There were always men who were born to a certain position and who then lost all, some from gambling in tournaments, others from gambling on politics and being forced into exile. This fellow could be one such man — someone who had been born to a good position, but who was then forced to beg because he had somehow lost the favour of his master.
The observation made her feel a vague sympathy for him. If he had been born to nobility, he deserved her compassion. Anyone of rank who had sunk so low as to depend upon the gracious gifts of others must be deeply humiliated. To be like that, she told herself, was worse than being dead. The disgrace must be intolerable.
Not that all men could appreciate such finer feelings, of course. Her ex-husband Sir Gregory was one such example: he had none. No humblesse, no shame. No understanding of others, the devil! Ah, but why should Dona Stefania trouble herself over him? When all was said and done, he was a mere churl, no better than a serf, and it was unlikely he would learn of the blackmail.
The idea that he might get to hear of her behaviour secretly appalled her. He could make all sorts of trouble for her, especially now, with the little box so securely held in her purse, she thought, a hand going to it and stroking it through the leather. Merely to touch it like that made her heartbeat slow a little. Yes, Gregory could have caused untold harm if he had heard. He mustn’t ever learn of her fornication. It would all have been so easily resolved if Domingo had succeeded, the damned fool. All he had to do was kill Ruy and, regretfully, her tatty little lover Parceval, and all would have been safe. Instead the fool saw to the death of most of his men, including his own son, and since then his mind was turned more to his own grief than to what she needed from him. That was why she had to pay this blackmail.
It all came down to money. Always did. People had no interest in anything else. They wanted cash no matter what it cost others. Certainly Sir Gregory had never concerned himself about others. From the look of him he was short of money now. He could have been a friar. Maybe he was! That would be a joke. A loud, roaring, rich knight reduced to poverty.
It had been a terrible shock to see him on the way here. Blasted man! In all the lands of Christendom, why did he have to come here? Maybe it was because he wanted to atone for some of his past offences. There were certainly enough of them.
She was bemoaning her fate when she realised that a man was approaching her.
‘My dear lady! I felt sure it must be you as soon as I saw you in the crowd. Such elegance and grace could never be duplicated on this earth. Dearest lady, may I kiss your ring?’
She turned with a start, her heart leaping into her mouth, and gaped. ‘My God — Parceval!’
The Fleming bowed with as much grace as he could muster, smiling at the expression of shock on her face. ‘You didn’t expect me here?’
‘I didn’t, no. Not so soon. You made very good time.’
‘Well, a man in a hurry can always find a means of speeding himself on his way,’ Parceval said easily. He tugged his purse around his belt so that it was under his belly, and reached inside. Pulling out some coins and peering at them shortsightedly, he held one aloft for the tavern owner to see and peremptorily demanded wine.
‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘we set off at dawn and it was only later I asked where you were and was told you were staying behind. That was — oh — three days ago? You travelled quickly.’
‘No, I set off before you,’ Dona Stefania said. ‘I arrived here at noon yesterday.’
‘You must have hurried,’ Parceval said, but inattentively. He was watching the tavern-keeper.
It was fortunate that he didn’t catch sight of Dona Stefania’s face as he raised the coin again. Had he done so, he would have observed rather less pleasure at their meeting than he might have wished.
For her part, the lady was appalled that her lover had materialised here. She had enough troubles without this, but then another thought struck her and she stared suspiciously at his heavy purse.
She had hurried here, leaving in the dark to avoid meeting this man and his companions as soon as the blackmailer had made his demands. Frey Ramon had left with her, happy to be with his Joana, and delighted to be there to protect them both when Domingo’s men were left behind.
When she met Parceval two weeks ago, he had told Dona Stefania that he was a penniless pilgrim.
How, then, had he come to be in possession of so much money?
Chapter Five
Just as Parceval was sitting down with Dona Stefania, Baldwin and Simon were rising to leave the same place with Matthew.
‘Take a little of this, old friend,’ Baldwin said gently, holding out his hand.
‘No, Sir Baldwin. You keep it. You may have need of money on your travels. It is many leagues from England, as you will know. Many a weary mile to walk. How long did it take you?’
Baldwin held out the handful of coins for a moment longer, but seeing the proud expression in Matthew’s eyes, he shrugged. ‘We came by boat from Topsham. A merchant brought us in a matter of days. Sadly we were blown from our course, and ended up in Oviedo, so we had a walk of it from there.’
Matthew gave a smile that was all but a wince. ‘It is good to hear that you are successful, Sir Baldwin. I would not like to think that all my comrades were as unfortunate as me.’
‘I fear that many are,’ Baldwin said sadly.
‘Perhaps,’ Matthew said. ‘Some survived, though. In Portugal, some still hold positions of power and authority.’
‘I had heard that,’ Baldwin said. ‘In some of our old forts.’
‘Yes. In those which Dinis the King gave to the new Order of Christ, there are some men who were simply given the opportunity to change their title. All he did, when all is said and done, was take the words “And the Temple” from their name. Now they are “Soldiers of Christ”. A tiny change. Such a little thing, and the Pope will accept them. While men like me, honourable men who did all we could to support the Pope, are shunned and left to beg like lepers!’
Baldwin touched his shoulder as he spat the last words. Matthew’s jealous grief was all too apparent; like so many Templars, like Baldwin himself, he felt the prick of betrayal. Clement V had been their only ruler on earth, after the Grand Master himself. They had all been proud that they answered to the Vicar of Christ himself and no other man. It was partly that pride which had ruined them, Baldwin knew, because the jealousy it instilled in others helped to ensure their destruction.
‘But perhaps …’
Baldwin smiled encouragingly. ‘Yes?’
‘There could be former Templars in positions of authority in Portugal. If a man could find them and report them to the Pope, he might reward such loyalty …’
Baldwin felt his heart stop within him but when he spoke his voice was soft and kind. ‘I hope no one would ever consider such a wicked act. What would be the point of persecuting innocent men to the end of their lives? You might just as well say that men could hunt me down … or you, old friend.’
Matthew gazed up at him with a dreadful expression of loss on his face. ‘Oh Christ, what am I become!’ he wailed.
‘Please, do not upset yourself …’ Baldwin began, but Matthew cut him off with a dismissive gesture and a weakly smile.
‘Do not worry about me, Sir Baldwin. It has been good to see you again — very good — but I must be going now. If I remain with you, people will wonder what sort of man you are, and there will be little chance of your finding a room for the night. No innkeeper wants folk who mix with my sort. You could catch fleas and all sorts from me!’
He gave a brave, sad grin, and pulled his hood up over his head again, setting off along a narrow alleyway as though intending to avoid all other people.