The Templar

He walked at a swift pace, taking Baldwin around the mass of the huge tower on the right, a continuation of the mound of rock which Baldwin had followed to the gate. They were in a cleared area between two gates, a perfect defensive killing ground, Baldwin noted. Then, suddenly, they were in the open. Stables, kitchens and stores were set out, leaning against the castle’s walls, while men hurried about their duties. Wagons and carts rumbled and squeaked, and smoke rose from braziers, some heating bolts of metal for smiths, while others were more prosaically being used to cook fish.

‘Welcome, Sir Baldwin, to Tomar. The castle-convent of the new Order of the Knights of Christ.’

Simon was drenched in sweat. His face was suffused and his nose bled profusely, and although Margarita washed him carefully, when her husband entered the room quietly and stood at the foot of Simon’s bed, he could smell that odd odour. ‘How is he?’

‘No better,’ she sighed, standing and stretching. She had been at Simon’s side for much of the night. ‘It is no surprise. After falling into that sewer, I can only wonder that it has taken so many days for him to succumb.’

‘He seemed so hale and fit yesterday,’ Munio observed.

She nodded, but there was no need to say anything. Simon’s eyes were open, and bloodshot, and he had a rash over his belly, chest and back, but he was not awake. Instead he appeared to have a form of muttering delirium.

‘I hate to have him here like this without even a friend to sit with him,’ Margarita added.

‘With you by his side, he is fortunate enough, Wife,’ Munio said gruffly.

‘It is not the same as having his own wife here,’ she said tiredly, pushing the hair away from her face. ‘And he is so weak already after that first attack. He is not ready for this.’

‘All we can do is try to build him up,’ Munio said comfortingly. ‘There is nowhere better for him than here. Do you want more wine for him?’

‘Yes. I think he will need more. And I should get some sleep, too.’

‘Do, and I shall arrange for someone to take over here,’ Munio said.

His wife nodded and took his proffered hand, but as she rose to her feet, Simon gave a low moan, and his head began to move from side to side, his hands clutching at the bedclothes. With a patient look at her husband, she sighed and sat down at Simon’s side once more. She had nursed enough people, including two sons who had not survived to five years old, to know that the next few days would be the most crucial for Simon. If he was to live, he must get through the next week.

Baldwin followed Joao through a small doorway near the vast cylinder of the church. It gave out onto a cloister, in which white-clothed monks and novices were working at their desks. Walking silently around them, the claveiro turned left through a doorway, and into a small office, in which a pair of clerks sat bickering over their work.

‘If you cannot be silent, leave us,’ Joao said calmly, and the two men bent their heads to their work again. He gave a thin smile, clearly unamused by the clerks’ behaviour, and then waved Baldwin through to a larger room which was empty but for a table and some chairs.

‘Please, come and be seated,’ the claveiro said, motioning towards a chair, and sat himself nearby. He made no effort to go to the other side of the table, but then Baldwin could feel the strength of his character. This was not a man who needed little props to enhance his authority. He sat easily, his hands upon his thighs, the picture of comfort and relaxation. ‘Now! My gatekeeper told me that you were asking for me. You had an especial request?’

Baldwin, now he had arrived here at this place, was in two minds as to how to broach the subject. Joao was obviously a man with immense power and influence, and Baldwin felt like a mere rural peasant in his presence. He had not wielded the same power when he was a Templar, for then he was a mere knight whose most important commandment was that of ‘obedience’. Although today he was a Keeper of the King’s Peace, he still felt the almost superstitious awe which he had felt before for men of such importance, men who were senior in a great religious Order.

‘My lord, I am here on a difficult mission,’ he said at last when the silence was growing too oppressive. ‘I have come, as I said, straight from Compostela. While I was there, a young woman was murdered. I helped the Pesquisidor to investigate the case.’

Gradually, taking care to tell Joao only the relevant facts, Baldwin recounted all that had happened — the killing of Domingo, the suspicions, the reason why people wondered whether Ramon could have appropriated the money.