The Templar's Penance: (Knights Templar 15) (37 page)

‘It would be good to catch him as well,’ Baldwin agreed.

‘It would have been more satisfying if Joana’s murderer had been that felon Domingo.’

‘Yes. But his men deny anything to do with her murder and there is no money. If a common felon found himself in possession of such wealth, he would be incapable of saving it or concealing it. He would surely spend it at once,’ Baldwin said. He had seen it many times before.

‘Yet he did go out there that day. Of course, one of Domingo’s men once said that he and Joana were cousins.’

‘Which makes murder neither more nor less likely,’ Baldwin observed.

‘As you say,’ Munio said. ‘And have you given any thought to what you would do if you caught one or other of the two?’

‘Oh, Ramón I should like to question, if the
Mestre
allows me. As you said, he could have had something to do with the death of the girl. We think he saw her up there but lied and left
the place. If he is guilty of her murder, I should wish to bring him back here.’

‘And the other?’

‘Matthew’s killer is clearly evil,’ Baldwin said shortly. ‘He was witnessed murdering a harmless old man. He deserves his fate.’

Munio turned upon him a look of such piercing intelligence that Baldwin blinked. ‘I fear you think me a fool, just because I do not speak your tongue so well as you.’

‘Not at all, you speak my language better than I speak yours, and for that I honour you,’ Baldwin protested.

‘But still you treat me as an idiot. You think me a country bumpkin, not an astute fellow like yourself. Oh, do not try to argue otherwise. It is clear enough. Now, Don Baldwin, let me tell you some things. I know you have a burning desire to go to Portugal. Why not? I hear it is a lovely country. But you want to punish the murderer of a beggar. That death offends you more than the ending of the life of a beautiful, defenceless child, when the motive for her death was either her rape or the simple theft of the money that was on her. That means to me that her murderer was either exceedingly fortunate, because he found a suitable woman to rape just at the time that she was carrying a fortune in money, or that he already knew she would be there with the cash. Which means he knew her, knew of the blackmail, and knew she had the money. That man could so easily have been Ramón. He picked up a stone and smashed that poor face into nothing, then stole all the money. If that is the case, he is a cold-blooded murderer and should be punished.’

‘I agree, of course I do. But where is the proof? Why should he run if he had killed her?’

Munio was scathing. ‘If he didn’t, why did he run away before seeking out and killing the real murderer? Can you imagine a chivalrous man leaving his fiancée’s corpse like that? Any knight would try to seek the murderer.’

‘I have no power to arrest him in Portugal or anywhere.’

‘So you will question him,’ Munio said. ‘And he will go unpunished.’

Baldwin nodded slowly. The thought in Munio’s mind was easy to read. The
Pesquisidor
wanted the man killed. ‘If he is a Brother in the Order of Christ by the time I get there, there is nothing I can do to have him punished. The Brothers will protect him.’

‘And meanwhile you will go about and in his place, seek the killer of an old beggar.’

‘If I can bring the man to—’

‘Yes. You want him more than Ramón. You think he deserves his punishment and you will visit it upon him. Why is that?’

Baldwin couldn’t meet his gaze. There was a deeper understanding in Munio’s eyes than he had expected, and he felt ashamed. Yes, he had been determined to go to Tomar, both because he wanted to find the murderer of Matthew, but also because he wanted to see a Templar site once more. He had heard that Tomar was unchanged, that the Portuguese King Dinis had no wish to lose the powerful army that had helped to protect his Kingdom, and had therefore allowed the Order to continue in all but name. Striking the words ‘and the Temple of Solomon’ from their name satisfied the Pope, as did the statement that the new Brothers were all recruited from untainted men who had nothing to do with their forebears, although Baldwin suspected that many among them must have had some links to his old Order.

It was not only that, though. Munio had hit the nail on the head with that astute comment: Baldwin wanted to serve justice on the murderer of a man who had once been his companion-at-arms. This confession made Baldwin feel ashamed. He had truly sought to treat one murder as somehow more worthy of justice than the other. When all his life since the destruction of the Templars had been focused on seeking an equality of justice for all, he now saw that in this strange city he had forgotten the basic principle of his own creed: that
any murder victim deserved the same benefits from the law as any other.

