Chapter Twenty One

The Monastery of Roncesvalles

Inaki waited until Zabala had left. He had told no one of his plan and in that way he hoped to protect the innocent from harm. He waited until early evening before talking to his host, the headman of the village, Eneko.

“Have you any candles?” Inaki asked.

“We have a few,” Eneko replied.

“Could I buy some? In a snow hole the heat from a candle can be the difference between life and death and I need a rope and food as well, all of which I will gladly pay for.”

“Fine,” said Eneko. “I will let you have all that we can spare.”

Having packed his things in his leather bag, he carefully wrapped the six candles that he had bought and placed them on top of his other things. He checked his food and weapons, strung the rope over his shoulder, thanked his host and left for home. When he was well out of sight of the village he turned towards the monastery. It would take him all day to reach it and it could be dark before he made it to his shelter above the monastery. He had heard wolves howling in the mountains around the village and if he were caught in the open by them without fire, he would be in mortal danger. If only he could make the tree-line above the monastery before nightfall. It became clear by midday that he would not make the tree-line and he would not have time to make a fire. It had snowed hard for two days and the depth of the snow had made the going slow. He looked below him to lower ground and saw a gulley in the mountain side which was wooded. He turned and made haste towards it. Having reached the gulley he found it to be deeper and more wooded than it had appeared from a distance. He picked out three large pines growing together and dropped his packs and rope to the ground. He set about cutting some small trees. As soon as these where cut and trimmed he climbed the largest of the three pines and set one of the trunks between the branches of his tree and the tree next to him. He repeated this until a platform had been built between the three trees. Having covered the platform with branches and tested it for strength so that he was confident that it would hold his weight, he climbed down and threw his packs up onto the platform. He took the rope and cut a length from it. Then he placed one end around Aize’s chest and the cut length around her rear end. Aize began to growl a small protest. Tying the two lengths together he threw the rope up on the platform.

“Stay!” he commanded Aize, and climbed the tree up on to the platform. Grabbing the rope he pulled the dog off the ground and onto the platform. Aize protested and stood with her tail between her legs and her head down. “Stay and don’t move unless you want to become the wolves supper tonight! Now sit and keep still.” The dog obeyed.

The platform was the height of a man and a half above the ground. Inaki judged that no wolf would be able to jump high enough to reach it. If he was wrong he would soon know. As darkness fell the cry of the wolves grew nearer. It was a very cold night. The cold entered every part of his body and if it were not for the warmth of the dog between his legs as he sat with his cloak around them both, they would not have survived the night. He had put his iron knife in one boot and the doubled-headed axe in his other knee-high boot. In the pitch blackness, dog and man sat, both wrapped in Inaki’s cloak. Inaki sat with his back against the trunk of one of the trees. It grew colder that night and very dark. Around midnight Aize’s whole body seemed to harden against Inaki. The dog had heard the first of the wolves enter the gulley. Inaki knew that Aize was never wrong and he pulled the axe out of his boot and held the handle tightly. Aize stood up and Inaki grabbed the back of her neck tightly, holding her skin and fur. “No!” he whispered into the dog’s ear. “Stay still and quiet.”

As a weak third of a winter’s moon appeared from behind a cloud, its light showed a number of pairs of eyes, milling around the platform silently. All night they watched the eyes. At last dawn came and he could see that at least ten wolves had gathered around them. Moving in and out of the trees it was hard to calculate just how many, but Inaki was sure that there was a least ten, if not more. During the night he had put one end of the rope around Aize’s neck and had her secured to the tree. He could now move and getting to his knees he pulled the pack towards him and untied the bow from it. He strung the bow with numb fingers and with some difficulty. He took an arrow from the quiver. Now don’t miss, he thought to himself. He waited with the arrow notched in the bow string. The wolves had moved away from the platform, but still appeared, now and then, between the trees. Inaki picked a spot between two trees where a wolf seemed to appear at regular intervals. He took aim and waited. After a few moments he saw the head appear and let loose the arrow. It hit the wolf in the side, making it leap in the air and howl with pain. It ran off leaving a trail of crimson spots in the snow, closely followed by the pack.

