Sisters in Time

Sisters in Time
Prologue
When they passed thought the archway of the thousand year old stone wall separating the town of San Gimignano from the surrounding country side there was no way they could tell what century they were in. No telephone or electric lines belied the date, no cars betrayed the decade—only farmers tending olive groves as theirs forefathers had done for centuries before them.
“What did Simon say to you in the gallery?” Alton asked. He has been keeping a running commentary about his city, his home for the last six years and where he had produced some of his best sculptures.
“He grabbed my wrist and told me that he knew I was psychic and that I should let the things I saw pass through me. I looked to see if you had put him up to it but you weren’t even in the shop. He didn’t know I was with you and how would he know that about me anyway.”
Alton shrugged. “How do you know what you know?”
Cat looked at the poppies on the hill side and then out beyond the Cyprus trees that divided the groves of olive trees and houses, framing the lighter green patchwork of farmland. She looked up at Alton. “I don’t know.”
Linda picked up a poppy and pressed it between the pages of her moleskin journal. “Come on, Boo,” and gestured ahead. Lin’s use of the endearment for the people that she loved made Cat smile. They had been like instant sisters when they met.
Yes, thought Cat, come on – lighten up. This is a trip of a lifetime, surrounded my friends, a beautiful day, what more could I ask for, there is no reason to feel uneasy.
“How old is the wall?” Aziz, ever this historian and a last minute addition to the trip Linda and Cat made from New York to Florence—and today here to visit Alton and see the city.
“I should imagine close to a thousand years. Etruscan around 300 BC but the wall was built after that – and the towers” Alton gestured back toward the city at the stone towers rising against the cloudless blue sky, “date between the 11th and 13th centuries. There is a Templar church not far from here, the oldest in Italy.”
Aziz’ eyes lit up. “I would like to see that I’ve read a good deal about them.” Heir to the throne of one of the larger record companies, Aziz, was, as one might expect expert in the field of music but his knowledge of art and history had been one of the unexpected treats on the trip.
Alton and Aziz continued on the path around the wall with Linda and me bringing up the rear looking for more perfect red poppies to press in the pages of our journals. The path wound upward and we kept pace until we approached another archway. A road came out of the archway like a black tongue and was soon a sliver of ribbon wound between the green of the countryside.
“It’s up here. “ Alton, pointed up across the street and up a slight rise. We could see the top of the small white church at a distance. Between it and ourselves were concrete blocks damning off the edge of the church yard, topped with bright yellow and orange plastic sheets with evenly space holes—twist tied to steel fence polls driven into the ground. “I think they are doing some sort of preservation-renovation work. We may not be able to get in.”
Aziz sized up the plastic barrier and found it wanting. “I didn’t come half way around the world to let a little fence stop me. I think I can hope that.”
Alton gave him a nod of assent and the two guys began to sprint across the street. Linda and I, both of tomboy misspent youth, were not about to be left behind sprinted after them.
Just as Cat began to run, she could hear the sounds of hoof beats behind me and looking over my shoulder expected to see mounted policemen racing up to stop us from violating the church yards plastic protection. She hopped up onto the first concrete block and Alton and Aziz held down there hands to give Linda and she a pull up and steady us for the climb over the barricade.
We sprinted the remaining yard to the crest of a slight rise and there on the other side and nestled in its own tiny valley was a perfect small white square of a church. We stood looking one the weathered wooden doors and white lintel incised with a Templar cross.
“Touch it. Tell us what you feel.” Linda urged.
“What is she going to do?” asked Aziz.
“Sometimes when I touch things I get an impression – or a vision – connected to the object. It’s like seeing a movie in you head that doesn’t belong to you.” Cat shrugged her shoulders, “Let’s see.”
Cat started down the gentle incline to the front of the church which sat three or four feet below and about twenty feet from where the three companions waited with expectation. She walked toward the church. As she reached up to lay her hands on the door, Alton called to her. “Not the door. The building, it’s older.” The door though old was wooden and would have been replaced several times from the churches beginning seven or eight hundred years ago.
Cat paused and then leaned her palms against the building.
Immediately she felt as if her hands were sucked into the stone itself. The ground below her began to rumble. The air crackled around her and she heard again the horses hooves and the cry “Artur, Artur” from behind her. Panic flooded over her as she tried to move her hands and reach for the door.
