‘Hold on tight. We’re going to have to make a run for it.’ Luke had to shout to make his voice heard over the wind. He caught Amy round the waist and they set off.
Their exit from the sanctuary of the cathedral took them from the sublime into the teeth of an Atlantic gale. The wind collapsed their umbrella, and the horizontal rain set about soaking them in a very short space of time. His intention of viewing the intricate south façade, the Puerta de las Platerías, was hastily replaced by the search for somewhere to eat, and quick. They ran for the shelter of the maze of narrow streets radiating out from the cathedral and soon found a restaurant that looked welcoming. They dived inside and were shown to a table near the back of the long, low, stone-vaulted room. Down there it was peaceful, dry and warm.
The waiter came with the menus and to enquire if they desired an aperitif. Hearing no response from Luke, Amy made a quick decision. ‘Two glasses of cava, please.’ As the waiter went off to get the sparkling wine, she reached across the table and found his hand.
‘I thought we’d better celebrate our arrival here.’
There was only a grunt in reply.
‘What’s up, Luke?’ There was a long pause before he replied.
‘Yes, celebrate, of course.’ He sounded very hesitant. She gave his hand a squeeze.
‘What is it?’ Even without seeing his face, she could tell there was something wrong. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’
‘No, no. I’m fine.’ He had to wait while the waiter returned with their drinks. He pushed her glass across the table to her. He watched as she raised it and held it out in his direction.
‘Cheers.’
He clinked his glass against hers and studied her over his drink. There was a smile on her face, tempered with slight concern that he was perhaps not his usual self. While he was trying to find the words to explain what he was feeling, she did it for him.
‘So, are you feeling a bit let down, now that it’s finished?’ In spite of herself, in spite of all that had passed between them and in spite of the long talks they had had over the past few days, she began to feel apprehensive. ‘So, are you thinking of doing the pilgrimage again with another girl?’ She did her best to keep her tone light.
His reply, this time, was immediate. She heard him place his glass on the table. There was a movement. Then his hands caught the sides of her face and he pulled her towards him. He kissed her on the lips. ‘No, my darling, that is definitely not what I am thinking.’
A discreet cough indicated the return of the waiter. Luke sat back as the man took their order. They decided on the Tourist Menu. The waiter gave them a smile and moved away.
Amy reached across the table and found his hand again. ‘So, what is it, then?’
‘I suppose what I’m thinking is that, just like our medieval friends, our arrival here is very different from that of all the other pilgrims. For pilgrims, this was their goal, the lode star, the one fixed point in their firmament for weeks, months. Now, they’ve done it. It’s over.’
‘Apart from the minor detail of having to do the whole thing in reverse to get home.’
‘Of course. But, you see, that’s it. They’ve done what they wanted to do and now they’re going home. It’s the end of their adventure. For you and me, this is only the beginning.’
She was smiling again. ‘You’re not still thinking of going to Graceland, are you?’
His voice was still serious. ‘I don’t care where I go, as long as it’s with you.’ He raised his eyes towards her. ‘As long as you’ll still have me. I’m a complicated character.’
She squeezed his hands harder. ‘We’re both complicated characters, Luke. We’ve both had a pasting. But the healing’s started for us both. I know that and you must feel it too. We’re no longer chasing shadows, struggling with memories from our past. We’ve got a future now. A real future, together.’ She heard him grunt again. But it was a happy grunt this time. ‘Of course it isn’t always going to be easy. There’ll be hurdles to overcome, but we’ll manage.’ She listened anxiously for his reply.
‘I know we will, Amy. I know we will.’
She was relieved to hear him sounding more relaxed now. She gave it a few minutes and then decided to return to their medieval story.
‘So, do we think they made it here in one piece? Did they complete their mysterious mission?’
‘No doubt about it. They accomplished their mission all right. Who knows, maybe it really was the Holy Shroud. Maybe it’s lying safe in the vaults of an abbey or castle to this day. Probably Portugal, I would think. No, they made it. At least as far as here.’ He picked up his glass again and clinked it against hers.
‘To them.’
‘To them. And to us.’ He took a sip of wine, his mind now back in the Middle Ages. ‘Of course, I suppose their enemies might have followed them this far. Assuming they knew that were carrying something as immensely valuable as the Holy Shroud.’ Grudgingly, he felt he had to admit the possibility that things might not have gone perfectly.
