Tom Foran Clark

The five of them -- Jack, Dieter, Rita, Emery, and Pike -- took the train to Burgos, capital of the Castile Kingdom for five hundred years, and got two rooms at the Hotel Corona de Castilla. In the morning, Pike and Emery awoke before the others to see if they could find some place where they might rent five bikes, going one way -- from Burgos to Saint James. The two came to an old man in a tobacco shop, the Estanco Carlos Diaz Lobato who didn't have any bikes to rent, but but did have an excellent command of English -- and a great idea. He didn't know of any bicycle rental agencies, but he did know personally an old couple living nearby who'd raised eight children who'd moved out. All or some of the kids might have left their bikes behind, he suggested -- which was the case.

As it turned out, the couple had two sons (and several cousins) in Santiago, so it was an easy matter to arrange for Pike and Emery to leave the five bikes with someone in the family when they reached St. James. The tobacconist came up with the idea that each rider ought to buy his or her bike outright and, upon returning their bike in Santiago -- if the bike was returned in Santiago -- each would get back a sixty percent refund. If a bike was not returned, then it would be reckoned as having been purchased. This struck Pike ande Emery as an excellent idea. After only a little haggling, they settled on a price.

Pike and Emery ran back to the hotel to share the good news with the others. They'd told Senor Lobato and the couple that they'd be back -- the five of them together -- by noon. They arrived promptly. Everything was set. Only now, of course, did it hit them: Pike and Emery had set everything up without their even having had a look at the bikes. Luckily, they were not rickety or rusted but looked almost like new, brightly painted in a riot of colors -- Orbea brand bikes made right there in the Basque region north of Burgos. Money changed hands -- and phone numbers and addresses. The old couple gave them hugs when they set out. Senor Carlos Diaz Lobato hit up Pike for a big tip, which certainly he deserved, before revealing that bikes and replacement parts and helmets could all be rented or purchased at the Bicicletas Pedro Carrillo de Quesada, near the Burgos bus station.

The five riders rolled away, clattering over cobblestones with most of their gear still on their backs. Only three of the five bikes already had luggage racks mounted over the back wheels, so they rode precariously over to Bicicletas de Quesada to purchase helmets and two further racks -- also pannier bags and stretch ropes with hook-ends for fastening on their packs and things. Pedro helped Emery do a quick checkup on the bikes -- putting air in tires, tightening spokes, pushing and pulling on frames, forks, handlebars, seat bolts, clamps, and brake pads, adjusting brakes, oiling handbrake controls and chains, and so on. For this work, Senor de Quesada would accept no additional payment, but Pike slyly left behind on his workbench double what he'd tipped Senor Lobato.

The cobblestone streets tested their bikes, ropes, and gear severely. They rode about three miles through the city before reaching their rooms in an outlying refugio, which Pike had reserved in advance. The keeper of the overbooked hostel, a stern woman, had held their rooms for them. Four other travelers who'd showed up after the occupancy limit had been reached had been relegated to a hallway floor. Pike and Emery volunteered to switch places with two of the four, females, and so the two of them joined the two girls' boyfriends on the floor. At ten, the refugio warden bolted tight the doors.

The fellows were completely tuckered out. They were in no mood for conversation. Some time passed, and the giggling of the girls in their rooms finally ceased. It wasn't very long before the entire hostel seemed to vibrate with the buzz-saw sound of several people snoring. "C'mon," Pike whispered, and he and Emery snuck out..

Under the sparkling array of stars, Pike waxed sentimental, calling on Emery to remember all the nights they'd camped out in the open, from Italy and Tunisia to Algeria. "Did we really do that?" Pike marveled. "It seems like a thousand years ago."

"Yup."

"Emery?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this a good time for you to listen? There's something more I want to tell you about Dominic and Giles -- and a thousand years ago."

"It's good. Go ahead."

