Iacobus (33 page)

A chaplain freire — or freixo, as he preferred to be called —, greeted us at the doorway to the Church of St. John of Ziz, located to the south of Villafranca, where my Order’s flag waved on the wall. This town, rich in grape vines since the ‘Black Monks’ of Cluny brought the plants over from France, was famous for a very strange peculiarity: Sick pilgrims, incapable of reaching Compostela, could receive the Great Forgiveness at its Church of St. James, as if they had really reached the tomb of the Apostle. Which is why a large number of people of all nationalities, classes and backgrounds clustered along its walls, feeling as though they were a bit closer to the end of the Camino.

The Hospitaller freixo, a robust man with little hair and no teeth, made himself available as soon as I gave him my name and my position at our common Order. He quickly offered me his house, a humble building with a straw roof alongside the sturdy walls of the Church of St. John, where he and a rather dim lay brother freixo had lived for many years. Both formed a kind of detachment or religious outpost for the Hospital in the eastern gates of Galicia, this kingdom where my Order seemed to have abundant commandries, castles and priories which, since the demise of the Templars, did nothing but progress and grow. The main house, a beautiful fortress built in Portomarin and dedicated to St. Nicholas, was about sixty miles away towards Santiago. With good horses, I told myself, we shouldn’t take more than two days to make the journey. Without giving too many details, I told them that we weren’t in a position to buy either good or bad horses and that I was hoping that they could give us this gift out of generosity and their compassionate nature. When I saw him hesitate and stammer some timid excuses, I had to exercise all the power that my rank of Hospitaller Knight gave me to erase any doubt in his mind: We needed those animals and there was no possible excuse. I didn’t tell him that our lives were in danger and that only at St. Nicholas would the boy, Sara and I be safe. I also had to stay somewhere to await orders from John XXII and from frey Robert of Arthus-Bertrand, Grand Commander of France, who would no doubt be anxious to know the location of the Templar gold, and the Fortress of Portomarin seemed like a good place to do it.

We left Villafranca that same afternoon riding on three good brown mares, and crossed the narrow gouge of the River Valcarce, bordering steep rolling hills filled with chestnut trees, proudly displaying their sharp and menacing green fruits. The pain in Jonas’ ears did not subside and he had a gaunt and feverish look to him. He didn’t even seem to cheer up when, after great difficulty, we reached the peak of Mount O Cebreiro, from where, by the light of the moon, we could see the magnificent descent that awaited us towards Sarria. For two nights we crossed wet and gloomy forests of hundred-year-old oak, beech, hazel, yew, pineand maple trees, and countless villages whose inhabitants slept silently in their wooden pallozas
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while the dogs barked at the sound of our horse’ hooves. My fear of being recaptured by the Templar freires vanished with my certainty that only crazy people like us would dare to travel at night through those parts, infested with foxes, bears, wolves and wild boar. It’s not that I wasn’t afraid of being attacked by one of those dangerous animals but I knew their hunting and sleeping patterns and tried to make sure that our route was as far away as possible from the burrows to not alert them with our sounds or scent and at the same time keeping the old iron sword that the freixo had given me close to hand.

Finally, at daybreak on the forth of October, we crossed the stone bridge over the River Miño and entered Portomarin, a stronghold belonging to my Order, whose banners and pennons fluttered in all of the main buildings of the city. It was like being in Rhodes, I told myself with my chest swelling with joy. My spirit ardently longed for a well-deserved rest within the familiar walls of the fortress, the closest thing that I had seen to my house on the island in recent years.

We were greeted by four servant freixos who immediately took charge of the silent Sara and the downhearted Jonas, while I was directed through long corridors to meet with the prior of the house, Don Pero Nunes, whom, it seemed, had been awaiting my arrival for several days. I felt dizzy from the lack of sleep and was starving but the meeting awaiting me was much more important than warm milk and a delicious meal; I consoled myself by thinking that at least Sara and the boy had ended their hardship and I would soon be with them again. Although for how long? I asked myself sorrowfully. Now that everything was over, would I have to leave the witch and the boy behind?

