The Templar's Penance: (Knights Templar 15)

by Michael Jecks

  He was drawn back to the present, to his seat beneath a great vine in Compostela, by Paul saying, ‘So now we’ve got here, where do we go next Sir Charles?’

  ‘You find this city boring?’

  ‘No. It’s got wine and women. That’s enough for me while there’s a little cash in my pocket. But the money we have won’t last long.’

  ‘True enough. We need a chance of making some more,’ Sir Charles said.

  It was the eternal problem. In the days when they had been kept by Earl Thomas, life had been a great deal easier. Now, acquiring funds had become their chief occupation.

  ‘If we don’t get some money soon, we’ll have to think of selling the packhorse.’

  Sir Charles shook his head. ‘That would be as stupid as throwing away my armour. Without our mounts and our weapons, we’re no better than mercenaries. At least while we have these, we can call ourselves chivalrous.’

  ‘In that case, we’d best find someone rich who doesn’t mind sharing his wealth,’ Paul said.

  Sir Charles nodded. ‘Yes. And if he does mind, we’ll have to persuade him otherwise,’ he grinned.

  Just then he caught sight of Afonso appearing through the crowds, moving with his usual rolling gait, a little like a sailor. Sir Charles somehow felt that the Portuguese man had suffered more than he, but Afonso had volunteered nothing more about his past, and he was not the sort of man to blab confidences willy-nilly. He was rather like Sir Charles – self-sufficient, calm and satisfied with his own company. While Sir Charles and Paul were with him, he was content to be their companion, but if they were to leave today, he would not care.

  That was his usual demeanour, but today something had upset him, Sir Charles could see. His face was set, and he shouldered a man from his path in an unwarranted display of anger. The man opened his mouth to remonstrate, but then closed it again when he took in the broad back and worn sword of the knight.

  ‘My friend, what is the matter?’ Sir Charles asked mildly.

  ‘It is nothing. I saw a man I had not expected, that is all,’ Afonso said.

  ‘I see,’ Sir Charles said. ‘When we first met, you mentioned someone whom you wished to find. Is this him?’

  ‘Yes!’ Afonso swore and spat out, ‘Matthew!’

  ‘Would you like me to come with you and see him again?’

  The offer of his assistance in attacking this man, who must surely be an enemy of Afonso’s, did not produce the result which Sir Charles had expected. Instead of giving thanks, Afonso rounded on him, eyes glittering.

  ‘No. You leave him to me! He is the cause of me being here, and I’ll kill him myself!’

  Doña Stefanía sat back, her heart pounding as she studied the now-pale knight. ‘You didn’t think I would be able to muster the courage to accuse, did you? Well, I have. I accuse you, Sir Knight, and I hope you will be forced to pay for your vicious crime!’

  ‘I have done nothing, woman!’ Don Ruy snarled, but Simon was sure that this was not the reaction of the discovered felon, rather the furious denial of a man repudiating his accuser.

  ‘You killed her!’ she shouted, and there was a kind of delight in saying so, she discovered. It was as though she had found some form of comfort in being able to declare her maid’s murderer’s guilt.

  Don Ruy did not retreat or cower, though the other two men closed in subtly. It was the knight called Baldwin who spoke.

  ‘You have been accused, and you deny the charge, but you give us no explanation of why you are wrongly accused. Will you not explain how someone could think that they saw you, when you say you did not leave the city?’

  That’s it! Doña Stefanía thought gleefully. Let him wriggle out of that!

  ‘I did leave the city for a short while,’ Don Ruy said stiffly. ‘I hired a mount from a stable and rode out for exercise. I hadn’t thought it would matter – but then I didn’t expect to be accused of murder for talking to the good Doña Stefanía either,’ he added with a bow to her.

  He was impressive, she admitted. Suave and calm, even when accused of such a dreadful crime.

  ‘Where exactly did you ride?’

  ‘I rode out along the river northwards.’

  ‘Did you come to a clearing?’

  Don Ruy considered. ‘The ground was flat, and I don’t recall one in particular. There was a stretch which looked a little like a ford. I passed by a place where women were washing their clothes.’

