Simon felt his nervousness fade as he watched the investigator moodily crumbling a crust between his fingers. He had heavy hands with thick fingers, the hands of a man who was used to working. ‘What will you do now?’ the Bailiff asked.
‘Ask if anyone else knows this person, Maria. Joana’s mistress, for a start.’ Munio had permitted Dona Stefania to leave on compassionate grounds, on the proviso that he could speak to her properly the following morning. She had walked away disconsolate, shuffling like a woman suddenly aged.
The only help the Prioress had been able to give them was to tell them that Joana had been with her for many years. She and a cousin of hers lived not far from the Prioress’s estates at Vigo. Another cousin called Caterina lived hereabouts in the city, but that was the limit of her knowledge of her maid’s family. As far as she knew, Joana had no enemies; she was honest, dependable, and had her mistress’s absolute trust. The two of them had just been to Orthez on business, and were on their way home to Vigo. And now … now the Prioress would have to return alone, and break the news of their Sister’s death to the other nuns in the convent. It was a terrible day, truly awful. She didn’t know how she would be able to make the journey alone.
Baldwin ended with the impression that if Joana was still alive, her mistress would be berating her for her selfishness in being killed.
‘None of the guards at the gates saw this woman, you said?’ Baldwin mused.
‘That is right. I described her and her distinctive blue tunic, but none noticed her. It came as no surprise. Many hundreds of people walk in and out every day by all the gates. This is an important city.’
‘Yes. And yet I should have thought that a bored guard would have noticed a pretty young woman in her prime, with wealth stamped all over her. From the look of her, she would have been a woman with style.’
The Pesquisidor grunted. ‘Perhaps. But all too often the gatekeepers sit in their little chambers and gossip; they don’t watch the people outside. Why should they? All they are supposed to do is see that people coming to sell goods pay their tolls, but if they’re doing that, it’s hard for them to keep an eye on people leaving the city as well.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘This Ruy whom Maria spoke of — perhaps we could find him. If he stayed with her, he could be the guilty man. There may be blood on his sleeve …’ Then Baldwin had another thought. ‘We should ask at the stables. We know that two horses at least were present at the murder scene. Joana’s mount must have been stabled somewhere in the city, and she herself rode out on it. You may be able to discover where her horse was kept, and that way learn whether the groom saw anyone suspicious — like this Ruy.’
‘It is a good idea,’ Munio said drily. ‘Which is why I sent two messengers to enquire at the stables as soon as we returned to the city.’
Baldwin smiled. ‘You are a sensible man, Senor. You know how to investigate as well as any.’
‘As well as an Englishman, I suppose you mean. I dare say that is a compliment,’ Munio growled, but there was a faint smile on his face as he stood and beckoned the cleric to follow him. ‘I thank you for your help. If you can advise me — if you have any new ideas, I would be most grateful.’
‘Any help we can give, we offer freely,’ Baldwin said, rising and bowing.
‘I am glad to hear it. After all,’ Munio continued, eyeing Simon, ‘I shouldn’t like to think I could miss out on the aid of two English investigators!’
‘What did that mean?’ Simon demanded suspiciously when the Pesquisidor had gone.
Baldwin smiled. ‘Do not take his words personally, old friend. I think he likes the English. Otherwise, why should he have lived and studied so long in our country?’
‘I don’t care. He seems to be making fun of us,’ Simon muttered, but without rancour. He was merely glad to be free, out in the open air, and taste the local wine. ‘Still, this wine is good.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘Perfectly acceptable, yes.’
‘You are still thinking of the dead girl,’ Simon said. ‘So am I. It’s hard to believe that any man could do that to a woman.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said absently. ‘And especially if the man was unknown to her. Why mutilate her so brutally? Perhaps it was done by a man who had been snubbed by Joana.’
‘Could be,’ Simon acknowledged, and waved a hand at the tavernkeeper, indicating their empty jug. A wave of contentment rose and engulfed him as he relaxed and leaned back against the inn’s wall, stretching his legs before him. ‘I don’t mind telling you, Baldwin, that until that miserable bugger informed us that they don’t use torture on just anyone, I was waiting for him to put our thumbs in a vice. Phew!’
Baldwin grinned. ‘Foreign travel can be dreadfully alarming.’
‘Don’t take the rise out of me!’ Simon threatened. ‘I am happy to be here. Look at this place! Warm, no midges, a gentle breeze, good wine, pleasant folk — what more could a traveller want?’
Perhaps, if you were Joana, your life back, Baldwin thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. Instead he said, ‘Tomorrow we should rest, ready for the return journey.’
‘It seems odd to have come so far, and to know that all that remains to us is to return.’
‘Most pilgrims walk all the way here, dependent upon the good will of inns and other people throughout, and once they arrive they take a meal or two, rest, and then go home again, knowing exactly how dangerous and exhausting their return journey will be,’ Baldwin mused. ‘We were lucky to be able to take ship almost all the way.’
‘Quite so,’ Simon said. ‘And I think that it is entirely reasonable for a pilgrim to rest here, especially since so many hostelries are duty-bound to feed and water them! But it seems odd for us to just turn about, walk to the coast again and find another ship to take us home. We have only just arrived.’
A servant placed a dish laden with roughly sliced rings of sausage on their table. Simon took a piece and chewed. ‘It’s good! Like a smoked sausage at home.’
Baldwin took a slice and the two chewed meditatively for a while.
‘Bugger!’ Simon exclaimed.
‘What?’ asked the knight.
‘We still haven’t found a place to stay this evening,’ Simon pointed out.
‘I am sure there’ll be a space at that inn we saw earlier,’ Baldwin said confidently.
Chapter Nine
Sir Baldwin and Simon were still sitting in the tavern when they saw Frey Ramon pass from the door of the Cathedral. He moved like a man in a nightmare, his features drawn and blanched. His white robe was smeared and beslubbered with gore from carrying Joana’s body, and there were tearstains on his cheeks.
Baldwin motioned to the innkeeper and stood. ‘Frey Ramon,’ he called out. ‘Please join us.’
‘I have no wish to be sociable,’ the knight said. His eyes were restless, as was his soul, Baldwin thought. The man was torn by horror and loss.
At least he understood English. That was a relief. ‘There is little comfort in the compassion of a stranger, and yet I would speak with you,’ Baldwin told him. ‘If we can aid you, we should like to do so.’
Frey Ramon looked a little confused by some of Baldwin’s words, but he understood the sympathy in his tone. He ducked his head, and appeared to make up his mind. ‘I am thankful for your kindness. Perhaps a little wine?’
‘Please be seated,’ Baldwin said and motioned towards a stool.
‘I was to have married her next week,’ Ramon sighed.
‘I am terribly sorry.’
‘She would have made a perfect wife for a Brother. For me.’
For a moment Baldwin feared that Ramon might burst into tears, his emotion was so plain, but then he gratefully took the cup Simon had poured and drank half in a gulp.
‘Did you meet her near here?’ Baldwin enquired.
‘It was on the pilgrim route from Tours. I had been to Orthez and was returning when I met her, and I fell in love with her immediately. To see her, to feel her sweetness and generosity, that was all I needed. I knew she was meant to be my wife.’