Munio had not ceased to gaze at him, but now his expression was less bitter, and he poured some wine into a cup for Baldwin, lifting it to him. ‘Have a little of this.’

‘Señor, my shame knows no bounds.’

‘A little humility is good,’ Munio said while he poured himself a large cup. He took a gulp and swallowed with satisfaction. ‘Ah! A good wine, that. Yes, but too much humility is self-indulgent, I always think. I knew a man a little like Matthew once, and he burned at the sight of any injustice, just as you do. He was formed from much the same mould. Once he had been a
clavero
in the Order of Santiago, a very important man, as you can imagine: the man who held all the keys for a great fort. One day that good man learned that some of the Order’s expensive goods had disappeared, and he sought to find the thief, but the Order’s
Maestre
accused
him
of taking it – saying that he was bound to be the one responsible since he had all the keys in his possession.’

‘And was he the guilty man?’

Munio gave him a steady stare. ‘Who can say? Only God knows a man’s heart. For me, it was enough that from that day onwards he became an indefatigable seeker of the truth. The fact that someone had dared to accuse
him
made him realise how thin is the covering of honour that envelopes even the highest in the land. No family is free of crimes. The French King himself has shown that. Consider his daughters.’

Baldwin knew what he meant. Some ten years before, the French Crown had been rocked by the wives of King Philip the Fair’s two sons; both young women had been found guilty of adultery. Their lovers had been castrated and burned alive, of course, and the two guilty women were incarcerated at the castle of Château-Gaillard. One died of cold in the first winter, but the other was still living, so Baldwin had heard, in a monastery.

‘Certainly no family is free of the stain,’ he agreed quietly.

‘Yes. So it matters not what a man
was
, but how he behaves now,’ Munio said with satisfaction.

Baldwin let out a breath slowly. He was sure that Munio had divined his past life in the Templars somehow – although now he thought about it, his behaviour regarding Matthew had been less than discreet. If he had shouted his interest in the old Templar from the
Pesquisidor
’s roof, it would scarcely have been less plain.

If Munio was to ask Baldwin about his past, the knight was not sure what his position would be.

‘There were always many Templars here,’ Munio continued thoughtfully. ‘I met them and grew to respect them in Oxford. When I returned here, I met even more of them. They came here on pilgrimage, for they were constant travellers and keen to ensure that their souls were as pure as they could make them. That was my impression of Templars: that they were honourable and devout. I could not censure such men. Even Matthew, who had suffered so much, he deserved better than to be left desolate as he was.’

‘But as you say, a religious man who has been killed at the end of a long life is less cause for vengeance than a woman whose life was ended so early,’ Baldwin ventured.

‘No, not less cause, but no more cause. I believe that justice must reflect equally on all. It is not a view which meets with universal approval,’ Munio said, and shrugged, ‘but it serves for my personal creed. Thus, if you go to Tomar, I would like you to spend the same amount of time seeking the killer of Joana as the killer of Matthew. Would you swear to do that?’

‘Yes. But I may learn that they are innocent, too. What then?’

‘The innocent go free.’

‘Yes, but if they are guilty …’ Baldwin spread his hands helplessly. ‘What would you have me do? I cannot murder them myself. That would make me no better than them.’

‘True, and if they have joined a religious Order they are safe from our justice,’ Munio agreed. Then he leaned on his elbows.
‘But tell me, how would the
Mestre
of a religious convent respond if it was shown to him that his latest recruit was a murderer and violator of innocent Catholic women? Or that he was the executioner of a Templar knight who was already so reduced in his position as to be forced to beg in the streets of Compostela?’

Baldwin drew in a breath sharply. ‘Any Master would surely feel that the culprit should lose his habit. He might insist on the vow of obedience, and demand that the man should leave and join a religious Order with a vastly more onerous round of duties.’

