The Templar

‘She is buried. There was nothing to keep her from her grave.’

‘This man was wounded where?’

As he spoke, Simon was aware of Baldwin walking forward and standing at his side. The knight’s eyes looked moist, as though there were unshed tears held at bay, but then Simon saw him blink a few times, and when he glanced at his friend’s face again, he saw a kind of resolution there. Baldwin reached down to pull the clothing from Matthew’s body, and as he did so, he grew once again into the magnificent logician whom Simon so admired.

‘Only the one wound,’ Baldwin noted.

‘A stab in the breast,’ Munio agreed. With his expressive features cast in such a mournful mould, Simon thought he looked as miserable as a hound which has just seen its supper stolen by a cat.

Baldwin waved away a small collection of flies. In hours, he knew, that tiny wound would be heaving with maggots. The wound itself was only a mere half-inch long. It was a narrow blade which had done this. There was no tearing apparent, which tended to mean that the blade had been sharp all along its length, right to the hilt, or that it had not been thrust in with full force, but there were no hard and fast rules with wounds, as he knew. It was largely a case of supposition.

He pushed his little finger into it, and found resistance as his second joint slipped beneath the skin. Thus the wound was only some two inches deep. Either the murderer had used a very short blade, or he had failed to stab with any great effort. This was the sort of wound which could have been inflicted by accident — not that that was likely. There were simply no reasons for someone to want to rob a mere beggar, so this was a deliberate act: perhaps Matthew had insulted a man or his wife, or this was the execution of a renegade Templar. And Baldwin knew which of the two he believed.

There were so many people who might have wanted to kill a Templar, had they learned of Matthew’s past. A beggar who insulted a woman in the road might earn himself a knock or worse from her husband, but that would be an instantaneous reward for a real or imagined slight. This, if the witness was right, was a sudden attack without any hint of conversation or words beforehand.

‘No sign of robbery or theft from the body?’ he asked.

Munio looked at him. ‘If a man was desperate enough to steal, would he seek out such a victim?’

‘The witness, this other beggar who saw it all happen — have you tracked her down?’ Simon asked.

‘No. I am afraid she has disappeared too. I wonder …’

‘You think she too has been killed?’ Baldwin shot out.

‘No, but perhaps she was so fearful of the killer, she ran from the city. She was not well known here. I have seen her a little recently, but she wasn’t a local woman. Perhaps she saw a murder and feared he might track her down as a witness and kill her too?’

‘It is possible,’ Baldwin mused, staring down at the terrible figure of his dead friend.

It was Simon who asked, ‘What was her name?’

‘Maria from Venialbo.’

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a glance. Simon commented, ‘It’s odd that she was able to help us with first Joana’s death and now Matthew’s death too.’

Baldwin said, ‘Have you asked the gatekeepers whether they have seen her leave the city?’

‘Yes, but none of them say they have.’

‘So we have lost the only witness?’

‘She may return, but yes, I think we have lost her.’

Simon touched Baldwin’s arm. ‘Come. We ought to leave Munio to his work.’

‘Yes, of course. We are grateful for your time and your help, senor.’

‘It is fine. Of course, you would tell me if you learned anything that could be useful?’

‘Yes. As soon as I can, I will tell you what I may,’ Baldwin said, but he knew that he couldn’t tell Munio anything. It would be too dangerous. Especially if there was a man in the city who was prepared to kill any Templars he met.

Gregory was disgruntled. That stupid cow of an ex-wife of his had the brain of an ox. Dull-witted and only ever thinking of herself. She had ruined his day. Just his luck that he should meet her here when he was feeling so good. Well — she’d wrecked all his sense of well-being.