The Templar

The man set to guard him merely shrugged uncomprehendingly as Simon turned and glanced up at him.

‘In my country, I could have you arrested for holding me here like this, you great hulking cretin.’

This time there was a short grin, as though the man understood Simon’s frustration, but had his orders.

The battle was soon all but over. There were only two men still resisting, and Simon could see a point of blue gleaming in a candle’s light, moving in an arc to rest gently on a man’s throat. The fellow suddenly stopped dead, and stood immobile while Baldwin’s hand reached around and plucked the long knife from his hand. It was so smooth and effortless, Simon had to smile. He turned again and grinned at his guard, and then his smile became fixed.

Over the man’s shoulder, Simon had seen a face which he recognised from the descriptions. The man’s head hung slightly oddly, as though it was a little too heavy on one side. His expression was one of shock and anger, as he stared past Simon towards the tavern, and then at the grim figure of Munio who stood questioning one of the prisoners. Baldwin was walking about the place, his sword still in his hand, while Gregory had returned to join him, and now strolled a little to Baldwin’s side, eyeing the sword with satisfaction.

Simon pushed the staff away and began to stalk his prey.

Chapter Nineteen

Domingo stared with amazement. How could any piddling official dare to attack his band? He had never heard of such a thing in his life before. These fools had no right to start hacking away at him and his men!

But if they dared to attack, maybe that was because his men had been betrayed. And that could only mean one thing: the Prioress had informed on Domingo and his men. No one else could have had them all ambushed like this. It had to be her!

Almost before he knew what he would do, he felt his legs turning him as though of their own volition. She had caused the death of his son with her stupid demand that Domingo should attack the pilgrims, and now she’d betrayed them when their only crime was having obeyed her commands. They’d done what she’d wanted, and now she’d made up her mind to throw them to the law.

But Domingo wasn’t going to surrender without a fight, and if he could, he would kill her too. She deserved that much.

He shot a look over his shoulder, and took in the scene at a glance. There were the officers, there were his men, one being clubbed and kicked on the ground, and another guard holding a man slightly nearer. Domingo’s eye was drawn back to that last man, a tall, strong-looking fellow with a sword on his hip and a serious expression, grim with concentration, fixed upon Domingo.

The robbers’ leader turned and pelted away back towards the Cathedral. He would find Dona Stefania, and by Christ, this time, he would make her pay.

Simon’s legs exploded into action; he raced off after Domingo as soon as he saw the man start running. Simon easily sidestepped the staff and then he moved as fast as he could, left hand gripping his sword’s hilt, right one pistoning back and forth as if it could make him catch up with the wiry Galician a little faster.

A dull ache started pounding in the back of his head, but he ignored it. It was just a hangover from his earlier illness, nothing more. He was fine, and he had a focus for all his energies now: the felon ahead of him. This was the man who had led the attack on the pilgrims. He was also implicated in the murder of Joana, and was probably involved in the attempted murder of Gregory as well.

There was something wrong about that last thought, but Simon didn’t have time to analyse it now. His mind and body and soul were all focused on catching Domingo. Nothing else mattered.

He saw the robber slam into a woman, who gave a short scream as she was hurled backwards into a wall, her head bouncing against it before she slumped to the ground. Domingo rebounded from her into a small cart, back to a wall, and then he was balanced and running again, leaping over a tray of foods, pounding onwards. Simon hurdled the woman’s body, bellowing hoarsely at the top of his voice to clear the path before him, then roaring again to persuade someone to catch Domingo, but he only knew the English words, and no one appeared to understand him.

‘Stop that man! Stop him! ’Ware that man! Stop that murderer!’