The Templar's Penance: (Knights Templar 15) (46 page)

Once on the other side, Simon began his search. The land here was separated into fields, with a footpath of some sort. On the right-hand side was a ditch, which was a little damp in the very bottom. It looked as though it was used for some form of irrigation. Bushes and a few thin, tormented trees tried to grow here, and there was a thick thorny mess beneath them.

It was here, Simon guessed, that Ramón and his woman had walked, and he rode along at a gentle amble, explaining as simply as he could to the men with him what he expected to find.

Once they understood, the two men set to with a will, and began to shove plants and twigs aside in their search for Simon’s proof. He had hoped that from his vantage point on the horse, he would be the first to see it, but it was the man who understood a little of Simon’s language who suddenly gave a delighted crow-like cry, and pounced. Grinning widely, one hand bleeding with a slash from a vicious thorn, he held up a large leather purse, an expensive, soft, decorated purse filled with gold and silver coins.

‘Well, well, well,’ Simon said with a grin that threatened to separate his crown from his jaw. ‘So I am not so stupid as I feared!’

There was much more to be done, once Simon had proved that part of his theory. Now he was keen to check on other aspects.

Leaving the horse at Munio’s stable for the groom to see to, he walked with the purse into town. Once there, he found a tavern, and sat in full view of the Cathedral, the purse safely tucked inside his jack. He still had the skin about his neck, but
set it down and bought a jug of wine. Soon, he began to feel comfortably somnolent in the warm sunshine, watching all the people in the square.

They were all hurrying, but slowly, he noticed. In England, everybody tended to look as though they were hastening everywhere, when they had little reason to; here everyone seemed to move in leisurely fashion and yet they covered the land faster than their Devonshire counterparts.

Simon soon spotted the person he had come to see. The Prioress walked about the place with an anxious expression on her face, turning this way and that, catching the eyes of many people, and as quickly looking away. Her manner was that of a woman who was looking for someone, although she appeared half-terrified that she might find the target of her searching. She caught sight of Simon and he smiled at her, beckoning, but she gave a graceless shake of her head and turned away, walking towards a small group of beggars.

‘You won’t find her there,’ Simon said, comfortable in the knowledge that his simple test had been proven. Now there was only one more trial that he need make. For that, he must have assistance.

If only, he thought, Baldwin was back. He could do with his friend’s help.

Had he but known it, his friend was already back at Munio’s house.

Baldwin, Sir Charles and Paul arrived back at the house a little after lunchtime, just as Simon was sitting at the tavern and waiting for any sign that his assumptions were correct. Baldwin went straight in to find his friend or Munio. Instead he found Margarita, in her hall with a steward, but looking very troubled.

‘My lady! I am so glad to be back and to be able to thank you for your great kindness to me and to my friend.’

‘Sir Baldwin, I am glad to have been a friend to you.’

‘Where is Simon?’

‘He is gone out. I expect he is in the town.’

Baldwin nodded, but he was aware of a certain frigidity about her. ‘Lady, Simon is well?’

‘He was very ill with a fever, Sir Baldwin, but now, yes, he is fully recovered.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ he said heartily, and again, he thought that her manner was a little off. ‘Um. Should I go to find him in the town?’

‘Yes. That might be a very good idea,’ she said as though considering the matter carefully.

He nodded and gave her the best bow he could manage, but when he left the house, his brow was furrowed. There was something very odd in this, he felt sure. Had Simon offended Margarita in some way? Surely that was impossible. Simon was a polite, reasonable, trouble-free guest generally. Perhaps it was simply because he had been so ill. Some men could become pests when unwell, he knew, and yet he had seen Simon when his friend was close to death, and he had never been difficult. If anything, great illness made him more pliant and amenable. No, it was surely not that.

In the yard, he surrendered himself to the fact that he did not know what was wrong and could not, until he had spoken to Simon himself. Perhaps he could throw some light on the matter?

