The Templar

‘No more than the other Orders,’ the man said. Frey Ramon had removed his Order’s tunic, so he wore no distinguishing marks that showed him to be a Knight of Santiago. ‘But I’ve heard that the Knights of Christ are the most honourable of the lot. They turn their noses up at any fripperies, refuse too much food, and spend all their time training to kill Moors.’

‘I don’t care,’ Frey Ramon said. He could not help but slow in his work. He had the horse saddled, and he turned to his bags. There was a little food and a skin of wine, and he had a spare shirt and a tunic in another. With his great cloak to wrap himself in at night, he had all he needed.

He had thought that the Order of Sao Thiago would serve him best, because he knew the Rule. It was bound to be much the same as that of Santiago, since it was an offshoot. But one reason was also because he liked the idea of being married. Now that was an impossible dream. Certainly he would never marry now. The memory of that poor, destroyed body prevented his ever finding peace with a woman, so he might as well hurry south, escape his memories, and find meaning in action, fighting the Moors.

If he were to seek action, he should join the Order which promised the best chance of fighting and serving God.

He cocked an eye at the groom. ‘You know much about such matters, friend.’

‘My daughter, she married a Portuguese and lives near Tomar. She came to visit me last month.’

‘Which Order do you think is nearest the Moors for fighting?’ he asked.

‘That is easy. The Order of Christ has its headquarters at Castro-Marim. That’s down in the Algarve.’

‘The Algarve?’ Frey Ramon repeated. That was territory which had only recently been reconquered. Frey Ramon racked his brain and felt sure he had heard that Castro-Marim was on the River Guadiana, near the sea, but on the edge of the King of Portugal’s territory, near Africa and the Moors who infested that land. ‘And this Order has a castle at Tomar?’ he asked.

‘Yes. They took over the old Templar castle there,’ the groom said. ‘I saw the place once. Right on top of the hill over the town. A magnificent castle.’

‘It sounds very pleasant.’

‘Yes. But it is a hard ride, Senor. Perhaps eight days if you ride like the wind.’

A few hours later, the land opened before Frey Ramon, and he took a deep breath. This was the future for him. His past was gone and done, and all he had to look forward to now was an uncertain future as a warrior. He asked for no more.

There were some memories he would never be able to forget. The first time he had met Joana, the feel of her flesh when they first lay together, that silken hair, so glossy and black.

Then there were the other memories, such as the sight of Joana last night. He would have to ride for miles to escape from that. Perhaps he never would. The dreadful, macerated remains of his fiancee would always be in his heart, as though it was his fault she had died, as though he was responsible.

As, in a way, he supposed he was.

Dona Stefania was appalled at her predicament. There was no one to help her here, not now Joana was gone. No one here whom she felt she could trust; nobody to advise her.

Perhaps she could have spoken to a cleric — but that was a stupid idea! she scolded herself. No priest would want to help her once he heard that she had succumbed to her carnal lusts on the way here. Worse, he would want to hear more about her sins, to be assured that she repented, and would probably insist that she remain in the Cathedral until a suitable guard could be found to defend her honour on the way home. Humiliating! The rumours would spread like wildfire, if she knew the way that gossip was passed about in a Cathedral like this. There was no such thing as a secret, only a story half told.

A story like this one, she thought miserably.

It wasn’t only blasted clerics who loved a good tale, either. This strange bearded English knight looked as avid as any acolyte for a bit of smut. Damn him and his torrid imagination! He was probably no better than Don Ruy, she speculated, glancing at Baldwin. Or if he was more trustworthy, what about his companion? Simon looked grim enough to be a malfechor so far as she was concerned. He was the sort of man whom she would like to have in front of her, in her court.

‘Lady?’ Baldwin said gently. ‘You have made a serious allegation against this man. Should I call for the Pesquisidor to hear your tale?’

‘No!’ Don Ruy said hurriedly. ‘There is no need. As I said, it is all a misunderstanding, nothing more.’

Watching him, although he couldn’t understand the words, Simon felt that the man was too emphatic. He sounded almost desperate.

Baldwin was struck with the same impression, but before he could speak, Dona Stefania licked her lips and agreed. ‘I should prefer that this story does not go any further, Sir Knight.’

‘Very well, if you are sure,’ he said. ‘But if you feel your life is in danger, I should have thought that you would want the matter aired.’