  ‘A ford,’ Baldwin repeated in English for Simon. ‘He says he passed a place that was a ford, where women were washing their clothing.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed that it was a crossing place.’ Returning to Don Ruy, he said, ‘The ford – did you see anyone near there?’

  ‘I saw two horses tied to a tree.’

  ‘Was there a man there, or a woman?’

  ‘Over on the opposite side of the river, walking together, away from me. I didn’t see their faces. I don’t know who they were.’

  ‘Come, Don Ruy! You must remember the girl at least. She wore a blue tunic, with embroidery at the neck and hem.’

  ‘Very well. Yes. It was the beautiful dark-haired servant of Doña Stefanía here,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘Yes, it was because of her that I rode up that way. I noticed her at the city gate, and from interest, I trailed after her up the roadway. She went on ahead at speed, but I slowed because my mount had a stone in its hoof. At first I thought that it was a miserable creature that had been foisted on me, but when I had it out, the beast rode all right. Still, when I got to the ford she had gone already.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘Over the river, like I said. One of the horses was hers – I recognised it. It was hot, and what should be more natural than that she should cross the river in bare feet to cool them, before walking with her man?’

  ‘Which man?’

  ‘She was with Frey Ramón when I saw her.’

  Doña Stefanía felt the world tottering about her. ‘No! This is ludicrous! How can that be? Don, how do you know the good Brother Ramón? Do you know him?’

  ‘I know him well enough, and his horse,’ snapped Don Ruy irritably, and turned to face Baldwin. ‘Our bands of pilgrims were together at Tours until four days ago. His horse is black, with a white flash on the left shoulder that extends up the neck almost to the head. He has a grey ankle on the right rear leg, too. It was his horse, all right. And he was there, too, walking with Joana over on the other bank of the river. I knew her from the journey here to the city. She was with Doña Stefanía. It was her I overheard telling of the Doña’s … indiscretion.’

  ‘What were they doing there?’ Doña Stefanía said, ignoring his last words. ‘They were supposed to meet back here.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin interrupted her, ‘we should wait until we have an opportunity to ask the good Frey Ramón.’

  ‘Joana promised she was going straight to meet this Ruy,’ the Prioress persisted. ‘What was she doing with Ramón? If Ruy saw Ramón, he might have thought that she had brought a guard or a witness, and left her there. He might not have negotiated. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I did not ask to see her, I didn’t ask for money, and I didn’t go there to haggle!’ Don Ruy said firmly, reddening. ‘Look, they were obviously lovers, with their own little rendezvous on the other side of the river, away from the road, where they could take their ease in privacy. Where is the mystery in that?’

  ‘What then? Did you ride on?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘No. I turned back immediately and made for the city. Then, because I was not tired, I cantered about the walls for some exercise. A little later, when I returned to the gate, I saw one man leaving.’ Don Ruy frowned. ‘I don’t know if you had heard, but my group were attacked on the way here by a set of felons who drew weapons and hurled themselves at us. Luckily there were three men-at-arms who happened upon us as the attack was underway. They charged the malfechores and put them to flight, killing several of them. The man I s
aw leaving the city was one of our attackers, I think. A hunched man with his head held at an odd angle. He didn’t see me, and rode off along the road, the same way that I had taken.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘I came here to a tavern, sat and drank off some wine. I was hot by then. The weather was most warm.’

  ‘Did you not bludgeon her to death?’ Doña Stefanía burst out. ‘You wanted her, you waited until Frey Ramón was gone, and then you killed her, poor child, so you could rob her!’

  ‘I have told you, Doña, that I returned to Compostela, put the horse in the stable, paid the groom, and came here for a drink. I was only gone for a short time.’

  ‘You say that the two of them were there together, but why should that be?’ the Prioress repeated – but then realised what she had said. Suddenly the thoughts crowded in upon her thick and fast. ‘Joana could have made up the whole blackmail story in order to feather her own nest,’ she said wildly. ‘She might have spun the whole story to me just to make me give her my money, which she would then share with her man. But now she’s dead – and where’s the money? My God! Her man! Ramón, where is he? Perhaps he killed her and took all the money!’

