The Templar

‘How did you know that?’ Gregory asked. His head was hurting abominably, and he wanted to thrust it into some cold water to try to cool it. When he felt the back of his skull, he found a lump the size of a cobblestone. Merely touching it made his breath hiss with pain. ‘He almost killed me! It’s just my luck she should get a servant with a strong arm!’

‘Who is the man whom you accuse of doing this?’ Munio demanded.

‘My wife’s servant. He’s called Domingo — he’s a hunchback and he hangs his head like this …’

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look, then stared at Munio.

The Pesquisidor nodded. ‘Yes, it sounds like the fellow whom Don Ruy said went out through the gate after he saw Ramon and Joana: the felon who led the malfechores. Do you know where we can find this man?’

Domingo watched over his men in a surly mood. There were two fewer men now, he saw. Two had left during the day, leaving his group to find better work or pay.

He stood and walked out to the wall behind the tavern, pulled open his cods and pissed. There was a small pebble on the ground, and he turned, aiming and rolling it end over end a few times, chuckling without amusement. A moment later he was smothered beneath the torment of grief.

Sancho was dead, and there was nothing he could do to bring his boy back. It was wrong that people should be happy, when this tragedy had happened. The whole world should have grieved with him.

He reset his clothing and started back to the tavern, a hand touching his purse. There were no coins left to buy drinks. All he had was the little box with its valuable contents, but he daren’t try to sell it in Compostela. He needed money, and that meant the Prioress. No one else he knew could help him. Perhaps if he went to see her and suggested an exchange — money for the Saint’s relic? The bitch couldn’t refuse that, could she? She’d hurry to the nearest moneylender to get her precious box back. Perhaps she could pawn her rosary or something. Domingo wasn’t very strong on the sort of belongings a Prioress would have; all he knew was that she was wealthier than his own wildest dreams. He should know that — he who had grown up in the shadow of the Priory at Vigo.

This journey had begun with such optimism, he and his men setting off with the Prioress and his cousin Joana, travelling all the way east to the Basque regions, visiting the church, Domingo and his men trying not to appear too overwhelmed by the people, the money, the buildings, the rich clothes, the shops selling everything … everything imaginable! Domingo and his men had gazed in utter awe at the stalls in the town. Only later, when they had gone to the church to give thanks for their safe arrival, had Domingo seen the little casket which Dona Stefania handed to the Bishop with a grimace.

It had obviously cost her, that grimace. She looked like a woman who had eaten the biggest egg only to learn that it was bad. But what Domingo didn’t understand was why the Prioress burst out laughing the moment they were all out of the church. And kept laughing for the next few miles, as did Joana.

Not that Joana would tell him anything. Bitch! His cousin had always had a fond belief in her own importance. Never treated Domingo as anything better than a dog, and not a favoured one, either. As far as she was concerned, he was a necessary evil. He protected her and her mistress, but that was all.

Then, one day when the Prioress and Joana were talking quietly together before the campfire, Domingo heard them mention a relic. They had their heads together over a small box, and he saw them both cross themselves as the Prioress closed it and dropped it into her purse. Joana looked up and saw him staring. It was a short while after that, that she and the Prioress tried to join Don Ruy’s band of pilgrims, as though they feared Domingo might steal their most prized possession.

Once they had settled in with the new group, Domingo and his men had been told to leave the two women, but to keep within earshot. The Prioress was a fast worker, and she had soon picked a pilgrim as her lover. Joana had told him about this the next day, giggling at the way her mistress had knelt and prayed, begging God’s forgiveness, once she realised she’d been more than a bit indiscreet!

Next morning, way before dawn, she’d come to Domingo with Joana, and insisted that they leave instantly. Luckily they soon met Frey Ramon again, and stayed with his party until Dona Stefania told Domingo and his men to attack Don Ruy’s band.