‘Yes,’ Munio said with satisfaction. ‘And then, if the man was innocent of the crime, God will ease his toil, because if the man was so devout as to want to join an Order to serve God, he would be comfortable no matter to which Order he was sent. But if he was guilty and had expected to escape, how much more painful would be his punishment. I have always thought that, contrary to belief, the Church is not so generous to failed priests as our secular society is. We only hang a man. The Church keeps him imprisoned for ever.’

‘You will allow me to go with your blessing?’

‘Yes. But not Simon, friend.’

Baldwin felt as though he had been slammed in the belly. ‘You mean to hold him hostage?’ he asked, choked.

Munio looked up, hurt. ‘I called you “friend” because that is how I consider you, Don Baldwin. No, my reservation about Simon is caused by his illness. My wife says that he should not travel, and I am inclined to agree with her. Look at how he was today when you saw him.’

Baldwin was unconvinced, but when Munio gave a whistle, his wife came to join them both, and she argued forcefully and vociferously that Simon should remain.

‘He is not well enough to travel, Sir Baldwin. Look at him! You may return and see him at any time you wish, for I doubt you will wake him. He was close to death, and to take him on a voyage now would be fatal. Think of the perils which
afflict the healthy at sea, from fevers to sicknesses. If he were merely to become seasick, his body could not cope. Please consider him.’

Baldwin was aware of a horrible feeling of separation. In the past he had always had an able man-at-arms beside him, his Sergeant from the Templars, Edgar, but Edgar was back at the manor near Cadbury with Jeanne, Baldwin’s wife. He had preferred to know that she and Richalda, their daughter, were safe in case of an armed gang, or even the risk of war. Edgar was competent and entirely capable. He would see to it that Jeanne and Richalda were safe.

At all those times when Edgar had not been with him, Baldwin had been pleased to have the sturdy, stolid Bailiff at his side. Simon was resourceful, bright, and a doughty fighter when one was needed.

‘I do not know if I can do this without him,’ he said slowly.

‘Of course you can,’ Munio said briskly. ‘You’ll find these men. If you don’t, persuade the
Mestre
at Tomar to help you find them. These men all appear to be heading in the direction of the town. If they have already arrived, good, and the
Mestre
can see to it that they pay for their crimes; if they have not arrived, so much the better, because you can save the Order from recruiting dishonourable souls who should never have been considered for a holy fort.’

Baldwin shook his head doubtfully. To travel so far, without friend, without companion, without even the power of the law to support him, felt foolish in the extreme. Better, perhaps, to wait until Simon was quite recovered, in which case he could have a friend to count on.

How long would that take, though? Days? Weeks? The men already had a good head-start on him. Ramón had left on the morning of Matthew’s death. That was four days ago, now. Even sailing instead of riding on horseback took some time, and these men were some hundred miles away by now. A longer delay might mean their escaping.

‘How long will it take to get to Tomar?’ he asked.

‘The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll get there,’ Munio said unsympathetically, then chuckled. ‘I think three to four days to sail down the coast, then another two or three to travel inland, if you can make good time. I can’t help much, but I can at least give you some currency. I have some
libras
and
soldos
which you can use.’

Baldwin stood. ‘I should pack and make my way to the coast if I am to catch my ship in the morning.’

The next three days were, for Simon, unremittingly tedious. Always an energetic man, he loathed lying about. His indolence was a strain on himself and, he admitted, on all about him, but he couldn’t help it. When things grew too much for him, he couldn’t curb his tongue.

If he had been in England, in some part of Dartmoor with a pair of miners, he would at least have felt more or less at home, or if he had been in a city like Exeter, where he knew many people and could count on their dropping in to chat, it would have been different, but here, with all the language difficulties, he felt awful, as if he was being imprisoned by people who could not understand him. Even if he had a simple request, the servants would tend to seek Doña Margarita, or Munio himself, rather than take it upon themselves to try to understand his words. He could ask for water or wine, and one grizzled old devil appeared to comprehend fully when he demanded bread, but that was about it.