The Templar's Penance: (Knights Templar 15)

by Michael Jecks

  ‘Olá! Bom dia,’ Afonso said as he came out of their room, stretching and casting an eye about the place.

  ‘So far, perhaps,’ Sir Charles muttered.

  João was sitting in his room when a novice tapped nervously at his door to tell him that the Englishman was back. The claveiro told him to fetch the man, and sat staring at the empty desk before him.

  It was not an easy job, managing a castle the size of Tomar, and for João, it was doubly onerous. In the past he had been with the Order of São Thiago, and moving to a new Order was not what he had wished for, not at that time of his life. If he could, he would have taken a post with a peaceful Order, perhaps the Cistercians, and spent the rest of his life in quiet contemplation. But the man who wishes to serve God must follow where He commands, and in any case, like so many pious men who had positions of importance in other convents, there were good reasons for coming to the Templar sites and restoring them in the public eye. João had felt the keen urge to come here and do all he could for Tomar.

  The Englishman was a driven soul, he thought again. He had seen that in the fellow’s eyes the day before. Now, if anything, he looked more torn than before. He had the appearance of a man who had come to a decision, but who disliked the result. He was not going to like the responses he would get today either, João thought to himself.

  ‘Sir Baldwin. I am pleased to see you again.’

  ‘I thank you,’ Baldwin said as João motioned to the novice who had led Baldwin inside. The boy brought in a tray of wine, which he set between the two men. He poured a little into two goblets, then quietly withdrew.

  Baldwin sipped at the wine. ‘I am here, as you asked, to hear your answer.’

  ‘My answer – yes. I did not feel it was an answer I should give,’ João said, toying with the stem of his goblet. ‘If the man whom you sought was guilty, that guilt was for him and for God. If he wished, he could speak to you, but I saw no justification in forcing him to do so.’

  ‘So I have wasted my journey,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘You are a hasty man,’ João said, and there was a flash of steel in his voice. ‘Please hear me out. As I said, it was not a decision I could take. However, I do not wish to have even the most pious woman-murderer here in my castle. Piety is important in a knight, but a knight who can rape and kill a Christian woman is not worthy of his robes. So I went to speak to him last night.’

  ‘He is here, then?’

  ‘Yes, he is here. And he will speak with you. He has agreed.’

  ‘I am most grateful.’

  ‘I shall be with you while you talk,’ João said as he clapped his hands. In a moment or two, a novice had entered, listened quietly to João’s instruction, and scurried off to fetch Ramón. While they waited, the two men sat without talking.

  Baldwin was hard put to control his impatience. No matter what he had decided that morning, he knew that he must still try to find Afonso and learn what had made him stab Matthew. Although if Afonso admitted to the crime, what then could Baldwin do? Kill Afonso in his turn? That was ridiculous. It would be perpetuating the endless round of revenge.

  Over the table, João studied him with interest. He knew that Baldwin was struggling with a bitter internal argument, for he had seen the signs before. A man who is in charge of a convent soon begins to spot those who have need of most support. Every man, João thought, would come to God in his own time. He thought Baldwin was probably coming to find God in his own way. For his part, João was content to remain silently watching Baldwin. There was nothing he could do to help. Baldwin was no doubt being spoken to by God.

  There came the sound of boots tramping steadily along the corridor, then coming to a halt outside João’s door. A knuckle rapped on the door, and João called out permission to enter.

  Ramón walked inside with the truculent demeanour of a man expecting to be accused. He glared at Baldwin as soon as he entered the room. ‘Claveiro, you wanted me?’

  ‘You know why, Frey Ramón,’ João said mildly. ‘This is not a court, and you are not accused. This good knight would like to speak to you, though.’

  Baldwin had stood when Ramón walked in, and he remained on his feet. ‘To see you is to be more certain that you are innocent,’ he began placatingly.

  ‘After my woman was murdered, I chose to leave Compostela,’ Ramón stated harshly. ‘Why should you seek to follow me?’

