Michael JECKS - The Templar's Penance

Baldwin said, ‘You are Gregory?’

‘How did you know my name?’

‘Because we were looking for you,’ Baldwin said, smiling at Munio. ‘You must have heard that there have been some murders here. A man was killed yesterday, only an old beggar, but–’

‘And a woman the day before,’ Munio interrupted. ‘Now we find you here, beaten over the head, just like the first corpse – the woman. Yet you are alive.’ The Pesquisidor was clearly angry that Baldwin appeared to have forgotten all about poor Joana, and was concentrating all his efforts on the murder of Matthew.

To his credit, Baldwin heard the rough note of anger in Munio’s voice and looked abashed. He nodded hurriedly. ‘Yes. The woman was beaten to death, and although you have not suffered so much damage as she did, perhaps there is some connection between the attacks.’

‘Connection?’ Gregory echoed dully, but then his head jerked up. ‘Yes! I was going to talk to my wife. She tried to hurt me before, I think – and this must have been her again! Christ, but my head hurts! I saw her man, you see, and I thought that she was trying to punish me for … well, for a past misdemeanour.’ His voice trailed away.

‘What misdemeanour was this?’ Baldwin demanded curtly. He had other things to check up on.

‘Sir, you are English. I can speak freely in front of you. My wife and I had not enjoyed a happy marriage. She decided to join a convent, and when I was in my cups, she had me agree to dissolve our marriage so that she could take up the vows. In jest I said that I would do so too, and thought little more of it. Next morning, she refused to see me, saying that our union was no more, that she was a Bride of Christ, and I a Brother. I found this infuriating, and sought to make up with her as a husband and wife should, with the result that she accused me of rape and locked her door to me. That day she left my house.’

‘What of it?’ Baldwin asked.

‘She has not forgiven me. On the day I arrived here, she learned somehow which party I was with, and set her men to attack it with the aim of killing me. I just heard them discussing their attack! By a miracle there was a second party, this of honourable knights …’ A vision of Sir Charles’s face came to his mind, but he pushed the memory away. ‘Well, they rescued us. Drove off the others and saved us from death.’

‘You were with Don Ruy?’ Simon asked.

‘How did you know that?’ Gregory asked. His head was hurting abominably, and he wanted to thrust it into some cold water to try to cool it. When he felt the back of his skull, he found a lump the size of a cobblestone. Merely touching it made his breath hiss with pain. ‘He almost killed me! It’s just my luck she should get a servant with a strong arm!’

‘Who is the man whom you accuse of doing this?’ Munio demanded.

‘My wife’s servant. He’s called Domingo – he’s a hunchback and he hangs his head like this …’

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look, then stared at Munio.

The Pesquisidor nodded. ‘Yes, it sounds like the fellow whom Don Ruy said went out through the gate after he saw Ramón and Joana: the felon who led the malfechores . Do you know where we can find this man?’

Domingo watched over his men in a surly mood. There were two fewer men now, he saw. Two had left during the day, leaving his group to find better work or pay.

He stood and walked out to the wall behind the tavern, pulled open his cods and pissed. There was a small pebble on the ground, and he turned, aiming and rolling it end over end a few times, chuckling without amusement. A moment later he was smothered beneath the torment of grief.

Sancho was dead, and there was nothing he could do to bring his boy back. It was wrong that people should be happy, when this tragedy had happened. The whole world should have grieved with him.

He reset his clothing and started back to the tavern, a hand touching his purse. There were no coins left to buy drinks. All he had was the little box with its valuable contents, but he daren’t try to sell it in Compostela. He needed money, and that meant the Prioress. No one else he knew could help him. Perhaps if he went to see her and suggested an exchange – money for the Saint’s relic? The bitch couldn’t refuse that, could she? She’d hurry to the nearest moneylender to get her precious box back. Perhaps she could pawn her rosary or something. Domingo wasn’t very strong on the sort of belongings a Prioress would have; all he knew was that she was wealthier than his own wildest dreams. He should know that – he who had grown up in the shadow of the Priory at Vigo.

This journey had begun with such optimism, he and his men setting off with the Prioress and his cousin Joana, travelling all the way east to the Basque regions, visiting the church, Domingo and his men trying not to appear too overwhelmed by the people, the money, the buildings, the rich clothes, the shops selling everything … everything imaginable! Domingo and his men had gazed in utter awe at the stalls in the town. Only later, when they had gone to the church to give thanks for their safe arrival, had Domingo seen the little casket which Doña Stefanía handed to the Bishop with a grimace.

It had obviously cost her, that grimace. She looked like a woman who had eaten the biggest egg only to learn that it was bad. But what Domingo didn’t understand was why the Prioress burst out laughing the moment they were all out of the church. And kept laughing for the next few miles, as did Joana.

Not that Joana would tell him anything. Bitch! His cousin had always had a fond belief in her own importance. Never treated Domingo as anything better than a dog, and not a favoured one, either. As far as she was concerned, he was a necessary evil. He protected her and her mistress, but that was all.

Then, one day when the Prioress and Joana were talking quietly together before the campfire, Domingo heard them mention a relic. They had their heads together over a small box, and he saw them both cross themselves as the Prioress closed it and dropped it into her purse. Joana looked up and saw him staring. It was a short while after that, that she and the Prioress tried to join Don Ruy’s band of pilgrims, as though they feared Domingo might steal their most prized possession.

Once they had settled in with the new group, Domingo and his men had been told to leave the two women, but to keep within earshot. The Prioress was a fast worker, and she had soon picked a pilgrim as her lover. Joana had told him about this the next day, giggling at the way her mistress had knelt and prayed, begging God’s forgiveness, once she realised she’d been more than a bit indiscreet!

Next morning, way before dawn, she’d come to Domingo with Joana, and insisted that they leave instantly. Luckily they soon met Frey Ramón again, and stayed with his party until Doña Stefanía told Domingo and his men to attack Don Ruy’s band.

Domingo pulled the box from his purse again and stared at it, weighing it in his hand. It felt like nothing, and yet he knew it was worth large sums to any number of churches. The trouble was, he couldn’t walk into the Cathedral here and offer it for sale. If they believed for one moment that the box contained a genuine relic, they would arrest him and torture him to learn when and how he had acquired it. He could make sure that the Prioress was punished for taking it, he supposed, and that would bring her down off her high horse, but he didn’t care about that so much as having a pocketful of money to purchase wine to deaden the hurt of Sancho’s death.

Perhaps she would see reason, he considered. She might agree to find money in exchange for the thing. Simply to be rid of it would be a relief. He felt as though it was watching him all the time. There was a strong superstitious streak in him, and he felt that it was bad luck to have a part of a saint on your person when engaged upon less than honourable exploits.