  She leaped to her feet, and although Baldwin tried to calm her and persuade her to sit, she refused, but instead bolted off towards the Cathedral.

  Chapter Twelve

  At a tree some tens of yards away, Parceval heard her screech and glanced up with a sudden coldness in his chest as though he was going to witness her death again, this time while he was sober. It made his bones feel as though they had turned to lard, his blood seeming to clog in his veins, as though time was standing still, so that he could extract every last tiny moment of horror from this scene.

  The drinking horn which he had grasped fell from his nerveless fingers even as his eyes fearfully took in the sight – and a tidal wave of relief flooded over him.

  He watched as the Prioress pelted across the square towards the Cathedral, his fingers beginning a brief fluttering as though nerves had been trapped and were now renewed as the sensation returned to them, but inside, all he felt was self-loathing and sickness. She had been so perfect, his daughter, and now she was destroyed utterly. All because of Hellin van Coye. ‘Damn you, you …’

  But there were no words foul enough to suit Hellin van Coye. Parceval waved at the wine-seller and acquired a fresh horn, paying with a gold coin. In his distraction, he waved the man away without checking his change, and realised later that he had given the potman more than enough for three jugs, and although he felt annoyed to have wasted money, he had plenty more. No, the only thing that concerned him was that others shouldn’t realise how much cash he carried with him. That was a real problem. He didn’t want people to even remotely suspect that he was no more a scruffy peasant than the Bishop was. Hellin had friends all over the world, and one of them might take it upon himself to ensure that Hellin’s murderer didn’t have to worry himself about the return trip to Ypres.

  He would protect himself against any attacker, he vowed, surreptitiously fingering his knife’s hilt. As he repeated his oath to himself, his gaze drifted over the people in the square and just for one moment, he saw a face staring at him, and he felt as though Hellin’s ghost had paraded in front of him.

  It was the face of a man who was looking for someone. Parceval slowly edged backwards, into the shelter of a chestnut tree, and stared fixedly at the point where he had seen the man. No, he was wrong. It had to be a fellow looking for a friend. The face was familiar, anyway. Where had he seen the man before … Aha! It was Gregory, the priest who’d walked with their group from before Orthez. That was all right, then. Phew! There was nothing scary about him, nothing in the slightest.

  Parceval felt the worry falling from his back like a weight. For now, he must return to the room he had hired. The woman who owned it was a terrible old harridan, who stared at him as though assuming he was going to walk off with her best bed and blankets. Stupid bloody bitch! Her stuff was adequate, but no more. At least it meant that he had a base.

  He stared once again at Gregory. There was nothing wrong with keeping an eye on him, just in case. And if Gregory turned out to be any sort of a threat, he’d break the bloody bastard’s head!

  Don Ruy stood with Simon and Baldwin for some while after the Prioress had left them, apparently still in a state of shock from her accusations. At last he surrendered himself to bellows of laughter, sitting and holding his flanks helplessly.

  ‘She is mad!’ he choked at last, glancing at Baldwin. ‘Does she mean to accuse every man in the city in rotation?’

  ‘I had thought that she wanted the knowledge of her carnal adventure to remain hidden,’ Baldwin said, gazing after her curiously. ‘It is almost as though she would admit to sleeping with a man in order to deny murder.’

  ‘Perhaps the thought that a man could have robbed her, and then done away with her maid, has made her so angry, she can only see the immediacy of her need for vengeance.’

  ‘Perhaps. In the meantime, what would you say of this Ramón?’

  ‘Him? A grey, unintelligent man, but honourable enough.’

  ‘Would you think him capable of killing his own lover and taking her mistress’s money?’

  ‘That is a foul suggestion. I should be unwilling to accuse any knight of such behaviour.’

  ‘The Doña was happy to accuse you.’

  ‘I know, but I cannot understand. How could she possibly accuse me of such a terrible thing?’

  ‘She was entirely convinced, I should say,’ Baldwin said. ‘What did you think, Simon?’

  ‘Me? What do I know?’ Simon said with some asperity. ‘I can’t understand a word you’re saying. But I think this man is more concerned than guilty. He doesn’t look like a felon to me, and if he’s so hard up for money that he needs to blackmail, how on earth did he afford those clothes?’

