Michael Jecks - The Templar

‘You think that is possible?’ Munio asked. ‘You think we were lucky to recognise her so swiftly?’

‘ If we did,’ Simon said. ‘I was saying to Baldwin last night that the identification was too swift. Perhaps the lady was wrong to think it was her servant. Could someone else have been killed, and this servant girl used her body to effect her own escape from a miserable existence with her mistress? Or did someone abduct her, leaving this other woman in her place so that he wouldn’t be followed?’

Munio’s face had grown longer as he spoke. ‘The lady did say it was her maid. The clothes …’

‘You say that the body is already buried?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Yes. We couldn’t leave it above ground for any longer. In this temperature …’

Baldwin had turned to Simon with an expression of resignation, as though that settled the matter. It spurred Simon to say, ‘Of course. But we could ask the Dona whether there were any distinguishing marks on her maid’s body. Perhaps those who laid her out would have noticed something. If not, we could always have the corpse exhumed so that we can check.’

‘It was Ramon who laid her out,’ Baldwin reminded him.

‘Yes, with that man Gregory, he said,’ Simon recalled. ‘So often, matters seem to point to this Ramon.’

‘There is one other thing,’ Baldwin said, and told Munio what Maria had said.

‘Afonso?’ Munio considered. ‘I do not know the man, but I shall ask the gatemen whether they have seen him.’

‘Good!’ Simon said. ‘So now let’s go and see the Dona Stefania and ask her whether there’s a reason to dig up her maid.’

‘A good suggestion, but where is she likely to be?’ Baldwin wondered.

‘The woman is supposed to be a Prioress, isn’t she?’ Simon grunted. ‘She’ll be in a church, obviously — or a tavern!’

The three men visited the nearby churches, and were disappointed, but when they began to check the drinking-houses nearer the main square, Munio suddenly pointed, and following his finger, Simon saw Dona Stefania sitting at a bench with a rough-looking man clad in dark clothing of a particularly shabby material.

Baldwin and Simon trailed a few steps after Munio and stood in the background as he went up to her, smiling. ‘Dona Stefania. Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions? There are some things we should like to clear up.’

‘But of course,’ she said graciously, waving her hand to indicate that he might stand beside her. Her companion looked Munio up and down in a thoroughly insolent way, but the Pesquisidor didn’t appear to notice. Simon himself felt his ire rise at the sight of his attitude, though, and he walked to join Munio even though he felt the sweat breaking out all over his body. It was unpleasant, because he actually felt rather chilly in his sweat, even though he knew the heat was terrible.

Other than the man at her side, there were a pair of pilgrims who, from their voices, came from the lands about Bavaria; they sat fanning their faces with their great broad-brimmed hats while they spoke in a desultory manner. On the opposite side of the table were two stoic-looking men who appeared to be local traders up to sell their goods at the market. Both seemed unaware of the heat, so far as Simon could see. They slurped their wine and muttered incomprehensibly to each other, to all appearances quite comfortable. It made Simon feel irritable to see them so relaxed when he felt so crotchety and sticky.

Perhaps it was their clothing; their shirts and hose might be made of something that made them feel cooler, Simon thought. As for him, he could better appreciate the Bavarians, with their red faces beaded with sweat, puffing and blowing. Simon reckoned he could leap into a well and drain it, it was so hot. He had never known a place to be so burned by the sun. It was as though the air itself was being exhausted from an oven’s vent, and each breath seemed liable to scorch his throat.

Munio stared at the two locals, who were of a mind to ignore him and remain, but then Munio jerked his chin at the landlord, and suddenly the table was entirely empty but for the Prioress and her friend; the traders were whisked away like dirty platters, and the two Bavarians took one look at the way they had been ejected, and decided not to argue. It was always the way for a sensible traveller: while in a foreign land, it was better to avoid disputes.

‘So, lady,’ Munio said, when they were sitting, ‘we wanted to talk with you a little about the murder of your maid. Our apologies for this. It must be hard for you, having lost your sole companion.’

Simon was sitting next to Munio, and he saw the woman shoot the Pesquisidor a sharp look, then glance somewhat shamefacedly at the man beside her. For his part, he sat as if unconcerned. Simon waved at the innkeeper for some watered wine, listening to what Munio was saying. After her first startled reaction, Dona Stefania appeared simply disinterested, as though she had better things to occupy her mind.

‘It is hard. I have lost much since I arrived here,’ she said in a broken voice. ‘At least some have made me welcome and have been keen to comfort me in my sadness.’

Looking at him, she thought Munio appeared less than sympathetic to her. He was a typical, hard-faced man like so many of these tough Galicians. No sense and less feeling. He had no idea how much it meant to her, losing her maid. Of course he couldn’t understand how much she had then lost last night. No one could. That relic was all that kept the convent going.

My God! she prayed. Saint Peter, please don’t let us lose it for ever! Make that devil Domingo bring it back to me. How can we survive without that relic? Without it, our whole priory must fail!

He had spoken again, but as her gaze moved to him and she tried to concentrate, she saw that Simon had caught the innkeeper’s attention and was demanding drink. He seemed a little slow already, she thought, and shifted in her seat, squirming away from him.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Are you aware of any distinguishing marks upon your maid’s body?’ Munio repeated steadily in English.

‘I don’t know … What an extraordinary question!’

‘Not so strange as that,’ Simon said, a little thickly. There was no air in the square, no breeze to cool the forehead, and he really did feel quite odd, as though the room would start spinning any moment. Except he wasn’t in a room.

To ease his strangely whirling mind, he concentrated hard on the conversation. Munio was taking too long. Why didn’t the man get to the point? ‘Look, your maid, she was so badly beaten … why would someone do that to her? There must have been a reason! Did she have any enemies?’

‘No, but I told you that she was delivering money for me. Surely she was found on the way with my purse, and that was why she was taken. Perhaps someone saw her and took an interest in a pretty young woman like her. Oh, how should I know? And what does it matter? The fact is, she’s dead, and that’s all there is to it.’

Baldwin glanced at Simon. He had seen the look on his old friend’s face, and he wondered: was Simon quite well?

Dona Stefania could see that her answer had nonplussed them. At her side, she could sense that Parceval was impressed too.

It was Simon, though, who blurted out, ‘Go on, ask her about Ramon!’

‘What did he say?’ She understood English perfectly well, but Dona Stefania cast Simon a look that would have suited a small toad, convinced that he was drunk. Just like her husband. She could never have respect for a man who was inebriated. He might rape her, just as her husband had that time.

‘Dona Stefania,’ Baldwin said, ‘I am sorry that we must ask these questions, but we have to try to learn what happened to Joana — and ensure that the dead woman was indeed Joana. Ramon has apparently left the city, so we wanted to ask: could you have been mistaken about her identity?’