caverns. Out of ignorance, farmers made use of them for housing pigs and livestock, burning fires inside them for warmth, and ruining vital evidence to a medieval people’s existence during the 12th and 13th centuries.
Even during my journey in Lucania, priests made jokes about Templar talk; “No, there were never any Templars here; (chuckling) maybe they crossed Acerenza’s path once.”
“Ah, come on, this guy knows all there is to know about Acerenza’s history (priest looking at the guy to his right) and he says it’s never been trampled on by one Templar boot.”
This was spoken to me as I sat next to this priest on a bench; we were facing the Acerenza Cathedral–whose wall was slashed with a Templar cross. Either they do know something about the Templar’s history in Acerenza and are reluctant to talk about it; or they are cunning like their ancestors, who masterfully side-stepped the facts and presented them as “unimportant,” or they are plain blinded to the obvious clues sitting right in front of them. For people that were known to pass on news like gossiping gazettes– this topic strangely ever made it past a joke. Their deeds of honor were done; they hushed it up and left it for—forgotten once again.
We walked on, and images began to click into sequence. The grottos were set away in solitary spots, frescoes positioned and styled by the same hands—the same imaginations (the time period locked into the 12th century for the most part), odd statues were found all over the place that somehow were surely connected. Pagan symbols were outrightly noticeable by eyes that can “see” them.
This concludes my first journey into the Lucanian territory. I