Inaki knew that as soon as it weakened, the pack would kill it and devour it. He had to move fast and get as far away as possible before they had eaten it. He untied Aize and threw her down into the soft snow. Pack, bow, quiver quickly followed. Axe in hand he jumped down, gathered his things and made off towards the monastery. He could hear the wolves fighting over the body of their dead pack member as they devoured it. He only hoped that it would keep them busy until he reached the tree-line and could build a fire. He also knew that wolves marked their borders and would not cross them. He only prayed and hoped that he would cross this pack’s border when he reached the trees, but he had no way of telling if it was their border. He moved as quickly as he could through the snow and at about midday reached the trees. He had looked back several times, but there had been no sign of the wolves. Some time later he found the shelter from where he had observed the monastery. He quickly gathered wood and set about making the fire that would mean life or death if the wolves found him.

The fire took longer to build and light than he had hoped. His hands were cold and the wood was damp. In the end he managed to light one of his precious candles and place it in the middle of some tinder. Gradually the fire took hold and finally he had a roaring fire going. Time to eat, he thought and out of the bag he took some dry meat and bread which he shared with Aize.

“Tomorrow we will set some snares and hopefully catch a hare or rabbit.” He often spoke to the dog, as if she was human. It came naturally to him and Aize seemed to understand the tone if not the words, often putting her head to one side when in agreement. As darkness fell he built up the fire and left the shelter. He gave Aize the order to “stay” and then moved to the edge of the forest where he could see the monastery. It was a dangerous thing to do, but he wanted to know when the monks took to their beds. He could see lights flickering. The monastery was a square building of four walls with square towers on each corner. The top of the walls ended in a roof which was covered with terracotta tiles. The walls had no openings, until almost to the top of the walls. Then, near the top was a set of square windows. In the centre of these four walls, but set against the rear wall, he could make out the roof of another building. It looked like a large rectangular building. From his view point, it looked quite large. He could see lights behind the openings. It was too cold to remain were he was, so he returned to his fire and waited. Some time later he took another look and this time there were fewer lights. He went back to his fire, built it up and was soon asleep.

At dawn he woke. The fire was almost dead so he set about reviving it. He ate some bread and cheese and set off to hunt with Aize. He had two spare bow strings and with these he would make two snares. Having found a hare run, he set about making his snares. First he cut three straight branches from a nearby ash tree. These he pruned with his iron knife and cut them in two with his axe. He then went back to the run and looked for a sapling near the hare’s run. When he found one, he bent it over and saw how near the tip came over the run. Next he marked the spot with one of his ash sticks and sharpened one end, cutting a notch into the other end.

He repeated this with three other sticks so that he had four prepared thus. He bent the sapling over again to make quite sure he had the spot right. Then he drove two of the sticks down into the frozen ground with the back of his axe spaced either side of the run. Next he cut to length one of his sticks so that it fitted between the two grounded sticks in the notches he had made in them. Taking the bow string he made a loop at one end and hung it just above the ground. When he had it just right he made a knot around the stick suspended between the two grounded sticks and knotted the loose end around the top of the sapling which he bent down. Any creature running into the loop would pull the horizontal stick loose and find itself suspended in the air with its neck broken by the whiplash of the sapling. It was a well tried and effective method of snaring. Further down the hare run he set another snare. All he had to do now was check his snares now and then. As he made his way to the shelter, he managed to shoot a pigeon out of a tree with his bow.

Returning to the shelter and the fire he quickly plucked and gutted the bird and roasted it over the fire. He took the breasts for himself and gave the rest of the bird to Aize, together with a piece of bread. It was not really enough for a dog of her size, but he knew that Aize could go without food for three or four days with no ill effects and if he provided little but often, then the dog and he would survive, although hungry. After he had eaten he went over his plan in his mind. He would need a tree to get up to the openings in the wall. Mentally he calculated its length, got up and started to scan the forest for one that was of the right length, not too heavy and with enough branches so that it would act like a ladder that he could climb up. It soon became clear to him that nothing but a medium size pine would do. He set off to look for a suitable tree. The search for one took him close to his snare lines. He decided to check his snares and to his surprise and delight he saw that his first snare had been sprung. His heart quickened as he searched ahead of him trying to make out what, if anything, had been caught. He struggled through the snow as quickly as he could and finally, there in the air, hung a mountain hare in its white winter coat, with the snare’s string around its neck. He took the hare down and was filled with joy. Fresh meat! Enough for two and as he made his way back with his prize, there before him was the perfect tree. Oh, the Gods were smiling and he was sure now that his plan was blessed by them.

