The restaurant was called El Granc. This, they were informed, meant The Crab in the dialect of Galicia. As Galicia was the province away to the west where Santiago de Compostela was to be found, they took this to be a good sign.
‘You look terrific.’ He meant it. Amy smiled happily and accepted a glass of champagne.
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ There was no bitterness in her voice. She held her glass up and he clinked his against it. ‘A toast.’ She was looking more serious. ‘I’d like to propose a toast to you. I hope you have a wonderful happy birthday and I want to thank you for making these last weeks the best I’ve had for years. I owe you more than you can imagine.’
This was pretty much the same thing she had told Judie in the long phone call she had made earlier that evening. After telling her all about the snowstorm, but omitting the inexplicable feeling of horror she had had up there on that red rock, she had admitted that she couldn’t have hoped for a better travelling companion. Judie knew her so well by now and had prompted her to go further and reveal more of her feelings, but Amy had resisted. For now she was still coming to terms with them herself.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the waiter with the menus. These turned out to be handwritten and quite probably in Galician dialect. Luke wrestled with the strange-sounding words for a while until, mercifully, he spotted a heading that said quite simply Menú Especial with a price, no detail. He beckoned the hovering waiter and asked haltingly what this consisted of. The reply was predictably incomprehensible.
‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ he said out loud in English and ordered two of these along with a bottle of ten-year-old Rioja Gran Reserva.
‘What are we having then?’ Her voice was gently mocking. He admitted the truth that he hadn’t the slightest idea, except that it was theoretically going to be special. She giggled and held out her glass for some more champagne. Not for the first time he reflected upon the difference between the girl he was with now and the woman he had first met in that exquisitely furnished but cold, lifeless house in Highgate. It seemed a hundred years ago, but was only about a month.
‘Isn’t it weird? We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. It’s amazing really, I feel I’ve known you for so much longer.’ There was a note of wonder in his voice that was not lost upon her.
‘Thirty-three days to be precise, but who’s counting?’ Her voice was warm. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ A cheeky smile spread across her face. ‘Of course, it could be we already knew each other in a previous life. Have you had a previous life?’ She smiled across at him as the waiter brought a small plate of appetisers for each of them to play with before the first course arrived.
‘A couple of enormous orange mussels, probably from New Zealand or somewhere, some huge green olives, a fried onion thing, or at least it looks like onion, some porcini mushrooms in olive oil and a handful of quail’s eggs. A delicate end of fork or pick it up in your fingers job, I would suggest.’ The description came quite naturally to him and she nodded gratefully.
‘You weren’t a Templar, were you? I mean in a previous life. Maybe that’s what you were.’ She took a small sip of the champagne as he swallowed a mushroom.
‘I wouldn’t have minded.’ The mushroom was excellent and the extra virgin olive oil, if anything, even better. He followed the mushroom with some of the lovely fresh bread before continuing. ‘They really were the elite, you know. The samurai of medieval Europe. I’m sure you know that their holy oath upon becoming a Templar knight prohibited them from surrender to the enemy under almost any circumstances. You either killed a Templar or he killed you. There was no middle way.’
He tried a mussel but found the unexpectedly sour taste didn’t match up to its appearance. He swallowed it with difficulty, took another mouthful of champagne and chewed a thick piece of bread to remove the taste. He decided to take a break before eating anything else, so as to allow the mussel to go down, so he picked up the conversation about Templar knights once more.
‘It’s really no wonder the King of France decided to get rid of them. Just think. Not only was the cream of French knighthood queuing up to join, but the Order’s strength and influence had grown exponentially. By the early thirteen hundreds they were far richer than the French monarchy, and quite probably the Spanish and English royal houses too. They had a network of commanderies, castles and farms from Cyprus to the north of England. Oh yes, being a Templar knight wouldn’t have been at all bad.’
Amy reached for a mushroom, felt the oil on her fingers and licked them clean before picking up her fork and expertly spearing it. ‘Mind you, they got fairly soundly beaten in the Holy Land. Samurai or not, they were no match for Saladin.’
‘Don’t forget they were outnumbered by about a hundred to one. That would have been too much for a force ten times their size.’ He tried the fried onion ring. It was excellent, but the taste of that mussel still lingered on. He reached for a glass of water before continuing.
Unaware of his discomfort, Amy picked up a quail’s egg and savoured the delicate taste before laying her fork back on the plate. She intended to pace herself. Her experience of previous Spanish meals told her that she was very unlikely to have room for everything. Why aren’t the Spanish immensely fat? She wondered to herself.
