by Jon Mackley
‘As you wish,’ Will said, looking bored. They walked back outside. Lara pulled the heavy church doors closed behind her, leaving the lovers to their secrets. They walked along the Rue de la République and then through the Jardin du Rocher des Doms, a wide park at the rear of the cathedral and the Palais des Papes. The winter trees were skeletal and forbidding. The air was still and grey. Lara heard the distant trickle of water. A huge rock towered at the far end of the park, covered with foliage. In a large hollow of the rock, there was a small waterfall. Most of the water had frozen, making bone-coloured stalactites. Vegetation spread over the sides of the hollow, almost enclosing it. Some of the leaves trailed lazily in the water. A small fountain jetted darts of water in the centre of the grotto. A few swans eyed the visitors suspiciously.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Lara said, marvelling at the ice cavern.
Will said nothing. She saw the agitation in his face. He wanted to find out about the stars and stones. If she was honest, then she was just as curious, but she needed something to take her mind off the intensity of the journeys, she needed something to tell her that there was a normal world outside of this insanity and once they had finished the trails and could not follow the poet any longer, there would be a normal world waiting for her.
Whatever normal truly was.
The Rocher des Doms offered a panoramic vision of the city of Avignon. Lara looked up at the clock tower in the Place de l’Horloge and even at the little mannequins ready to strike the bells. She could see the Palais and the square in front of it, and behind her, the River Rhône coiled along the side of the walls like an obese grey serpent. The weathered white stones of the four spans of the Pont St Bénézet were a brutal contrast of the chainmail colour of the river. A low mist hung over the water and swathed the opposite bank. She stared at the small chapel built into the remains of the bridge. The guidebook said it was called the Chapelle Saint-Nicholas.
‘Shall we go?’ Lara asked.
Will nodded and they descended from the Rocher by a series of steep steps that led through the Rémparts of the city. At the base of the bridge, she realised they would have to climb a flight of iron stairs and pay to get onto the bridge.
‘I don’t see why we should pay,’ Will said with a mock grudging. ‘After all, the bridge doesn’t even lead anywhere.’
There were few tourists on the bridge that day. The cold weather kept them away. Lara was disappointed. She’d hoped she might see a number of French people in traditional dress dancing as though they had no cares in the world.
She took Will’s hands. ‘Come on, Will, dance with me.’
Will pulled away from her. ‘I can’t. I can’t let go when there’s so much else to do.’
Lara gave a patient sigh. ‘Is that really true, Will? Is finding this so important that nothing else matters?’
‘It is important. And you want it as much as me.’
Lara stood with her arms akimbo. ‘Not at the exclusion of everything else. And I was thinking of something Tantris said: “Don’t try and control all the secrets or they might end up controlling you”.’
‘That’s rubbish, Lara. I’m not trying to control all the secrets. I just want to find what’s at the end of this trail.’
‘What if there’s nothing at the end of the trail? What if the poet was just trying to get people to visit Avignon: people who believed there was something at the end of the trail? Perhaps, as Feste said in Twelfth Night: Better to be a witty fool than a foolish wit.’
‘Enough with the quotations, Lara.’ He turned on her, his eyes blazed. ‘Okay, I’ll concede. You’re right. This is important to me. You’ll never know how important. But I’ve been chased across the country by men who’d kill me before the secrets are revealed. I want to know what’s at the end of the trail, and I would really like to know soon. If someone thinks it’s worth killing for, then maybe revealing what’s at the end of this is worth dying for. I’m not much of a gambler, but that’s a risk I want to take.’
‘Against such odds?’ Lara said. Her voice was quieter now. The venom in his voice had taken her aback. ‘They might have people in every city. We’re just two people.’
‘I like those odds. If we can stay just one step ahead of them then before they realise where we are, we’ll have moved on again. They’ve managed to get close to us … bloody close … but they haven’t caught us, and if we keep moving and if we can work out the clues, then we can be out of here before they ever knew we were in Avignon … and not waste time by dancing on a stupid bridge.’
Lara nodded. ‘I see what you’re saying, Will, but if we lose all our sense of fun, haven’t things just become too serious?’