As the weak winter sun began to sink, he reached his shelter and stoked up the fire. Putting on fresh fire wood he turned his attention to the hare. It would be a simple meal. He took his knife and expertly gutted the animal. Next he removed the skin and head. He sharpened a stick and ran it through the carcass. Setting the hare above the fire between two sticks, he reached into his pack and found the leather bag of coarse flour. He filled his iron pot with snow and set it near to the fire to melt. When the snow had melted, he mixed in the flour with a pinch of salt and flattened the ball of dough onto a flat stone which he placed at the edge of the fire. Aize had watched the whole thing by his side and had not taken her eyes off the hare for a moment. As the aroma of the cooking hare and bread rose, a long string of saliva appeared at the corner of her mouth. After they had eaten, Inaki put more wood onto the fire. He arranged two large logs across the flames and calculated that they would still be burning if not smouldering by dawn. Next he unpacked his things. Out came the candles and rope. As he did this, he spoke to Aize.

“I’m going to leave you here for a while. Stay and guard my things until I get back. Now stay and wait.”

The dog looked at him and he knew from past experience that she would do as she was told. He placed the rope around his shoulders and stuck the candles under his tunic, wrapped his cloak around him and left the shelter. Dusk was beginning to fall and soon it would be dark. Dragging the pine he had cut, he made his way to the edge of the wood. There he waited until darkness fell. Across the clearing stood the monastery. The light from oil lamps could be seen flickering in some of the windows. These monks must be rich to afford to burn so much oil, Inaki thought to himself. As he waited long into the night, he thought of his dead friend. He was one of the wisest men he had ever known.

“Put an idea into a man’s head and you will change him forever.” He remembered the words so clearly. They had been some of the final words that he had spoken. Well, he had given his life for them. Now he would help those words a little more. He remembered something else Zumalacarrequi had said. “Always have a second plan.” Inaki panicked. What was his second plan?

He decided that unless another idea came to him an incantation would do. He began to chant.

Oh, Great Moon Goddess and Mother of my people.

Hear my voice and avenge my people.

Let those that would harm us wither and perish.

Protect those who honour, worship and cherish you.

He repeated the words over and over. Finally, he judged the time had come. He had watched the monastery for several days and he knew that the monks rested from around midnight until just before dawn. He began to move down towards the monastery, dragging the tree trunk behind him. The moon was full and lit his way to the bottom of the nearest monastery wall. He reached it sweating from the exertion of dragging the tree trunk. He dropped it and looked up. The wall was higher than he had thought and his tree trunk would not reach the openings near the top. His heart sank. He examined the wall. It was of roughly cut stone and the cement that had been used by the Romans was beginning to crumble away, leaving spaces between the stones. He could get his fingers in between some of these spaces. Now, if the wall was the same higher up, he stood a chance of reaching the openings. He gathered up his courage. There was only one way of finding out. He stood back and examined the wall as far as he could see. He placed the tree trunk against the wall directly under an opening, took off his cloak and folded it, leaving it at the foot of the wall. He put the iron axe and knife at the back of his belt and the rope over his shoulders. Grabbing the tree trunk firmly in his hands, he reached up with his foot to the first branch stalk. These were spaced a little unevenly along the trunk, but at least they provided supports along the trunk. As he reached the top of the trunk he looked up. As he feared he was about a grown man’s length below the opening. He looked at the wall on both sides.

He had more spaces between stones to his right than to his left and decided to attempt the final ascent on this side. He reached behind him and took the axe. Close to him was a large space between two stones. He forced the axe head into the space. He tested that the axe was firmly in place with his foot. He took his knife and looked for a gap above the axe. Choosing a gap he reached up, placing one foot on the axe and rammed the knife in. To his horror he felt the tree trunk sliding and moving away from him. Filled with terror, he stepped off the tree trunk and placed his full weight onto the axe, holding onto the wedged knife with one hand. He reached out with his free hand and found another gap and there he stayed for several moments, breathing heavily and wondering if he was about to plunge to his death. It was another of those moments in his life when he cursed himself. What on earth had possessed him to undertake this climb?

