The Templar

Simon soon spotted the person he had come to see. The Prioress walked about the place with an anxious expression on her face, turning this way and that, catching the eyes of many people, and as quickly looking away. Her manner was that of a woman who was looking for someone, although she appeared half-terrified that she might find the target of her searching. She caught sight of Simon and he smiled at her, beckoning, but she gave a graceless shake of her head and turned away, walking towards a small group of beggars.

‘You won’t find her there,’ Simon said, comfortable in the knowledge that his simple test had been proven. Now there was only one more trial that he need make. For that, he must have assistance.

If only, he thought, Baldwin was back. He could do with his friend’s help.

Had he but known it, his friend was already back at Munio’s house.

Baldwin, Sir Charles and Paul arrived back at the house a little after lunchtime, just as Simon was sitting at the tavern and waiting for any sign that his assumptions were correct. Baldwin went straight in to find his friend or Munio. Instead he found Margarita, in her hall with a steward, but looking very troubled.

‘My lady! I am so glad to be back and to be able to thank you for your great kindness to me and to my friend.’

‘Sir Baldwin, I am glad to have been a friend to you.’

‘Where is Simon?’

‘He is gone out. I expect he is in the town.’

Baldwin nodded, but he was aware of a certain frigidity about her. ‘Lady, Simon is well?’

‘He was very ill with a fever, Sir Baldwin, but now, yes, he is fully recovered.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ he said heartily, and again, he thought that her manner was a little off. ‘Um. Should I go to find him in the town?’

‘Yes. That might be a very good idea,’ she said as though considering the matter carefully.

He nodded and gave her the best bow he could manage, but when he left the house, his brow was furrowed. There was something very odd in this, he felt sure. Had Simon offended Margarita in some way? Surely that was impossible. Simon was a polite, reasonable, trouble-free guest generally. Perhaps it was simply because he had been so ill. Some men could become pests when unwell, he knew, and yet he had seen Simon when his friend was close to death, and he had never been difficult. If anything, great illness made him more pliant and amenable. No, it was surely not that.

In the yard, he surrendered himself to the fact that he did not know what was wrong and could not, until he had spoken to Simon himself. Perhaps he could throw some light on the matter?

First, of course, he must find Simon.

‘What now, Sir Baldwin?’ Sir Charles asked.

‘Well, after enjoying your companionship for the last four days on board ship, may I repay the compliment by buying you both a meal? My friend is in the town, I believe. We could do worse than go to see him.’

‘We could indeed,’ Sir Charles said with a smile. He was starving hungry. Almost the last coin he possessed had gone on the passage from Portugal to here, and now he was famished.

‘So long as he has a joint of beef and a slab or two of bread,’ Paul muttered, but Baldwin didn’t hear him and Sir Charles chose to ignore the comment.

Simon stood and glanced about the square. Dona Stefania was standing near another group of beggars, casting her eyes over them all, the kneeling man, the stooped and wailing woman, the girl on crutches, but Simon could see that the one she wanted was not there. No, he thought, she’s hiding still, isn’t she? Can you blame her?

He felt quite relaxed. The whole picture had at last fitted into place, like a mosaic seen from a distance: he could see the individual hints at the overall picture, the tiny chips of stone, but now he could see the totality of the scene as well. Each clue was fitted into its own logical place, each related to the next, each pointed to the overall solution. Nothing was difficult, once you had the basic idea, he knew. No, it was quite simple when the theme was at last divulged. It made the solution laughably obvious, as so many mysteries were, when you had the key that opened them.

It would be good, he thought, to explain to Baldwin how he had come to this conclusion, although he knew that it would upset his friend. Still, it was important to know the truth, and Baldwin would appreciate it. It would set his mind at ease to hear what really happened, even if the facts were painful.

As he was about to leave the tavern, he saw Dona Stefania again. She was walking about the edge of the group of beggars, and she caught a glimpse of him just as he looked her way. Her face was pale and drawn, a picture of sadness, and he wished he could ease her torment. ‘But I can’t ruddy help you unless you let me, can I? If you won’t let me speak to you, I can’t do a thing,’ he muttered irritably.