The Templar's Penance: (Knights Templar 15) (41 page)

‘True,’ João said, and stood, all evidence of dreaminess gone. ‘Return here at noon tomorrow, Dom Baldwin. I shall consider your request and give you an answer then.’

‘I thank you,’ Baldwin said.

João clapped his hands, and one of the two clerics poked his head around the doorway. ‘Sir?’

‘Take Dom Baldwin to the gate.’

There was nothing more. Baldwin bowed to the still faintly
smiling João, and trailed back out into the sunshine. He walked over the courtyard and through the double gates. Only when he was outside the castle did he feel he could take a breath of fresh air. Until then, tension had gripped his chest like a band of iron.

‘Tomorrow,’ he murmured as he mounted his horse. ‘And if I learn nothing then, why, I shall return to Compostela.’

He had spent the last days willing the time to pass until he could get here, and now he had arrived, he found that all he wanted was to be away again.

That night, Munio put his head around the chamber door to ask his wife if she needed anything. By now, Simon’s illness had changed in character. Munio could almost hear the sick man’s muscles grating and working against each other. It seemed as though the fever had turned the sick man’s body to stone, with every bone, every tendon and ligament made as stiff and brittle as flint. His jaws grated tooth against tooth, his fists were clenched, and over all, there was the springing of sweat at his brow and beneath his armpits. Munio had only rarely seen a man who looked so unwell and who yet survived without harm.

‘Margarita?’ he whispered again.

‘Leave us,’ she whispered back, reaching forward with a cloth to cleanse and cool Simon’s brow. ‘I shall let you know when he recovers.’

If
, Munio thought as he softly shut the door and returned to his chamber. He lay back on his bed, put his arms behind his head, and prayed that Simon would get well. It would be terrible to think that their guest could die without the comfort even of an old friend.

Baldwin had slept in a comfortable inn near the river. When the sun was up, he woke early, and walked out to the water. Where the ford lay, he trod into the waters and knelt, splashing it over his face and beard, scrubbing with his fingers at the coarse hair.

Looking at his reflection in the water, he studied himself for a moment dispassionately. There were more grey hairs in his beard now, and the wings of silver at his temples were rapidly expanding.

Suddenly he had what he thought was an insight, a view of what he must look like. He had the feeling of being a teenager still. That was how he saw himself – a fellow barely old enough to wear a sword in anger – and it was how he felt, still young. His views hadn’t changed, his opinions and beliefs were the same as they ever had been, and that was why he was here now.

Yes. It was why he was here. A knight errant trying to avenge a comrade who had been murdered. The death of Matthew was unnecessary, and worse, it was pointless. There was no sense in striking down an old man like him. But if his death was pointless, then how much worse was Baldwin’s own journey here?

He had come here, as he told himself, as he told Simon, and as he told Munio, because he wanted to find the killer of the girl, when in reality he was growing persuaded that her murderer might be dead: Domingo. He found it hard to believe that Ramón was responsible. The man had obviously been in love with Joana, and if he craved money, he would not have come here to forswear all wealth.

No. He was here for Afonso. This Portuguese was guilty of Matthew’s murder. María had witnessed it. Perhaps Afonso was annoyed by Matthew’s demanding whine, or perhaps he simply
disliked his face. There was no sense in it, no sense in wiping out a life for so little reason, but so often death was like that. Meaningless. It happened because God decided that a man had enjoyed or endured enough.

But here was Baldwin, prepared to fight this Afonso, and for as little reason. Matthew was dead, but he had lived a full, worthwhile life. He had not expired young like so many. Not for him the death of a martyr in Acre when the walls collapsed, nor the tortures or flames in the French King’s dungeons. No, Matthew had lived to a fair age. Did Baldwin have the right to kill another man simply to avenge a long life? No! It was ridiculous! As ridiculous as a middle-aged man coming all this way because his interest was piqued at the thought of seeing a Templar castle like the ones he had lived in. Simon must be wondering whether he had lost his mind completely. Staring down at his face in the water, Baldwin wondered whether there was a touch of insanity in his dark, intense eyes.

He would go to see João, and as soon as that meeting was finished, come what may, he would return to Compostela, he decided. And then, when there was a fair wind and a ship heading in the right direction, he would set off for home, and go back to real life, to his wife and daughter and the serious business of his manor and his court.

Voices gradually intruded upon his consciousness, and he realised he was hungry. He finished his ablutions, and walked to the shore, rubbing his scalp vigorously. As he made his way to the inn, he did not know that he was being watched.

Sir Charles eyed him from beneath his broad-brimmed hat. He was sitting on a bench at a tavern on the opposite bank, waiting for his companions to wake, but as a man who was perfectly aware that he had many enemies, he was always on the lookout for anyone who could be a threat, and seeing this middle-aged stranger with the build of a warrior, Sir Charles was sure that here was someone who could be a threat to him. Sir Charles kept studying him with care as Baldwin shook the water from his hands and set off up the lane to his inn.

‘Olá! Bom dia,’ Afonso said as he came out of their room, stretching and casting an eye about the place.

‘So far, perhaps,’ Sir Charles muttered.

João was sitting in his room when a novice tapped nervously at his door to tell him that the Englishman was back. The
claveiro
told him to fetch the man, and sat staring at the empty desk before him.

It was not an easy job, managing a castle the size of Tomar, and for João, it was doubly onerous. In the past he had been with the Order of São Thiago, and moving to a new Order was not what he had wished for, not at that time of his life. If he could, he would have taken a post with a peaceful Order, perhaps the Cistercians, and spent the rest of his life in quiet contemplation. But the man who wishes to serve God must follow where He commands, and in any case, like so many pious men who had positions of importance in other convents, there were good reasons for coming to the Templar sites and restoring them in the public eye. João had felt the keen urge to come here and do all he could for Tomar.