He quickly realised that he could not remain holding on. His strength would ebb away and then death was certain. He had to climb. The axe was holding and this would allow him to look for the best way up. He shifted his weight on the axe and looked for the best hand and foot holds. Fear gradually lessened, as he took in the wall above him.

He would have to use the knife to make some of the gaps wider for his feet but it looked possible. He found a gap into which he could wedge his hand and took out the knife from the gap it was in. Slowly and painfully, he began to move upwards. Finally, he could reach up and grab the ledge of the opening. He pulled himself up, his arms quivering with the exertion of the climb. His body was covered in sweat.

Sitting on the ledge, he looked down and shook. A cold trickle of sweat ran down his back. He looked away. The ledge he was sitting on was quite wide and the opening had a wooden cover. He gently pushed it. If it was fastened then his life was at an end. The monks would take him for an intruder or an assassin and would kill him. The cover did not move. He had nothing to lose and decided to push again but much harder. He felt it move inwards. He slipped in through the gap and sat panting on the wooden floor inside. Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the dark. He was in a long corridor. At each end were arches leading into the two corner towers. There were doors in the opposite wall. Two oil lamps were set in the wall at either end of the corridor. He looked up and he could make out the roof and the beams that supported it. He took his rope and threw it over the nearest beam. He tied it and opened the wooden cover letting the rope dangle down on the outside of the wall. He looked down. At least the rope reached the ground. His escape was set.

Suddenly his whole body tensed. Behind the nearest door someone had coughed. Again came the cough and then he tensed with fear as he heard the muffled sounds of someone moving. A door latch began to be lifted. Soon the door would open. Without thinking he moved towards the door and flattened himself against the wall behind it. His knife was in his hand, held low and pointing slightly upwards. His heart was pounding. He must have been heard. The door opened half way, but no one came through. Fear gripped his whole body. Moments passed that seemed like an age and then a hooded figure filled the doorway. Without thinking and in a panic he brought the knife around in a half circle and upwards into the monk. The iron bladed long knife entered the frail body of the monk below the rib cage, penetrating upwards and into the lungs. The shock, and the force of the stabbing, caused massive internal injuries. It forced the monk to stagger backwards into his cell. Inaki withdrew the knife, followed and reversing his grip, plunged the knife into the side of the monk’s neck. The monk collapsed dead to the floor. To Inaki’s astonishment, he had died without making a sound.

Inaki moved to the door and listened intently. There was no sound: there was just silence. He breathed heavily in relief. He shut the door and surveyed the small monastery cell that he stood in. It was no more than four paces by two. The cell contained a pallet bed with a stool by it, on which burned a small oil lamp. There was a painted cross above the bed. The bed consisted of a wooden frame with a straw mattress and some rags. He went over to the body and stripped off its cassock and put it on. He then took the body of the monk under the arms and dragged it under the bed. Taking one of the candles from his pouch, he lit it from the oil lamp and placed it on the stool. Next he blew out the oil lamp and emptied its contents over the mattress. He cut a small hole in the mattress and placed the candle in it. He took the stool and put it on the side of the candle. When the candle burnt down to the mattress the whole thing would catch fire, hopefully setting the wooded floor and roof on fire. He left the cell shutting the door silently behind him.

He stood in a corridor, straining his ears. All was quiet. He moved silently along the corridor to the archway leading to the tower. At the oil lamp set in the wall he lit a candle and cupping the flame with his hand he stepped into the tower. He found himself at the top of a wooden staircase. Each flight of stairs ended in a wooden landing from which the next flight started. Four flights found him at ground level, but before he had reached the bottom of the last flight he had extinguished the candle. He peered out of the tower’s entrance into an enormous courtyard. He stood in the darkness of the tower’s entrance and studied the courtyard intently. The rectangular courtyard was bathed in moonlight. At the far end of the courtyard stood the church building. On all sides, there were other buildings, built into the walls. Some were small, others larger. He scrutinised each carefully. There was light coming from only one of the buildings and also the faint but delicious smell of baking bread.

