himself to escape detection. I’ll tell you what, I bet he hid in a cart or carriage belonging to the authorities themselves.’

‘Sort of like Robin Hood hiding underneath the Sheriff of Nottingham’s carriage.’

The road ahead was empty so he risked glancing across at her again. Her eyes were half closed as she tried to imagine the scene. He read the concentration on her face.

‘Mmh…’ he let his mind roam ‘…I’m not so sure about the Sheriff of Nottingham thing.

’ He had her full attention now. ‘A ride up this valley, clinging to the outside of a carriage in the dark, wouldn’t have been that easy, especially at this time of year.

And it would have had to be by night for fear of being seen.

The area would have been crawling with soldiers on the lookout for him.

Even at this time of year, the temperature drops to zero or below on a clear night.

Remember the trouble I had this morning scraping the windscreen?

Our chap would run the serious risk of getting hypothermia or worse.

No, I reckon he would have been in the back of some sort of cart, maybe under a heap of straw or inside a carriage, either disguised or hiding amongst the luggage.

But, who’s after him? We haven’t sorted that out yet, have we? ’

He glanced at her face. She had obviously been thinking carefully about this. Her forehead furrowed with concentration. She started speaking slowly, as the ideas took shape.

‘If he really isn’t just a common criminal, then the only other authorities who could be after him in those days would have to be the church authorities. Maybe he was wanted for some terrible irreligious act?’ He could clearly hear the question mark. She paused for his reply.

‘I’ve been wondering about that too. But, to be honest, I’m not sure that I see him as a heretic or a blasphemer.

Who knows? Whatever the reason, I’m sure you’re right.

In medieval days the Catholic Church was every bit as much a temporal state as the national governments.

After all, excommunication was a powerful arm to brandish at people.

Don’t forget, the Middle Ages were a time when religious faith wasn’t an option, but a natural fact of life. God existed, there was no question.’

‘Not like these days.’

He hesitated before answering, choosing his words carefully.

They had briefly touched on religion in their talks so far and had established that neither of them was particularly religious, in spite of both having a Catholic priest as a close friend.

‘Not among most of the people I know, at least, although religion’s still a hot topic elsewhere.

Look at all the awful things happening in the world at the moment, supposedly in the name of religion.

Anyway, I’m sure our man’s clever enough to get himself a lift up to Santa Cristina without being seen and without catching his death of cold.

By the way, I imagine you know that in the Middle Ages they referred to it as a hospital, but it was to all intents and purposes what we would call a hospice for weary pilgrims. But what happens to him when he gets there?

Is he going there for a reason, or is he just passing through on his way to the Spanish border? ’

‘I reckon he was heading for Santa Cristina for a specific reason.’ He could hear how hard she was concentrating and he knew the story was having the desired effect of involving her all the more in the trip.

He listened as she went on. ‘He had to meet somebody there or find something there, don’t you think? ’

He thought about it for a few moments as he accelerated past a truck and trailer laden with timber. ‘You could be right. The question is who or what?’

‘So, come on. You’re the PhD after all. Think about it. Just who was he expecting to meet at the pilgrim hospice?’

‘I’m working on it.’