The Moon Worshippers (11 page)

“I understand that you are not being very co-operative.”

“Neither are you,” said the old warrior without opening his eyes.

“What is it that you want to know?” said the Abbot

“Have you the authority?” asked the old warrior mockingly.

“I have.”

The old man opened his eyes. “I want you to satisfy an old man’s curiosity. One who is about to meet his Gods and can do you no harm. We have a common interest in the Sisters of the Moon. Tell me what your interest has been.” The old man looked intensely at the Abbot.

“Very well. If I do, will you be open and frank with me?” said the Abbot.

“Only as open and frank as you are with me. Take care, my mind is not dead yet!” said the old warrior.

No, thought the Abbot, and a very sharp mind it is too. He thought for a moment and decided that whatever he said could not be reported elsewhere. The old man would be dead within the next day or two. He felt that the risk was worth taking in order to unlock the old man’s mind. After all, most of what he would say was in the past; it was history.

“You have to understand that Aragon is important to us. It is strategically placed. Its geographic position places it between the two points where our masters could, if they wished, enter Spain. They could enter, through the northern Pyrenees, through Navarra. Another option is in the southern Pyrenees through Catalonian. Issues of safety and supply will determine the decision as to our place of entry. Aragon could not be taken. It is too mountainous and its people too rebellious. It would have taken too many men and resources to subjugate the population. Furthermore, it has little to offer in terms of resources or taxes.”

“Cold blooded bastards, aren’t you?”

The Abbot smiled. “Our masters are realists.”

“Ha! What you mean is that you have tried the north once already and failed,” exclaimed the old man.

“If I may continue?” the Abbot said patiently.

The old man nodded.

“Since invasion was out of the question, we were charged with finding a way of keeping Aragon occupied with internal problems so that our masters could progress into Spain without having to make provision for an attack on their flank. Alternatively, we sought a peace treaty, an alliance that would allow Charlemagne to pass and fight our common foe.”

“So you hit upon the idea of the Sisters of the Moon to do your dirty work.”

“They were there to do God’s will.” The Abbot placed his long, fine hands inside his cassock sleeves.

“So you had problems?” The old man spoke solemnly.

“How did you guess?” asked the Abbot.

“I am a pagan, with a pagan’s mind. We worship common deities, including the Moon Goddess. The Sisters would not have taken kindly to you or your kind.”

“The first monks we sent were not heard of again,” the Abbot said matter-of-factly.

“They would have died painfully,” the old man said in a sad voice.

“God be merciful! How do you know?” exclaimed the Abbot.

“One night with Venus, and the rest of your days with devils,” the old man said sighing.

“Explain yourself!” The Abbot’s voice was full of authority.

“Prepare yourself Abbot! I will give you chapter and verse of the Devil’s work and his acolytes on earth and the part I have played in their work to my eternal shame and damnation!”

“Christ died so that you could be saved.” The Abbot made the sign of the cross. “There is always the hope of salvation and absolution, if you embrace the one true Christ.”

“He would have been better advised to save himself, instead of getting pinned to a piece of wood. Listen, monk, and learn! The Sisters of the Moon chose one of their most comely to become their priestess. From the age of fourteen she is anointed everyday with a substance; the strength is increased each day with different poisons. The acolyte gradually builds up a resistance. When you first see her, she glows as if covered with scented oils. Her beauty radiates around her. However, she is deadly to the touch. You do not feel it at first, but days later your limbs tingle, and then gradually the feeling in your legs disappears. It is a deadly embrace that gradually reaches your heart. The complexity of the poisons used means that there is no cure, just a slow and living death.”

“When did you embrace the priestess?” said the Abbot softly.

“Not so long ago, as did your monks, I fear,” the old man had tears in his eyes.

“Would you like to make your confession and receive absolution?”

“No, I will not renounce my Gods. Why should I make any enemies at this late stage?”

“Very well, but the offer remains if you should ever change your mind. You can tell me the location of the cave?”

The old man looked into the luminous black eyes of the Abbot. Ignoring the request, he asked a question. “Your intentions are no longer to enter through Navarra or invade Aragon?”

“No.”

“Your retreat from Navarra was unexpected?”

“Yes.”

“But you still hope to use the Sisters in some way?”

“The plan remains largely the same with a few necessary adjustments.”

“You used the Sisters to kill for you, didn’t you?”

*

The Abbott remained silent. The old man did not speak for a moment, a thought had occurred to him. There was something about the Abbot that troubled him. He considered the best way to approach the subject.

“Finally, let me ask you,” he said, in a matter of fact voice, “how many languages do you speak, Abbot?”

“Five,” replied the Abbot.

The two men looked at each other. Until that moment their conversation had been in French. The old man now spoke rapidly in his own language, Euskera.

“What is your name?” he asked in Basque.

The Abbot, caught off guard, involuntarily replied in Basque.

“My name is Angel Garai.”

The old man smiled. A Basque as he had thought and from his accent, Navarrese at that! He continued in Basque and noticed that the monk had stopped writing, since he obviously did not understand a word.

“You have a personal interest in my tale?”

The Abbot composed himself and replied in French.

“Please speak in French otherwise I will have to translate everything you say and that will be very tedious.”

The old man ignored him and continued in Basque.

“You care for your people?”

“I am the instrument of the one and only true God. I care for the eternal souls of all men.” The Abbot bowed his head.