Will looked at her. Resolution was a bitter mask etched on his face; it was mixed with anger at her defiance. Lara shuddered: it was like looking at Michael’s anger. She took a step away when she saw his hands were balled into fists.
Then his eyes closed. He took a deep breath and his shoulders relaxed. He moved towards her and gave her a sheepish smile, then embraced her. He held her tight. She was surprised by his sudden show of affection and the abruptness of his mood swings. But, the strength of his touch made her feel he would always keep the darkness at bay.
‘The truth … the truth is I don’t like this place,’ Will said. ‘Like you, I need to be in control of my situation. There’s only one way off this bridge and that’s back the way we came. I wouldn’t fancy my chances of surviving that river at the moment. Even if the current doesn’t get us, the cold of the river might.’ He gave a nervous smile. ‘But this is important to you, so let’s do it.’
‘We won’t be long,’ she said, hugging him back. ‘Besides, a complete change of thoughts might make us look in a different direction. She took his hands in hers and started to sing Sur le Pont d’Avignon.
They danced, holding hands, using each other’s momentum to propel themselves. The centrifugal motion seemed to pull all the darkness from her heart. For a short while, she felt all her troubles had faded away. She knew they would still be waiting for her when she left the bridge, but, for the moment, even that did not matter.
Lara’s face glowed with pleasure as she broke from the dance. Will was smiling too, but he was agitated, eager to be away from the bridge. His eyes flicked to the building on the shore. She allowed him to lead her away from there. Her heart was pounding, partially with the exertion, partially with pleasure from the dance and partially with fear. Will led her quickly down the iron stairs. They stopped at the roadside near one of the more recent city gates, the Porte du Rocher.
Lara’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Porte du Rocher,’ she whispered. ‘D’you think …?’
Will shook his head. ‘Sorry to dash your hopes, but the scroll said lapidem, not silicem. Stone, not rock. And we know he’s specific about the words he uses.’
‘So there’s no point in walking around the outside of the city and checking out the gates?’ Lara asked. She peered over his arm at the map. She pointed at the gate in the south western corner. ‘What about the Porte Saint Roch …?’
Will shook his head. ‘No good. For the same reason.’
‘Maybe he saw a star in one of the stones on the wall?’ she asked hopefully.
Will looked at the map. ‘We wouldn’t even know if he had a haystack to put that needle in,’ Will said. ‘Besides, it’d take ages just checking out each of the five main gates, let alone the other gates.’ He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the map again. His eyes widened. ‘Five gates …’ he said slowly. ‘The gates! It’s so obvious. The star was right under our nose all the time.’ He pointed at the long line of the Rue de la République, which ran through the city, through the Place de l’Horloge, past the Papal Palace and gardens near the Pont St Bénézet and ending at the Porte du Rocher, where they were standing. Will took a pen from his pocket and leant against one of the walls, then drew a line from the Porte de la République and ended it at the city walls on the northern side of
the city, and from that point, he drew a second line down that ended close to the Porte Limbert, making an inverted V shape.
‘I see where you’re coming from,’ Lara said. She watched in anticipation as he drew in the other lines:
‘It’s not perfect,’ he admitted.
‘It’s far from perfect,’ Lara objected. She pointed to the right-hand point. ‘That doesn’t go anywhere.’
Will pointed at a point in a square just above the Rue Luchet. ‘I don’t have time to explain that this should be the city walls,’ Will said. ‘Mostly because I’m making this up as I go along.’ His uneasiness was spiced with irritation. ‘He was working with the materials he had to hand. He couldn’t exclude a part of the city and he couldn’t ask the Pope to install a new western gate.’
Lara wasn’t totally convinced. ‘If you’re right …’ she looked at the star again and smiled. ‘Once again, the poet’s made it obvious so you wouldn’t see it unless you knew what you were looking for.’ She rubbed her eyes. She was tired. ‘But that’s only the first part of the riddle. What’s the stone at the centre of the star?’
Will looked at the pentagon that was in the centre of the Seal of Solomon. ‘We need a more detailed map,’ he said.
