There wasn’t a sound to be heard in the abbey, although it wouldn’t be long before Matins would be called and the sleepy monks would file out of their dormitories into the abbey church. For now, all was still and Luc and Aimée had no trouble getting out of the carriage and making it across the courtyard unobserved. It had started snowing again and their feet left clear tracks in the snow, but Luc could see it wouldn’t be long before these were concealed again. Around them, nothing and nobody stirred. Or so it seemed.
There was an unexpected movement from their right. A figure detached itself slowly and deliberately from the shadows and stepped towards them. With a swift movement, Luc caught Aimée and pulled her round behind him while at the same time drawing the dagger he kept concealed in his sleeve. The other man spoke in little more than a whisper.
‘I should like to come towards you and shake you by the hand, my son. I would not wish you to misinterpret my movements. That is why I’m announcing my intentions to you in advance. May I approach? I wish you no harm.’
Aimée was amazed to recognise the voice. She tugged at Luc’s sleeve. ‘Luc, it’s the abbot.’
Luc weighed up the abbot’s intentions and the potential risk. Then he replied equally quietly.
‘Approach me by all means Father, but keep your hands where I can see them.’
The old man nodded, and crossed the few feet that separated them. He extended both hands in greeting and clasped Luc’s left hand warmly, fully aware that the right hand held the weapon. Then he stepped back a pace and spoke, mainly to Luc, but deliberately loud enough for Aimée to hear as well.
‘I believe I know who you are, but your name shall remain unspoken. I’ve been waiting for you. I waited for your colleague two months ago, but I waited in vain. Tragically, he was killed before I could offer him assistance.’ A look of astonishment appeared on Aimée’s face and the abbot spoke directly to her before she could utter a word. ‘That’s the truth, Aimée. I regret the death of your husband more than you can imagine. There have been many occasions when I would have spoken to you about this, except that natural caution always stopped me.’
She was speechless. So he had known who she was all along. She was still trying to take this information in as he returned his attention to Luc.
‘Do I assume that you weren’t told who your contact at Santa Cristina would be?’ He noted Luc’s almost imperceptible acknowledgement and went on. ‘I imagine you were told merely that you would be contacted. No names. That’s how we’ve always done these things. Each link of the chain only needs to know so much. In this way there’s more chance of the whole chain remaining intact. We both know about the methods which can be used to obtain information, from even the most courageous of men… or women.’ His voice stopped for a moment, his tone bitterly sad. After a brief pause, he turned and raised his eyes towards Luc once more. ‘I have information for you that you will need. I can also confirm what you doubtless already know; namely that you’re in very grave danger. Indeed, if you stay here, you’ll be in custody by midday, I’m sure.’
In answer to the question on their lips, he continued. ‘I believe I can be of material assistance to you in making good your escape, at least this time. Be mindful, however, that they won’t cease until they’ve caught you or killed you. The frontier means nothing to them. They’ll follow you through Spain as they’ve followed you through France. Be constantly on your guard, and may the protection of the Almighty be with you.’
Luc straightened up and relaxed. With a smooth movement he slid the dagger back into its sheath and breathed deeply. He spoke quietly.
‘I was told to come here to Santa Cristina. That is what Bertrand was trying to do in January. They told me I was to receive something here, something of inestimable value, and take it safely along the Pilgrims’ Way to Compostela.’ His voice betrayed his frustration. ‘I wasn’t told what it is, nor where I am to deliver it.’
The old man laid his hand on Luc’s forearm. ‘Links on a chain, Luc. I told you.’
The snow was still falling relentlessly and the silence remained absolute. Now, however, the atmosphere was less menacing and Luc felt the stirrings of hope. A slight movement at his side made him reach out and lay a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. He cast a look towards the abbot and asked quietly. ‘Should we both leave, or is there anything you can do for Aimée?’ He felt her body tense, but the expression on the abbot’s face offered no hope.
‘Alas, you must both leave, my son. The order went out from the archbishop.’ His tone when saying the word was acid. ‘The men will be searching the abbey for a man and a woman. No, I’m afraid that there’s no safety for either of you here.’
