The Templar

To port Baldwin saw a series of white beaches, and then there was a gap, a narrow space, filled with water, at which the master was pointing. Baldwin felt a slight anxiety to think that this was the place where he would leave the ship, which must continue on its way to Lisbon, where the master had material and leathers to sell. Baldwin himself would be set on land so that he could either sail to Obidos, or perhaps hire a horse. That, he considered, glancing about him, looked unlikely. There might be a sturdy mule or two here, but he reckoned that a boat would best suit his purposes.

He climbed from the ship into a small fishing vessel, and that set him down safely on shore. Knowing little Portuguese, he felt daunted by the thought of explaining himself to the fishermen who stood idly watching him while their hands automatically moved wooden lumps through old nets as they threaded new string through holes. So this, he thought, is what Simon felt like in Galicia. It made Baldwin realise how disorientating a total inability to communicate could be.

By signs and regular repetition of the name ‘Obidos!’ he managed, he thought, to make his wishes plain, and many of the men about the nets smiled contentedly, their sun-browned faces wrinkling, eyes all but hidden in the tanned flesh from long years of staring at the sun glinting off the sea. It was only when a black-robed priest appeared that he realised that they had understood not a word.

‘I wanted to sail to Obidos,’ he explained in Latin.

The priest looked a little bemused and when he spoke, his accent was so strong, Baldwin found it very hard to understand. ‘Aha. The city is easy to reach.’

He had a fawning manner, which put Baldwin’s back up at first, but then he reflected that this man was probably unused to meeting strangers from over the seas, and knowing that Baldwin was heading for the great city, he might feel that respect was a suitable response.

There were no boats sailing that afternoon. Baldwin had to content himself with sitting outside a small, cheap inn on a sun-whitened bench and sipping at a rough local wine. Tomorrow he would be moving on. With luck, once at the city he would be able to buy or hire a horse. Tomar was some way beyond Obidos, maybe another fifty miles, which meant at least two days of travelling in this heat. Perhaps he could make up time by riding at night, he thought, but that was dangerous without a guide. Munio had given him some gold to help him, arguing that Baldwin would need more than hope to carry him onwards, and as the murders were committed on Munio’s land, he had an interest in seeing to it that his colleague was successful. That was his argument, and Baldwin had little enough money with him, so he was in no position to refuse.

It would be a hard journey from Obidos, he knew, and he must make it as quickly as he could. Perhaps he should hire a guide. It would make the expense much greater, but it would probably shorten the journey time.

Yes, when he reached the city, he would try to get a guide, he decided. But for now, all he was aware of was his sudden hunger as he caught a whiff of fresh sardines roasting on a charcoal brazier nearby. They smelled and, so he soon learned, tasted delicious.

The next morning, Baldwin was woken by an insistent pulling at his shoulder. A weather-beaten face peered down at him, dark eyes shielded by heavy lids, and he was glad at first that a man had come for him. Then the old woman cackled to see his dull, unaware expression, and he jerked upright, pulling the sheet back over his nakedness.

Last night the weather had been delicious, with balmy breezes wafting over his body out here on the bench by the door. The warmth and the gentle sound of waves slapping at the sand had made his sleep all the better, and he had not been disturbed by dreams but had merely sunk down into the deep slumber of the exhausted.

He dressed quickly, feeling more comfort, for once, in donning his hose and tunic than in slipping his sword belt on and tying it about his waist. The comforting mass of metal was one thing, but as he heard that loud crowing laughter and glanced about to see a group of women all pointing at him, the one who had woken him standing in their midst, he felt the blood rush to his face.

The boat was waiting for him when he arrived in the estuary, a small, single-sailed craft with a crew of three. They appeared to be fishermen who had bought a cargo of fish from a sea-fisherman, and were transporting it up the estuary to Obidos.