Michael JECKS - The Templar's Penance

‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘we set off at dawn and it was only later I asked where you were and was told you were staying behind. That was – oh – three days ago? You travelled quickly.’

‘No, I set off before you,’ Doña Stefanía said. ‘I arrived here at noon yesterday.’

‘You must have hurried,’ Parceval said, but inattentively. He was watching the tavern-keeper.

It was fortunate that he didn’t catch sight of Doña Stefania’s face as he raised the coin again. Had he done so, he would have observed rather less pleasure at their meeting than he might have wished.

For her part, the lady was appalled that her lover had materialised here. She had enough troubles without this, but then another thought struck her and she stared suspiciously at his heavy purse.

She had hurried here, leaving in the dark to avoid meeting this man and his companions as soon as the blackmailer had made his demands. Frey Ramón had left with her, happy to be with his Joana, and delighted to be there to protect them both when Domingo’s men were left behind.

When she met Parceval two weeks ago, he had told Doña Stefanía that he was a penniless pilgrim.

How, then, had he come to be in possession of so much money?

Just as Parceval was sitting down with Doña Stefanía, Baldwin and Simon were rising to leave the same place with Matthew.

‘Take a little of this, old friend,’ Baldwin said gently, holding out his hand.

‘No, Sir Baldwin. You keep it. You may have need of money on your travels. It is many leagues from England, as you will know. Many a weary mile to walk. How long did it take you?’

Baldwin held out the handful of coins for a moment longer, but seeing the proud expression in Matthew’s eyes, he shrugged. ‘We came by boat from Topsham. A merchant brought us in a matter of days. Sadly we were blown from our course, and ended up in Oviedo, so we had a walk of it from there.’

Matthew gave a smile that was all but a wince. ‘It is good to hear that you are successful, Sir Baldwin. I would not like to think that all my comrades were as unfortunate as me.’

‘I fear that many are,’ Baldwin said sadly.

‘Perhaps,’ Matthew said. ‘Some survived, though. In Portugal, some still hold positions of power and authority.’

‘I had heard that,’ Baldwin said. ‘In some of our old forts.’

‘Yes. In those which Dinis the King gave to the new Order of Christ, there are some men who were simply given the opportunity to change their title. All he did, when all is said and done, was take the words “And the Temple” from their name. Now they are “Soldiers of Christ”. A tiny change. Such a little thing, and the Pope will accept them. While men like me, honourable men who did all we could to support the Pope, are shunned and left to beg like lepers!’

Baldwin touched his shoulder as he spat the last words. Matthew’s jealous grief was all too apparent; like so many Templars, like Baldwin himself, he felt the prick of betrayal. Clement V had been their only ruler on earth, after the Grand Master himself. They had all been proud that they answered to the Vicar of Christ himself and no other man. It was partly that pride which had ruined them, Baldwin knew, because the jealousy it instilled in others helped to ensure their destruction.

‘But perhaps …’

Baldwin smiled encouragingly. ‘Yes?’

‘There could be former Templars in positions of authority in Portugal. If a man could find them and report them to the Pope, he might reward such loyalty …’

Baldwin felt his heart stop within him but when he spoke his voice was soft and kind. ‘I hope no one would ever consider such a wicked act. What would be the point of persecuting innocent men to the end of their lives? You might just as well say that men could hunt me down … or you, old friend.’

Matthew gazed up at him with a dreadful expression of loss on his face. ‘Oh Christ, what am I become!’ he wailed.

‘Please, do not upset yourself …’ Baldwin began, but Matthew cut him off with a dismissive gesture and a weakly smile.

‘Do not worry about me, Sir Baldwin. It has been good to see you again – very good – but I must be going now. If I remain with you, people will wonder what sort of man you are, and there will be little chance of your finding a room for the night. No innkeeper wants folk who mix with my sort. You could catch fleas and all sorts from me!’

He gave a brave, sad grin, and pulled his hood up over his head again, setting off along a narrow alleyway as though intending to avoid all other people.

A pathetic creature, was Simon’s thought, but he kept his silence. One look at his friend showed him that Baldwin was deeply affected by the chance encounter.

‘So many of us,’ Baldwin mumbled. ‘I wonder how many still wander the lands like him?’

‘Were there many? I thought all your comrades were installed in monasteries or got placed in the Hospitallers,’ Simon said hesitantly. He was unwilling to continue the conversation if it might trouble his companion, but he was intrigued. It was rare that Baldwin would discuss his experiences in the Templars. Even now, neither actually mentioned the name of the Order, not while they were in the open. If Baldwin had been discovered as a ‘renegade’, a Templar who had not been captured and who had never suffered a punishment nor been forced to submit to the Inquisition, he could be arrested here.

Baldwin gave him a troubled look. ‘Some escaped to monasteries, I think, although I do not know how many. There are so few whom I have met and spoken to, like Brother Matthew there. He is older than me. When his wife died, he joined the Templars and, being childless, gave all his possessions to the Order. I remember meeting him when I had only recently joined myself. He was a tall, powerful man then. My heavens! He has changed.’

‘What happened to those who weren’t …’ Simon didn’t know whether to say ‘executed’ or ‘burned’, but he wanted to spare Baldwin’s feelings.

‘Many had already died. There was one old man, I heard tell, who was tortured so badly, they roasted his feet over a brazier until his feet were gone. Can you imagine that, Simon? He had to be carried into the Inquisition with a sack in his hand, and when he was asked what was inside, he showed them: it was the charred bones of his own feet! How could a Christian do that to an old man whose sole offence was loving God, and being prepared to lay down his life for God?’

His voice was pained. Simon knew that Baldwin was tormented with the thought of his friends being forced to suffer.

‘You know, Simon, those men would never have submitted to any agony that the Moors could inflict on them. Any pain, any cruelty, would have been shrugged off. But these torturers were their own kind, they were all Christian – that was what made them give up. The Inquisition was composed of men like them, men who had taken the same vows to God and before God. That was what really destroyed them, the fact that it was the very same men whom they had fought to protect, who then betrayed them. Such brutality! Such dishonour!’

‘You think most were killed?’

‘No. Some, I heard, escaped the arrests and fled to Lettow, to join the Teutonic Order. Some, I believe, went to the Hospitallers for, to be fair to them, many Hospitallers were appalled at what was done to the Templars, just as so many Orders in Castile, Aragon, Navarre and Portugal were. It was so obvious that the accusations were false.’

‘Yes,’ Simon said, although he privately had his doubts. He could never tell this to Baldwin, but he believed that the allegations were quite possible. If the Pope could believe the stories, Simon was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt, because the Pope had more advisers than he. ‘So two Orders accepted renegades?’