They almost missed dinner that evening. It was only when Amy pressed her Snoopy watch and heard that it was almost nine o’clock that they roused themselves. She rolled across towards him, relishing the feel of his naked body against hers. Her whole body was tingling with joy and she felt a desire to scream her happiness at the top of her voice. Instead, she managed something far more prosaic.
‘Hungry?’
He yawned and stretched. ‘You know me.’
She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. ‘I do now, that’s for sure.’
He caught her hand in his and raised it to his mouth, kissing each of her fingers in turn. ‘I love you Amy. I love you so very, very much. You can’t imagine how much I love you.’
She grinned. ‘Well, I love you even more.’
‘Oh no you don’t.’
‘Oh yes I do.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Do.’ She reached up and kissed him gently on the lips. ‘So, like I said; food?’
‘Well, if you insist.’
Downstairs Anna, the Romanian girl, had prepared an excellent meal for them. Amy insisted on getting him a big beer first, and then they opted for a bottle of Rioja. She felt happier than she could ever remember, as the events of this evening in this magical place had finally chased away so many of the demons of the past. They didn’t speak much at first. There was no need. Then, as they enjoyed their starter, the conversation turned, as ever, to their medieval characters.
‘I’ve just had a thought.’ His voice was almost apologetic, and Amy pricked up her ears. ‘You remember the Holy Grail?’
She spluttered into her gazpacho. ‘I thought those words were taboo?’
‘Yes, well…’ Still the apologetic tone. ‘I might just have come up with an idea of what our man might have been carrying that was so precious. No,’ he was quick to explain himself, ‘I’m not coming round to thinking that it might have been the Holy Grail after all. Don’t worry. But I was thinking of something similar.’
‘Like what?’ He had her full attention now. ‘What on earth could be similar to the Grail?’
‘Well…’ he sounded decidedly sheepish. ‘Maybe the Holy Shroud?’
‘The Turin Shroud.’ She was almost scoffing. ‘Radiocarbon dating’s shown it to be a fake. A medieval fake. A good one, but nonetheless a fake.’
‘Or a copy.’ He spoke quietly and she stopped in her tracks.
‘What did you say?’ Her tone had become more serious. He took a mouthful of wine and tried to explain his theory.
‘The cloth used to cover the body of Christ, when they took him down from the cross, or so the Church would have us believe. All sorts of experts have studied the cloth. Some have produced arguments to support the hypothesis that blood, sweat and bodily fluids could burn a negative image of a man on a piece of cloth. But the radio carbon dating showed the one in Turin cathedral to be a thirteenth-century fake, as you say. What if it really did exist? What if there really was a Holy Shroud, or at least a very ancient piece of cloth that they believed to be the Shroud?’
She sat bolt upright. ‘But why make a copy, then?’ She was formulating the answer even as she asked the question. ‘Of course, so that the original could be taken to a place of safety. But why the Templars?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that.’ His voice was less hesitant now. He waited while Anna removed their plates. ‘One of the recurring charges brought against the Templars during their trial was that they worshipped a mysterious head; a head with the power to reduce any who looked upon it to trembling wrecks. Nobody has ever got to the bottom of that one and quite a few have tried. What if there really was such a cloth, and the Templars had got hold of it? Such a relic, particularly in the Middle Ages, when relics were big, big business, would have been worth any amount to a deeply religious order like the Templars.’
The waitress returned with two huge plates of food. Luke thanked her and gave Amy a running commentary.
‘You’ve got two hefty pork chops, a whole chicken breast and two enormous sausages on your plate. It all looks very good and immensely filling. If you’re still feeling hungry after that, there’s a mountain of roast potatoes alongside. Everything’s very hot, including the plates, so be careful. More wine?’
She shook her head, more interested in his Shroud theory than in food. He went on more confidently. ‘The history of the Turin Shroud is only really documented from the Middle Ages onwards. But, if I remember right, there was talk of it once being in the possession of the de Charny family. Geoffroi de Charny is a name you know well.’
She certainly did. ‘Knights Templar Preceptor of Normandy. Burnt at the stake along with Jacques de Molay on a little island in the Seine on 18th March 1314. Right back at the start of our story.’ Her voice was awestruck.
‘Precisely.’ He was sounding ever more confident. It really could fit. ‘Now, there’s no real conclusive proof that the Shroud was in the de Charny family; in fact there’s doubt as to which branch of the de Charny family that was anyway, but how about this as a scenario? Geoffroi knows that it’s very likely that the Shroud will be discovered and stolen from the Order by King Philip. So he commissions a convincing copy and removes the original. His copy in fact proves to be so convincing that it lasts right up to the present day. In the greatest secrecy, he packs the real Shroud up and sends it to safety in the high Pyrenees.’
Amy carried on the story. ‘After the execution of Jacques de Molay and Geoffroi de Charny, a Templar knight is sent to pick it up from there and take it to safety.’ Her voice was hushed. She reached across and found Luke’s hand on the tablecloth. ‘But he’s killed before he can collect it, and his wife is blinded in the battle. She takes refuge in the hospital of Santa Cristina.’ She stopped, an expression of puzzlement on her face. ‘Hang on a minute. That’s not right. How can a Templar knight have a wife? They were monks after all, with a vow of celibacy.’
‘That occurred to me too. I’ve been doing a bit of research. Although Templar knights were monks, as you say, there were also a number of married men among their ranks. These were principally engaged for their prowess on the field of battle. They didn’t take religious vows, so there was no reason why they couldn’t be married. They were tolerated for their fighting skills, but they always remained, in a sense, second-class citizens.’
Amy nodded, satisfied with his explanation. ‘So the first one was a lay Templar with his wife. Our man, who’s a full Templar warrior monk, is sent from Paris to take over from his predecessor. He collects the Shroud and the girl. Together, they set out to take the Shroud to safety over the border in Spain or, more probably, Portugal.’ She sat back, still ignoring her food. ‘That’s uncanny. It really could be. In fact it has to be.’ She squeezed his hand hard and asked half-seriously, half in jest. ‘Do you think you might have been a Templar knight in a previous life?’
‘Beaucéant!’ He hissed the Templar battle cry between his teeth and then relaxed. ‘Who knows? I’ve been finding it hard enough sorting out just this one life of mine, without getting drawn into the complications of reincarnation.’ He looked across the table at her. There was a broad, satisfied smile on her face. ‘Happy?’
‘I think I’m going to explode.’
‘Don’t do that. Think of the mess. Instead, why don’t you get stuck into your sausage and chips.’
‘Food; is that all you ever think of?’
‘Well, there’s you…’