Ego sum lux …, I remembered, and suddenly everything made sense.
The Templar’s refinement to hide their gold was incredible. They had hidden their riches so magnificently that, if it hadn’t have been for the fact that I had managed to get my hands on Manrique of Mendoza’s message, I would never have found a single part of it. The key was the Tau but the Tau was only a decoy, the call that attracted the initiate; then came the clarification of the clues. Like the pieces of a machine they all had to fit together in order to work. I began to wonder if the Tau was just one of many possible routes, whether there were other decoys such as, for example, the Beta or the Pi, or perhaps Aries or Gemini. The huge number of possibilities made me dizzy. And that’s when the ray of light fell upon the old man with the Tau-shaped staff, and seemed to linger lazily on it.
“When the gentleman wishes,” said the old clerk from behind me, “we can return to the inn.”
“We are deeply grateful for your kindness. But if you wouldn’t mind, my son and I would like to stay for a while and pray to the saint.”
“I see that St. John has awoken your piety!” he said joyfully.
“We will pray for one of my brother’s daughters who has been trying to conceive a child for years.”
“You’re doing a good thing, a good thing! There is no doubt that St. John will grant your prayers. I will wait for you back at the house with your Jewish friend. May God be with you.”
“And with you.”
As soon as he had gone, Jonas turned around and scrutinized me.
“What’s going on? We don’t have a sterile cousin.”
“Pay attention, boy.”
I put my hand on his neck and moved his head, as if he were a rag doll, towards the capital of the Annunciation.
“Take a good look at old St. Joseph.”
“Another Tau!” he said elated.
“Another Tau,” I agreed. “And look at that ray of light that’s disappearing; it’s still illuminating it a little bit.”
“If there’s a Tau here,” he said, shaking my hand off, “there must be another hiding place for the Templar treasures.”
“Of course there is. And I know where it is.”
He looked at me with huge, gleaming eyes. “Where, sire?”
“Think, boy. What was it that caught our attention the most in Eunate?”
“The history of King Solomon and all those strange animals on the capitals”
“No, Jonas! Think! There was only one capital that was different from the rest. You pointed it out to me yourself.”
“Ah, yes, the one with the resurrection of Lazarus and the blind Bartimaeus!”
“Exactly. But if you remember well, the phrase chiseled on the tablet of the resurrection scene was incorrect. In it, Jesus, while he was reviving his friend, said: Ego sum lux, but according to the Gospel, Jesus didn’t say those words then. And what do we have here in St. John of Ortega?”
“We have a ray of light illuminating it.”
“And a saint who was a miracle worker who, according to the priest here, was an expert in reviving the deceased like the scene in the Chapel of Eunate and like the one in the chapel of the Templar church in Torres del Rio, remember? There was also a single capital that looked normal with the motif of the resurrection of Jesus.”
“That’s right!” he exclaimed, punching his thigh. You couldn’t deny that he was my son. Even his most thoughtless gestures were a poor imitation of mine. “But that doesn’t tell us where the gold is hidden.”
“Yes it does, but in case you have any further doubts, we also have the information we got from the Templar church in Puente la Reina.”
“What information?”
“Do you remember I told you about the wall paintings of Our Lady of Orzs?” the boy nodded. “Well, from the top of a Y-shaped tree, or a Goose Leg, a symbol of the secret brotherhoods of initiated bridge builders and architects (and remember that St. John of Ortega was one of them), a majestic eagle was looking at a sunset. As you know, the eagle symbolizes sunlight and the sunset painted there corresponds to the time now; that ray of light that illuminated the Tau is a ray of twilight.”
“O.K., fine, but where’s the gold?” he said impatiently.
“In the tomb of St. John of Ortega.”
“In the tomb! You mean … Inside the tomb?”
“Why not? Don’t you remember the capitals? The tombstones were also pushed to one side to allow the revived dead to get out.
It’s the same as the wall that covered the crypt of St. Oria, and I bet you anything you want that they found the treasure of St. Orosia of Jaca inside a tomb where a wall had to be removed. Although ….”
“Although … what?”
“In Torres del Rio there was a cloud of smoke coming out of the tomb. In fact, the two female figures, those two Marys of the Gospel, looked more like corpses. It’s possible, Jonas, it is very possible that the tomb of St. John of Ortega has some sort of trap, some kind of volatile poison suspended in the air.”
“Well, don’t tell Count Le Mans,” he said happily. “He must be just about to show up. Let him open it. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes,” I said, imitating his smile, “that’s an excellent idea. I won’t say that I don’t feel an urge to let him die poisoned. But this time, boy, we will recover the treasure. Le Mans doesn’t have to find out until we have seen inside that tomb.”
“But we will die, sire!”
“No, because we know that there is a risk and we will implement the necessary measures so that doesn’t happen. And now, young Jonas, although I know it will be difficult for you, put on your best angelic face and we will leave this church as if we have been devoutly praying: Not a single gesture or movement that would give away our findings, do you understand? Remember that Le Man’s henchmen are watching us.”
“Don’t worry, sire, watch this.”