The Englishman was a driven soul, he thought again. He had seen that in the fellow’s eyes the day before. Now, if anything, he looked more torn than before. He had the appearance of a man who had come to a decision, but who disliked the result. He was not going to like the responses he would get today either, João thought to himself.

‘Sir Baldwin. I am pleased to see you again.’

‘I thank you,’ Baldwin said as João motioned to the novice who had led Baldwin inside. The boy brought in a tray of wine, which he set between the two men. He poured a little into two goblets, then quietly withdrew.

Baldwin sipped at the wine. ‘I am here, as you asked, to hear your answer.’

‘My answer – yes. I did not feel it was an answer I should give,’ João said, toying with the stem of his goblet. ‘If the man whom you sought was guilty, that guilt was for him and for God.
If he wished, he could speak to you, but I saw no justification in forcing him to do so.’

‘So I have wasted my journey,’ Baldwin said.

‘You are a hasty man,’ João said, and there was a flash of steel in his voice. ‘Please hear me out. As I said, it was not a decision I could take. However, I do not wish to have even the most pious woman-murderer here in my castle. Piety is important in a knight, but a knight who can rape and kill a Christian woman is not worthy of his robes. So I went to speak to him last night.’

‘He is here, then?’

‘Yes, he is here. And he will speak with you. He has agreed.’

‘I am most grateful.’

‘I shall be with you while you talk,’ João said as he clapped his hands. In a moment or two, a novice had entered, listened quietly to João’s instruction, and scurried off to fetch Ramón. While they waited, the two men sat without talking.

Baldwin was hard put to control his impatience. No matter what he had decided that morning, he knew that he must still try to find Afonso and learn what had made him stab Matthew. Although if Afonso admitted to the crime, what then could Baldwin do? Kill Afonso in his turn? That was ridiculous. It would be perpetuating the endless round of revenge.

Over the table, João studied him with interest. He knew that Baldwin was struggling with a bitter internal argument, for he had seen the signs before. A man who is in charge of a convent soon begins to spot those who have need of most support. Every man, João thought, would come to God in his own time. He thought Baldwin was probably coming to find God in his own way. For his part, João was content to remain silently watching Baldwin. There was nothing he could do to help. Baldwin was no doubt being spoken to by God.

There came the sound of boots tramping steadily along the corridor, then coming to a halt outside João’s door. A knuckle rapped on the door, and João called out permission to enter.

Ramón walked inside with the truculent demeanour of a man
expecting to be accused. He glared at Baldwin as soon as he entered the room. ‘
Claveiro
, you wanted me?’

‘You know why, Frey Ramón,’ João said mildly. ‘This is not a court, and you are not accused. This good knight would like to speak to you, though.’

Baldwin had stood when Ramón walked in, and he remained on his feet. ‘To see you is to be more certain that you are innocent,’ he began placatingly.

‘After my woman was murdered, I chose to leave Compostela,’ Ramón stated harshly. ‘Why should you seek to follow me?’

Baldwin was unsure how to conduct this inquest. Eyeing Ramón, he tended to think that a direct approach would be most effective. ‘There are some who say you yourself killed her.’

‘Me? I loved her!’

‘Yet she was carrying a large amount of money when she went to the meeting at the ford. We know that you were there with her, for you were seen by Don Ruy.’

‘Yes, of course I saw her there. She had asked me to go and meet her.’

‘What, in order to guard her? While she negotiated with the blackmailer?’

‘No. She made no mention of any such thing,’ Ramón said with apparent surprise. ‘All she wanted was to ask me if I would protect her if she left her mistress. Obviously, I said I would. We were betrothed, and I hoped to marry her this year.’

Baldwin felt sure that the man was concealing something. Before Ramón could move on to a fresh topic, Baldwin said, ‘What then?’

‘That was all. I returned to the town, and shortly afterwards her body was brought back.’

‘That is
not
all, is it? You were walking with her for some while. What else did you talk about?’

‘Nothing. We spoke a little, and separated. That was all.’

‘What did you speak about?’

‘That is none of your business!’

‘I am trying to convince myself that you are an innocent man, Brother! Can you not tell me what passed between you?’

‘What does it matter?’ he spat.

‘It matters because another could be arrested and hanged for the murder if you don’t help us to resolve things,’ Baldwin snapped. ‘Do you want an innocent man to be blamed, just because of your high-minded desire to protect someone?’ This last was a guess, but Baldwin was sure that Ramón must have a good reason for keeping silent on the matter.

Ramón shot a look at João, then looked down at the floor. He hated the idea of telling the truth, but he hated still more the idea of lying, especially if that might lead to an innocent man being accused. He had no idea that Baldwin’s ‘innocent’ was already dead. ‘I don’t know that I should tell you … it reflects upon my lady’s virtue.’

‘Tell me, please,’ Baldwin urged.

Ramón glanced once more at João, who remained impassive, but then lifted an eyebrow. Ramón knew what that meant. A Knight of Christ was supposed to tell the truth to the glory of God. That reflection stabbed at him coldly like a shard of ice, and he shivered, but at last told his story.

‘I was surprised when she asked me to see her there at the ford, because she and her mistress had already told me that Doña Stefanía must go out to a meeting and that was why I couldn’t see Joana until later. Then she whispered to me to find a means of getting to this place. When I arrived, she was there. She had a bag with her, and she told me that she had taken it from her lady. Doña Stefanía was a dragon and a thief, she said. She had served her loyally, she said, but enough was enough.

‘During the journey to Compostela, the Doña had slept with men, she said. A woman with loose morals was no mistress for her. So Joana had invented a blackmailer, a man who knew of the Doña’s affairs, and who demanded money. Joana asked me, would I run away with her? We could keep the money, she said, and she showed me her bag.