Lara opened the guidebook. A map was printed on the inside back cover. There were two churches. She stared at the basic map and scoured the guide map for a location. ‘The Église Saint-Didier, which we’ve already seen,’ she stammered over the word, embarrassed at her attempt at pronunciation, ‘and the Église Saint-Pierre,’ she said, faltering over the French words. ‘What’s that? The Church of St Peter?’
Will nodded. ‘And once again the poet shows us the blindingly obvious.’ Lara’s eyes narrowed quizzically. Will continued. ‘It was Jesus’s famous one-liner in the Bible: You are Peter, and upon this stone I build my church. The word for “Peter” and “stone” are the same – even in French.’ He grinned. ‘The poet knew what he was doing. When Gawain gets to the gates of the castle just before Christmas time, the porter utters an oath when he welcomes Gawain stating “By Peter”. The clues were in the poem again. Find the church of Peter in the centre of the city by using the gates.’
The Église Saint-Pierre was set back from the main commercial road, just south of the Palais. The façade was an impressive example of the Flamboyant Gothic style, made from the same sand-coloured, weathered stones as they had seen in many of the buildings of the area. Lara’s guidebook said this area had originally been the site of a Roman theatre. A religious building had been on the site for many centuries, but it had been destroyed many times. The main construction of the church had started in the early fourteenth century, and it was finally consecrated in the mid fifteenth century.
Two high towers flanked the tall building. Two dark mid-Gothic windows stared down on them like malevolent eyes, and the great ached doorway looked like a mourning mouth. The heavy doors, twice the height of a tall man, depicted the Annunciation, Saint Michael slaying the dragon, mythical creatures and tiny cherubim carrying cornucopia.
A cloud passed over the sun. Lara was momentarily convinced that one of the chimeras moved slightly, observing her more closely with its snake-like head.
‘All right, let’s do it,’ Will said, pushing open the doors.
Unlike the previous church they had seen, the interior of the church was light. The altar was illuminated in gold, with many wooden arches with painted scenes from the Bible. Lara scanned the faces, hoping to see King Solomon holding a baby in one hand, a knife in the other and with two women at his feet, one indifferent to the death of the child, one pleading for the child’s life. It was one of the few stories she remembered from Sunday school.
The door closed behind them, startling Lara. A woman had walked in, dipped her fingers in the holy water, knelt in the aisle in front of the Cross and genuflected. She walked to one of the chairs and her footsteps echoed around the church.
‘I don’t know how anyone could stay in here,’ Lara told Will and lowered her voice as the echo thundered back at her. ‘It smells like someone died.’
‘Maybe they did,’ Will said with a grin. ‘You’re right though. They’ve been a bit heavy handed with the incense.’
‘It’s not just that,’ Lara said. ‘The air feels thick, musty. It’s like this place hasn’t been aired in years.’
‘Ambience,’ Will told her. He pointed up at the plain, pointed arches. ‘These were done a lot earlier than the front. This is an early Gothic style. The front of the building is more Mid-Gothic and a touch of Renaissance as well.’ His eyes had a merry twinkle. ‘You’ll have to forgive me. I’m in history teacher mode again.’
Lara smiled back and returned to her scrutiny of the paintings around the altar. ‘Any guesses what we’re looking for?’ she asked.
‘I thought there might be something significant about the word “stone”, aside from the joke about Peter, but there doesn’t seem to be an important block around here.’
Lara pointed at the last Station of the Cross, engraved from white marble. ‘What about the rock that Jesus was crucified on?’
‘That’s the hill of Calvary,’ Will told her. ‘We’re not likely to find it here.’
‘Back to Israel then?’ Lara said with a smile.
‘Do you have any idea how many inoculations you need to get to Israel?’
‘No.’
Will stared at the diamond pattern on the floor. ‘Neither do I, but I bet it’s a lot.’ He gave a heavy sigh, staring into the distance. ‘Really important to have the right shots,’ he said in a soft and distracted voice.
Lara cleared her throat. ‘The manuscript?’