All of a sudden he fell to pieces. His depression and sadness were so over the top that I had to give him a slap.
“Not that much, you idiot!”
If we went back to the sanctuary, Le Mans would find out, so we had to find a good excuse to make our visit seem reasonably logical. Luckily, the clerk himself gave us a good reason.
“I have to go to the church to put out the candles in the lamps and the alter candles,” he muttered, stretching and yawning.
We were sitting in front of the fire, wrapped up in old, ragged, wool blankets. Sara dozed restlessly in her chair; she was nervous because the next day she would be meeting up with Mendoza in Burgos. I was also excited about how close I was to meeting with Isabel but I wasn’t sure what was affecting me more, seeing Jonas’ mother after so many years or Sara finding her beloved Manrique.
“Let my son go for you,” I proposed.
“Oh, no! I pray to St. John every day at this time while I put the candles out.”
“Fine, well, let my son and I go, and as a way of thanking you for your hospitality, we will both pray to the saint for you and on your behalf.”
“That’s not a bad idea, no sir!” he said happily.
“It’s a very good idea,” I agreed, so as not to give him time to think.
“Jonas, get the priest’s candle snuffer and let’s go.”
Jonas picked up a staff with a brass cone on the top from the corner and stood by the door waiting for me. I stood up and went over to Sara to let her know that we were going but she was sound asleep and I didn’t want to wake her. I could have put my hand on her shoulder to rouse her and nobody would have thought badly; I could have even picked up her hand and stroked it and nothing extraordinary would have happened; I could have gently touched her hair, or her cheek, and not even the good priest would have been scandalized. But I didn’t do any of those things because I would have known the truth.
“Sara, Sara …,” I whispered next to her ear. “Go to bed. Jonas and I will be right back.”
We crossed the courtyard, illuminated by the light of the
full moon. The church was just as empty as when we had left it but quieter because thankfully the flies had disappeared.
“How are we going to lift the lid of the tomb?” Jonas whispered.
‘“Give me a place to stand and I will move the earth’, said Archimedes.”
“Who?”
“Good God, Jonas! Didn’t you receive any education?!”
“Well, now you are the only person responsible for it, just so as you know!”
I pretended that I hadn’t heard him and pulled out an adze and Le Man’s dagger from under my cloak and raising them went over to the tomb.
“Here,” I said, holding out the stylus, “scrape the mortar on the other side and when you have finished bring the candle snuffer.”
It wasn’t difficult to move the slab with the help of the snuffer pole once we had dislodged it, although we had to do it with much care so as not to split the wood.
“Take your shirt off,” I ordered Jonas, “and tear it in half. Then soak the pieces in the holy water of the baptistery.”
“In the holy water!”
“Do what I tell you! And quickly, if you don’t want to die poisoned!”
We covered our faces with the wet cloth, tying them in a knot behind our heads and then gave a final push on the cover which gave way and moved about a cubit. From inside rose a puff of yellow smoke which quickly spread throughout the church.
“Cover your eyes with the wet cloth and drop to the ground!” I shouted as I rushed to the door to open it wide. The night breeze dissipated part of the yellow fog; the rest remained floating in the nave, barely two palms above our head. If it hadn’t have been for the warning of the capital we would have died a horrible death.
“Get up slowly, boy!”
Bending over like a hunchback to avoid the poisonous cloud, I looked into the tomb. Some stone steps descended into the dark interior of a crypt hidden beneath the church.
“Jonas, get one of the candelabras from the alter and bring it over here. But remember to keep your head down! The air is cleaner near the floor.”
We descended with great caution, fearing that the ground would fall beneath our feet, that a stone would come loose and fall on our heads, or that an unexpected trap would enclose our bones forever inside that tomb. But nothing happened. We reached the bottom without any unpleasant surprises. By the light of the candles we could see a small, circular room with the walls and ceiling covered by great slabs of stone. We couldn’t see the floor, because it was covered by huge chests filled with gold and silver, by mountains of gems on which lay pieces of embroidered cloth, crowns, tiaras, pendants, earrings, rings, goblets, challises, crosses, candelabras and countless scrolls of various scriptures brought from the East. And that was just minor treasure, a little part, a tiny pinch of the total! Silently, and dazzled by the reflection from the light on the jewels, we walked around, looking, touching and assessing the priceless rosaries, the marvelous relics, cruets, chalices, pyxes and pendants, until, unexpectedly, the boy broke the silence.
“I have a bad feeling, sire. Let’s get out of here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know, sire …,” he hesitated. “All I know is that I want to leave. It’s a very strong feeling.”
“O.K., boy, let’s go.”
Life has taught me to respect those inexplicable signs. More than once I had found myself in serious danger because I hadn’t listened to my instinct, because I had ignored those mysterious warnings. So if my son had that feeling, we had to go … and fast.
On a mother-of-pearl table was a common wooden lectorile with rough edges, placed in such a way so as to catch our attention and on it, laying abandoned, was a leather parchment tied with ribbons that were sealed with the Templar sigillum (42). I didn’t think twice and grabbed it, tucking it between the folds of my cloak as I chased the boy up the steps at full speed.
