Michael Jecks - The Templar

He had thought that the Order of Sao 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 Ramon repeated. That was territory which had only recently been reconquered. Frey Ramon 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, Senor. Perhaps eight days if you ride like the wind.’

A few hours later, the land opened before Frey Ramon, 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 fiancee 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.

Dona Stefania 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, Dona Stefania 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,’ Dona Stefania 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.

Dona Stefania 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?

‘Sir Baldwin, he sought to improve himself at my expense. The very next day, he approached my maid and demanded money. He threatened to tell the Cathedral authorities that I had willingly submitted to the coarse and indelicate attack of the other pilgrim, and that I was therefore indecent. Unless I paid him a large sum of money, he would tell all about me. There! What else could I have done? And now I throw myself on your pity and honour!’