At the end of a warm room, leaning against the mantelpiece of a large fireplace that easily illuminated the huge lounge, Don Pero Nunes, Prior of Portomarin, waited until I had entered before lifting his head to look me over. He was dressed in his nightshirt — you could tell that he had been hastily raised from his bed — and covered by a long white robe made of coarse wool, and his eyes, unlike mine, shone with agitation and anxiety.

“Freixo Galceran of Born!” he exclaimed coming towards me with his arms outstretched. His voice was deep and powerful, unbecoming of a body as sleek as his with such elegant manners, much more appropriate to shout orders on board a nao than to lead the prayers in a Hospitaller priory. I couldn’t make out whether the smell of perfume that reached my nose came from the fabrics and tapestries in the room or from Don Pero’s nightshirt.

“Freixo Galceran of Born!” he repeated excitedly. “We were advised of your possible arrival. All of the commandries and fortresses from the Pyrenees to Compostela have received very strict instructions to that effect. What do you have, freixo, to have kicked up so much dust?”

“Haven’t you been told anything, prior? What do you know?”

“I’m afraid, good knight,” he said, changing his tone from soft to dominating, “that I am the one who asks the questions around here and you are the one who replies. But please, sit down. Forgive my rudeness. You must be hungry. Tell me what’s going on while we are served breakfast.”

“Under any other circumstance, prior,” I apologized, “I wouldn’t hesitate to satisfy your demand, because as a knight and as a Hospitaller I must fully obey you but in this case, micer, I beg you, with all due respect, that you first tell me what you know and the orders that you have received regarding me.”

Don Pero grunted and gave me a grim look but the nature of the case must have advised him to act with prudence and moderation.

“All I know, freixo, is that I must advise of your appearance in this house as soon as you arrive, sending two knights to the city of Leon with the fastest horses in our stables. It seems that they are anxiously awaiting news of you. Meanwhile I must assist you with anything you may need,” he sighed. “Now it’s your turn.”

“If our superiors have told you nothing, sire, forgive this poor, tired knight for his obstinate silence but I can’t tell you anything more.”

“Ah, what a shame!” he protested, trying to cover his anger and standing up contemptuously. “Make yourself at home, freixo. You will incorporate yourself into the religious practices and will exercise any of the duties that suit you.”

“I am a doctor at the Hospital of Rhodes.”

“Oh, Rhodes! O.K., well, I will leave you in charge of our small hospital until the messengers reach Leon. Is there anything in particular you wish for?”

“The boy and the woman ….”

“Jewish, correct?” he asked with disdain.

“Correct, frey, she is Jewish. Well, her, the boy and myself are in grave danger.”

“I already assumed that,” he boasted.

“Our presence must not be made known under any circumstance.”

“Well, in that case I will provide you with a house in the mill of a nearby farm where nobody ever goes and which is very well protected by this fortress. Will that do?”

“I am very grateful, prior.”

“Well, that’s settled. Goodbye, freixo Galceran.”

And we dismissed me with a wave of his hand, without any sign of the breakfast he had promised and getting me out of there like someone shooing off an annoying fly.

That afternoon, when we awoke, Sara and I inspected our refuge while Jonas carried on sleeping heavily. That morning, before we had fallen into bed, I had administered him a little opium to help him get a proper rest after so many days of unmanageable pain. Luckily, his breathing was rhythmic and his pulse was calm.

The mill tower was in the middle of a grassy plain and its state of ruin showed its many years of abandonment. It was a basic construction, made of wood and built around a thick central pole protruding through the roof. Our mattresses were on the top floor, and on the ground floor, where Sara and I were at that time, was the old grinding mill, falling apart and with no stones to grind. Giant cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceiling and, upon finding one of those hard-working and beneficial insects, the witch sighed with satisfaction.

“Did you know that spiders are a good omen and if you see a spider in the afternoon or evening it means that a wish will come true …?” she said as she held my hand and pulled me outside.

