Michael JECKS: The Templar's Penance

Simon came in and looked about him, walking to Baldwin’s side. Sir Charles and his man arrived and stood at the back of the hall as though interesting themselves in the strange and obscure practices of a foreign court. After these came the spectators – the rowdy, the nosy and the plain silly, who could always be counted upon to witness another’s potential execution.

Munio had a small hammer with him, which he used to call order. ‘Bring in the man.’

To Simon’s delight, Don Ruy was a dishevelled figure after a night in the gaol. His beard blued his jaw, his hair was unkempt, and his clothes were marked with more recent stains. There was a tear in his sleeve which hadn’t been there the night before, Simon noticed, and he hoped that the madman was content with the result of his attack. The Bailiff was happy to forgive and forget an insult, but not a sword.

‘Don Ruy. You are here because last afternoon you attacked this man, Simon Puttock, and caused a disturbance which could have grown ugly. Do you confess?’

‘I don’t. He accused me of a crime. I was protecting my honour, as is the right of a knight.’

When Baldwin had translated, he had to put a hand on Simon’s wrist to stop him leaping up and accusing Ruy of lying. ‘It will not help matters.’

‘It’d make me feel a lot better,’ Simon said, but he was already cooling. Instead of watching Ruy, his attention was concentrated on the door at the rear of the hall. Occasionally he saw a black-clad figure arrive, but each time he shook his head, and the person was left alone.

‘That man accused me of murder,’ Ruy said, throwing out a hand towards Simon with justifiable anger. He was humiliated, standing here like a common felon, while the man who had dared to accuse him stood there with his honour intact. It was he, Don Ruy, who had been the injured party, not that smarmy, block-headed English Bailiff! ‘What would you expect a man of honour to do? I defended myself, as is my right!’

Simon was pleased to see that at last a proud, slender figure had appeared. He quickly lifted his brows and nodded his face towards her: Doña Stefanía de Villamor, and not a moment too soon, because only seconds later he saw the person entering anxiously behind her. That was when he smiled to himself, glanced at Baldwin and saw his brief nod of approval, not unmixed with confusion, and settled back in his chair with his chin on his chest. There was little more he could do for the moment.

‘You launched an unprovoked attack on the good Bailiff, and for that you must suffer the consequences.’ Just then, Munio caught sight of Baldwin’s glance and followed his look towards the back of the room. At this point he changed his speech.

‘But first, before we decide on the punishment, I should like to mention something else.’ He reached into his purse and brought out the little casket. ‘This was found recently. Does anyone recognise it, or claim it as their own?’

There was a sudden hush at this unexpected interruption to proceedings, and Ruy himself looked as though he might protest, but before he could do so, Doña Stefanía stepped forward eagerly.

‘It’s mine! It was stolen, but it’s mine!’

‘It was stolen, lady?’ Munio said heavily. ‘You realise that there is a law demanding that a theft must be reported? To whom did you report this crime? It was not to me, was it?’

‘I did not know that I had to report the theft. I thought that my loss was my own cost and should be put down to my own foolishness as a woman.’

‘Your humility does you credit,’ Munio said sarcastically. ‘Do you know where it was found?’

‘No.’

‘On the body of a dead man. A man who was in charge of a gang of thieves. Perhaps you have heard of him? His name was Domingo.’

‘Domingo?’ She brought her brows together. It was hard to feign ignorance, but she was determined to try.

‘Yes, Domingo. He led his men against a band of pilgrims on the day that they arrived. Afterwards, he was reported as having stolen your horse, I think?’

‘I didn’t report him.’

‘Another theft that went unreported. Curious, because that theft apparently prevented you from going to meet someone.’

‘My maid was able to go instead.’

‘And she died in your place,’ Munio pointed out.

‘Yes,’ Doña Stefanía said, her eyes downcast.

‘And your money was stolen from your maid.’

‘Yes.’

Munio glanced at Baldwin, who nudged Simon. The Bailiff gave a beaming smile and flicked aside his coat. From beneath it he brought out the purse he had found at the ford.

‘Is this yours?’ Munio asked.

Her face was answer enough. ‘I had no idea … how did you …’

‘It was easy,’ Munio said, and motioned to Simon.

Simon stood now, and strolled to Munio’s table. While he spoke, Munio translated. ‘The money was never stolen. The attempt was made, of course. Your maid, Doña Stefanía, as you suspected, wanted to leave you and take a nice little nest egg with her. She had spoken to her lover, Don Ramón, about getting married, and he agreed. He was delighted; he loved her.

‘But first she must get her hands on the money. To do that, she told you that someone had heard or seen of your affair with another pilgrim, and that he had approached her, demanding to meet you and be paid off. You were enraged, of course. You thought that you had done nothing wrong …’

Munio’s tone was ironic, and a chuckle rippled through the hall. Simon smiled winningly and continued as the Doña’s head shot around to glare at the audience.

‘… so you told her you would go and pay the man. But when you went to fetch your horse, you learned that Domingo had taken it already. Perhaps he wanted to sell it for himself. So you had no horse. Instead, you told your maid to go.’

‘She wanted to go. She said it was safer than letting me go. If there was a felon there, he might have molested me – ransomed me, perhaps!’

‘Perhaps. You should be glad, whatever is true. It was easier for her merely to go in your place. She arrived there, and met her husband-to-be, Don Ramón. He was thrilled to see her. They went for a lovers’ walk – but then things went wrong. She produced your money, Doña, and presented it to him.

‘But she had not reckoned on Ramon’s integrity. No sooner had he heard how she came to have your money, than he threw it from him. He refused to listen to her blandishments, but left her, telling her that if she wanted to marry him, she must take the money back to you and confess. Then he mounted, and rode away.

‘He did not know that her plans were already set in train. One part of her plan was to have a woman arrive, someone who was similar in appearance to her, who was of the same build, the same shape. As Ramón rode away, she saw this person who was to take her identity. She was going to kill her and disappear with the money.’

Doña Stefanía nodded. ‘You are right in every respect, I believe. I have remained here in the city in order to find where my Joana has gone, but she has been in hiding.’

‘A beggar may walk the streets, but she can be found if she is unique. That is why the woman you sought has been hiding.’

Something in Munio’s voice made Doña Stefanía frown. Then her mouth fell open and she whipped round. There, near the door, she saw the tall beggar. ‘That’s Joana! Don’t let her get out!’

There was no need for her cry. The figure leaped for the door, but before she could reach it, two sturdy peasants moved before it, arms folded. Seeing their stolid figures, the beggar sagged, as though she realised that there was no escape.

‘Joana, you evil child!’ the Prioress raged. She forgot all about the other people in the room, and marched up to the beggar, slapping her across the face. ‘You would steal everything from me, would you?’