Curse of Stigmata (The Judas Reflections) (11 page)

“Do you think we did anything?” she asked softly. “I’m no longer virginal so there’s no way to know.”

“What are you asking me? I don’t recall getting in a bed or know how I became undressed. The last I remember was laughing at the table with Juan.”

“Well, your friend Comte certainly has good wine in his cellar. One or two glasses and I didn’t know where I was, obviously,” was all she could tell me.

Neither of us made a move, as if we were paralyzed, and were pathetically waiting for someone to come and help. I couldn’t believe I was in such a compromising situation with someone I didn’t like. It was a relief she was still alive. There was no telling what I was capable of in my drunken condition. I could have placed a pillow over her head and smothered her to death without knowing it.

“We should get up and see where everyone is,” she suggested.

“Did we… you know… try and remember. Did we… do?”

“Oh, do shut up Emmanuel, we don’t know. Let’s leave it there, shall we?” she interrupted and without a hint of modesty rose from the bed to search for her clothes. Being the gentleman, I closed my eyes trying not to peak, still convinced I was back in control.

She left me to dress in peace, and I found a quiet Juan alone in the dining room.

“I have a bad head pain, please don’t raise your voice,” he pleaded.

“What happened? I don’t remember anything.” No doubt, my expression implored him as much as my pathetic entreaty.

“I’ve no idea, where’s Comte? I’d like to ask him what was in the wine,” he replied.

He was still sound asleep, but his brother, Racco, was up and looking much healthier. I was pleased to see him until he told of the night before.

“Did you enjoy the omelet? The mushrooms were delicious. Comte acquires only the best, the most special,” he remarked.

“The what? I don’t remember an omelet, did you say mushrooms?” Juan replied, his voice panicked.

“Of course, pulled from the rich soil. It appears when they’re ingested along with copious amounts of wine the experience becomes quite remarkable.”

Rachel and I looked at each other in shock. We’d all eaten the damn thing when too far gone with drink to notice.

“It seems I’ve done something immoral, although I can’t remember if I did, there’s something… no, no, nothing happened. I’d know. I’m immortal, I know everything,” I confessed with a tirade of words tumbling out, making little sense.

“Immorality, very intriguing… where did you sleep, Emmanuel?” Racco said.

“In a bed and unsure of how I got there.”

“Alone?”

“Do you mean alone in the room or the bed?” I replied trying to shift the subject.

“Did you wake up alone in bed?”

I looked to Juan, and then to Rachel, who sat in a chair smiling a sweet false smile to anyone who cared to notice. “No,” I was honest. “I woke up with the naked form of Rachel next to me. I think we might have had relations.”

Racco burst out laughing, while Juan continued a silent act, his face blank.

“Always the ladies’ man, eh Emmanuel? I take my hat off to you,” he said. “A nubile innocent young wench you took advantage of!”

How would I convince Racco and Juan I wasn’t guilty of further corrupting a far from innocent girl who, made it quite clear she’d already been with another? I honestly and sincerely remembered nothing I could be held responsible for. I thought it best we leave, before Comte awoke and I began a heated discussion on the perils of amnesia inducing mushrooms. Immortality gave me immunity to death by sword or musket, hanging or torture and all manner of poisons. Upon my supposed demise, I would often appear somewhere else with everything intact. Yet, here I was vulnerable to the ingestion of hallucinogenic mushrooms? It was a hard lesson learned, to strike all manner of fungus off the menu, put what did or didn’t happen behind me and make our escape. We now depended on Racco’s charitable nature extending to giving us horses and arranging for them to be returned once we were safely in Spain.

“Let’s eat; you can’t leave on any empty stomach. Take the best horses and I will arrange their return. Expenses are on me for this one, Emmanuel. Call it compensation for Comte’s devilish little trick last night. He did inform me of your predicament. But, please, my good friend… get out of France as soon as possible.”

Racco was back to his normal strong self, apart from a strange fascination for a peasant girl. Brigitte brought us bread, fresh goat’s cheese, and milk for Rachel, who guzzled it down, as if all the harm she’d tried to inflict on me never happened.

Racco pulled me aside. “Did you retrieve the coins you sought?”

“For all my troubles, I only have one, although Rachel knows exactly where the other is.”

“We immortals have all the time in the world to search, and you, Judas, are an expert. You’ll make her confess in time, I’m sure.”

He gave me a knowing wink and, he was right.

When Comte appeared, looking fit and awake, I said nothing of the mushrooms, preferring to keep our friendship intact. Brigitte had given Rachel some of her new clothes, paid for by Racco and easy to discard. I overheard her asking about the marks on Rachel’s hands and forehead. Rachel slyly assured her it was a mild non-contagious skin infection brought on by handling goats. I had to admit, the girl was an accomplished liar, incredibly quick to respond and while wearing the most sincere smile.