Must be the kitchen, thought Inaki. He looked around again and saw a larger door in front of him and to the left. Let us hope that is the door I seek, thought Inaki. There was no time to lose, if the kitchen was working the monks must be about to rise soon. Putting the hood of the cassock up, he moved swiftly across the courtyard and opened a small gap in the door. He could see a faint light, but it was the smell that filled his heart with joy. His guess had been right. It was as he had hoped: the stables. Stepping through the door, he found himself in a long building with various corrals of different shapes and sizes. There were not only horses in the building, but donkeys, mules and pigs. What wealth, he thought, but quickly brought his mind back to the task he had set himself. There was no time to dwell. In fact there was no time at all. He had to move quickly. The long building had a few oil lamps set in the wall and some of these had been left to burn all night. At the far end he could just make out the large hay store to feed the animals. He moved quickly and took several of the oil lamps with him as he made his way towards the hay which was piled to the rafters. He poured the oil over as much hay as he could. He took another of his candles and cut it in half. He took one of the burning oil lamps and lit the candles which he had place in hollows in the hay. As he had hoped, when he stood back the candles could not be seen. He blew out the oil lamp, sprinkled the oil and left, returning to the tower. He moved silently up the stairs, found his rope and descended to the ground. If his plan worked the stables would soon be alight, but the fire in the cell would go undetected until it was too late. By then the whole of the roof and top floor would be alight.

He ran across the open ground to the mountainside and into the woods. Throwing the cassock to the ground, he looked back once. Nothing. He quickly found Aize who bounced out from the shelter to greet him. He collected his things and returned to his vantage point above the monastery. Nothing, not a whisper of smoke and it was becoming light.

Matuta, Goddess of the Dawn.

Matuta, Goddess of the Dawn.

Release your spirits,

I beseech you.

Help your humble servant!

Inaki chanted over and over. Nothing! Then, abruptly, he heard the sound of voices shouting in panic. The doors of the monastery were suddenly thrown open. Animals and monks poured out. “They must have put the fire out,” Inaki thought aloud. He felt totally dejected.

He bent his head down onto his knees and sobbed. All the stress of the night was suddenly released and gave way to his anger and grief. He was exhausted both physically and emotionally. Aize licked her master’s face and Inaki instinctively placed an arm around her neck. After a while he raised his face and wiped his eyes. He looked towards the monastery through tear-filled eyes. At first, the sight was incomprehensible. The whole monastery was covered in smoke. He sat there, opened mouth and then suddenly there came to his ears an enormous crack. The whole roof collapsed inwardly and erupted in flames. He was speechless and physically and emotionally drained. He sat silently, watching. The realisation swept through him like a wave. He had done it. His plan had worked. The fatigue that had engulfed him was lifted. He felt strangely elated. Finally, he got up and said: “Come, Aize.”

It was ten days after Christmas Day, the year 801 AD. The old man was dead. He had, by telling his story, averted Charlemagne from entering the north again. But Barcelona would fall. They had only delayed him. They had gained that most precious commodity: time. The legend of Roncesvalles would be told by many and several voices and strike fear. Inaki turned for home by way of the Roncesvalles pass. The snow was too deep and the cold too strong to cross the mountains any other way. He looked down at the dog as they started the journey. He could never repay Aize for what she had given him. The she-wolf dog asked for nothing. Her love and devotion was total and unquestioning. It was unfathomable and divine, a gift from the Gods. In the spring, he thought, he would gather men and march to Navarra. He would avenge his father’s murder and claim his crown. Little did he know that it would be years before he would reach his home again.

The monastery burned for three days and was a total ruin. As Inaki had planned the stables caught fire first. In the panic that followed to get the animals out and fight the fire, the next fire went unnoticed. Here Inaki had a bit of luck. They were unable to put out the fire in the stable. The monks believed that the fire had started by accident. They believed that one of the animals had knocked over a lamp or there had been some act of carelessness. The devastation was such that they never returned. Consequently the village remained safe and unconnected with the fire. The old woman in the village suspected that somehow Inaki was responsible but never voiced her thoughts. However, whenever the fire was talked of, a faint knowing smile would cross her lips and her eyes would twinkle with amusement.