"I think maybe Townsend didn't mean Dominic Guzman He could have been speaking of Domingo of Silos, born in the year 1000 -- a Benedictine monk. When King Garcia III of Navarre ordered him to turn over his monastery's lands, Dominic refused. He and two of his brother monks were driven out. They got protection from King Ferdinand I of Castile, who gave them refuge in the San Sebastian monastery at Silos, not far from here. Dominic got wealthy patrons to endow the monastery as well as ransom Christians taken prisoner by the Moors. When, or even before Joan de Aza de Guzmán was pregnant with Dominic, the future founder of the Dominicans, she prayed at the shrine of Domingo of Silos. Her son was named for this other, previous Dominic, who died in 1073.

"So I guess we'll be riding our bikes to Silos tomorrow."

"No, actually I don't think we need to go there," Pike figured. "There's no mention of Silos on the map or notebook or in Townsend's scribblings. I do think we ought to start for Saint James first thing in the morning. I only want to let you know what's going on in my head -- what I'm thinking. I think maybe Townsend meant Domingo of Silos, not Dominic Guzman. I think I won't really know until we get to Santiago, and I'm not even sure what it is I'm supposed to be looking for in Santiago that will lead me to what I need to know. I just know it's there. That's all. I just wanted you to know."

"Thank you, Pike. That's very thoughtful. I appreciate it. So where are we riding tomorrow?"

"Leon."

The keeper of the refugio was up at six, vacuuming. The machine shrieked so loud, it could have been children screaming. The five of them scrambled to gather their things together and get out of there. They rode, dazed, through the Old Quarter of Burgos past the statue of El Cid and the cathedral where he lay buried, then got on the road out of town. It was a gray and glooomy morning. The five rode through Calzadilla de la Cueza, Tardajos, and Rabé de las Calzadas. It wasnt until they got to the plateau of the Castillian meseta that the sun broke through. They descended toward Hornillos del Camino.

Camino -- the pilgrimage. The Walk, The Way -- El Camino. All along The Way, the locals offer up this greeting, Buen Camino -- "have a good walk." We were Peregrinos -- pilgrims. Bed and Breakfasts were called hostals, as distinguished from the Refugios, the simple pilgrim hostels all along the trail. Some were in monasteries, others in nunneries. There was no charge for staying in the nunneries and monasteries, but voluntary contributions were eexpected, comparable to what the other refugios charged. It was also expected that pilgrims would attend evening prayer, in Spanish.

The five stayed overnight at a refugio in San Bol. They rode through Hontanas, and stayed at the hostal by the ruins of San Antón's convent. They reached Castrojeriz the next day. After climbing more steep hills, they stopped at the refugio at Itero de la Vega, on the Pisuerga River. They saw the plains of Palencia from Mostelares hill and slept deeply at the hostel of San Nicolas, near Itero del Castillo. They rode on to Boadilla del Camino, crossed the Castille canal, and stayed overnight at the refugio in Fromista. They rode over wheatfields on the high plateau, the Meseta, to Villalcázar de Sirga and Carrión de los Condes. They rode a long flat stretch with no villages for a dozen miles or more, and finally reached the hostel in Calzadilla de la Cueza.

The next day, nearing Terradillos de Tamplarios, Jack and Dieter just gave up. They came to a halt and simply told the others they were turning back. They didn't feel they needed to give the other three any explanation. It was a hot day, but with a biting, chilly head wind. Jack insisted this was all just ludicrous -- to be out there in the middle of nowhere like that. He'd had no idea, he said, of what he was getting into.

"You're going to lose your refund on your bikes," Pike pointed out.

"Fuck the fucking refund, Pike!" Jack spat out. This, he said, was worse even than being locked in chains in some Goddamned dungeon -- and he'd been there. Dieter agreed completely. They were going to return to Barcelona, they said, where they could have some fun. This was not fun.

This worked out fine for Rita, Emery, and Pike. As it turned out, the Terradillos de Tamplarios refugio had only room for seventeen pilgrims at any one time, and had room for only three more guests that night. Around midnight, a thunderstorm swept in. A cold front hit a warm front like some mighty wave crashing in a tiny crevice. It felt like the world was going to tear itself apart. Lightning bolts exploded, then came the booming thunder. It went on like this for more than an hour. Huge raindrops pounded down fast and hard. It did not seem to them the refugio could withstand such an assault, bit it did. Rita snuggled close to Emery. She was shaking. Though furious at Jack and Dieter for thier cowardly retreat, she was worried for their safety now. They were out there somewhere in this, and for sure they weren't having any fun.

