Michael JECKS - The Templar's Penance

Baldwin nodded. ‘This Ruy whom María spoke of – perhaps we could find him. If he stayed with her, he could be the guilty man. There may be blood on his sleeve …’ Then Baldwin had another thought. ‘We should ask at the stables. We know that two horses at least were present at the murder scene. Joana’s mount must have been stabled somewhere in the city, and she herself rode out on it. You may be able to discover where her horse was kept, and that way learn whether the groom saw anyone suspicious – like this Ruy.’

‘It is a good idea,’ Munio said drily. ‘Which is why I sent two messengers to enquire at the stables as soon as we returned to the city.’

Baldwin smiled. ‘You are a sensible man, Señor. You know how to investigate as well as any.’

‘As well as an Englishman, I suppose you mean. I dare say that is a compliment,’ Munio growled, but there was a faint smile on his face as he stood and beckoned the cleric to follow him. ‘I thank you for your help. If you can advise me – if you have any new ideas, I would be most grateful.’

‘Any help we can give, we offer freely,’ Baldwin said, rising and bowing.

‘I am glad to hear it. After all,’ Munio continued, eyeing Simon, ‘I shouldn’t like to think I could miss out on the aid of two English investigators!’

‘What did that mean?’ Simon demanded suspiciously when the Pesquisidor had gone.

Baldwin smiled. ‘Do not take his words personally, old friend. I think he likes the English. Otherwise, why should he have lived and studied so long in our country?’

‘I don’t care. He seems to be making fun of us,’ Simon muttered, but without rancour. He was merely glad to be free, out in the open air, and taste the local wine. ‘Still, this wine is good.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Perfectly acceptable, yes.’

‘You are still thinking of the dead girl,’ Simon said. ‘So am I. It’s hard to believe that any man could do that to a woman.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said absently. ‘And especially if the man was unknown to her. Why mutilate her so brutally? Perhaps it was done by a man who had been snubbed by Joana.’

‘Could be,’ Simon acknowledged, and waved a hand at the tavernkeeper, indicating their empty jug. A wave of contentment rose and engulfed him as he relaxed and leaned back against the inn’s wall, stretching his legs before him. ‘I don’t mind telling you, Baldwin, that until that miserable bugger informed us that they don’t use torture on just anyone, I was waiting for him to put our thumbs in a vice. Phew!’

Baldwin grinned. ‘Foreign travel can be dreadfully alarming.’

‘Don’t take the rise out of me!’ Simon threatened. ‘I am happy to be here. Look at this place! Warm, no midges, a gentle breeze, good wine, pleasant folk – what more could a traveller want?’

Perhaps, if you were Joana, your life back, Baldwin thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. Instead he said, ‘Tomorrow we should rest, ready for the return journey.’

‘It seems odd to have come so far, and to know that all that remains to us is to return.’

‘Most pilgrims walk all the way here, dependent upon the good will of inns and other people throughout, and once they arrive they take a meal or two, rest, and then go home again, knowing exactly how dangerous and exhausting their return journey will be,’ Baldwin mused. ‘We were lucky to be able to take ship almost all the way.’

‘Quite so,’ Simon said. ‘And I think that it is entirely reasonable for a pilgrim to rest here, especially since so many hostelries are duty-bound to feed and water them! But it seems odd for us to just turn about, walk to the coast again and find another ship to take us home. We have only just arrived.’

A servant placed a dish laden with roughly sliced rings of sausage on their table. Simon took a piece and chewed. ‘It’s good! Like a smoked sausage at home.’

Baldwin took a slice and the two chewed meditatively for a while.

‘Bugger!’ Simon exclaimed.

‘What?’ asked the knight.

‘We still haven’t found a place to stay this evening,’ Simon pointed out.

‘I am sure there’ll be a space at that inn we saw earlier,’ Baldwin said confidently.

Sir Baldwin and Simon were still sitting in the tavern when they saw Frey Ramón pass from the door of the Cathedral. He moved like a man in a nightmare, his features drawn and blanched. His white robe was smeared and beslubbered with gore from carrying Joana’s body, and there were tearstains on his cheeks.

Baldwin motioned to the innkeeper and stood. ‘Frey Ramón,’ he called out. ‘Please join us.’

‘I have no wish to be sociable,’ the knight said. His eyes were restless, as was his soul, Baldwin thought. The man was torn by horror and loss.

At least he understood English. That was a relief. ‘There is little comfort in the compassion of a stranger, and yet I would speak with you,’ Baldwin told him. ‘If we can aid you, we should like to do so.’

Frey Ramón looked a little confused by some of Baldwin’s words, but he understood the sympathy in his tone. He ducked his head, and appeared to make up his mind. ‘I am thankful for your kindness. Perhaps a little wine?’

‘Please be seated,’ Baldwin said and motioned towards a stool.

‘I was to have married her next week,’ Ramón sighed.

‘I am terribly sorry.’

‘She would have made a perfect wife for a Brother. For me.’

For a moment Baldwin feared that Ramón might burst into tears, his emotion was so plain, but then he gratefully took the cup Simon had poured and drank half in a gulp.

‘Did you meet her near here?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘It was on the pilgrim route from Tours. I had been to Orthez and was returning when I met her, and I fell in love with her immediately. To see her, to feel her sweetness and generosity, that was all I needed. I knew she was meant to be my wife.’

‘When did you last see her?’

‘Here, in the square. We went into the Cathedral, and when we left, her mistress told me that they were to go out for a ride, but that they would be back later. I said I would meet Joana when she returned, and her mistress gave us her blessing. It would obviously be an honour for her to have her maid wedded to a Knight of Santiago.’

‘Of course,’ Baldwin said without emphasis.

‘But she never came back. I didn’t see her again until you brought her back on that cart. Her face, her head …’ He swallowed.

‘Did you ever argue with her?’

‘You think I could have hurt her like that?’ Ramón cried out.

‘No. But it is a natural question. Others will wonder if you don’t answer.’

‘I never argued with her. I could not. It would be impossible. She was always so sweet and kind.’

‘Did she have enemies?’

‘No! You don’t know what you are suggesting! How could someone like my Joana have enemies?’

‘She was a good woman, I am sure,’ Baldwin said comfortingly.

The sudden flush which had risen in Ramon’s face seeped away. He stared down into his cup, which Simon refreshed for him.

Baldwin took a breath. ‘I have heard of another knight in the town. Perhaps you have seen him – a Don Ruy?’

‘No. I have never heard of him.’

‘Do you know of other people whom she knew, people who are here in the city?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘There was one. A man who calls himself Gregory. I think he is named Gregory of Coventry, an English name, but he speaks Galician fluently.’

‘Do you know where we might find this man?’

‘He was in the chapel with me just now, helping me to lay her out ready for burial, but I do not know where he is staying. He is a pilgrim. He said that he met my Joana because he knew Doña Stefanía.’