“Ha!” The old man spoke with venom in his voice. He continued in Basque: “You make me laugh!” He paused. “You people preach the doctrine of the one and only God, Creator of Heaven and Earth, in whose sight all men are equal whatever their race, creed or state. You preach humility, charity, forgiveness of injuries done or perceived, and the condemnation of violence and yet you work for and support Charlemagne who is the greatest murderer and subjugator of the known races. Do you still support conversion at the point of a sword? Now translate that!”

The Abbot ignored him and replied in French. “He was destined to be the Protector of the Faith and ordained by His Holiness the Pope, our Father on earth, as King of the Franks. He is the instrument of the one true God.”

“You mean that God is on the side of those with the biggest armies? That might is right.”

The Abbot spoke gently. “Let us not quarrel, my son, tell me about the cave and Inaki’s dream.”

“You think it was just a dream? That this Nagusi cannot travel into the spirit world. Fool!”

The wily old man closed his eyes. He was in a mischievous mood. “It strikes me that the Moslem brethren can make the same claim to the one and only God. After all with His help they have conquered most of Spain.” He paused. “I’m tired.” He had finished.

The Abbot sat for a few moments. It was no good. He stood and left. When he reached his study he sat with his head in his hands and in tears. The interview had taken its toll. He would do his duty. He would report to his superiors all that had been revealed. But he was a Basque by birth and he loved these rebellious and independent people. He had left his roots when he had joined the Church, but he could not deny his people. They were part of him. He got up and went over to the crucifix in the corner of the room. He knelt on the stone floor and prayed for divine guidance and for the peaceful repose of the old man’s soul. But the thought kept troubling him. Was it possible that the Nagusi could change and move into a spiritual world? After all, did not the great Christian mystics have the same power? His intellect told him it was possible, but the thought was heresy. The other thought that troubled him was that the Moorish boy was still alive. Could it be possible that the old man had not guessed their involvement or was he playing some sort of game?

That evening he took a bowl of hot broth to the old man and fed him. From that day on he fed the old man himself and spoke to him in his native tongue. As the few remaining days passed the Abbot learnt more. The old man was deteriorating rapidly. He had lost all feeling up to his midriff and his lower limbs were oozing blood through the skin. The cell had an odour of decaying flesh. They washed him daily, but the smell prevailed despite all their efforts.

“You asked about the cave,” the old man said weakly. “Are you interested in its location or the young captive Moor?”

“Both,” the Abbot replied.

“Neither of us have time to play with each other,” said the old warrior in a tired voice.

“I don’t know what you mean,” the Abbot protested.

“What you really want to now is how a small party of Basques managed to penetrate your best kept secret and destroy your plans for the invasion of Spain. Is that not so?”

The Abbot remained silent. The old warrior was deep in thought. He was in pain now, but if he could convince the Abbot of the strength of the Basques, he could even at this late stage change the course of history. He gathered up the last of his remaining energy and strength.

“Very well. Your silence speaks volumes. It happened like this….”

Chapter Nine

Navarra and Aragon

The Basque forces that had marched into Pamplona had been so well received that they felt the hard journey had been worth it. They began by repairing the fortifications of the old Roman fort and the town. Spirits were high and the work progressed quickly with so many willing hands. When the work was almost completed, the three Basque captains called Inaki to a meeting. They ordered him to collect his men and depart to Aragon. He was ordered to gather intelligence by finding out the intentions of the Aragonese and the threat posed by the Sisters of the Moon. He was to discover Charlemagne’s route of entry into Navarra and the intentions of the Moorish governor of Zaragoza if he could. Any threat was to be destroyed or neutralised, if at all possible, without putting himself in danger or revealing himself and he was to report in all possible haste. He was not to put himself or his men at risk. His task meant that he would have to enter Aragon with his men. A force of Navarrese Basques would remain at the border guarding his escape. He was given a small bag of gold and silver coins.

Having gathered his men, Inaki informed them of their mission and told them to be ready to march with all the necessary supplies the next day. Two days after they set out from Pamplona, a group of ten Navarrese warriors joined them. At their head was Goiri.

“Hey,” he shouted as they caught up, “don’t forget that you are under my protection.”

“I am obliged to you,” Inaki said with a small nod.

“Where are you going?”

“Aragon,” replied Inaki.

“Aragon is a big country. Are you going to any particular part?”

“Zaragoza,” Inaki said.

“Zaragoza is a Moorish city. I’ll show you part of the way.” Goiri issued an order and two men sprang forward, moving 200 paces in front of the column. “They will scout ahead.”

As the days passed Inaki asked Goiri questions about his father. He found Goiri reluctant to talk. He would only say that he had been a popular and great warrior. There had been a family feud for sometime. Loyalties had been stretched and in the end a power struggle had ensued. This had ended with the death of his father at the hands of his brother. He learnt that his father had been poisoned. In the end Inaki stopped asking questions, since Goiri would say no more. One night while sitting around the campfire, Aguirre spoke to Inaki.

“I don’t trust these Navarrese,” Aguirre said.

“Why?”

“Look at them. They always sit together in a group. They don’t talk to our men. I’ve a bad feeling about them,” said Aguirre.

“So have I. Tell our men to act naturally, but tell them to be alert and on guard at all times.”

For several days they had been following the river into Aragon. Shortly after passing a great lake, they turned inwards. They had been travelling through mountain passes and now they moved further into the mountains reaching a small village called Oroel. Goiri came to Inaki and said, “This is as far as we can safely go with you. My men and I will leave you in the morning and watch at the border for your return. From now on you must travel by night if you are not to be detected by the enemy. As you leave the mountains, you will find that the Moors patrol the plains. Zaragoza lays four days march to the south. May the Gods be with you.”