  Baldwin was unsure how to conduct this inquest. Eyeing Ramón, he tended to think that a direct approach would be most effective. ‘There are some who say you yourself killed her.’

  ‘Me? I loved her!’

  ‘Yet she was carrying a large amount of money when she went to the meeting at the ford. We know that you were there with her, for you were seen by Don Ruy.’

  ‘Yes, of course I saw her there. She had asked me to go and meet her.’

  ‘What, in order to guard her? While she negotiated with the blackmailer?’

  ‘No. She made no mention of any such thing,’ Ramón said with apparent surprise. ‘All she wanted was to ask me if I would protect her if she left her mistress. Obviously, I said I would. We were betrothed, and I hoped to marry her this year.’

  Baldwin felt sure that the man was concealing something. Before Ramón could move on to a fresh topic, Baldwin said, ‘What then?’

  ‘That was all. I returned to the town, and shortly afterwards her body was brought back.’

  ‘That is not all, is it? You were walking with her for some while. What else did you talk about?’

  ‘Nothing. We spoke a little, and separated. That was all.’

  ‘What did you speak about?’

  ‘That is none of your business!’

  ‘I am trying to convince myself that you are an innocent man, Brother! Can you not tell me what passed between you?’

  ‘What does it matter?’ he spat.

  ‘It matters because another could be arrested and hanged for the murder if you don’t help us to resolve things,’ Baldwin snapped. ‘Do you want an innocent man to be blamed, just because of your high-minded desire to protect someone?’ This last was a guess, but Baldwin was sure that Ramón must have a good reason for keeping silent on the matter.

  Ramón shot a look at João, then looked down at the floor. He hated the idea of telling the truth, but he hated still more the idea of lying, especially if that might lead to an innocent man being accused. He had no idea that Baldwin’s ‘innocent’ was already dead. ‘I don’t know that I should tell you … it reflects upon my lady’s virtue.’

  ‘Tell me, please,’ Baldwin urged.

  Ramón glanced once more at João, who remained impassive, but then lifted an eyebrow. Ramón knew what that meant. A Knight of Christ was supposed to tell the truth to the glory of God. That reflection stabbed at him coldly like a shard of ice, and he shivered, but at last told his story.

  ‘I was surprised when she asked me to see her there at the ford, because she and her mistress had already told me that Doña Stefanía must go out to a meeting and that was why I couldn’t see Joana until later. Then she whispered to me to find a means of getting to this place. When I arrived, she was there. She had a bag with her, and she told me that she had taken it from her lady. Doña Stefanía was a dragon and a thief, she said. She had served her loyally, she said, but enough was enough.

  ‘During the journey to Compostela, the Doña had slept with men, she said. A woman with loose morals was no mistress for her. So Joana had invented a blackmailer, a man who knew of the Doña’s affairs, and who demanded money. Joana asked me, would I run away with her? We could keep the money, she said, and she showed me her bag.

  ‘There was more gold in there than I had seen before in my life. Thirty to thirty-five libras. She had taken it from her lady.’ Baldwin interjected, ‘How so, when the lady herself was going to bring this money to the blackmailer?’

  ‘She hid her lady’s horse. There was a cousin of Joana’s travelling with her and her lady, a man called Domingo. He was the
re to protect them. Joana told him to take her lady’s horse and move it so that the Doña wouldn’t be able to leave immediately, and then Joana played on her lady’s fears, pointing out that it would be easy for a man who was so dishonourable to capture her and take her hostage. Doña Stefanía,’ he added drily, ‘was easy to convince that she would be safer left in the town.’

  Domingo was Joana’s cousin! Baldwin felt a tingling of excitement in his belly. ‘I see. So she showed you all this money?’

  ‘And I told her to take it straight back to her lady. I’d have nothing to do with stolen money,’ Ramón said, but to Baldwin’s consternation, a tear began to run down his cheek. ‘And that, Sir Baldwin, is the cause of my guilt. For I killed her, as surely as though I beat her about the head.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Baldwin demanded.

