The Templar

Baldwin had slept in a comfortable inn near the river. When the sun was up, he woke early, and walked out to the water. Where the ford lay, he trod into the waters and knelt, splashing it over his face and beard, scrubbing with his fingers at the coarse hair.

Looking at his reflection in the water, he studied himself for a moment dispassionately. There were more grey hairs in his beard now, and the wings of silver at his temples were rapidly expanding.

Suddenly he had what he thought was an insight, a view of what he must look like. He had the feeling of being a teenager still. That was how he saw himself — a fellow barely old enough to wear a sword in anger — and it was how he felt, still young. His views hadn’t changed, his opinions and beliefs were the same as they ever had been, and that was why he was here now.

Yes. It was why he was here. A knight errant trying to avenge a comrade who had been murdered. The death of Matthew was unnecessary, and worse, it was pointless. There was no sense in striking down an old man like him. But if his death was pointless, then how much worse was Baldwin’s own journey here?

He had come here, as he told himself, as he told Simon, and as he told Munio, because he wanted to find the killer of the girl, when in reality he was growing persuaded that her murderer might be dead: Domingo. He found it hard to believe that Ramon was responsible. The man had obviously been in love with Joana, and if he craved money, he would not have come here to forswear all wealth.

No. He was here for Afonso. This Portuguese was guilty of Matthew’s murder. Maria had witnessed it. Perhaps Afonso was annoyed by Matthew’s demanding whine, or perhaps he simply disliked his face. There was no sense in it, no sense in wiping out a life for so little reason, but so often death was like that. Meaningless. It happened because God decided that a man had enjoyed or endured enough.

But here was Baldwin, prepared to fight this Afonso, and for as little reason. Matthew was dead, but he had lived a full, worthwhile life. He had not expired young like so many. Not for him the death of a martyr in Acre when the walls collapsed, nor the tortures or flames in the French King’s dungeons. No, Matthew had lived to a fair age. Did Baldwin have the right to kill another man simply to avenge a long life? No! It was ridiculous! As ridiculous as a middle-aged man coming all this way because his interest was piqued at the thought of seeing a Templar castle like the ones he had lived in. Simon must be wondering whether he had lost his mind completely. Staring down at his face in the water, Baldwin wondered whether there was a touch of insanity in his dark, intense eyes.

He would go to see Joao, and as soon as that meeting was finished, come what may, he would return to Compostela, he decided. And then, when there was a fair wind and a ship heading in the right direction, he would set off for home, and go back to real life, to his wife and daughter and the serious business of his manor and his court.

Voices gradually intruded upon his consciousness, and he realised he was hungry. He finished his ablutions, and walked to the shore, rubbing his scalp vigorously. As he made his way to the inn, he did not know that he was being watched.

Sir Charles eyed him from beneath his broad-brimmed hat. He was sitting on a bench at a tavern on the opposite bank, waiting for his companions to wake, but as a man who was perfectly aware that he had many enemies, he was always on the lookout for anyone who could be a threat, and seeing this middle-aged stranger with the build of a warrior, Sir Charles was sure that here was someone who could be a threat to him. Sir Charles kept studying him with care as Baldwin shook the water from his hands and set off up the lane to his inn.

‘Ola! 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.

Joao 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 Joao, it was doubly onerous. In the past he had been with the Order of Sao 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. Joao had felt the keen urge to come here and do all he could for Tomar.