  Baldwin smiled slightly and related the story that Doña Stefanía had told. ‘When she left us, she looked as though she was rushing off to the Cathedral to pray to Saint James, to ask him who had robbed her.’ He then added as an afterthought: ‘And murdered Joana, of course.’

  ‘I don’t know what she said about things,’ Simon said pensively, ‘but I’ll tell you this: she was glad to get that story off her chest. If anything happens to her now, it’s this knight who’ll suffer for it. No one else would be considered.’

  ‘No. I wonder what parts of the story were true?’

  ‘The sleeping with a pilgrim was true. The flush that came to her face was genuine, or I’m a peasant. After that, I don’t know what she was talking about, but the anger and fear in her eyes when she looked at this knight was real, I’d reckon. She looked terrified, and obviously believed that her maid had been murdered by him – if she believed that story about the blackmail.’

  ‘Yes, but do we believe it?’ Baldwin said, glancing at Don Ruy de Benavente again.

  ‘If I could understand a word of what was being said, I’d be able to advise. As it is, though, how the hell should I know?’ Simon groused. ‘You twitter on with these others so quickly, I don’t know what’s going on.’

  ‘Do you need help, Masters?’ asked a new voice.

  Baldwin turned round. ‘Good day to you Matthew. I think that the short answer to that is “Yes”, but we can’t ask for it just now. The girl who was murdered was apparently carrying a large sum of money, and we are trying to find it.’

  ‘You think he might have it?’ Matthew asked, staring at Don Ruy.

  ‘Stranger things have happened,’ Baldwin chuckled and watched as the beggar moved off again among the crowds. When he turned back to Simon, his expression was pensive. ‘You are right – this is nothing to do with us. Perhaps I should simply tell that to Munio and leave the whole thing to him.’

  ‘Just ask Don Ruy: did he try to demand money?’

  Baldwin shrugged and did so.

  ‘Me? Of course not!’ the man snapped, his patience gone. �
��I certainly saw her in flagrante with that peasant Parceval, the nasty little man from Flanders, but I wouldn’t dream of demanding money from her. Why, I wouldn’t do that to the lowliest serving girl, let alone a Prioress – if she is one! She says she is, but she behaved more like a whore from Malpertugio! I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that she is less honourable than she avows. I saw her, after all, with her legs spread as wide as a whale’s mouth, ready to engulf any man who came near. It was just the bad luck of the peasant that she caught him.’ He laughed briefly. ‘Snared like a man in a bear trap.’

  ‘You mentioned Malpertugio – the “Evil Hole” of Naples where they have the fleshpots,’ Baldwin said. ‘You have been there?’

  ‘A few times. It’s a fine city. I don’t go to the Malpertugio myself, of course.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Baldwin said suavely. ‘Yet the Prioress was engaged in that form of entertainment.’

  ‘And not as an unwilling victim as she pretends,’ Don Ruy stated. ‘She was enthusiastic as hell. In fact, I didn’t realise that she was the Prioress. When I walked in on them, she was underneath him with her head towards me, and seeing a naked woman upside down … well, it’s not so easy to recognise someone you hardly know. It was only later I realised who it was.’

  ‘Why? Did you wait and see who came out of the room?’

  ‘No, of course not! As soon as my eyes had accustomed themselves to the light and I realised what they were up to, I left them to it. Not knowing who it was, I had no interest. It was merely two adults rutting in a shed. No, I only realised the next day, when I heard the Prioress’s maid talking to another girl. They were giggling about it. I suppose all servants when they are alone laugh about the peccadillos of their masters and mistresses. It must amuse them no end.’

  ‘And you thought you might be able to take advantage of her yourself?’ Baldwin suggested.

  ‘No! I am here on pilgrimage, not to fornicate!’

  His outrage seemed unfeigned. Baldwin shot a look at Simon, but his friend was merely gazing at the two of them with an expression of bemusement. ‘So what then? The Prioress says you tried to blackmail her. You say you did not. She says you demanded to see her yesterday, you say you did not. Yet you were there at the place where this woman died. Tell me, why did you follow her? To demand sex?’