Michael Jecks - The Templar

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 Ramon 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. Maria 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 Joao, 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.

‘Ola! 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.

Joao 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 Joao, it was doubly onerous. In the past he had been with the Order of Sao 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. Joao 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, Joao thought to himself.

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

‘I thank you,’ Baldwin said as Joao 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,’ Joao 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,’ Joao 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,’ Joao said as he clapped his hands. In a moment or two, a novice had entered, listened quietly to Joao’s instruction, and scurried off to fetch Ramon. 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, Joao 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, Joao 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, Joao 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 Joao’s door. A knuckle rapped on the door, and Joao called out permission to enter.

Ramon 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 Ramon,’ Joao 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 Ramon 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,’ Ramon stated harshly. ‘Why should you seek to follow me?’

Baldwin was unsure how to conduct this inquest. Eyeing Ramon, 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,’ Ramon 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.’