Aimée reached up and gripped Luc’s hand tightly. Her expression was one of relief. Luc realised, if he had needed to, that his destiny and hers were now inextricably linked. He nodded before continuing.
‘Time is of the essence. What help can you offer us, Reverend Father? Where is this precious object, and how do we make good our escape?’ He eyed the snow falling ever more heavily. He knew there was little chance of escape on horseback. And going on foot through the snowdrifts would be next to impossible.
‘There’s a secret way out. It’s a narrow passage that runs right under the abbey. Its existence has been passed on from abbot to abbot since the abbey was founded. I feel confident that its existence is unknown to all here, Luc. When you emerge from the passage, your means of escape will be immediately apparent.’
Aimée’s hand gripped Luc tighter, and he leant towards her, his voice still low. ‘Aimée, are you sure you’re coming with me?’ The question was rhetorical, the answer inevitable. ‘It’ll be dangerous.’ Again her response was written on her face.
‘And if I stay here, Luc? How would you rate my chances of survival?’ Her voice was strong and determined. Deep inside, Aimée knew there was no choice, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Only a few hours earlier, she had been close to taking her own life. Now she had hope and she had Luc. She had known him for years now, since the early days of her marriage to Bertrand, and during the long years of hiding he had been one of the few trusted faces she had seen. He had always occupied a special place in her heart, a very special place. ‘I’m coming with you, Luc. If you’ll have me.’ She pressed herself more tightly against him to reinforce her decision.
‘But you have nothing…’ His voice tailed off helplessly. ‘Clothes, boots, women’s things…’
‘Oh ye of little faith.’ She replied in a lighter tone. ‘What do you think’s in here?’ She held up her shoulder bag. ‘With all these soldiers about, it seemed prudent to plan for immediate departure.’
In spite of the gravity of the situation Luc was able to smile. ‘So be it.’ He returned his attention to the abbot.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Father. We owe our lives to you, of that there is no doubt.’
Before responding, the abbot reached up to his throat. He released the clasp that held his heavy cloak fastened and slipped it off his shoulders. He held it out to Luc. ‘Could I ask one thing of you? Could I persuade you to exchange cloaks with me? This one I wear belonged to the Master of the Temple of Ponferrada, far away on the road to Compostela. Would you do me the favour of wearing it for the rest of your journey, please? I promised him I would return it to him. It’s a good cloak, if not brand new, and from what I can see of the one you’re wearing I would say that this will be warmer and stronger. Would you promise me you’ll do that as a favour?’
Luc took the heavy leather cloak from him, knowing full well that it was many times better than his old one. He felt touched both at the abbot’s generosity and his tactful approach. He had little doubt in his mind that, if he ever reached Ponferrada, and if the Templar Order were still present there, the Master of the Temple would have never seen it before. He shrugged off his own cloak and held it out to the old man, the cold air biting into his unprotected shoulders. He lost no time in pulling on the leather one, relishing the warmth it provided.
Seemingly impervious to the freezing temperature, the abbot made no move to put on Luc’s cloak. Instead, he continued more urgently.
‘Now listen carefully, Luc. What I must tell you is of the utmost importance. Concentrate hard and commit everything I say to your memory.’
Luc bent forward.
‘The first thing you must know is that the object that cannot be named will be revealed to you further along your journey. I can’t tell you anything about it.’
‘You can’t?’ Luc could hardly believe his ears. ‘But I was told to come here to collect it.’
A more authoritative note entered the old abbot’s voice. ‘Luc, do you remember what I told you about security and links on a chain?’ Luc nodded blankly, feeling like a schoolboy in front of the headmaster. ‘The less information we all carry, the better and the safer for everybody. Just believe me when I say you’ll learn about it at the right time.’
Luc dropped his head obediently and gave no response.
‘Your orders are to follow the directions I am going to give you and take it to safety in Portugal.’
‘Portugal?’ Luc only had the vaguest notion as to where this might be.
‘As soon as you can, rejoin the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela. Many, many pilgrims follow the way of Saint James every year. There should be safety in numbers for you and, of course, Aimée. Compostela is many weeks away from here in northwest Spain. When you reach that most wonderful of cities, turn south. Portugal extends from there to the Mediterranean sea. Now, listen carefully.’