  ‘I left her there. I shouted that I wanted nothing to do with a common draw-latch, and that if she wished to marry me, it had to be as an honest woman. I told her to take the money back to her lady and quit her post. Then, I said, I would marry her. But on her way back, someone who must have heard us shouting, captured her, killed her, and stole all the money. If I had been kinder, if I had ridden back with her, instead of angrily riding off and leaving her alone, she might still be alive today.’

  ‘That was Domingo, perhaps? He could have killed her for the money?’

  ‘Perhaps. From his reputation, he would not have thought anything of murder for thirty libras. But I did not see him there.’

  ‘Did you see anyone?’

  ‘Don Ruy was there. I saw him after I had spoken to Joana and refused to accept her money. I was not in a good temper. I was thinking that I should leave her alone. If she could be so faithless to her own mistress, was she really the sort of woman who would make a good wife to a Knight of Santiago?’

  ‘Don Ruy, you say? Where was he?’

  ‘At the ford where the women wash their clothes. I saw him there. I remember it, because he was exchanging foul comments with a whoring beggar, and both were laughing at their lewdness. I thought it was disgraceful that a knight should be so crude. Don Ruy thought nothing of it. I dare say he took her for a tumble afterwards.’

  Later, when Ramón had left them, Baldwin and João sat for some time in silence.

  To João, it seemed as though Baldwin was at a loss for words, and he thought it better to leave him to mull over all he had heard without interruption. It was necessary sometimes, he knew, to have time to order one’s thoughts.

  Baldwin at last broke the silence. ‘I think your Frey Ramón will make a good Brother.’

  ‘We have need of faithful brethren,’ João said. ‘You were persuaded by his evidence?’

  ‘I was,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘Which carries the double pain for me of a wasted journey and the knowledge that I could have remained in Compostela seeking the real murderer there. I have no idea who was responsible. There is still this rape, murder and theft.’

  ‘Perhaps a means of finding the murderer will come to you when you return to the town.’

  ‘I can pray.’

  ‘I shall pray for you.’

  ‘I wonder … It would mean much to me to be able to pray in your oratory to ask for guidance. Would it be possible …?’

  ‘No, not with the Brothers, of course. But you could join in a service in the chapel with the lay Brothers.’

  ‘I should be very grateful. It would ease my mind.’

  ‘Yes,’ João said, and then, although he was not sure why, he said, ‘Would you prefer to pray with me here, alone?’

  Baldwin looked at him, and nodded. ‘I would be very glad.’

  It was afternoon when he and the claveiro left the chapel and wandered down from the little cloister around the church.

  ‘My heart is full,’ Baldwin said simply. ‘I feel renewed.’

  ‘I am pleased for you,’ João said. He looked at Baldwin. ‘You speak Latin very well, my friend.’

  ‘I was fortunate to be educated.’

  ‘And you say the paternoster fluently.’

  ‘My brain has always been retentive,’ Baldwin said defensively.

  ‘Many men are fortunate to have good minds,’ João said comfortably. ‘Especially those who have lived in places like this for a while.’

  Baldwin could not meet his gaze. There was a terrible silence between them. It was a gulf into which all noise was swallowed, as though if either were to speak, it could only result in death and disaster. Baldwin waited. He was convinced that João would call for men to capture him, that he was going to be thrown into a gaol and held. His worst fears were about to come true.

  Then João idly kicked a stone from the path. ‘I think,’ he said quietly, ‘that those who served here were not evil: they were heroes and martyrs. If they had been evil, do you not think that the demons they had summoned would have frequented these places? No, if the Templars were guilty of anything, it was of arrogance. And who, living in a place like this, wouldn’t be prone to that sin?’

  Baldwin was unable to speak. They had reached the level area before the circular church. A young child was running past, and Baldwin watched him speed over the ground, laughing as another boy chased him. ‘I am sure you are right, claveiro,’ he said huskily.

