The Templar's Penance: (Knights Templar 15) (19 page)

Simon was certain of one thing. ‘She’s petrified of him. Come on, let’s see what the matter is.’

Baldwin was nothing loath, because the man who had approached Doña Stefanía was clearly terrifying her out of her wits. He stood near her, a hand resting on his sword hilt in a non-threatening manner, but Baldwin still felt it was right to intervene.

‘Doña Stefanía,’ he called as they came closer. ‘We saw you sitting here. I hope you are feeling better after the dreadful shock yesterday?’

He stopped and smiled at her before turning his attention to the knight.

His first impression was quite favourable. From the look of him, the man came from a wealthy family. His sword’s scabbard was richly decorated, and his clothes showed that he possessed money and delighted in spending it. Today, though, he was not enjoying the benefits of his position. It was plain that he was labouring under some great inner stress from the way that he breathed so heavily, his breast rising and falling like a man who had run some distance in the heat, and yet it was his face that attracted Baldwin’s interest.

He wore a hunted expression. When he heard Baldwin speak, he turned to the English knight with a startled mien, rather like a dog caught stealing meat from the table, as if he fully expected some form of punishment.

‘We have not met,’ Baldwin said.

Doña Stefanía was recovering her poise. Now she lifted her chin haughtily as she introduced them. ‘This man is Don Ruy de
Benavente –
he says
,’ she said in a voice which clearly declared that she herself doubted his word.

Baldwin introduced himself and Simon, who stood a short distance away, listening with complete incomprehension. He had been determined to make an effort to learn a little of this language on the ship coming over, but the sickness which assailed him had made that a hopeless venture, and since arriving in Compostela there had been little time for him to gain even a smattering of the language. All he could do was watch and listen, hoping to gain some sort of understanding of what was being said.

‘Did you travel here together?’ Baldwin asked politely.

‘No, Don Baldwin,’ Don Ruy said. He appeared to have recovered himself a little. ‘We met briefly on the journey, but did not travel together. My group was not in favour of feminine companionship on what was intended to be a penitential journey.’

‘Indeed? Then your companions must have been a very pious band,’ Baldwin said. Inwardly he condemned the man for his priggish attitude.

‘Perhaps. I think most of us sought to find some spiritual peace on our way.’

He stood like one who was waiting for an interloper to depart and leave him to continue his conversation, but Baldwin turned to Doña Stefanía with a sympathetic smile. ‘So, my lady, did you sleep well? I trust that sadness did not unduly disturb your slumbers?’

‘I scarcely slept a wink,’ Doña Stefanía snapped. ‘How could I? No maid to help me disrobe or see to my hair … it was appalling. And so sad that Joana should be murdered like that,’ she added with a wave of self-pity.

‘I can only express my deepest sympathy,’ Baldwin said.

‘And I too,’ Don Ruy said stiffly. He made as if to move nearer the lady, but she blanched noticeably and shifted herself farther up the bench. It was only a small movement, but Simon and Baldwin saw it, and Simon took a step to one side, so that he could threaten Don Ruy’s flank if he should think of attacking her.

Don Ruy glanced at him, and there was frank disbelief on his face as he realised what Simon’s aim was. He took a short pace back, turning to face Simon more directly but saying nothing. Glancing at Baldwin and then Doña Stefanía, his expression looked accusing.

‘Simon, stay your hand,’ Baldwin said in English, before speaking to Doña Stefanía. ‘My lady, it is clear that you are perturbed. Is there anything I can do which would help you?’

‘There is nothing,’ Don Ruy said. ‘A misunderstanding, that is all. Leave us. We must talk.’

Doña Stefanía shuddered and looked appealingly at Baldwin. ‘Please, Sir Baldwin, don’t leave me with him. I …’ she swallowed heavily. ‘I fear he means to kill me.’

Frey Ramón felt exhausted. His knees ached, his eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, and he tightened the girth on his mount like a man in a dream, although this dream was a nightmare. All he could think of was that poor, shattered body, now lying quietly at rest in her grave.