Inaki continued down the Roncevalles pass towards Spain and his homeland. Now and again he would look up and check the sides of the pass, not expecting to see any danger, but out of habit, it was better to be cautious than dead, he thought. He checked ahead to make sure all was clear. The pass was covered in snow and pure white. In the distance a mist was rolling down the pass. His thoughts drifted. His mother was pure, her heart was pure, like the whiteness of the snow, but not he. He remembered so well the words that his mother had spoken when the village boys had bullied and tormented him ceaselessly.

“Life does one of two things to people,” she had said. “Its knocks and blows are felt by all but the most simple minded. Life’s hardships will either embitter you or ennoble you. Don’t ever become bitter. You are far better than that and if you become bitter, the bitterness will destroy you.”

The night’s events had changed him and he recognised this. His heart was now made of stone. His will was made of iron and if anyone looked into those green eyes of his, they would have been met with two green, hard crystals. He had changed forever, but he recognized the wisdom of his mother’s words. Some day his heart would soften. Time was a great healer. But now was not the time. He had more to do and he would need a rock hard heart to do it.

Aize was about twenty paces ahead of him now, ploughing through the snow with that easy gait of hers and making a small path through the snow in which he could walk. They needed to make good time. It was one of the hardest winters in living memory and the world was cold and very, very hungry. He had to reach the other end of the pass as quickly as he could and then reach the village of Agarreta up in the mountains, where hopefully, he would find shelter and buy food. Time was short and any delay could mean death. His supplies were small and did not allow him much time. He had to move fast. As he was thinking, he had been watching the dog. Suddenly, the dog stood still. Its tail became erect and the head low and forward. He recognised the signs immediately. There was something or someone coming down the pass which filled his body and mind with fear. It was a fear that was as mind numbing as the cold air, snow and frozen ground that surrounded him.

He realised that he had to overcome the fear and come to his senses or he would be lost. He tried to reason himself out of it. It was not possible at this time of the year for travellers to use the pass. That was why he had taken the risk of travelling through it. At least, it was highly unlikely. So what could it be? One thing was certain, the dog was never wrong and she was indicating that something was either approaching or lay ahead of them. If it was men then he was in real trouble. There was no way out of the pass and he felt like a cork stuck in a bottle. His only hope, if he had time, was to retrace his steps and take to the mountains. If it was an animal, then what sort of animal could it be? Not a bear. They did not venture out in winter. The thought gave him some relief, since a bear was the animal most feared by him and all travellers.

Then, out of the mist, appeared a deer. His heart leapt with relief and joy. It didn’t spell danger, but food. It stood there looking at them and not moving. He began to feel uneasy again. It should have turned and fled as soon as it had seen them. It kept turning its head and then looked at them again. It seemed to be frozen to the spot were it stood. Then to his complete surprise it moved a little towards them and stood still again. Suddenly, he fully understood the deer’s behaviour. Out of the mist behind the deer, like ghosts, appeared a group of mounted men. They were dressed all in black with black cloaks covering their shoulders, and covering the hind quarters of their horses. In their hands they had bows with arrows notched into the bow strings. The deer had nowhere to go and neither had he. His heart sank and the fear returned. A cold sweat ran down his back and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

The mounted men spread out into a line across the pass. They looked like demons on their black horses, with their faces covered by black cloth and black clothes. For some moments, that was what he thought they were, sent by the monks to punish him. They were five in number. If they had been fewer, say three, he and the dog could have killed them. Or at least put up a good fight. But five was too many. They had moved closer. He could now make out the black plumes on their helmets and the iron breastplates. They were getting within arrow range. He had two choices: fight or surrender. In effect he had one choice, since surrender would mean slavery, if they did not kill him out of hand. He slowly removed the two-bladed iron axe from his belt and let the handle slip through his fingers until it lay with the axe head downwards next to his leg under his cloak. If he was going to die he would take at least one or two with him.