  ‘I believe so. I find it painful to think of all the violence inflicted on men whose only crime was trying to obey God.’

  They had reached a small gate in a wall, and João motioned to it. ‘I wondered … it is a pleasing little area. I must leave you, but if you wish, you may enter and rest for a while.’

  ‘What is it?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘A graveyard.’ João looked about him sadly. ‘It is where the monks who used to live here were buried. Wait here, and meditate quietly. Leave your sword sheathed, and you might learn something useful.’

  Afonso climbed up the roadway with Sir Charles. The English knight stood at the gateway peering out over the view, while Afonso entered the castle’s gates and walked into the courtyard.

  The place was enormously loud, with men shouting at each other, the beating of hammers and chisels, bellows making the flames roar, and over all the sonorous tolling of the massive bell in the church. Afonso gazed at it with wonder. It was nothing like a church as he knew it. Instead, it looked like a citadel, a castle’s keep. It was a tower that dwarfed every other tower in Tomar.

  The place he wanted to go was near the church, and he entered it quietly by the small gate. Immediately, the noise died to a background hubbub, and he found himself in a small cloister with a pleasing area of lawn. There were no seats apart from some stone-carved benches, and he walked to one and sat, staring at the grass.

  There was another man in there with him, he saw, a man in a white tunic, and at first he wondered if it might be a Knight of Christ, but then he thought that they must all be in the church for a service, for the bell had ceased its clanging invitation.

  Afonso was not worried. He bent his head and clasped his hands and began to pray as he had been shown by his father all those years ago. At once he felt the calmness return and envelop him. All the frustrations and worries of the last ten years began to disappear. It was as though he was able to tell his father what had happened, as if he could talk to his father properly again. Not that it was possible, of course. He had died many years ago. But simply confiding in him would, he hoped, make his father’s soul happy.

  When he was done, he sat back. After a few minutes, he heard footsteps approaching. A man sat on a bench nearby.

  Baldwin cleared his throat. ‘I came here to try to find you.’

  ‘You have succeeded.’

  ‘May I speak to you?’

  ‘Not here.’

  Afonso stood, and without a backward glance, walked from the cloister out to the courtyard, Baldwin following. As soon as Afonso opened the gate and stepped out, there was a shrill cry, and the little boy whom Baldwin had seen before, ran past, clipped Afonso’s leg, and fell headlong. For a moment, there was
no noise from him, but then he began to shriek with pain and surprise.

  Baldwin saw the lad sit up, his mouth a blood-filled hole where he had fallen and dragged the inner surface of his bottom lip along the gravel-strewn ground. Baldwin felt his courage quail within him, but Afonso had no hesitation. He picked up the boy, and with a piece of his tunic, began to hook out the stones and grit which had been caught in the little fellow’s mouth, not stopping until he had most of them out. Then he walked to a hut and demanded some watered wine for the boy. Only when he had seen the boy drink a little, still crying pitifully, and had found another to look after him, did he turn back to Baldwin.

  ‘Why did you want to talk to me?’ he demanded.

  ‘Because I wanted to kill you,’ Baldwin said seriously. ‘And now I am not sure.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Yes, I wanted to kill him. I hated him – I still do,’ Afonso said passionately.

  Baldwin felt his hackles rise. ‘An old man like that? What had he ever done to you?’

  Afonso gave him a ferocious stare and his mouth opened, but then he shook his head and stared out over the town below them.

  They had walked out from the castle and were sitting on a low wall a short distance away. Afonso had been quiet all the way, as though helping the boy had exhausted all his energies, but Baldwin was seething with a curious emotion. He wanted to strike the man, but something restrained him … probably João’s words. ‘Leave your sword sheathed.’ Why had he said that? João must have known that Afonso was going to be here. How had he guessed?

  ‘Were you told to go there to the graveyard?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I went there to find some peace and to pray. The claveiro said I might meet someone there and he suggested it could be good for me to tell my story,’ Afonso said. ‘If you wish to hear it, I can tell you now.’