Michael JECKS - The Templar's Penance

Yes, he would go and see her – right now, before their lack of funds was noticed by the tavern-keeper.

Domingo walked out into the street, and made his way by the larger thoroughfares to the main square. There he saw a large body of men gathering, but thought little of it. Instead, he turned down the road towards the small chapel where he had last seen Doña Stefanía. He entered, looking for the Prioress, but saw no sign of her. Undaunted, he left and turned towards the next. She was bound to be in one of the chapels.

As he reached the door, he heard a sudden roar in the distance, and stood for a moment, his head cocked, listening. It sounded like a fight. He hesitated, but his instincts took over, and he started trotting back the way he had come, towards the battle.

Baldwin was not willing to allow Simon to take part in the actual fight. While Gregory tottered unsteadily towards the tavern, Munio and another man helping him, Baldwin told Simon about all the tortures he would have to endure, should Simon’s wife Meg ever get to hear that Baldwin had allowed her husband to go and fight when he was recovering from heat exhaustion.

‘And then, I think she’d have me skinned. The death would be entirely unpleasant,’ Baldwin finished cheerily.

‘Come on! I have to help catch this bastard,’ Simon said urgently. The big man wasn’t used to being mollycoddled.

‘No. Not a chance. I’d prefer to die myself than have to explain to Meg how I let you in there,’ Baldwin said lightly, but then he shot Simon a look. ‘I mean it. I won’t allow you in there.’

‘There are several men there.’

‘And I won’t have you killed by a single one of them,’ Baldwin said patiently. ‘You can stay out here in the roadway and stop anyone from escaping, if you like.’

‘This is bloody ridiculous!’

‘Ridiculous or not, it is what will be,’ Baldwin said, and gabbled to Munio. The Pesquisidor nodded, glanced at Simon, and then muttered something to one of the men from his posse. This man, a short but powerful-looking fellow with a grim expression and wary watchfulness in his brown eyes, had the appearance of one who was capable of stopping even a determined Bailiff. The staff that he gripped in his large hands underlined the message.

Simon sulkily subsided as Baldwin and Munio moved forward with Gregory until they were nearer the tavern. There they paused; Baldwin moved stealthily around a wall and stood in the shadow of a large tree from where he could see the tavern’s open yard. A short while later, Gregory came back again as Munio hissed an instruction, and more men moved up to join him.

‘What’s happening?’ Simon demanded.

‘The leader isn’t there. They’re just waiting a while in case he’s gone out for a leak,’ Gregory said. His eyes were gleaming in the twilight, a flaming torch lending his face an unwholesome yellow and orange colour. ‘No! They’re going to attack now!’

Simon turned back to see that the mass of men were streaming ahead. Just to the left, he saw movement – then there was a flash, like a burst of lightning, and he knew it was Baldwin’s peacock-blue blade. He saw it whirl in the air, over the heads of the men running into the tavern’s yard, and then there was a great roar, and the men burst like a torrent into the tavern itself.

The noise now was a mixture of screams, growls, and an occasional short shriek, accompanied by the ringing, clattering and crashing of swords, axes and knives.

‘I have to see what’s happening,’ Gregory said with a most unclerical enthusiasm. He was very pale, but his hopping from one leg to another showed his eagerness.

‘If I can’t, I don’t see why you should.’ Simon grumbled, but he was talking to the empty evening air, for Gregory had already darted up and into the tavern. Simon started to move after him, but as soon as he took the first pace forward, the staff swung down in front of him. Resting his hand on it, Simon said bad-temperedly, ‘I could shove this up your arse if I wanted.’

The man set to guard him merely shrugged uncomprehendingly as Simon turned and glanced up at him.

‘In my country, I could have you arrested for holding me here like this, you great hulking cretin.’

This time there was a short grin, as though the man understood Simon’s frustration, but had his orders.

The battle was soon all but over. There were only two men still resisting, and Simon could see a point of blue gleaming in a candle’s light, moving in an arc to rest gently on a man’s throat. The fellow suddenly stopped dead, and stood immobile while Baldwin’s hand reached around and plucked the long knife from his hand. It was so smooth and effortless, Simon had to smile. He turned again and grinned at his guard, and then his smile became fixed.

Over the man’s shoulder, Simon had seen a face which he recognised from the descriptions. The man’s head hung slightly oddly, as though it was a little too heavy on one side. His expression was one of shock and anger, as he stared past Simon towards the tavern, and then at the grim figure of Munio who stood questioning one of the prisoners. Baldwin was walking about the place, his sword still in his hand, while Gregory had returned to join him, and now strolled a little to Baldwin’s side, eyeing the sword with satisfaction.

Simon pushed the staff away and began to stalk his prey.

Domingo stared with amazement. How could any piddling official dare to attack his band? He had never heard of such a thing in his life before. These fools had no right to start hacking away at him and his men!

But if they dared to attack, maybe that was because his men had been betrayed. And that could only mean one thing: the Prioress had informed on Domingo and his men. No one else could have had them all ambushed like this. It had to be her!

Almost before he knew what he would do, he felt his legs turning him as though of their own volition. She had caused the death of his son with her stupid demand that Domingo should attack the pilgrims, and now she’d betrayed them when their only crime was having obeyed her commands. They’d done what she’d wanted, and now she’d made up her mind to throw them to the law.

But Domingo wasn’t going to surrender without a fight, and if he could, he would kill her too. She deserved that much.

He shot a look over his shoulder, and took in the scene at a glance. There were the officers, there were his men, one being clubbed and kicked on the ground, and another guard holding a man slightly nearer. Domingo’s eye was drawn back to that last man, a tall, strong-looking fellow with a sword on his hip and a serious expression, grim with concentration, fixed upon Domingo.

The robbers’ leader turned and pelted away back towards the Cathedral. He would find Doña Stefanía, and by Christ, this time, he would make her pay.

Simon’s legs exploded into action; he raced off after Domingo as soon as he saw the man start running. Simon easily sidestepped the staff and then he moved as fast as he could, left hand gripping his sword’s hilt, right one pistoning back and forth as if it could make him catch up with the wiry Galician a little faster.

A dull ache started pounding in the back of his head, but he ignored it. It was just a hangover from his earlier illness, nothing more. He was fine, and he had a focus for all his energies now: the felon ahead of him. This was the man who had led the attack on the pilgrims. He was also implicated in the murder of Joana, and was probably involved in the attempted murder of Gregory as well.

There was something wrong about that last thought, but Simon didn’t have time to analyse it now. His mind and body and soul were all focused on catching Domingo. Nothing else mattered.