Be that as it may, everything was clear and still in the morning. Birds were singing their hearts out. The three pilgrims had a good breakfast and rode out of town along a poplar-lined trail over the platform of the meseta to Sahagún. They decided to press on toward Burgo Ranero, where there was a clean and fine refugio. But, when the three arrived, they were told no cyclists were allowed. Leon was only twenty miles away. It was probably good that Jack and Dieter had turned back when they did, because now the three came to a stretch, between El Burgo Ranero and Mansilla de las Mulas, devoid of shelter, shade, water, or stores -- a fifteen mile empty stretch of road.

They quenched their thirst in Mansilla, and resumed the ride toward Leon, a city rising from a fertile plain encircled by meadows, orchards, and woods. They got a nice room at the Parador San Marcos, which had been built in 1168 to shelter knights bound for Santiago. In the morning they relaxed. Rita stayed in the hotel room to catch up on her "luxury time," lying in bed as natural as Goya's naked maja, painting her fingernails and applying perfumes -- spending time with herself.

Pike and Emery went to the gothic Cathedral of León to see the famous stained glass windows there. As they shambled through, overwhelmed with the spectacular light and color, Pike again asked Emery if he could ask him something. "There are some things I want to know before we continue, and I want to know what you think. Do you think Rita has good intuitions? Sometimes women can offer insights on things in a way men can't. Should I be asking her more questions? What do you think? She doesn't say much, you know."

Did Emery think Rita had good intuitions? He could not begin to tell Pike the things he knew Rita knew. Things about which Pike probably had not even the least inkling, him swept up as he was in Franciscans, Dominicans, Jamesians, and Townsendentalists. He knew that Emery saw no higher truth than the sacredness of women -- human and divine. But now Emery wanted to tell him of transcendent tantric wisdom, the unity of two, Sufi mysticism, God's love, the world's heart, the fire in the brain, and all the other things that Rita had taught him. But Emery knew this was his own treasure and there was no map or guide or key that came with it that he could share with Pike.

"Of course," Emery said. "Ask. It's always a good idea to ask, isn't it?"

The two met Rita back at the parador in the evening. From there the three went out for dinner and drinks. Emery asked Rita to tell Pike about George Borrow, and about his tales of the treasure digger of St. James, the Benedict Mol.

Rita brought Pike up to speed about that part in Borrow's story where the Swiss had come into new friends and big loans of money. "After the Spanish government realized Benedict might really be on to something -- gold and diamonds to enrich themselves and to pay off the national debt of Spain -- they backed him up. The Swiss returned to Compostela like a duke, leading a procession to the church of San Roque. In a vaulted passage, the Swiss picked the place. 'Dig here,' he instructed them and, when no treasure was found, Benedict was seized and flung into jail and all but torn limb from limb. Some time later, he was secretly removed from the prison in Saint James. After being beaten almost senseless, he got his freedom. The treasure hunter was pointed in the direction of Switzerland. He'd been delivered one last chance to make it home."

"Do you think this man, Benedict, the Swiss, was crazy?" Pike asked.

"How do you mean?" Rita said.

"I mean, do you think he was just plain nuts -- out of his mind -- out of this world -- insane -- believing in this mysterious, unproven treasure?"

"Oh sure," Rita said. "He had to be crazy, don't you think?"

That night Rita slept alone in the parador bed. Pike and Emery slept on cots. Pike was restless, tossing and turning all night.

They left León in the morning and rode right on through to Astorga. Light rain was falling. The three found lodging in a refugio called the Gaucelmo, next to the Romanesque church of Santa Maria. In the morning they went to the strange Bishop's Palace, designed by that mad-as-a-hatter Spanish teaser, Antoní Gaudi. ("Well?" Rita asked Pike. "Well what?" "Do you think Gaudi was nuts -- out of his mind -- out of this world -- insane -- believing in doing this whacky Bishop's Palace in this way?")