Outside, the pale afternoon sun shone and the air was pure, so we sat, leaning against the corner of the building to enjoy our break and the peacefulness of the place. We didn’t have to run anymore, or travel at night, or escape from fratres milites; we just had to stay there, sitting quietly, enjoying our freedom.

“So, you are finally home …,” she said suddenly in a neutral tone.

“I told you that I was a Hospitaller monk, remember?”

“A Montesino! That’s what you told me you were!”

“I didn’t want to offend you with that lie, Sara, but I had orders to not identify myself as a Hospitaller.”

Her face contorted into a sneer.

“At the end of the day, what difference does it make? You are a soldier monk, a knight of the most powerful Order that exists right now, and, in addition, you are honest, faithful to your vows and the task that you have been entrusted with. I’m sure that you are also a great doctor.”

“Unfortunately I’m better known for my ability for these types of strange missions than for my abilities as a doctor. Everyone knows me as Perquisitore.”

“Well, it’s a shame, Perquisitore,” she said sadly, “that you aren’t just a simple knight or a plain barber surgeon.”

We were both silent for a while, saddened for the person I could never be, for what we could never be. Sara’s words conveyed the yearnings that I felt, like daggers in my heart but I could not answer them because it would have been like accepting a promise that I could not fulfill. And I loved her.

“You’re a coward, Perquisitore,” she whispered. “You’re leaving all the work up to me.”

The idea that I would soon be separated from her forever broke my heart.

“I can’t help you, Sara. I swear that if there was a door I could walk through to be with you, I wouldn’t think twice about it.”

“But that door exists, sire!” she protested.

My body screamed with the desire to take her in my arms and air was not reaching my lungs. I could feel her so close, so near, so warm, that pain was throbbing through my temples and my heart was beating madly in my chest.

“That door exists …,” she repeated, moving her lips towards mine.

There, under the setting sun, I could taste her mouth and feel her sweet engulfing breath. Her kisses, dry and shy at first, gradually became a torrent that dragged me into forgotten places. I loved her, I loved her more than life itself, I wanted her so much that it hurt and I couldn’t handle the idea of losing her because of some absurd vows. Desperate, I embraced her in my arms until I almost broke her and we rolled through the grass.

For hours I only existed inside Sara’s body. Night came, and the cold, and I didn’t even notice. I can vividly remember the shine of her polka-dotted, sweaty skin under the light of the moon, the curve of her hips, the pointedness of her small breasts and the smoothness of her back, of her stomach, of her thighs which my hands caressed non-stop. She guided me, taught me, and we passionately came together once or a thousand times, I don’t remember, we kissed until our lips hurt, until we couldn’t anymore and even so, delirium, a craving desire, kept burning, the poor and useless longing to stay there forever with our bodies fused into one.

It had begun amid sadness, although it ended with laughter and murmurs of pleasure. I told her over and over that I loved her and would always love her, and she, sighing with satisfaction at hearing that, nibbled my ear and my neck with a smile of happiness that I could feel being drawn on my skin. We slept on the grass, hugging, exhausted but we were awakened by the damp cold of dawn, and gathering our clothes from the ground and throwing them on, we went inside the dilapidated mill, smiling and settled down together on one of the two mattresses, covering ourselves with the furs. Our bodies quickly found the position to sleep together and molded naturally, as if they had been doing it forever, as if every corner, bump and swell fit perfectly into the grooves of the other. And we stayed like that until the next day. If Jonas heard, saw or guessed anything on that first night, he covered it up very well with his stillness and shut eyes but strangely, shortly after recovering from his illness, he decided that he wanted to sleep alone downstairs.

I knew that my love for Sara would never end but I didn’t want to think about what would happen to us when real life returned to that little paradise. My mind and my body rejected the idea that every second spent with her was a second stolen, a threatened second, and that later we would both have to pay them back with interest. The young love I had felt for Jonas’ mother was like a dream full of purity, like a pleasant afternoon next to a gentle stream; the love I felt for Sara wasn’t anything like that, since the hot passion caused that crazy river to overflow. I knew that there was no way to combine my position as a Hospitaller with that wonderful Jewish woman who had brought me back to life but I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to waste a single drop of that euphoric potion.