Luke gulped down some more water. ‘But at the height of their power, say around the mid-thirteenth century, it must have been quite something to be a Templar.’
‘They were, of course, monks,’ she reminded him. ‘With all the restrictions that that brought.’ Noticing that they had both stopped eating, the waiter cleared the plates and went off to fetch the first course. ‘Having to live according to the monastic clock must have been hard work, what with services in the dead of night and so on, not to mention the fact that they were virtually vegetarian, sworn to poverty and humility and,’ her voice held an undercurrent, ‘don’t forget the vow of chastity. I bet the local girls swooned over these big, strong knights. And they must have been big and strong, just to be able to lift the weapons and wear the armour. What a turn-on, too, knowing that they were effectively forbidden fruit.’
The first course arrived and he surveyed it dubiously, increasingly troubled by the taste of the mussel that still lingered in his throat. Oh God, he thought to himself, I hope it wasn’t off. He launched desperately into his guide mode.
‘Well, my dear, what you have in front of you is a fully-grown, freshly boiled red spider crab. Along with the crab you get a pair of nutcrackers, a long hook that would no doubt have been very useful in the days of the Inquisition, and a bowl of water with a slice of lemon floating in it. I wish you luck.’
She forgave him for changing the subject, liked the sound of the ‘my dear’ and rather dreaded the task of dissecting the crab. She reached down gingerly, locating the claws and checking that it really was dead. She was on the point of bravely picking up the nutcrackers when he touched her hand.
‘Hang on a sec.’ There then followed a series of muffled blows accompanied by some sharp cracking sounds. A moment later she felt her plate being replaced by his. She touched the crab gently and was relieved to feel the shell and claws broken into pieces. She found it quite easy to pull the meat from one big claw. It was delicious.
The waiter returned with the bottle of Rioja. Luke asked her to taste it for him. It was excellent, rich, woody and aromatic. She nodded in the direction of the waiter and mumbled, ‘Muy bien,’ hoping that she had got it right. He filled her glass with wine and she took another sip.
‘Here.’ Luke’s voice was low. ‘Take this crabmeat from my plate. It’s all ready to eat. I’ve taken the bits of shell off.’ Seeing the surprise on her face, he went on hastily, ‘It’s all right. I’m not really that keen on crab.’ This didn’t really accord with her memory, but she made no comment apart from the observation that the Rioja was excellent. She heard him drink and order more water. She was bothered by this unusual behaviour.
‘Are you all right? I would have thought you would have drained the bottle and licked the plates by now?’ She finished another bit of crabmeat and took another sip of the red wine.
‘I’ll be all right when we get onto the meat.’ He didn’t sound convincing, but she let it go and carried on with her meal in silence for a few more minutes. He made no attempt to say anything and she started to get worried.
‘Is the thought of your former life affecting your appetite?’ She passed the napkin across her lips and waited some moments for his reply.
‘I don’t think that’s it, but I’ve still got to tell you everything that’s happened to me in my life.’ His voice sounded terribly subdued. ‘And I’m not talking about any time I may have spent as a Templar in some previous existence.’ She sat still and listened spellbound, as he finally managed to make a start.
‘I promised you I’d tell you about my past. I owe it to you, and it’ll probably do me good to talk about it. I’ve spent the last few days trying to work up the courage to begin but, believe me, it isn’t easy.’ He paused to pour himself a glass of water and to top up her glass with the red that he had yet to touch. He took a few deep mouthfuls of air, but was unable to shift the sensation of breathlessness that assailed him. For a moment the thought crossed his mind that he might be having a heart attack. A glance at the virtually untouched crab on his plate, and the immediate sensation of revulsion that followed, confirmed his earlier fear; that blasted mussel.
The waiter appeared, hovered for a moment then pounced, carrying off the offending plate. Luke experienced a keen feeling of relief as the remains of the crab disappeared. He returned his attention to Amy, who looked lovelier than ever. This didn’t make the story he had to tell any easier for him.
‘The fact is, I didn’t start out to study medieval history. I followed a very different route.’ He took a few more deep breaths, but there was no getting away from it, he felt terrible. The return of the waiter provided a welcome break. Then he smelled the rich red wine-based sauce that accompanied the huge slab of meat in front of him and he felt his stomach churn.
‘I’m afraid I don’t feel so well… The mussel…’
With that, he leapt to his feet and disappeared towards the sign marked Servicios.
Amy noticed the rapidity of his departure and waited with concern for his return. She had to wait a considerable time.