After breakfast the following morning, Gina suggested another trip down to the town. The day was much cooler, and she felt the Jack Russells would benefit from a good, long walk. I wasn’t convinced I would but went along with her idea anyway. She suggested it would be good to build up my stamina, although I couldn’t draw her on why.

Halfway down the hill, I proposed we stop at a café to give the dogs a rest. I pointed out that Jack was panting uncharacteristically and that maybe he needed a drink.

“If you need a rest, Vic, just say so,” she said as we took our seats, “don’t use the dogs as an excuse. I’ll tell you what – we’ll use the landtrain to come back up. The walk down will have done you some good, and I don’t want you completely exhausted. I have plans for you this evening.”

“What?” I asked, “Are we going to a concert or something?”

“Or something,” she said. Then she winked. Really. I’d never seen Gina wink before and had no idea what was going on with her. She’s always been so reserved and mild-mannered and… well, not exactly prim and proper but something closely approaching it. More tea and scones than cheese and wine, if you get my drift.

Martinus was in residence and I’m sure it was he who caused the word ‘delicious’ to escape my lips.

“What’s delicious?” Gina asked.

“Sorry, did I say that out loud?” I replied, “I was just thinking about the cream teas the café does in the afternoon. Maybe on the way back?”

“So why were you excited when you said it? Does tea and scones have that effect on you?” She brushed the back of her hand gently down my cheek and… my God, she shivered!

“We’d best go to the chapel,” I said, “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with where this is going.”

“But what about Jack and Jill?”

“Nous sommes içi – we are here,” came a familiar voice from a table close to us. Yup, it was Amandine and Jean-Marie again, “Would you like us to look after your dogs for you?” Martinus signalled his approval. Amandine smiled. “Where are you going?”

“Back to Notre Dame,” Gina said. 

“Jean-Marie and I were planning to relax here this morning. Perhaps the dogs can stay with us, and we can have lunch together when you come back?”

“What do you think, Vic?” Gina asked me, followed by, “Oh, I can see at least one of you is in favour.” 

“We should be back in about half an hour,” I said as Gina handed the leads to the pair. As we walked away, I found myself taking Gina’s hand in mine and finding no resistance.

The chapel was almost empty when we went in. Taking advantage of a vacant bench close to the statue, Gina pulled out the paper she had made her notes on the previous evening. 

“Tell me what you think,” she said handing it to me. I took it from her and read it carefully. Twice.

“Two things, Gina. One: you’ve clearly given a lot of careful thought to this, and you seem to have considered pretty much every angle as far as I can see.”

“And two?”

“I had no idea that I was dating an evil genius.”

“Are we dating? I thought we were just here as friends.”

“Sorry, did I say the wrong thing?”

“Not at all, Victor. Not at all,” she said and gave my hand a gentle squeeze whilst her other hand wiped away a tear. “Anyway,” she added, composing herself, “what do you think?”

“Well…” I drawled, “I think you’re an evil genius, but I’ve told you that already. And this plan is the work of evil genius – I love it.”

We entered the chapel. In the corner was a group of schoolchildren supervised by a priest with another man looking on. The children were taking turns placing pieces of paper over a part of an ancient-looking stone bench and rubbing it with charcoal. One of the children asked the priest what it meant.

“Non-one knows for sure,” the priest replied. “It is believed that a pilgrim, probably as long ago as the 12th or 13th century, carved these initials in the bench using a sharp instrument or even a hard stone.”

“And are the initials XC, or XG?” the child asked.

“There is a school of thought,” the priest replied, “that suggests the carving is DX and we are seeing it up-side down. Everything in the church was conducted in Latin in those days, and the carving is possibly an abbreviation of Deus Ex Machina, although it is unlikely that theatrical term would have been in use at that time by men of God. There are records of a pilgrim named Xavier Gudmansson visiting from Denmark in 1297; maybe it was he who did it.” Turning to the rest of the children, and raising his voice a little, he added, “Whatever it is, its religious significance is beyond question, and you should give much prayerful thought to what this relic means to your own pilgrimage through life.” 