An arrow pierced her left thigh, the point lodging in the bone. The second hit her in the right shoulder and pushed her forward against the building. She threw her head back and scream issued from the depths of her soul. The sound came from out of her, surrounded her reached outward in time. Long and loud it shook the air until the last arrow pierced her heart and she felt the release of death.
Cat slumped against the building and looked back at her friends. Linda was between the two men – her arms up to hold them back. When there eyes met Linda knew Cat was back in this reality.
“Are you OK?
Cat nodded.
“We better get out of here. “ Alton’s head swiveled around, that … that scream is bound to attract attention.
Cat was almost up the hill, her voice was a horse whisper, “Can’t speak.”
“Come on,” Lin said we’ll go back to the plaza and get you a gelato to sooth your throat and you can tell us what happened. They crossed to the corner of the church yard and out through a break in the orange construction barrier and back into the streets of the town proper.
The found cast iron chairs to sit on close to the gelato stand. The cool felt good against Cat’s back.
“What kind do you want?” Lin looked at Cat, who mouthed the word fruit and nodded a thank you.
After the gelato had put cooled her throat and the look of concern abated from the group’s eyes, Aziz asked the question on everyone’s mind. “What happened back there?”
Cat’s voice was raspy and her throat was just beginning no un-constrict. “I thought I heard horses when we were crossing the street. The men on horseback were yelling Artur, Artur to me and I was running to reach the church. I knew that I was going to die. I knew we were all going to die, all of us inside the church but I just wanted to be there with them. To die with my brothers.”
“Was your family in the church?”
“No, I mean brothers like monks, but we weren’t dressed in those brown robes.”
“Go on. “ Lin urged.
“When I was running toward the doors, I was shot in leg with an arrow. I stumbled but kept going then I was hit in this shoulder,” Cat gestured toward her shoulder looking surprised that there was no arrow there. It pushed me against the wall and I knew I wasn’t going to make it inside. I started to scream.”
“Yes, that was freaky.” Alton’s eyes were big.
“You heard that?” Cat asked.
“Heard it? Half of Italy heard it!” Alton wrinkled his brow. “I don’t understand why people didn’t come running.”
Cat looked into the eyes of her friends.
“Hon that was the longest loudest scream I’ve ever heard in my life.” Lin rested her hand on Cat’s arm. Aziz nodded in agreement.
“I died. The third arrow went right into my heart. I felt the release of death. I don’t think I will ever be afraid on it in the same way again. The pain on knowing I wasn’t going to get through those doors was far worse than the pain caused by the arrows.”
They sat a moment in silence. Then Lin asked, “Oh my. Do you remember the dream you had last night?”
“No,” answered Cat. “Did I have a dream? Did I wake you?”
“Yes, you were calling out,” she paused. “You were calling out ‘the door, the door’.”
“Whoa.” Alton put up his hands. “We’re you calling ‘the door’ or ‘Artur’? Calling to someone named Artur?”
“I don’t think Artur is a name, more of a command maybe. I’m not sure. I don’t know. I can’t make any sense out of it, except that I wanted to get inside to die.”
“When was it?” Aziz asked. “What period of time?”
“1309.” Cat said without thinking, surprised to hear herself say it and at the same time sure it was true. “1309, in the fall, it was just turning cold.”
Aziz looked skyward considering. “That would make sense. That was the time period of the Knights Templar and this is one of their churches.”
The group rose as one. The energy that raised the hairs on the back of their necks had begun to dissipate.
“I see a butcher over there. I’m going to get some meat for lunch.” Aziz headed off across the square.
Alton started to protest that he would make something back at his apartment over the art gallery but Lin stopped him. Smiling she said, “Dead pig. He’s into pork. He doesn’t get a lot of it at home. He’s been eating sausage and ham and having a field day. We’ve watched him eat it three meals a day since we have been here.”
Alton grinned at her. “It goes well with the wine you guys (looking at Lin and Cat) have been tippling at all hours of the day and night…” His eyes twinkled.
“Ah yes, well, you’re right about that.” Cat admitted, chagrinned. She had drunk more wine in the past week than she had drunk in the past year at home. And she thought it wouldn’t change today.