First, of course, he must find Simon.

‘What now, Sir Baldwin?’ Sir Charles asked.

‘Well, after enjoying your companionship for the last four days on board ship, may I repay the compliment by buying you both a meal? My friend is in the town, I believe. We could do worse than go to see him.’

‘We could indeed,’ Sir Charles said with a smile. He was starving hungry. Almost the last coin he possessed had gone on the passage from Portugal to here, and now he was famished.

‘So long as he has a joint of beef and a slab or two of bread,’ Paul muttered, but Baldwin didn’t hear him and Sir Charles chose to ignore the comment.

Simon stood and glanced about the square. Doña Stefanía was standing near another group of beggars, casting her eyes over them all, the kneeling man, the stooped and wailing woman, the girl on crutches, but Simon could see that the one she wanted was not there. No, he thought, she’s hiding still, isn’t she? Can you blame her?

He felt quite relaxed. The whole picture had at last fitted into place, like a mosaic seen from a distance: he could see the individual hints at the overall picture, the tiny chips of stone, but now he could see the totality of the scene as well. Each clue was fitted into its own logical place, each related to the next, each pointed to the overall solution. Nothing was difficult, once you had the basic idea, he knew. No, it was quite simple when the theme was at last divulged. It made the solution laughably obvious, as so many mysteries were, when you had the key that opened them.

It would be good, he thought, to explain to Baldwin how he had come to this conclusion, although he knew that it would upset his friend. Still, it was important to know the truth, and Baldwin would appreciate it. It would set his mind at ease to hear what really happened, even if the facts were painful.

As he was about to leave the tavern, he saw Doña Stefanía again. She was walking about the edge of the group of beggars, and she caught a glimpse of him just as he looked her way. Her face was pale and drawn, a picture of sadness, and he wished he could ease her torment. ‘But I can’t ruddy help you unless you let me, can I? If you won’t let me speak to you, I can’t do a thing,’ he muttered irritably.

He drained his cup and sat back. Until Baldwin returned, Simon felt unwilling to expose the facts, just in case his assessment was wrong. If he was right, Doña Stefanía was going nowhere until she had found what she sought – and she
couldn’t
find that now.

Doña Stefanía could
feel
his eyes upon her. It was infuriating! The shabby fellow with the bright eyes and unhealthy white skin was staring like a man ogling his first woman. If she could, she would have run to the nearest Cathedral official and demanded that the impudent churl be punished for his lack of respect.

She couldn’t, though. There was no official in the Cathedral to whom she could turn. She shouldn’t have remained here. Oh, if only she had gone back to the Priory …

It was mostly due to Parceval. Doña Stefanía was confused. Without Joana, she felt as lost as an unmasted cog on the open sea. Worse was when the foul monster Domingo had demanded her relic. Losing that was a disaster! But so was the loss of her companions. She was all alone, with only Parceval. He was her sole friend here.

Parceval had money, but she no longer suspected him. No, he couldn’t have robbed, raped and murdered Joana
and
returned to meet herself in the tavern. He would have taken longer. Anyway, he had satisfied Munio. No, Parceval was innocent. Someone else had stolen her money and done those terrible things to her poor young maid.

Doña Stefanía felt the beginnings of panic. There was no one to whom she could turn. Of course, when that devil Domingo had robbed her of her only valuable, the Saint’s relic, she had submitted to Parceval’s generosity. She joined him in his own room, an offer she had felt forced to accept. At the time, she had believed that he had stolen her money. She meant to take it back – except there had never been the opportunity. Every time she had tried to reach out and search his belongings, she became aware that he was awake. It was as though he needed no sleep, damn him!

She wanted her relic back, but Domingo must have sold it or just thrown it away. At that thought, ice entered her bowels. The idea that a saint’s holy remains should be cast away, perhaps into the river, or even into a midden near the town – that didn’t bear thinking of. Her religious soul quailed at the thought that her innocent theft of the relic could have led to it being discarded by a heathen like him. It would mean that she herself would be considered as guilty as Domingo, should the Bishop ever learn of her trick.

