The Templar

Simon was about to walk past them, seeking a quiet niche, when Gregory saw him and pointed him out.

Don Ruy eyed him unenthusiastically, but stood with a polite bow and invited Simon to join them. They were not eating, but if the Bailiff wished, they could ask for bread.

‘I was relieved to hear that you were unharmed after your fight with the felons,’ Don Ruy said, Gregory translating for him. ‘I heard that you had fought with the leader.’

‘Yes — the man you saw leaving the city as you returned,’ Simon said.

‘So at least that child Joana’s death is avenged,’ Don Ruy said.

Gregory stared as he explained to Simon, and then added, ‘Why does he say that?’

‘Her killer is dead,’ Don Ruy said, as though explaining to a fool.

‘Why should Domingo kill her?’

‘We are not sure that he did,’ Simon explained. ‘We know that Dona Stefania slept with the Fleming, and we have heard that others got to know. Don Ruy here heard of it from Joana herself, which is why he believes Domingo killed her.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t.’

‘But why not?’ Gregory exclaimed.

‘Because someone arranged for Joana to go to that ford. He or she concealed your ex-wife’s horse so she couldn’t go, knowing that there was a blackmail attempt. Domingo did not get the money, though. The real killer must have done so.’

‘Unless the money was hidden by her.’

‘Or someone else,’ Simon agreed, his mind elsewhere.

Don Ruy’s voice rumbled again.

‘He says that he did not hear anything about any blackmail until later, when you spoke to him about the dead girl. Until then he had no idea,’ Gregory translated.

‘Yet someone must have known,’ Simon said. He was suddenly quiet as a fresh thought occurred to him. There were two others who definitely knew of the affair: Dona Stefania and the Fleming.

‘The blackmail stood to damage the Dona’s reputation,’ he mused. ‘And she lost all her money.’

‘I understand that she has nothing left,’ Gregory said. ‘She is living on the alms of the Cathedral — and the Fleming,’ he added with a hint of vitriol.

The Fleming, Parceval, Simon thought. He had Munio’s confirmation that he had collected money, and afterwards he was with Dona Stefania: she had confirmed that herself. Yet Simon felt there was something not right about the man — and the Prioress herself. She had arranged to have a band of pilgrims killed, if Gregory was right, just to avenge herself on her husband, but now she was living with Parceval more or less openly.

Gregory looked distressed. ‘I still don’t understand why my wife should have told her man to kill me. Twice she did so. Once when she set the whole gang on our band of pilgrims, and then secondly when she had him strike me down in the city. Why should she want to do that to me?’

‘A good question,’ Simon responded noncommittally.

‘Just goes to show my luck,’ Gregory said dismally. ‘Who else would be so unlucky as to marry a woman who could seek her own man’s murder?’

‘Strange that Domingo didn’t actually manage to kill you,’ Simon observed. ‘He was very practised at murder.’

‘It was odd,’ Gregory agreed. ‘It is hard for me to remember much about the attack, as my head was exploding. But I remember him warning me off my wife. Ha! He called me a “bloody bastard”! Can you believe that?’

‘In Galician?’ Simon asked.

‘No. Now you mention it, I think it was in English. I didn’t think a peasant like Domingo would speak English.’

‘No. I wouldn’t have thought he could,’ Simon agreed pensively.

That night, Simon felt the shaking and nervousness in his body again, as though his bones had developed a cold. He felt oddly sick, his appetite completely gone, and the rumbling in his belly boded ill. As soon as he could, he took to his bedchamber and closed his eyes, wishing away this malady before it could take hold.

As though denial might prevent anything worse than a temporary affliction, he had not mentioned his concerns to Margarita or to Munio, but they had noticed his lack of appetite. When he was woken in the middle of the night with terrible cramping pains in his belly, and vomited over the floor while sitting on his bedpot, he scarcely noticed his hostess and servants cleaning him and gently helping him back on to the clean sheets, but when he later fell asleep, he was enormously relieved to feel a woman’s cool hands calming him.

‘I love you, Meg,’ was all he said, and Margarita blinked in surprise, but said nothing when she saw he was already asleep.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was two days after leaving Obidos that Baldwin at last rode up into the town of Tomar, feeling bone-weary and filthy after riding or walking throughout the hours of daylight.

Obidos had been useful. It took him little time to find a horse, although he regretted buying this one in particular, and while it was being saddled, he had bought two loaves and a little dried meat, which had tided him over the journey. A friendly priest had given him a blessing for his journey and rough directions, and Baldwin had covered several miles before nightfall.