For a brief moment everything remained perfectly still. The riders looked at the man, dog and deer. The deer, dog and man looked at the riders. Then, suddenly the stillness was broken. Aize made a lunge towards the deer. It was too much for the animal, which was already tensed up to almost breaking point. It turned and fled towards the mounted men and in a series of leaps and bounds, it slipped between two of them. Then it disappeared into the mist. One of the riders shouted some orders and all but one of the riders, turned and gave chase after the deer. Aize was about to attack him, but Inaki gave a sharp whistle and the dog stood still. Inaki gave a short command and Aize moved sharply towards the flank of the horseman. Inaki revealed his throwing axe and moved forward. Inaki and the dog approached together, quickening their pace as they came on. The horse reared at the approach of the dog and almost dismounted the rider, who as soon as he regained control of his mount, turned and fled. Inaki turned, called Aize, and ran as fast as he could through the snow, back the way he had come. As soon as he reached a point where he could climb up the sides of the pass and into the mountain, he took it and clambered upwards as fast as the snow would allow him. As he climbed, he reached deep into the snow to grasp grass or branch to help pull himself up to the top. Occasionally, in his haste, he grabbed the thorn ivy that grew in such abundance on these mountain slopes. His torn hands soon began to leave a trail of tiny red droplets in the snow. At last he reached a point above the pass where he felt safe and fell into the snow exhausted. In between sharp breaths he took out the thorns from his hands with his teeth. He then rubbed his hands with snow to clean off the blood and numb the pain. When he had rested and with his hands partly frozen, he started to move slowly above the pass towards Spain. The journey now would be twice as long and much more dangerous, but at least he was alive. Once again Aize had saved his life. That and the fact that in these conditions the Moors had made the choice that food was more important than a fight, which could have led to death or injury for some of them. He had been very, very fortunate and he thanked the Gods between sharp cold breaths. It would be a hard journey home, but it would be much harder without Aize.

He had to get home and move his family into the mountains. Charlemagne was coming, and this time there was no stopping him. It was just a matter of time before Spain would be under his heel. He had to get home and move his family to safety. He had to get home! The thought burned into his mind, and spurred him on. There was no time to lose. He had to get home and quickly! If the Moors were at the end of the pass, he would have to divert and this would add days to his journey. Better to be safe, better to reach home than not at all. He would go to Auritz in the mountains, just north of Roncesvalles and then to Agarreta. His plan made, he set forth.

At midday he reached the end of the pass. The day had been blind with the mist, but the sun had burned it away and it had turned into a cold, crisp day. Visibility was good and from his position above the pass he could see far into the valley, into which the pass opened. In the distance he could see mounted men. The Moors, it would appear, had some sort of interest around Roncesvalles and his choice of taking to the heights had been the right one. Their presence meant that he had to go to Auritz, not only for food but for protection as well. Inaki reached Auritz the following evening. It was no more than a collection of small stone huts, but its position in the mountains could be easily defended by a small number of men. To reach it you had to climb up a small narrow path that clung to the side of the mountain. It led to a high plateau and the village. Few knew of its existence or its whereabouts. There he was welcomed, spent the night and exchanged news. What the men of Auritz had to say around the fire that evening, was grim and terrible. Barcelona had been besieged for two years and starved into submission and taken. Many had died. What was worse, the Moors had taken advantage of Charlemagne’s sacking of Pamplona and it was now in their hands. Unusually for this time of year, the land was now full of armed bands and horsemen, who were attacking villages, pillaging, raping the women and butchering the men. This explained the group he had run into in the pass. It occurred to Inaki that the Franks would soon be preparing again to come and exploit the situation. The whole of the Basque nation was again on high alert, especially Navarra. As soon as the snows cleared the men of Auritz would move north with their families and flocks, deep into the Pyrenees. They urged Inaki to wait and travel with them, but he feared for his own family and the next morning he decided to make for Agarreta. It would only be five day journey from there to his home, barring bad weather or any more incidents. Once at Agarreta, he would be firmly in Basque territory and relatively safe. With this thought, his mood lifted and he set off for Agarreta with Aize at his side.

Unbeknown to him at that point, his journey home, which would normally take another five days, would in fact take him five years. But therein is another tale and one which would make the name of Inaki Etxebarria into a living Basque legend.