The Templar

As the thoughts swirled in her mind, she grew aware that Don Ruy had moved a little closer to her, and then she made that fateful leap: if Joana wasn’t back yet, it was probably because she couldn’t come back. Don Ruy had stopped her.

‘You have killed her!’ she gasped, and before he could lunge and grab her, she spun around and, picking up the skirts of her tunic, hurried off through the crowds. The only thought in her mind was to get away from him before he could kill her too.

In front of her the crowds seemed to thin, and before she knew what was happening, she found herself pelting into the middle of an empty space. There stood the cart, and in front of it were four men — the cleric, one Galician and two foreigners, to judge from their dress — all watching while four others lifted a door from the back of the cart and laid it on a table.

From her vantage point, Dona Stefania could see a pair of thighs lying on the door, and a face that was a horror of blood. A man rearranged the clothing to cover the corpse’s legs and render her decent before she was placed in plain view of so many men. It was, the Prioress thought, a kindly act, the sort of thing a father might do for another man’s dead daughter; protect her modesty. The body might have ceased breathing, but that was no reason to be callous. Someone somewhere must have loved her.

That was the last thought, that someone must have loved this woman, for clearly from the well-formed calf and shapely ankle, this was no man’s body, before she saw the hem of her old tunic and knew for certain that Joana had been murdered.

‘Dona?’

She turned to see that Frey Ramon stood a short way behind her, his ugly face twisted with anxiety. She felt as though the entire scene was being shown to her through a glass. It seemed to move, the colours altering, and swirls of mist rose up before her, while the regular lines of paving began to dance. And then they grew larger, and even as she heard a warning shout, the pavings seemed to leap right up towards her.

Baldwin heard the gasp and turned just in time to see a tall, elegant woman lean to one side, and then fall to the ground as though all sensation had been cut off instantly.

‘Simon!’ he called as he made his way towards her, but then he saw that another man was already there.

It was the brute Simon had noticed before, the Knight of Santiago. He knelt at the woman’s side and looked about like a man lost, staring around for assistance.

‘Friend,’ Baldwin said soothingly. ‘Let me help.’

The man looked Baldwin up and down, then shook his head and began shouting for, ‘Joana! Joana!’

Baldwin stared in helpless appeal at Senor Munio, and was relieved to see the Pesquisidor nod and stroll towards them. He spoke rapidly as he came closer, and the knight snapped something back, but then seemed to regret his words and spoke again, hanging his head.

‘What is it?’ Simon asked after a few moments during which the Knight of Santiago grew conspicuously disturbed.

‘He says that this lady is always accompanied by her maid,’ Baldwin translated. ‘I think that this noble knight is betrothed to the maid, and he is concerned that she is not here.’

Baldwin glanced at Munio. ‘Do you think we should let him see her?’

Munio sighed but agreed. There was no joy in this work. He touched the knight softly on the shoulder. ‘Come, Frey Ramon. We have found a poor woman murdered. Please come and see her, in case you know who she might be.’

‘Me? Why me?’ Ramon demanded. ‘Leave me here with Dona Stefania, and I shall protect her until my woman arrives. She will not be long. Can you hear anyone trying to break through the crowd? She cannot be far away.’

‘Come with me.’

Frey Ramon was irritated by his insistence. The man was a mere public official, after all. A hidalgo. He might be a low form of noble, but he still worked with the peasants in the fields. The knight was about to give him a curt refusal, for no Knight of Santiago need answer to a petty hidalgo, when he saw the expression on Munio’s face.

Slowly rising to his feet, Frey Ramon squared his shoulders. Ignoring Munio and Sir Baldwin, he marched past them to the table. There he stood motionless for a moment. The dead girl’s tunic was immediately recognisable and he felt as though someone had slammed a hammer into his breast. All the breath was knocked from him. Over the corpse’s head had been thrown a blanket, and Frey Ramon motioned to one of the men to remove it. What he saw beneath the material was so horrific, it was all he could do to ask the man to cover her up again. ‘Her face … She has no face,’ he gasped when he could speak again.

He became aware that Munio now stood at his side. Without turning his head, Frey Ramon said, ‘It is her. It is my fiancee Joana.’ He bent and collected up the body. ‘I shall take her to the Cathedral. Please look after Dona Stefania. Now she has no maid, she will need to be protected.’