In Ponferrada, the Knights had been guardians on the Camino, on The Way of Saint James. "They had a secret treasure," Pike added. Of course he'd been doing his homework on this count. "The Templars were responsible for preserving the world's greatest treasure ever, containing gold and silver, the crown jewels of Europe, sacred relics, gold from the temple of Jerusalem, and precious manuscripts and documents, including the earthly genealogy of Jesus Christ extending from King David to the present time!"

At the castle, they met an Englishman from Bath who said he knew all about treasure hunting in Spain. “Stories of buried treasures are so popular here, mostly among the poorest people,” he said. He pointed to the castle. "People say that although the Holy Grail is not here, still there may well be an imoprtant treasure buried in or under it. At night, you can still hear the sounds of shovels, spades, and pickaxes. But if anybody ever did get suddenly rich here,” he said, “they’ve kept it to themselves.”

Next, the three stayed overnight at a refugio in Molinaseca, on the Meruelo river, where Rita volunteered to tell them more of the story of the treasure digger of St. James.

"But I thought the story was over," Pike said. "You said he went back out on the road, and that was that."

"That's not true," Rita said. "I told you he went back out on the road, and then you asked me if I thought he was crazy. Remember?"

Pike apologized for his having interrupted her.

"That's okay. Basically, the story is about over. But I do want to tell you what else George Borrow pieced together later. It appeared the government had been so impressed with the Benedict Mol's description of the buried treasure, they'd chosen to orchestrate the final search for it with the procession of a forthcoming solemn festival. When the day arrived, all the bells in Compostela pealed. The populace arrived in throngs. A thousand troops were on the square. The procession marched with utmost pomp and dignity to the church of San Roque. At the head of the procession was the Swiss. Close behind him walked the meiga, the Gallegan witch-wife, who'd revealed to the treasure hunter what had already been in his mind's eye. Some masons brought up the rear, bearing shovels. They all entered the church, went down a vaulted passage, and came to a stop. 'Dig here,' the treasure hunter instructed. 'Yes, dig here,' the meiga affirmed. The floor was broken up. An awful, fetid odor arose. But no treasure was found. Then the Swiss was seized and flung into the prison, 'amid the execrations of thousands,' as Borrow put it."

"But that's still not the end," Emery protested. "You said he was released from the prison and pointed in the direction of Switzerland. So -- what happened to him?"

"This I'd also like to know," Rita said. "It isn't known if he made it or not. George Borrow believed he died on the road."

Not wanting Rita to stop at this, Emery asked her if she'd please tell Pike and him more about Lazarillo of Tormes. "Tell us how things turned out for him." Rita brought Pike up to speed and then resumed the tale.

“After Lazarillo tricked his master into splitting open his own head, he ran like crazy from Torrijos and eventually made his way to Toledo, where he burned through several more masters. He took up with a man who painted tambourines, then went to work for a chaplain in the cathedral. This chaplain put Lazarillo in charge of a donkey, a whip, and four water jugs. ‘I began selling water around the city,’ Lazarillo rejoiced -- ‘the first step up the ladder to success. My dreams were finally coming true!’ He bought a coat, a cape, and a sword. ‘When I saw how good I looked in my gentleman's clothes,’ he bragged, ‘I told my master to take back his donkey: I wasn't about to do that kind of work any more.’ He made fresh plans for a life he could lead in order ‘to have a little peace and quiet and save up something for my old age.’ Lazarillo got what he wanted -- a government job. As official Town Crier, he quickly found that nothing could come to much unless he, Lazarillo of Tormes, was in on it.

"He was doing so well, he decided to get married. Well, it wasn’t very long before the priest that married them got mixed up in it, too. People said Lazarillo's wife was spending time not only in the priest's kitchen, but also in his bed. But Lazarillo didn't want to hear it. ‘Anyone who's my friend isn't going to tell me something that is going to make me mad,' he said. 'My wife's as good as any woman in Toledo, and if anyone tells me otherwise, I'm his enemy.'