“Probably just some kid carving his initials out of boredom,” I suggested to Gina.

“Whatever it is,” she said, “they’re making a lot of religious capital out of it.” We chuckled and left the chapel. 

Jean-Marie and Amandine were standing outside with the dogs. I approached them and said, “You’ve been very kind, can we buy you a snack or a drink? Maybe an ice cream?”

“You still have two more chapels to see,” Amandine said in that voice of hers, with the predictable result, “we will guard the dogs for you so you can see them.”

Two more, yes. St Anne and Notre Dame. 

“Aren’t they nice,” Gina said, “Come on.”

The chapel of St Anne was closest. We went in, looked around and left within a very few minutes. As we approached the Notre Dame chapel, I became ever more aware of how uneasy Martinus was becoming.

“I’ve been in there already, I don’t think I need to go in again,” I said to Gina, “I’ll get the dogs back and wait here for you.”

“I want to share this with you, Vic. You can explain it to me if you’ve been here before – tell me stuff that may not be in the guidebook.”

That was it. I had run out of excuses. Gina grabbed my hand and dragged me into the chapel. As soon as we entered, the memory of the frightful screaming we had all heard when I was last in here came flooding back. And not only that. I sensed a strengthening of the grasp that Martinus had on me. It felt like the grip of a small child hanging on to its mother to avoid being taken into school for the first time.

“You look uncomfortable, Vic,” Gina said, “What is it?”

“I don’t really know where to start,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter where, as long as you start.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Okay, let me ask a question. What happened last time you came here, that you were so reluctant to come back again? And why specifically this chapel?”

“If I tell you, you’ll never believe me. I’m not even sure that I believe me.”

“Try me,” she said.

I did. I explained everything, from beginning to end. Gina’s expression swung between acceptance and disbelief, between awe and horror.

“If what you say is true, why is this Martinus allowing you to tell me all you have? I would have expected him to… I don’t know… inhibit you in some way.”

“As would I have. My only guess is that he’s keeping a low profile for fear that I might send him back into the statue.”

“Can you do that?”

“If I can I’ve no idea how.”

“Is he aware of what we’re saying now?”

“If his silence is any indication, I’d say probably not.”

“Good. My late husband, God rest his soul, was a high-level diplomat for a lot of years, as you know. I believe that some of his skills have rubbed off on me. If you want my advice, I’d say don’t send him back – if we box cleverly, I think we can use him rather than the other way around. I’ll give it some thought this evening and write something up. We’ll come back here again tomorrow and read it. If you’re right that he’s dormant whilst we’re in here, we’ll be able to make at least the kernel of a plan without him knowing anything.”

Over the time Martinus has been lodging in me, I had come to recognise the subtle signs of his presence and influence. Gina was about to speak but I raised a finger to stop her. I was concentrating hard, trying to pick up the signs but getting nowhere. 

We spent a few minutes looking around the chapel and even walked up to within inches of the statue but still no sign of Martinus. I was able to tell Gina some of the detail behind the statue and its religious significance both at the time it was made and to the worshippers in this era, and was in quite high spirits when we eventually left the building.

We collected Jack and Jill from Jean-Marie and Amandine and treated us all to an ice cream before going our separate ways. During our conversation with our new friends, and particularly when exchanging embraces with Amandine, Martinus made very clear to me that he was back and in contention. Amandine noticed, too, but said nothing.

“That was deeper than the normal air-kiss embrace,” Gina remarked as we walked away, the accidental brushing of her hand past me – I’m sure it was accidental – suggesting that the subject would be raised again later. 

 

I was nervous, returning to this place. What a contrast to my last visit. I had arrived in high spirits then, excited to discover this special sanctuary I’d read so much about. Now, though, it felt to the part of me I most recognised like it must feel for someone who’d been violently mugged to return to the scene of the assault. Such it was, of course. I may not have been subjected to physical violence, but the violation of my very essence by that man was every bit as traumatic to me as a physical attack would have been – and its effects longer-lasting.

