Michael Jecks - The Templar

Yes, it was a bold plan, Dona Stefania acknowledged. More, if they could pull it off, the Bishop himself would have to approve. Otherwise, he was overruling the Saint, and that would never do.

In less than an hour, Dona Stefania and Joana had sketched out the plan. It was much as Joana had originally suggested, but with some minor amendments. First, Dona Stefania was not prepared to let the genuine relic out of her sight, so she had asked for this little box to be made, and now she carried it with her all the time; Joana had also suggested that there should be a small guard to protect the ‘relic’ which they would deliver to Orthez. That was why Domingo and his men had gone with them, travelling up through Castile and Navarre to Aragon and then over the passes. The smug, fat priests in Orthez had been slimily grateful, thanking her with such obvious contempt, that it had been difficult not to laugh at them. They were so obnoxious, with their clear disregard for her and her convent, and so delighted to have their bauble back, that she longed to tell them that she had exchanged their relic for an old piece of pig’s bone which she had found in the rushes on the floor of her refectory and left in manure for a week to stain it a rich, dark colour.

Joana and she had collapsed in tears when they left the town, but not for the reasons which the fat clerics would have expected or understood.

In Dona Stefania’s purse nestled the piece of the Saint’s finger still in its little casket. It was there now, and she pulled it out to look at it once more. The gold of the cross gleamed in the candlelight and she kissed it reverently. This was the saving of her convent.

It was late. She must return to her room, for she didn’t wish to tempt Providence by going abroad alone in the dark, unlit streets. The place was full of pilgrims, which meant that there were bound to be cutpurses and other vagabonds wandering about. Pilgrims were easy prey to the nightwalkers of a large city. Walking out through the great door, she went down a side street, and had just turned up towards the square when a low voice almost made her heart stop.

‘My lady.’

Her hand rose to her breast, and she felt suddenly light-headed with fear, but relief washed over her when she saw that it was only the grim figure of Domingo. He had been behind her, and now he overtook her.

‘I wondered who it was! Foolish fellow, leave me alone,’ she commanded. ‘I am going to my room.’

‘I lost my son for you, lady,’ Domingo snarled. ‘Don’t patronise me.’

‘I didn’t tell you to have him killed,’ she snapped. ‘If you were a better leader, he would be alive yet. Now leave me before someone sees us. I don’t want anyone to know that you are with me — understand?’

‘My men need food and drink but we haven’t any money.’

‘So?’

‘Lady, you brought us here. It’s your fault we starve. We need some money.’

‘What happened to the sum I paid you? I gave you plenty of gold before we left Vigo.’

‘That was enough for us to live on for a month, but we’ve been travelling for fifty days now. It took twenty-five days for us to get to Orthez, and another twenty-four to come here. What do you expect us to live on — grass?’

‘I don’t have any more cash with me now.’

‘You have a full purse there, lady.’

‘There is little in it,’ she shot out, a hand covering it.

Domingo was tired of her commands and penny-pinching. He had lost companions to Sir Charles and Dom Afonso, including his own poor lad, and now he needed food, and was desperate for wine. This woman, who had hired him and his men for the whole journey, hadn’t warned it would take so long, and now she was prepared to see them go hungry. With a quick sense of the injustice of her actions, he growled deep in his throat, then grabbed her sleeve and drew her to him. She gave an incoherent squeak of fear, and then his hand was on her purse.

It was impossible! He couldn’t! ‘No! Don’t touch that! There’s nothing in it!’ she said and flailed at him with her fists.

‘Do you really think I’m that stupid that I don’t know what you carry about in your purse?’ he sneered. ‘I know what you took out and stared at each night, Dona Stefania. Me and my men, we guarded you all the way up here, even though you treated us like shit! If you want to have our protection still, you can pay for it.’

‘There is only the relic, you fool,’ she hissed. ‘Touch that, try to steal that, and the Saint will see you die in the most foul and degrading manner!’

He stared at her a moment, and she was sure she’d won. Her argument carried the authority of the Church, and she rose to her full height. Clearly the threat of a Saint’s enmity was enough to cow even the dimmest churl. ‘Now leave me, you idiot. I shall be returning to Vigo soon, and I want you and your men to be ready to come with me.’

‘You want us to come too?’

‘Of course.’

‘I see. You call me a fool, Dona, but you stand there like a stuffed tunic talking about us coming to guard you on the way back to Vigo, but you’re prepared to see us suffer until you’re ready to go? Think again. You have enough in that purse to buy us all food and drink for a year, don’t you?’

‘Don’t be so stupid!’ she said, but then she realised that he had drawn his little knife from his belt, and she saw the wicked gleam of steel before her eyes. She slumped with terror. Never before had anyone drawn a dagger on her. It was terrible. She herself had hired this felon, and now she was suffering the consequences; he would kill her! Her mouth fell open but she couldn’t even scream, her terror was so complete.

‘Shut up, bitch!’ Domingo hissed. The blade moved, she snapped her eyes shut, and felt the hideous dragging at her belly. Then he released her. Drained, her legs collapsed beneath her and she fell to the floor.

‘Christ’s Bones!’ Parceval muttered as he saw the lady slump down. A dark shape stood over her — a large, threatening figure — and as Parceval shouted and began to run towards her, he saw the evil glint of a blade. He immediately slowed his pace.

In the past he had killed, yes, but he wasn’t a very competent fighter. When he killed Hellin van Coye, he hadn’t worried about Hellin’s ability to strike back; he’d made sure of that by knifing him in the back when the man was walking away. Not the most honourable assault, perhaps, but Parceval wanted revenge, not a tribute for courage and honour.

This man looked big and Parceval didn’t want to be brought before God quite yet. There was too much to enjoy on earth before that. He shouted again, moving his arms threateningly, but not moving forward. To his relief he saw the thief bolt, and when he was sure that he was safe, Parceval went on to the body.

‘Dona Stefania,’ he breathed.

She was weeping uncontrollably, but there was no sign of blood. In his experience a man or woman would leak alarmingly from a slight scratch, whereas a serious wound, like the one he gave Hellin, might give rise to very little bleeding. That was worrying, for she might be about to die, and if she was, he didn’t want to be near her in case he got accused of her death. As these thoughts were running through his mind, and he glanced along the alley considering escape, she looked up, her face streaked with tears.

‘Oh, Parceval! He stole it from me!’

Her voice didn’t sound like that of a woman who was gasping her last, and Parceval felt relieved.

‘My dear, dear lady! How are you?’ he said. ‘I heard the fracas, and although I ran here as fast as I could, he escaped! Who was it, did you see? If I catch him, he’ll regret his actions! I’ll cut his throat for him, acting like this to a Lady of the Church! Has he no faith?’