The waiter returned with local ham and lovely fresh bread. He placed a bottle of red wine and a jug of water on the table in front of them. Amy hardly listened to Luke’s description of the food on her plate. She was turning over possibilities in her mind.
‘I suppose it would have been easy for the bad guys to catch them by keeping an eye on that very same confessional area where we’ve just been. Every pilgrim in those days would’ve had to go there in order to fully complete the pilgrimage.’ She was thinking hard.
He was already well into his food. He finished his glass of cava and poured some red wine. ‘Mind you, they were only really coincidentally pilgrims, weren’t they?’ He looked across at her to check, but she was managing to deal with the ham very well. ‘I don’t suppose they would have been getting their pilgrim passports stamped along the way. Surely there would have been too much risk of being recognised.’
‘Absolutely.’ She agreed. ‘But just think. This is the man who believes he’s carried the true Shroud that wrapped the crucified Christ to safety. Assuming that he was aware of what he was carrying, he would have had to be on a massive religious high at the end of such a trip. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t try to go to confession.’
‘I’m sure you’re right. But what sort of trap might they find themselves in?’
Not surprisingly, he finished his starter before she did. He was happy to sit and watch her. Her mind was clearly not on the food, much more on their couple of characters. She looked pensive, enthralled and lovely. He took a mouthful of wine and felt his face assume a contented smile.
The waiter came to remove the plates and Luke pushed a glass of red wine towards her. ‘Here, some red wine, and there’s water in the other glass.’ Then he tried to finish off the story as best he could. ‘Theoretically he would have been safe in the cathedral,’ he started off cautiously. That was, after all, holy ground.’
‘Try telling that to Thomas-à-Becket.’ Amy’s tone was cynical.
‘Point taken.’ While he was thinking, the waiter returned. The next course was placed before them. After a moment’s hesitation, Luke described it to her as best he could. ‘It looks like we’ve just been served clear soup with bits of chicken skin floating in it. Not necessarily my first choice, if I had a choice, but I’ll try it anyway.’
‘Probably a local speciality.’ She picked up her spoon, tried a mouthful, pronounced herself quite happy to eat it and carried on where he had left off. ‘Just supposing the archbishop’s men were prepared to try to take our man in the cathedral, what chance of escape would he have had? It’s the shape of a Latin cross, a crucifix, right?’
Luke grunted agreement through a mouthful of the delicious soup, chicken skin or no chicken skin.
‘So a minimum of four doors, right?’ Amy continued with the soup, frowning as she tried to think of a way out for their two characters. ‘So, supposing they put guards on all the doors, how would they have got out?’
‘Minimum four doors.’ He was thinking hard too. ‘I would imagine there would have been others. After all, the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela is hardly a fortified church like you would find in Albi or Béziers. There must be other doors. In fact, come to think of it, there was a door set in the wall directly opposite the chapel of San Salvador. Maybe…’ He stopped, realising the significance of the door. ‘No, that’s no good. That door probably leads up to the gallery that runs around the inside of the cathedral. And a long way up it looked, too.’
She had finished her soup by this time. ‘That’s it. He sees his enemies moving in, so they dash up the stair.’
‘The spiral stone stair,’ he added for the sake of accuracy.
‘Up the spiral stone stair.’ She accepted the embellishment gracefully. ‘They reach the top and run desperately halfway around the cathedral before he spots another door.’
‘A low doorway leading out onto the roof.’ He was enjoying his artistic input.
She nodded at his intervention and continued. ‘They run out onto the roof…’ She corrected herself before he could chip in. ‘Onto the gently sloping lead-covered roof of the cathedral. After wedging the door shut behind them, he leads her along to the far end of the west façade, directly above the Pórtico de la Gloria. In front of them is a drop of a hundred feet or more onto the stone slabs below, while above them on both sides the towers rise up, offering no hope of escape.’
The waiter reappeared, bearing a tray with hot terracotta dishes still steaming from the oven, and set them down on the table. He collected the empty soup plates and left.
‘Very, very hot. Brown gravy and what looks like chunks of potatoes and chicken bubbling in it. Smells wonderful.’
She nodded, keen to continue her story. ‘Suddenly he sees a builders’ block and tackle on the far edge of the cathedral, where repairs to the roof are being carried out. Helping her across the uneven roof to it, he looks over the edge. He spots a few little figures scurrying about on the rain-swept square below and reaches for the rope.’