The other part of me, the part that was Martinus mendax, was having a different reaction. Without being fully aware of his presence, I sensed elation but with an undertone of nervousness, a fear that he could somehow be forced back into the centuries-long prison from which he had escaped to infest me. Was I likely to try to summon the monster to find out for sure? I most certainly wasn’t.

Gina and I had arrived in the Lot valley the previous afternoon and booked into a small hotel in the nearby town of L’Hospitalet. We had a room each, of course, but spent all our waking hours together. We dined at the restaurant with a panoramic view over the valley – still one of the most spectacular views I have ever seen – and enjoyed a couple of hours’ small-talk before returning to our hotel and to our separate rooms. I’m happy to say that Jack and Jill behaved impeccably in the restaurant due, in no small part, to the occasional treats passed to them by Gina and me. That some of the other customers also made a great fuss of them helped them to stay quiet and contented even if they were at greater than usual risk of canine obesity. 

We took the roadtrain down after breakfast and wandered around the old town for a while before taking a leisurely lunch. The afternoon we devoted to a tour of the sanctuary. Gina was spellbound. The dogs couldn’t come with us when the time came to go into the sacred buildings, and we had to consider other arrangements.

“There are five chapels we can go into,” I said as we approached the entrance to the first, the one dedicated to St Jean, “Why don’t you go in this one first while I look after the dogs, then I’ll go in next?”

“Then the other way round next time?” she asked.

“Why not?” I agreed. Gina entered and looked around the chapel and came out some minutes later bursting to tell me about it, but holding back so I could see it for myself. “Don’t forget, I’ve been here before, so it’s not really new for me,” I said as I left her with the dogs.

The next chapel was St Blaise. I went in first, then Gina afterwards. As we approached the third on our list, the chapel of St Michel, a young couple approached us.

“Si vous voulez y aller en couple, nous serions ravis de prendre soin de vos chiens,” the young woman said. I didn’t understand a word of it and just looked at her like an idiot. Mind you, her voice was one of those that would make any hot-blooded young man want nothing more in life than to learn the French language just so he could speak with her so I wasn’t complaining. Martin was also clearly not unmoved by the young woman’s voice and appearance and was not backward in making his reaction plain. 

Sadly, Gina didn’t yet know about Martin’s influence on me. “Don’t you know it’s rude to point,” she whispered to me, “and if you do, it’s considered normal to use a finger, generally an index finger. Leave this to me.” She turned to the couple and said, “Désolée, Monsieur, Madame. Mon copain ne parle pas français, donc il n’a pas compris ce que vous avez dit—”

The young woman interrupted her in perfect English. “Apologies,” she said, “we would like to look after your dogs so you can see St Michel together.”

“That would be very kind, I said.” I offered my hand to the young man. “My name is Vic, and my friend is Gina.”

“My friend is called Jean-Marie and I am Amandine. Jean-Marie does not know English,” the young woman said. I turned to her and offered her my hand, but she came close for one of those multi-kisses the continentals favour. After touching right cheeks and before touching the other side she looked down and smiled. With Martin firmly in control at the time, that did not help my predicament. She moved away to embrace Gina. As she did, I could swear I felt a soft touch brush the offending area. Either that or Martinus was engaging in some excessively realistic wishful thinking. We handed the dogs’ leads to the young French couple. 

Gina grabbed me by the hand and dragged me towards the chapel, “Come on, Tiger,” she said with a giggle, “she is extremely pretty, though, isn’t she?”

“Listen—” I started to say.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Vic,” Gina said, “we’re just friends. If it helps any, I found Jean-Marie very attractive, too, in an obvious, Gallic kind of way, but it doesn’t show with women the way it does with men.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, you’ll see her again when we go back out. And there are a couple more chapels to go afterwards, so – who knows?”

There was no point trying to explain to Gina. She probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. I wouldn’t if I didn’t know it was true.