"That's it for now," Rita said, done telling tales this day. Pike and Emery thanked her, saw her to her room, then turned toward their own room and bunks. "Lazarillo is hilarious," Emery commented, turning in for the night -- but Pike was already asleep. "He's so deluded," Emery murmured to himself.

In the morning, as Rita, Emery, and Pike rode out of lovely Molinaseca, the sun burning off a thick early morning haze. A small gray pick-up truck, not unlike so many of the trucks Pike and Emery had seen in Algeria, lurched around a curve, careening on two wheels. The driver waved as he flew by, then pulled off the road and stopped, his tires making grit out of the gravel. He put the truck in reverse. Asking the three bicyclists if they wanted a ride, he sized up Rita, had a glance at Pike and Emery, then went into a rambling chant-like run of Spanish. Wine in hand. He was delivering furniture to a villa up the road, Rita informed Pike and Emery. She told the guy the three of them were bicycle pigrims and could not accept a lift in a truck. The fellow roared up his vehicle again and floored it, screeching down the narrow hillside road, raising a cloud of dust around them.

After brushing themselves off, the three went on -- and thought nothing further of it. From Molinaseca, they climbed again, sixteen miles, to Villafranca del Bierzo, south of the Ancares mountains. At the entrance to the town, Villafranca had its own church of Saint James. They stayed at the municipal refugio next to this church, the Church of Santiago, with its well-known Puerta del Perdon -- the Door of Pardon and Forgiveness. It was said that any new or only lately starting-out pilgrim could walk through this puerta and be accepted, by God, with the best of them -- even those who'd traveled from far greater distances. Of course the three walked through the door, then exlored the town, taking a steep downhill walk. It was a beautiful place. Everywhere were gardens, brimful of flowers and wild grapevines. In the evening, they sampled some of the regional dishes -- trout with lard and peppers, botillo sausage, empanada pie, and Bierzo veal stew.

They rode through Vega de Valcarce, Samos, and Sarria, and ascended a steep dirt trail toward the mountain top town of O Cebreiro, where they stayed overnight. In the morning they rode high and low. After each glorious downhill stretch came a gruesome uphill stretch. They climbed to the windy San Roque pass, then rode on to the pass of Poio. At the peak, the Alto de Poio, was a large statue of a pilgrim with his staff, fourteen or more feet high, looking out toward Santiago. They could see now how near they were to their goal -- could they have flown.

They descended almost horizontally to Triacastela, grinding hard on their brakes all the way. They arrived at the refugio in the evening and shared a small four-bunk room. The next day, they started on the journey to Portomarín, in the countryside of the Galícians, the way lined with Celtic stone walls at the peripheries of lush green pasturelands. When, in the 1960s, the area around and including Portomarin had been flooded, the entire town had been relocated to higher ground. The village could only be entered over a long bridge across the reservoir. Again they got their own room at the refugio. The sense of being on a higher ground, on which an entire village had been rebuilt, was thrilling. Though exhausted, Emery tossed and turned all that night. Pike must have felt tremendous excitement, knowing Santiago was now only sixty miles away.

Emery felt like he'd taken a wrong turn and landed in Ireland -- it was all so green and lush. They rode up and down -- through or past Barbadelo, Corredoira, Ferreiros, Loio, Gonzar, Corredoira, and Ligonde. They crossed a long bridge and started climbing again, going into eucalyptus forests with the trees rising forty, fifty, sixty feet into the heavens. They found refuge in Palas De Rei, then rode through or past San Xulian, Leboreiro, and Furelos, and landed in Melide.

They spent their last night on the Camino at a country estate near the little town of Castañeda. Ritas's good instincts had kicked in again. The three were riding through dense forests full of oak and chestnut, crossing ancient bridges, going by little hamlet churches in which were entombed the Knights of Santiago. Emery was thinking they'd taken a wrong turn, but Rita said there was no wrong turn they could make at that point. Of course she was right. She guided them straight to this exquisite Galician country manor -- actually it was a winding way. It certainly took them at least somewhat off course. It was almost spooky. Rita got them a room with red silk curtains, three soft beds, and a bathroom with a shower.