‘Always assuming that he’s not as afraid of heights as I am,’ he added mildly.
She reached for her fork and prodded the steaming plate in front of her. As she tried to spear a piece of meat, he made a suggestion.
‘Alternatively, how about this as a version?’ He had already tried a bite and was nursing a burnt tongue in consequence. ‘And watch out for the chicken, it’s absolutely boiling. They spot the enemy closing in on them and make a break for it, up the spiral stone stair to the gallery. They start running along the gallery, perched high up above the crowds below…’
‘…vertiginously high.’ She was keen to put in her own contribution.
‘They start running along the gallery, perched vertiginously high above the crowds below. Suddenly, he sees a cluster of enemy soldiers emerge onto the gallery from another stair, just a short way in front of them. He stops dead and spins round. He and the girl start off again in the opposite direction, but their way is blocked by another group of soldiers. These men come charging out of the next stairway along, less than a stone’s throw ahead. He stops, looking back over his shoulder at the heavily armed platoon behind him, and then forward to the soldiers advancing towards him. He feels for a weapon, but has nothing more than a dagger up his sleeve.’
He picked up another piece of chicken and immediately had to take a big gulp of wine to avoid getting burnt again. He swallowed and gave her another warning, before taking up the story once more. ‘Chicken’s still boiling. Take it easy. Anyway, he looks desperately downwards into the main aisle of the cathedral, packed with crowds of pilgrims, blissfully unaware of the drama being played out high above their heads. Even worse, he sees that the soldiers are armed with crossbows.’
She had taken his advice and was sensibly waiting for the chicken dish to cool down. ‘But what about my scenario of the pair of them on the roof? Couldn’t he stick the girl in the bucket on the hoist and then leap on after her and lower them hand-over-hand to the ground? By the time their pursuers manage to break the door down and get out onto the roof, they’d be well away. Once safely on the square, they’d be able to elude their pursuers and make good their escape through the narrow streets. How about that?’
He thought about it for a moment, eager to see a happy ending to their story. The chicken casserole was gradually cooling and he risked another mouthful. It really was excellent. He took his time while considering the various options. Finally he decided.
‘Yes, I reckon that’s the way it happened. After all, he was strong enough to lower the two of them safely to the ground. Why not? And once they were clear of the cathedral they could head for sanctuary in Portugal.’ He took a mouthful of red wine.
‘Just imagine.’ She was still waiting for the chicken to cool. ‘Trapped up there on the gallery. They both knew what awaited them at the hands of the Inquisition. She, in particular, would have been terrified at the thought of torture. Can you imagine being tortured at all? But when you’re blind…?’
Luke shivered at the thought, having seen enough medieval instruments of torture in museums to turn anybody’s stomach. He knew, with a sinking feeling, that there was only one way it could end. He chose to say it before she had to.
‘There would have been only one way out. He would have taken her in his arms. I can’t imagine that they would have been able to travel all that way together without getting emotionally involved. He would have taken her in his arms and then, as the archers took aim, he would have turned to her and whispered that he loved her. And then the two of them would have fallen from the gallery a hundred feet to the stone floor below and certain death.’ He took another mouthful of wine, feeling saddened by this version of events.
Amy made a start on the casserole, but it wasn’t long before she declared herself full. She pushed the plate away, wiped her mouth with her napkin and sat back, lost in thought. Somehow their story couldn’t finish like that. Their medieval counterparts deserved to find the happiness they both had found.
Luke looked across the table at her, as the waiter cleared away the plates. He saw the pain on her face, as she considered the fate of their characters. He caught the waiter’s eye and ordered two coffees, keen to get out into the open again and away from this morbid topic of conversation.
She came to a decision. ‘No.’ Her mind was made up and her voice was firm. ‘It’s unthinkable that they should have come so far, against the odds, only to find themselves beaten at the last hurdle. They made it. I know they did. Here,’ she lifted her glass. ‘Let’s drink to them and their happiness. We did it, why not them?’
He reached out with his glass and touched hers. It was only right that their companions for the last thousand kilometres should be as lucky and as happy as they were.
‘To them and their happiness.’ Luke took a mouthful, then added. ‘And to ours, Amy. And to ours.’
They clinked their glasses together and Amy had a sudden thought. ‘That’s funny, we never knew their names, did we?’