So she had to wait here. And then she had learned that the Fleming was not a liar, and he wasn’t a thief. The money wasn’t taken by him. She went with him and saw how the house of Musciatto treated him, like a deeply honoured client. This was no common churl, but a wealthy merchant who had chosen to dress like a peasant. That was up to him. It at least made her feel a little better. A man’s breeding would out, she considered. She hadn’t fallen for a bit of rough serfdom, but a rich man. It was some consolation.

What was not in any way consoling was the fact that although now she thought she had guessed the truth, she
still
couldn’t find her relic, her money or her maid.

Because Doña Stefanía was sure that her maid had not died. Joana was still alive, and in possession of her money, and Doña Stefanía wanted it back.

‘Wait a moment, Bailiff.’

Simon had stood as the Prioress disappeared around the side of a wall, and yawned. There was no point hanging around here, he thought, and he was about to make his way back to Munio’s house, when he heard Gregory’s call.

The cleric was approaching with the tall figure of Don Ruy at his side. ‘Perhaps we could share a jug of wine? This town, for all its gaudy baubles and trinkets to be sold to pilgrims, is surprisingly short of intelligent conversation.’

‘I should be happy to,’ Simon lied. He had no desire to speak to the miserable fellow. In his private opinion, Gregory spent too
much time whining about his lot and not enough getting on with his life, but Simon
was
interested in speaking to Don Ruy.

‘Could you ask the knight,’ he said to Gregory when they were all seated on benches and each had a jug of wine before them, ‘whether he recalls that day when your ex-wife’s maid was murdered?’

Don Ruy looked a little startled on hearing the question and shot a look at Simon, but he nodded, then shook his head with apparent sadness.

‘A terrible waste,’ Gregory translated.

‘Certainly,’ Simon agreed. ‘Such a young life. And I understand you rather liked her?’

Gregory looked from one to the other as he translated. ‘He says she was a pleasant enough woman.’

‘With the legs and bosom to make her still more appealing,’ Simon said. ‘After all, Don Ruy was seen watching her closely as he followed her out of the city.’

‘He says he’s told you this already,’ Gregory said as Ruy affected an elaborate yawn.

‘Yes,’ Simon said, stifling his own yawn. He was feeling more than a little lethargic himself after so much wine so early in the afternoon. ‘But he said that he left the city for a ride and came straight back here again afterwards. He said that he
didn’t
follow the girl. But he saw her walking over on the other side of the ford with Ramón.’

‘Yes. That is right.’

‘He told us he saw another person there.’

‘There was no one.’

‘Come! There was a washerwoman at the ford.’

‘That is true.’

‘Who was she?’

‘He does not know.’

Simon chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘I wonder. The hostler at the stable told us Don Ruy was away most of the afternoon. Don Ruy said he was out for a short time. I had forgotten that until I started thinking about the sequence of events. And thinking about
them, I remembered the washerwoman. What happened to her?’

‘He does not know.’

‘Let me prompt his memory! After all, anyone there could be suspected of Joana’s murder.’

‘Don Ruy says he has better things to be doing,’ Gregory said nervously as the knight stood, tapping at his sword hilt.

‘Tell him to wait. I want to ask him about María, the whore …’

With an incoherent roar, Don Ruy swept out his sword, and it sparkled in the bright sunshine.

Suddenly he shot forward, and the table went over, the edge striking Simon in the lower belly, its weight trapping his legs. He cried out, more in surprise than pain, and then the table top was thrust at him again, and he felt himself toppling backwards, the full mass of the wood on top of him. With his mouth wide in alarm, he flailed with his arms, but there was nothing he could do, and he thumped backwards, his head taking an unpleasant knock on the stone flags.