Will suddenly glanced around, as if surprised he was still in Avignon. He opened his notebook. ‘It has to be something to do with the clue in the Palais.’ He read the inscription out loud: ‘Quaere lapidem in stella – it has to mean something.’ He rubbed his chin; his face was a mask of concentration. ‘Search for the stone in the star,’ he mused. ‘What other clues would he have provided?’ He pulled the manuscript from his pocket and started to read. The Middle English words had become more familiar to Lara. Will was looking at the section where Gawain arrived at his host’s castle.
Above the altar was a magnificent golden sun. A huge bird was breaking out of the light, an icon for the Resurrection, no doubt. A few suns, but no stars, Lara recalled.
They spent an hour looking at the carvings at the bases of the high vaulted arches, scanning each stone for a tiny engraving. Each statue was analysed in minute detail, with some hope that it might be a reflection from times gone past. Occasionally, Lara called to Will for help, not understanding the relevance of some of the adornments, or hoping he would see something in the images that she did not.
The woman who had come in after them finished praying and left. A few other believers arrived and went to one of the shrines with flickering candles. Some lit a candle and left. Others stayed and waited in prayer, meditating on the flickering flames, reflecting on lost loved ones.
After walking around the church for what seemed like a dozen times, Will slumped dejectedly into one of the pews. He rubbed his tired eyes before he looked up at her. ‘What do you say to a coffee and get a break from this place?’
‘Lara shook her head. ‘A while longer, Will. I can feel the answer’s in our grasp.’
‘It’s the same as the other churches,’ Will said. ‘No statues of Solomon. No stars, no references to stones.’ He peered round nervously. ‘Look, Lara, let’s get away from here, or go back to the hotel and see if we can find any references to Peter in the manuscript, or see what the porter says Gawain’ll find in the castle.’ He moved towards the door.
Lara shook her head. ‘We’re almost on top of it Will, we can’t go now.’
‘We can’t stay, Lara. I’m sensing trouble. Let’s get away from here.’
Lara stood resolute. ‘You’re always sensing trouble.’
‘All right, five more minutes,’ Will sa
id. ‘But I’m going outside. I’m stone-blind here. If I see another Mid-gothic archway, I’ll scream. Besides, I’m getting claustrophobic.’
Lara watched Will leaving, wanted to follow him and decided against it. She already knew she wasn’t looking for something specifically related to the poem, but something only loosely connected, like a mixture of colours, or a potpourri of legends. A little light fell into the church as Will opened the door. He looked at her back over his shoulder once and then closed the door behind him.
Lara suddenly felt alone, oppressed by the silence in the church. The candles stood erect, sentinels tensing at the same danger that Will had sensed. She shivered with the unnerving sensation of someone walking over her grave.
I refuse to be scared away, she told herself. She marvelled at the great pillars that made up the archways of the church. There were animals carved into the base of the arches. Beneath them, Stations of the Cross were carved in white marble high overhead. She squinted at the Roman numeral of the first Station. ‘I think we do know the sweet Roman’s hand,’ she whispered.
She realised she’d said those words once before: in Chester cathedral, when she had seen the Roman numeral for ten thousand. Her heart lifted. She was looking for a numeral from the poem; she was looking for the numeral for the star.
She wanted Will to be here, to share the discovery, but she also wanted to prove that the extra five minutes had been worth the wait. She wanted to grin triumphantly, perhaps even to gloat and say “told you so”. Perhaps he would then relax; perhaps they could plan their next destination. Perhaps he would take her out to dinner and they would talk as though they had no fears in the world, knowing they would soon be away. Perhaps he would make love to her again with the same intensity as the previous evening …
She found it hard to wipe the wistful grin from her face. She walked along the aisle. There were two stations on each pillar. She stopped at the third pillar and stared up.
There was a carving of a bear savaging a man at the base of the arches. At least, that’s how it appeared: she was unsure exactly what was happening, but the bear appeared happy about it, and the man beneath him didn’t. Underneath this were two Stations of the Cross. Here was a depiction of a man helping Christ when he stumbled with the cross. She squinted at the words: Jesus est aidé par Simon de Cyrène. She didn’t know this part of the Bible. Will would know. She guessed ‘Simon de Cyrène’ was the name of one of the saints and wondered if her hopes of travelling to Israel would be fulfilled after all.
