The Templar

It was an age before he could collect himself enough to go out, and when he did the sun was unbearable. He stood for a moment at the top of the steps, dizzy and drunk with love. Drunk with delight, too, for he knew that he was renewed, that God had forgiven him, against every expectation.

The heat was like a hammer beating at his senses, and he knew that he must find a shaded place to sit and collect himself. He wanted to dance and sing and praise God, but his legs couldn’t possibly support him. They were too shaky still. There was a place selling cider a little way off, and he made for it, hoping to grab a chair and collapse in the shade for a while.

Arriving at the tavern, he drew up a stool and sat back in the shade. Soon there was a young serving girl, who smiled at his accent but fetched him some good cider in a jug, which she set at his side. Light, cool and tasty, it was perfect for this kind of weather. He leaned back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes, a beatific smile fixed to his face. This was not contentment, this was ecstasy.

It was some while later that he could open his eyes again and survey the world. He yawned, then glanced about him as he picked up his cup again, and that was when he saw him: the felon who had led the attack on the pilgrims. Aghast, he nearly fell from his stool, but his shock hadn’t been noticed. Domingo had no time to watch others; the hulking fellow was too busy sitting and frowning at the little box in his hands. The surviving members of his robber band sat around him, obviously the worse for wear.

Gregory’s first inclination was to bolt, but instead of making himself conspicuous by running, he pulled his hat over his eyes and got slowly to his feet, preparing to wander off.

Even as he took up his staff again and felt the sun’s radiance through his cloak, he heard a man saying, ‘What now then, Dom? Will she call the city against us?’

‘If you want to talk to me, fool, you call me Domingo! Right?’

Gregory heard the slap of a fist, the sound of a body falling, but dared not glance round. As he made his way out, he couldn’t help but hear the next words.

‘I told you: she ordered us to attack those pilgrims on the way here. She can’t report me for taking her precious box because she knows I’ll tell everyone what she did. That stuck-up bitch of a Prioress wanted all those poor bastards dead.’

As he walked out into the road, those words still rang in Gregory’s ears. That his ex-wife could have done such a wicked thing sickened him — and then he began to wonder why …

Baldwin and Simon waited while Munio stopped and locked the door again.

‘It hardly seems worth the effort,’ he commented. ‘No one is going to go in there to disturb him.’

‘There is surely no need,’ Simon agreed. ‘He had few enough possessions and no money.’

‘That is why it is so odd that he should have been killed,’ Munio said mournfully. ‘I have never heard that he was abusive to people, and why else should someone decide to attack a poor man like him? It couldn’t be for his money.’

‘Perhaps he died because of something he had done in his past,’ Baldwin murmured. Enough people had believed the Pope’s propaganda about the Templars after all.

‘What sort of thing could he have done to make a man wish to murder him?’

Baldwin did not answer, and Munio stood observing him for a moment or two in silence. ‘I think you know more than you say.’

‘I have no idea why any man should want to harm the old beggar,’ Baldwin stated, ‘and I do not know who did it. But I have to speculate about his death. I should like to meet the other beggar again, the woman who witnessed the attack.’

‘So would I,’ Munio agreed glumly. ‘It is not a pleasing matter for me, having two murders one after the other.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘And I have other work to see to,’ he said with resignation. ‘I should return to my hall. Guillem will be expecting me.’

‘You can leave us here,’ Baldwin said smoothly.

‘Yes, I thought you would say that,’ Munio said with a faint grin. ‘So that you can be left alone to get on with your own investigations.’

Baldwin smiled but said nothing.

‘So long as you tell me what you learn, Sir Baldwin,’ Munio said with a certain firmness. ‘You are not in your own land now. This is my city, and I need to learn all I can about the young woman’s death. You understand me?’

Chapter Seventeen

Baldwin led the way straight to the tavern near which Matthew’s body had been found. ‘The thing is, you’ll sometimes find the odd innkeeper who is kindly disposed towards a beggar. Perhaps Matthew came here occasionally and we can learn something useful from the serving staff.’

‘Yes,’ Simon said, but his mind was elsewhere. ‘Why do you think Munio was so insistent that he wanted to know about the girl’s death?’

‘I cannot imagine.’

Simon looked at him. ‘Was it because he thought that you’d run off and find out all you could about Matthew’s death and not bother with Joana’s?’