In the night, while Rita read in the guidebook, Rambling in Spain, Pike and Emery excused themselves and once more went out under the canopy of stars. To Emery this now seemed ritualistic -- his and Pike's sacred ceremony -- out standing under the clear night sky. "Whoever would have guessed we'd be making this journey," Pike offered, "pilgrims on the road to the tomb of Saint James in Compostela. What a trip."

"More vagabonds and rascals than pilgrims," Emery split hairs.

"Speak for yourself," Pike said. "The discovery of the tomb of the apostle St James was one of the most important events of the Middle Ages. Something powerful is going to happen there for me. I know it. I'm not approaching this without deep sincerity of feeling or humbling of my heart, you know -- this pilgrimage to Finis Terrae and to Santiago's tomb."

"Finis Terrae?"

"Of course," Pike said. "You didn't know? The pilgrimage is not only to the tomb of Saint James, but also to Finis Terrae -- the end of the world."

So now Pike filled in more pieces of the puzzle and expanded the puzzle to fit in further pieces he'd picked up along the way. "I'm doing my best," Pike said. "The best any treasure hunter can hope for," he said, "is that his information is correct and that his treasure does exist. I have confidence it is all going to come together." The two talked under the dazzling, starry sky for maybe half an hour more, then turned back toward the majestic, haunting manse. In their room, they found Rita, curled up like a foetus, shivering. Emery ran to her and knelt. "What happened? What happened?"

She was crying. Rita's legs were badly bruised, as if stained by the juices of dark berries. Her right cheek was bloody and swollen.

"She's been attacked!" Pike deduced. "I'm going to get the landlord and call the police." He ran out of the room. There was a scuffle at the base of the stairs. Whoever had done this must have stuck around afterwards, hovering near when we'd come in. It sounded like Pike followed the intruder up the steps, hollering, “Come down here! Come down here at once!'' Which didn't happen. Whoever it was, he must have flung himself out a window, crossed the lawn, and escaped. They heard the car's wheels scratching, hitting the gravel.

“Who was it?" Emery implored.

"No one," Rita whispered enigmatically. "It was no one."

Pike came back and now knelt down by her too. "What did he say to you?'' Pike wanted to know. (What did he say to her? What did it matter whatever whomever had said?). “He will soon get tired of this,” Pike added. (He'd been here before? He'd be back again?).

"Who is this he?" Emery asked dumbly.

"It was no one," Rita said again. "No one."

Emery knew that if Pike knew something he didn't, which Rita said he should not speak of, then he wasn't going to tell him -- and that was that. As for Rita, if she was resolved she wasn't going to tell Emery, then he might as well go to Mecca for an answer because it would be easier than to get an answer from her. It was obvious she had her mind made up. Emery, who had been at the top of his form nearing the pinnacle of this pilgrimage, now felt he was in the dark -- out of the loop.

Rita insisted she was ripe for going on: "No internal injuries, lost limbs, or lasting harm done" Rita said. "Change is in the air. Enjoy these precious moments, Emery." They rode into more eucalyptus forests, crossed over a bubbling brook and then the Iso river, passed through Boente and Ribadiso de Baixo, and went to Arca O Pino. There, the refugio had showers and hot water.

They rode through San Verísimo de Ferreiros. The last stand of eucaliptus forest they passed through was between Amenal and Lavacolla. They rode up the hill they call Monte del Gozo, sometimes Monxoi -- in any case, Mount Joy. It was a good ride down to the outskirts of Santiago.They entered Santiago on the Rúa de San Pedro. They stopped on the Plaza del Obradoiro only so soon as they could put our hands on the stones of the Cathedral. This was at about four in the afternoon. Pike kissed the holy ground. Then the three rode over to the Hostal de los Reyes Católicos, which had a reputation for having costly, regal rooms.