Michael JECKS: The Templar's Penance

Munio stared out through the window, listening as he heard the footsteps approaching. They were the steps of two happy men. Simon’s gait was still a little slow, and there was a vague shuffle to his left leg, which had caught the brunt of the table at the tavern, while Baldwin’s was faster and lighter after all his travelling.

‘Guillem, I should prefer that you were gone,’ Munio grunted.

The cleric stopped and stared at his Pesquisidor . There was a strange note in Munio’s voice, he thought, a sad, lonely tone. ‘If you’re sure,’ he said, and packed his remaining bits and pieces into his scrip before making for the door. He reached it just as it was thrown open by Simon and Baldwin, and the two entered, Baldwin grinning broadly.

The last Guillem saw of them was Simon marching up to Munio’s desk, and the Pesquisidor ’s face assuming a smile of feigned pleasure. It was so close to being a mask of horror that Guillem felt his heart lurch in his breast.

Simon and Baldwin had no idea of Guillem’s insight as they crossed the floor to Munio. It was Simon who reached him first, thrusting out his hand. ‘I am so very grateful for all you have done for me, Munio. Especially your wife as well. I am sure I would have died if it were not for her careful ministrations.’

‘Perhaps so, but all she did was her duty to an unwell person,’ Munio said pointedly, but the two were not of a mood to pick up on subtle hints.

‘You expect me to believe that?’ Simon said with a laugh. ‘No woman could have treated a husband with more care and consideration than your wife did me.’

‘And it cannot have been easy for any person to look after so repellent a knave as this Bailiff,’ Baldwin said lightly. He was perched on the edge of Munio’s table now, and Munio looked away. He liked Baldwin. In fact, he liked them both, but his wife thought that she had heard Simon praying for her, asking God to keep her for him. That must mean that Simon wanted Munio dead. It was a terrible thing to do, to ask that a woman be widowed so that she might be taken.

‘Anyway, it will soon be time to go,’ Simon said. ‘I should like to say goodbye to you and your wife, and then we must leave Galicia and return to our own homes and wives.’

What about mine, then? Munio thought. Would you keep her in your house like a Moor with his harem?

Baldwin nodded. ‘Simon has a new home to find, down on the coast, and I must go back to my own home in Devonshire. We will both have much to do.’

‘Yes,’ Simon said with a noticeable lessening of his pleasure. ‘My wife doesn’t want to come and live with me in Dartmouth. Nor does my daughter. Poor Meg. She wants to remain in Lydford for the rest of her days.’

‘Meg?’ Munio asked. ‘Who is Meg?’

‘My wife,’ Simon explained. ‘Her name is Margaret, but I always call her Meg. She doesn’t want me to go so far from Lydford, but it is where my new job lies. The Abbot of Tavistock has asked that I go there, and there’s nothing I can do to refuse him. He is my master.’

‘What … what will you be doing there?’ Munio stammered.

‘The Abbot has just been made the Keeper of the Port of Dartmouth, and I am to be his representative.’

Munio took a deep breath. ‘Then we should celebrate your new position, Bailiff!’ He roared for a servant, and demanded that his wife be brought in, and Guillem too, so that all could share in Simon’s pleasure.

And his own. ‘I have a terrible murder resolved thanks to both of you,’ he said, and put his arm about his wife. ‘And let us drink to your wife, Meg,’ he added. ‘I hope she grows to love your new home as much as your old one!’

It was cold in her great church when Doña Stefanía arrived home again, and she closed the door quietly behind her as though to shut out the possibility of any of the other Sisters hearing her. Today she knew that she had to beg forgiveness for all her sins on the way back here, and she must also plead to be able to keep the relic.

‘Oh, God,’ she sighed as she knelt on the freezing flagstones immediately before the altar. ‘What else could I have done? That man could have tempted an angel from heaven with his honeyed tongue. I tried to disregard him, but it was impossible. And when I thought he had my money, it seemed only sensible to stay with him, so that I could try to take it back.’

That was not all, of course.

‘No. I didn’t have to stay with him when I realised it was in truth his own money. But by then, it would have been difficult to find somewhere else. And I thought that Joana was still alive, and if she was, I could have won back my money still, and perhaps even found my relic … Your relic, I mean! I thought that after Domingo took the casket from me, he perhaps gave it to Joana for safekeeping, because surely if she hadn’t died there at the river, he would know. That devil knew everything. And I thought that if Joana had lived, and that the whole of her death was staged, then Domingo must have been involved with her. They were related, after all. Cousins.’

She tugged the casket from her scrip and held it aloft. ‘And see! I did succeed. Not in the way I expected, but I did manage to bring it back to You, and here it is! Please accept it, and let us keep it here, for if you do, it will be greatly to the glory of Your Church!’

There was no answer. No thunder-roll, no fork of lightning, nothing. But if there was no heavenly choir singing her praises, nor, reflected Doña Stefanía, was there a bolt from the heavens to strike her down either.

Lowering her arms at last, which were now growing a little tired, she murmured a reverent paternoster before setting the little casket on the altar.

‘I shall announce that the relic is here, and people shall come from all over the world to sing Your glory, Lord. I shall have it mounted in a gold box, with rubies and pearls and emeralds and … and all manner of gems to show how highly we value Your generosity. Holy, holy, holy, Lord. Lord of all …’

On the morning they were due to leave, Munio was pleased to accept the decision of Sir Charles that he and his servant would leave with Baldwin and Simon.

‘I am sorry to hear it,’ he lied politely. It was best, he thought, always to be polite to men such as Sir Charles. He had the look of one who would be swift to take offence.

Sir Charles smiled as though he doubted the depth of Munio’s sorrow. ‘It is a shame, but there is nothing here but expense. You have no tournaments in Galicia or even in Portugal. What I need is an opportunity of fighting in the lists and winning wealth and renown, or a new lord whom I might serve, and a lord like that will be in England or France, not here. I shall have to return home and see what is happening in my country.’

‘Well, I wish you a happy voyage and Godspeed,’ Munio said.

‘We are thankful for all your kindness to us,’ Baldwin said. ‘And I especially thank you, Margarita, for your careful treatment of Simon while I was away. It must have been terrible to have the fear of his decease before my return.’

‘Let us not even think of such things,’ she said with a shudder.

‘No,’ Munio agreed. ‘Not when you are about to embark on another long journey. Godspeed to you all.’

Simon and Baldwin made their farewells, then Sir Charles; and the four men, Paul bringing up the rear, set off northwards, aiming for the coast and hoping to find a merchantman which would convey them back to Dartmouth or perhaps Topsham. There were many good, sizeable ports for them to strike for.

‘Let’s hope that the weather holds,’ Baldwin said with a glance up at the gathering clouds.

Simon had not forgotten his prostration on the way to Galicia. ‘Aye, let us hope so,’ he said with a frown.