Once out in the courtyard, three magnificent horses had been saddled up in readiness of departure. Without asking which horse would be hers, Rachel jumped straight on the one of her choosing as if she’d done it a million times before. Any concerns I might have had about her riding abilities were summarily dismissed. “Good luck my friend. Comte and I wish you well on your travels and I hope next time we meet it’ll be in the Italian sunshine,” said Racco, his deep blue eyes aglow with amusement. Indeed, it was good to see him this way.

“I will see which way the wind takes me, once I’m safe across the border.” I prayed silently I wouldn’t have to fight anyone to reach it. Our fate was now in God’s hands, and Mother Nature.

he rain stopped overnight, and with instructions from Comte to stay only on the designated route, I surmised we’d reach the border by nightfall. Juan was unusually quiet, which I put down to his alcohol intake from the night before drinking indulgence. His distaste for eggs saved him from misfortune; unlike me, he’d declined the omelet. But there was little sympathy for my plight as he rode alongside me to reveal his true feelings, whether I wanted to hear them or not.

“I like Rachel, you hate the girl, so how does it come to be she’s in your bed and not mine? What divine intervention happened last night to guide her to you?” He was clearly upset at what he thought to be an injustice. I couldn’t answer because I had no explanation.

The only thing left to do was to offer her up, happily, as a good friend should do. “She’s all yours, Juan. May I say as well, you’re welcome to her.”

Fortunately, she was riding just behind and failed to hear the damning conversation between us. I was sure to feel her wrath if she’d remotely heard me pass her off like an unwanted sow.

With the coin tucked firmly away on my person, some food supplies, and a good strong horse for company, I was confident. After a couple of hours of steady riding, we stopped by an empty barn. Stray chickens followed us in, much to Rachel’s delight.

“You can make a fire while I kill a chicken. We need hot food in our bellies, it’s cold out there,” she suggested.

“What if these chickens belong to someone? Then you’ll spark a fire bigger than the one we’ll make,” I advised.

“We’ll pay the farmer three times what his scrawny old birds are worth, if it makes you feel better.”

“It does. Go ahead and find us the least scrawny.”

Juan and I built a fire, and with strong twigs, created a makeshift spit for roasting. I wasn’t surprised Rachel had no qualms in killing a chicken when they’d killed their own goats for food. I was more used to having meals brought to the table with no need to go off hunting. Mountain life was different. You slaughtered what you reared or found in order to survive. She’d done well, with a constant strong fire and the three of us taking turns with the spit, a delicious chicken was hungrily shared.

“Are you not going to thank me?” she implored.

“I built the fire and Juan made a spit rod from nothing. Why do I have to thank you?”

I never made it a habit to thank a woman. They were put on this earth for only one reason, to serve man and not be given gratitude for every small thing they did, as if looking for recognition, like a needy child. I had
no
patience for their demands.

It was cold. I could see my breath in the icy air of the open barn, and with the embers of the fire dying down, we knew it was time to leave. With our bellies full of food, we found the river and led the horses to drink, making sure we stayed on the narrow path that rose up the mountain, taking us ever closer to the border. Comte had given a map with an alternative route, one that would keep us out of the public eye. But the terrain was unpredictable.

“I think we should dismount and walk this,” Juan suggested. The path had begun to incline and was too steep for the horses.

“Does this mean we’re close to the border?” I asked.

“Looking to the map, I’d say we might not make it over before nightfall.”

I could have sworn I felt the tiniest of snowflakes falling. It was certainly cold enough, but too early. The last thing we needed was bad weather to hinder our progress.

Rachel was mute, having not spoken for hours. She listlessly guided her horse compliantly behind us down the rocky ravine.

“What’s wrong with you, something we said?” I asked.

“Nothing is wrong apart from being tired and cold.”

“When we stop, I’ll build a good fire to warm you, and… we still have some chicken to eat,” Juan liked to impress the women or, in this case, show off his Neanderthal abilities in making a fire and supplying meat. It worked. Rachel rewarded him with a smile, obviously fake.

I balked as I watched her manipulate Juan into the palm of her hand. “Concentrate here!” I snapped, angry at his ignorance.

The path was barely wide enough for the horses, making it perilous as daylight began to fade. We needed to watch every step. One wrong move would take us, and the horses, down into the ravine.

Comte had given us directions for smugglers who wanted to avoid people at any cost, and the surest way to cross the border unnoticed. But it was fraught with dangers we couldn’t have anticipated as the wind increased, turning icy and making the journey difficult. For me, it was nothing to have ice and wind in my face. But I was more than a little concerned about my horse struggling to see.

Leading the way I needed my wits about me… any mistakes I made would have dire consequences.

‘How much more of this must we endure?” Rachel called out.

“We keep going until we descend. It should be soon, then we make camp.”

There was nowhere to stop even if we wanted to. I had little fear of heights, but avoided looking down the side of the ravine on account of it being a sheer drop. Rachel continued to complain but had little choice in the matter; there was no possibility of stopping until we’d reached a safer place. I
knew
what I was doing, unlike her.