Michael JECKS - The Templar's Penance

‘More than that. But in places like, oh, like Pombal or Soure, none of the old Order could be allowed to remain, because it might seem that the King was condoning the re-emergence of the Temple. He couldn’t afford to do that, so he evicted all the knights and their sergeants.’ And many, as Baldwin had heard, bitter at their dishonourable fate, had committed the all-but inconceivable crime of renouncing their religion and joining the Moors. Perhaps some had not actually given up their faith, but they had certainly gone to fight for the enemy. Baldwin could not blame them for that, not when their own religion had seen to their persecution.

‘So no Templars remain in their castles?’

Baldwin pulled a face. ‘I have heard that some places still have Templars. Many of the old ways continue in towns like Castro-Marim. Perhaps that means a few of my old friends survived the purges, just as Matthew himself did. I should like to go there to find out. Portugal is not so very far from here …’

His face was wistful. Simon saw his profile as Baldwin stared out southwards as though he could gaze through the walls of the buildings and far-distant hills and see a place he could remember from his youth. He looked so preoccupied, Simon was reluctant to break into his mood, but they had a pressing need.

‘Baldwin, we still have nowhere to sleep.’

‘You said we could sleep by the river.’

‘You said we shouldn’t.’

Baldwin chuckled drily and then gave himself a shake, as though he could shed his grim thoughts like a dog shaking itself free of water. ‘Very well. Let us see if we can find a loaf of bread, a cheese, and a skin of wine. Then we may take them out of the city for a short way and rest by a quiet river unobserved by any. If it is dangerous, so be it. Today has been too lovely to think that we could be harmed by people.’

Simon smiled and walked with Baldwin to the vendors in the square, but all the while he kept shooting little glances at his old friend. No matter what Baldwin said, his face did not express pleasure in a lovely day. Rather he looked pensive and melancholic.

It took her almost an hour to get rid of the fool. Parceval was persistent, of course – well, she knew that – but really, the great dunderwhelp should have been able to see that she had other things on her mind. But no, he sat there languidly, ordering wine and trying to make her drink her fill, as though he was determined to get her so maudlin drunk she’d submit to another fumbling prodding when it grew dark.

‘I am not thirsty, and I must soon go to the Cathedral to pray,’ she said briskly at last, when all her attempts at subtle rebuffs failed – for she might want his companionship again later.

Her bluntness made him blink, but then he gave a rueful grimace and stood. ‘I see I am not in your favour today, my lady. I am greatly sorrowed for that. My apologies. Perhaps you will permit me to see you again?’

‘I should be delighted,’ she said, unbending a little now that he was actually going to leave her. She gave him a warm smile. ‘I apologise, but I must have a little time to clear my head before praying.’

‘But of course.’

His mildly aloof manner told her in no uncertain terms just how he felt, like a young swain who was rejected on the first attempt at wooing. He would live. In the meantime, Doña Stefanía had other things to occupy her mind.

First among these, of course, was: how was Joana, and how had the rendezvous gone? She should know soon. Second, and a close second at that, was: where had the Fleming found his money? He was suddenly in possession of large amounts of gold, if the weight of the purse was anything to go by, yet when she had first met him out on the road, he had declared his absolute poverty. That was part of his attraction to her at the time. It was no smutty lust which had made her notice him, but the fact that he came from a different land, a completely different class and was therefore highly unlikely ever to meet her again; this meant that she could afford to take the plunge with the reasonable hope that she was safe from discovery. Only she and Joana had known that she had submitted to Parceval’s clumsy attempts at seduction, so far as she knew, until later, when the other man walked in, anyway: Señor Ruy.

That damned knight had appeared at the chamber’s doorway and had stood there stock-still as though shocked; she had seen him. Her view had necessarily been confused, being upside-down at the time, but she had recognised him. Parceval continued bulling like an ox on his cow all the while, hoarse grunts bursting from his throat at every thrust, oblivious to any interruption – to be fair, she herself hadn’t stopped encouraging him at the gallop – and Señor Ruy stood there staring, drinking in the sight and sounds of their lovemaking. In a curious way, his silent presence stimulated her still more. It gave the Doña an especial thrill to think that she was exciting the knight while helping her lover to a climax. She had felt safe in the dark of the room, thinking that the man couldn’t recognise her. All he would know was that a couple had been rutting.

Then he turned and marched away, just as Parceval gave a loud groan, called upon God in his guttural voice, erupted, and collapsed panting sweatily on top of her.

In reality, she hadn’t cared much about the knight at the time, and soon after Señor Ruy left, Parceval recovered enough to tease her to a fresh bout and she found herself responding enthusiastically. That was then; now she was worried.

The next day she saw Señor Ruy talking to another pilgrim out in the yard of the place, and realised with a jolt of horror that the man to whom he spoke was Gregory, curse his cods – the man she’d divorced; the man who knew she was a nun. Hardly the sort of fellow she wanted to hear about her nocturnal escapades. Just then Parceval appeared and saw her, all but shouting out to her, his face beaming, and she had hurriedly ducked away from him before Gregory could notice her. The little man had given her enormous sexual pleasure, true, but he was a scruffy churl, penniless and clad in worn clothing that would have shamed a mudéjar .

It was immediately obvious that she must flee the group as soon as possible, and it was her good fortune that the others decided to remain at that village, to rest and visit a local shrine. All that day, Doña Stefanía had kept herself away from the others and the next morning, she, Joana and Domingo and his men all rode off long before dawn, their destination: Santiago de Compostela.

In a way it was lucky that she had seen Gregory before he had seen her. Perhaps by now, Gregory had heard of Parceval’s nocturnal exercises – the two men might even have talked together! The Prioress cringed at the thought. She had concealed her real name to Parceval, but if she were to stay with the band of pilgrims, she would have been pointed out, and it would only have been a matter of time before Gregory heard the gossip. She knew enough about men to predict that Parceval would enjoy boasting about his conquest. The eager little fellow! she thought with some affection.

Then that disquieting thought resurfaced: Parceval had been poor then. How had he suddenly managed to find so much money? Where had it sprung from? It was curious that he was suddenly in funds, just as she was losing her own.

Joana – where was Joana?

Joana had indeed reached the place chosen for the rendezvous, but at first there was no sign of anyone there.

It was a pleasing spot, a quiet glade a little distance from the roadway, near to the river, and for a while she just stood on the bank watching the water drift past. Laughter came to her from upstream and she stood back, shadowed by the branches of a tree until she could see the source: some young women were approaching with baskets of laundry propped against their hips, probably heading for their favourite spot. Soon they had passed and Joana could relax again. She didn’t want anyone else to see her here. That could only lead to embarrassment.