The horror of seeing her lying there on the trestle in the square would never leave him, he felt sure. It was terrible, the worst sight he had ever known. The woman to whom he was engaged, brutally slaughtered like that, left to water the soil with her own blood. He had felt a part of him die when he saw her.

This journey would be long and hard. He had surrendered his position in the Order by running away, but he couldn’t regret it. All he could do was go far away and try to find some peace. There were other Orders he could join. Perhaps he could make his way to the sister Order of Santiago, the Knights of São Thiago. They had broken away from Santiago a few years ago, but they still wore the same emblems and held to the same Rule.

‘São Thiago,’ he muttered. ‘Or the Order of Christ?’

‘Eh?’

‘Nothing,’ he told the groom, an older man with the pinched features of one who lives in constant pain. ‘I was thinking aloud.’

‘They say that the Knights of Christ have taken over from the Templars,’ the groom said helpfully.

‘So they are rich and arrogant, then,’ Frey Ramón said.

‘No more than the other Orders,’ the man said. Frey Ramón 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 Ramón 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 São 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 Ramón repeated. That was territory which had only recently been reconquered. Frey Ramón 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, Señor. Perhaps eight days if you ride like the wind.’

A few hours later, the land opened before Frey Ramón, 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 fiancée 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.

Doña Stefanía 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, Doña Stefanía 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.’

‘Once it is aired in front of you, perhaps the danger will recede,’ she said with a faint blush rising from her breast to cover her features. ‘I fear I succumbed on the journey here. You know how some men can sprinkle compliments and blandishments into their speech?’

She looked away, feeling her face starting to redden still more alarmingly. This was harder than she had feared; yet if she was to protect herself, she must tell her story. She had a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘A man did so with me on the journey here. He wanted to talk to me about my faith, he said, and for many days he spoke with me, asking my advice on issues of the Gospels, telling me of his own deep convictions and love of Christ. How could a woman like me, devoted to His service, a Bride of Christ
no less, fervent in her love of Him, not respond to a man who professed the same dedication and adoration? I listened, I laughed, I was overcome. In short, I agreed to meet with him and talk about some matters he wanted to discuss in private. Alas! Oh, that I should have put myself in any man’s hands! I should have realised my danger. I am only a weakly woman, but I had thought that my cloth would protect me. Alas!
Alas!
’

‘Do you mean to tell me that this man seduced you?’ Baldwin growled, glaring at Don Ruy.

‘Me? I did nothing of the sort!’ Don Ruy declared, torn between anger and confusion.

‘Not him, no,’ Doña Stefanía said, although with a trace of reluctance, for that would have made, she realised, an excellent end to her story. Yet she had already chosen the line of her tale, and it was better, she felt, to stick to the story she had already mapped out in her mind. ‘No, it was another man. A lowly pilgrim, someone of a very different class. All unaware of my danger, I agreed to speak to him in private, and my innocence was my weakness. As soon as I entered his chamber, he took hold of me in a strong embrace and began to smother me with kisses. In no time, he had me naked, and assaulted me vigorously, not once, but many times. This knight came in and saw me, he must have done, and although I implored him to aid me, he ignored my entreaties.’

‘You said nothing to me!’ Don Ruy protested.

‘How could I speak? He was … I was … in a difficult position!’ she declared with an embarrassed vehemence.

‘Why should that make him decide to harm you?’ Baldwin asked, bemused, but trying to save her from further shame. ‘Had you refused Don Ruy’s advances?’

‘I made no such advance!’ Don Ruy stated with a pained voice.

Doña Stefanía cast a cautious look about them. No one was near enough to give her cause for concern. ‘No. He made no improper advances of that nature, Sir Baldwin. Instead, he offered to ruin me!’

Don Ruy was staring at her with eyes filled with astonishment as though disbelieving his own ears, but Baldwin felt that although the lady’s story was far from the unvarnished truth, there was some element of veracity there – else why should she have recoiled so obviously from the man?