There was nothing strange outside. Apparently, the church was just as quiet, cold and deserted as when we had gone down into the crypt.
“Sorry to have ruined your investigation,” apologized Jonas, upset.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure that you felt something and I don’t blame you for that. Quite the opposite.”
I hadn’t finished uttering the last words when a clicking sound made us jump and turn our heads towards the tomb. A small murmur followed a bang, and we heard the sound of something dismantling and sliding, and the roar made the floor creak. The slabs of St. John of Ortega’s tomb caved in and fell into the hole, producing a cloud of dust that climbed to the top of the sanctuary, mixing with the yellow cloud of poison. The noise was deafening. It felt like the church was about to fall on top of us at any moment.
“Run, Jonas, run!” I shouted, pushing him towards the door.
But I don’t know what was worse, because outside, with his sword raised, Count Joffroi of Le Mans was waiting for us with all his men.
“Speak!”
“I’ve already explained it to you a hundred times!” I said, letting my head fall heavily between my shoulders. “I had to see what was down there before you took it all away. What else do you want to know?”
Le Man’s men worked hastily at the bottom of the crypt. They had already taken out all of the treasure (which they stacked under the same capital of the Annunciation that had hinted its existence) and they were now busily repairing the damage caused by the collapse. From what we had seen, rather too late, the lid of the tomb was actually the piece that held the entire structure of the secret chamber together, and by removing it, we had caused an avalanche, just as somebody had methodically calculated would happen. What detail had I missed? Where was the error?
“If I don’t kill you right now it’s because you have begun to fulfill your mission of finding the gold,” bellowed Le Mans, “but the Pope will be promptly informed and you can be sure this will not go unpunished.”
“I already told you, Count, that it was necessary.”
“My men will repair the damage and there will be no sign of the disaster by daybreak. But if the Templars begin to suspect what you are dong, neither you, nor your son, nor that Jewish woman who is traveling with you, will live to see another day.”
“And the friar, what will you do with him?”
“Forget about him. He no longer exists. Tonight someone else will take his place.”
Why had I asked about his destiny? The poor man had been wrapped up in a plot that was too big for him through no fault of his own, and had been crushed without mercy.
“Collect your things and leave,” continued Le Mans. “And remember that next time you decide to act upon your own initiative without speaking to me, your work will have ended forever.”
“There is nothing I would like more,” I replied, knowing that his way of ending it and mine were completely different.
In the middle of the night we gathered our things and continued our journey to Burgos, crossing a wooded area of oak and pine trees. The moon was our light and the cries of the wolves our background music. We had nowhere else to go other than that marked by destiny and that’s where we were headed. The Mendozas, brother and sister, were waiting for us.
CHAPTER V
At midday, with the sun high in the sky, we entered the magnificent and proud city of Burgos, capital of the kingdom of Castile. Already from a distance, due to the bustle of carriages, people and animals, and due to the number of pilgrims that were coming and going around us, we could tell that we were approaching the greatest of the main towns along the Camino. We had to push our way through in order to cross the bridge that, together with the Church of St. John the Evangelist, spanned the moat and gave way to the gate in the wall. Although there was very little control, as it was market time, the guards asked for our passes and only let us through after examining them carefully. The long cobbled street that crossed from one side of the city to the other and that formed part of the actual Way of the Apostle was flanked by noisy taverns and bustling inns,
numerous shops selling all kinds of merchandise and small stalls with Christian, Jewish and Moorish crafts. The smell of urine and excrement was strong and penetrating, and hung over the city like a thick emission of unhealthy stench. Needless to say, the city’s doctors could not keep up with all of the chest and stomach complaints.
Instead of looking for accommodation like most of the pilgrims in one of the many inns that surrounded the Church of St. John the Evangelist, Jonas and I were going to seek refuge in the sumptuous Hospital of the King, an opulent inn run by the Bernadine monks from the nearby Royal Monastery of Las Huelgas. Sara, who had barely opened her mouth since we had left the village of San Juan de Ortega, would bid us farewell in the large and prosperous juderia of Burgos where she planned to stay with a distant relative, Don Samuel, Rabi of the aljama, who had been the head tax collector for the deceased King Don Ferdinand IV.
We passed by the many beautiful churches that lined the street but only stopped in front of the perfection and the splendor of the cathedral, unmatched by any other building along the sacred Camino, and were left dumbstruck and in awe, as if we had been gifted with a heavenly and glorious vision. Perhaps the centuries will know Burgos for its heroes, such as Knight Ruy Diaz of Vivar, of whom the chronicles and minstrels already spoke but I’m sure that it will be much better known for its cathedral, an example of beauty in stone that man can create with the intelligence of his mind and the ability of his hands.
Unfortunately, just a few steps later, we came across the aljama. At the door we bade farewell to Sara, possibly forever. It was a moment that had been buried by the events in Ortega and by those of us who were coming closer to the Mendozas, and had lacked importance until this very moment. It was as if the time would never arrive, as if it weren’t possible.
“I don’t want us to part on sad terms,” whispered Sara, decisively throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Life has brought us together twice and might also reunite us one day. Who knows?”
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