Simon shrugged. ‘I have seen women who have been able to hold their arms over their heads even after having massive injuries. Perhaps this is one such woman. Maybe she had a strong skull and thick skin.’
Baldwin nodded.
‘In any case,’ Simon continued, ‘if you’re right and this woman was adored by a man so that he formed a desire for her so strong that he was prepared to rape her, maybe his hand was reluctant. It’s not surprising that he wouldn’t want to kill her. It’s an odd man who wants a woman so much, he’ll murder her just to possess her.’
‘It’s a stranger man still who is so determined to possess a woman that he does not mind the fact that she’s dead,’ Baldwin pointed out gruffly.
‘Maybe she wasn’t dead when he had her,’ Simon countered. ‘He could have taken her by force, and then realised that she wouldn’t forgive him, so he beat her. Maybe she taunted him, saying she’d have him arrested as soon as she got back to the city.’
‘Come, Simon! How many rape victims have you known who have not shown extreme fear and loathing afterwards? Few would dare to taunt their attacker.’
Simon gave a fleeting scowl. ‘I have known women who were not that scared of their rapist beforehand. Some had so little expectation of being attacked, they told the man that he’d best be off, before they told their father and brothers, and all too often the fellow’s run. I’ve seen it many times. Familiarity breeds contempt, and the mere fact that a man wants to get inside a woman’s skirts doesn’t mean she’s petrified of him, not if it’s a man whom she knows well. If it was a man this poor girl had come to know on the way here on pilgrimage, perhaps she didn’t fear a murderous assault until it was too late.’
‘It is possible,’ Baldwin admitted, but reluctantly. In his experience, women were all too prone to terror when they were raped — no matter how well they knew the assailant. ‘But let us investigate the land about here and see whether there are any signs which might assist Senor Munio.’
Simon was happy to leave the body in the cart and join Baldwin.
The ground was hard and dusty, dried out already by the midday sun. It was only at the water’s side that there was still moisture, but here there was only the mark of some feet walking to the water, then away.
‘Small feet,’ Baldwin noted.
‘Perhaps it was this woman,’ Munio said. ‘She came here to fetch some water, and was attacked as she walked away.’
‘Yet there is no container,’ Baldwin mused. ‘Does that mean that the killer took her water? Maybe he knew he must flee, and because of that, he took her skin or pot with him.’
Simon was less interested in the land by the water, and more in which direction the killer had gone after the murder. ‘If he killed her and was struck with remorse, I’d have thought he’d have run straight to the Cathedral to beg forgiveness, but this doesn’t look like a sudden attack that went wrong. It’s more as though the man was overwhelmed with fury, to have done so much damage. Perhaps he just ran straight away?’
‘There’s no sign of footprints,’ Baldwin said, peering about.
Simon was walking in a circle at some distance, trying to see whether there was any mark in the dry soil or clue left in the scrubby plants. He then extended his search by some yards, but found nothing of interest. It was only when he looked in the shade of a small tree some forty yards distant that he saw the first of the hoofprints.
One set was broader, belonging to a bigger, heavier horse, for where they crossed the other hoofprints, they were set deeper into the soil. ‘Baldwin!’
The knight and the Galician investigator joined him. Baldwin touched the dusty marks gently. ‘There’s little doubt that these are recent,’ he concluded. ‘The rain would have destroyed them, so I assume these horses were here after the rains.’
‘This tree — surely they came here and tied their mounts to it?’ Simon suggested.
Baldwin frowned. ‘A man could have ridden here with her, and when he saw that they were alone, he decided to take advantage. He and she stopped, probably to take refreshment from the waters, and both tied their mounts to the tree. But then he revealed his genuine desires.’
‘Perhaps.’ Senor Munio jerked his head to the cart, and the cleric began storing his parchment, inks and reeds in his scrip. ‘But it’s all guesswork. For now, I must return to the city and question the gatekeepers in case they saw someone like this woman leaving the place earlier.’
Baldwin smiled. It was clear enough that the Pesquisidor expected Simon and he to join him. In his position, Baldwin would have demanded the same. ‘There is another possible explanation,’ he said. ‘I heard today that this morning there was an attack on a group of pilgrims just outside the city. Perhaps this was another band of thieves, who simply happened upon a young and attractive woman and decided to enjoy her body. Maybe it was not her horse: there were two men, one with a smaller horse than his companion’s. They had travelled here together and caught sight of this pretty young woman. One captured her, the other tied their horses, and then they both raped her. Overwhelmed with fear for their own lives in case she denounced them, they then beat her to death.’
‘It is as likely as any other explanation,’ Munio shrugged.
‘And as a story, it holds this advantage,’ Baldwin said. ‘If you spread this tale and the real killer is in Compostela still, he will think himself safe. That might give you more time to discover the truth.’
Simon nodded, and gruffly said, ‘And thank you for not arresting us.’
Munio’s face was curiously still as he glanced at the Bailiff. ‘There is still time, Senor.’
Chapter Seven
As the sun passed slowly across the sky, Dona Stefania grew anxious. What was taking Joana so long? The place of the rendezvous had been chosen because it was almost in hail of the city walls, easy for both to get to, easy for both to escape from.
The bastard, making use of her shame in this way! It was disgraceful that a knight should act in such a manner, demanding cash in exchange for his silence. Not that it would necessarily be the end of the matter. Dona Stefania was a woman who had lived in the real world all her life, even if nominally she was supposed to be cloistered now in her abbey. As a lady, before she took up the cloth, she had travelled widely, and she still did so at every opportunity. She was not naive enough to believe that a blackmailer would make his demands once only and then forget her indiscretion. No. Any man who was foul enough to rob her in this manner, would try it more than once.
She was really worried now. It was growing late and there was no sign of her maid. What had happened to Joana? The meeting should have been over hours ago.
After some little while, she heard a rumour passing along the street and glanced up, wondering what the noise might portend.
It was a curious noise, almost hushed, as though the crowd was talking more, but less loudly, out of some form of respect, and she wondered for a moment or two whether this might be a religious procession; however she knew that there was no religious significance to the day or to the hour. In any case, a procession would emanate from the Cathedral itself, not from the Via Francigena. That way led only to the outside world.
It was as though that mere thought had suddenly sprung a hideous fear upon her. Overcome with dizziness, she sank back onto the bench from which she had risen, a hand going to her breast.
‘Dona?’
Looking up, she found herself gazing into the concerned eyes of Don Ruy.
‘My lady, I didn’t mean to alarm you,’ he said hurriedly, ‘only to ensure that you were well. You appear pale. Have you had a shock?’ And then he gave her a smile. ‘Would you like me to seek your maid?’
The twist to his mouth was ghastly. She was sure that he was implying something … that he was somehow threatening her. He must have had his money, damn him! Joana had been there — hadn’t he seen her? Was she still waiting there for him? She stared at the knight transfixed, but no words came.