‘Please be seated,’ Baldwin said, bringing a seat up for Margarita and then motioning to the serving-girl.
‘You said you had something to talk about,’ Munio enquired.
Baldwin thought he looked very tired, as though the events of the last day had worn him down, and he felt a fleeting guilt that he had considered the man to be too lazy to bother to visit him when he asked. Munio’s face had a drawn appearance, like one who had slept little and thought too much.
It was Simon who spoke. ‘It is this murder. We wondered whether we should trouble you, but it seemed only fair to tell you.’
Munio jerked upright. ‘You know about the beggar?’
Baldwin smiled. ‘No, what beggar?’
‘Only an old man. He was killed today not far from the square. Poor old devil. He was a loner in life and died the same way.’
‘A shame,’ Baldwin said.
‘He was so noble-looking, too.’
A chill hand seemed to settle over Baldwin’s heart. ‘You can’t mean Matthew?’
‘You knew him?’
‘An older man with a grey beard? Narrow features, pale-grey eyes, had been fair-haired once, and had a deeply lined face with dark, sunburned skin?’
‘There was only the one man begging called Matthew that I know of.’
Baldwin felt strange and a little dizzy. It had been many years since he had last encountered a brother Templar, and to have met Matthew only yesterday and learn today that he was dead, was a terrible shock, outrageous: it could have been torn from a Greek tragedy. It was as though the very last bond with his past had been sliced through and he must now sail on an uncharted sea without any aid to navigate. In a way, he felt he could glimpse the mournful loss that Matthew himself must have experienced over these last few years. Baldwin felt so bereft that even the memories of his wife and daughter failed to touch him.
Simon could see Baldwin’s distress, and quickly broke in to change the subject. ‘One thing I never asked you, senor, is how long you lived in Oxford? You speak English so very well.’
Munio set his head to one side deprecatingly. ‘I spent seven years in Oxford, when my father sought to have me educated as a philosopher, but then he lost his money and I had to make my own way in the world. I persuaded a merchant in the city to let me learn how he plied his trade, and some while later I managed to set myself up as a merchant in my own right. I came back here with my wife because it was the city I grew up in. I have always loved it.’
‘Your wife is not from here?’ Simon asked.
‘No,’ she laughed. ‘I come from Oxford.’
Simon was astonished. To find a man who spoke English was pleasing in a foreign land, even if they had first met while the man held some suspicions of him, but then to learn that this beautiful woman was also English was a delight. ‘I can understand how you speak my language so well, having so charming a tutor,’ he said to Munio.
Munio gave a grin. ‘When a man has a wife nagging at him, he learns her language soon enough.’
‘I don’t nag,’ she scolded, but with a trickle of laughter in her tone, and she glanced gratefully at Simon.
Baldwin had recovered sufficiently to pour the wine that had arrived at last. ‘This Matthew — how did he die?’
‘It was murder,’ Munio said, and his eyes lost the humour which had flared in them for a moment. ‘A youth heard a scream and turned to see him fall. A beggarwoman was a little way behind him and must have witnessed the incident, but I haven’t met her yet. The youth saw a man run at Matthew, pause, and then run off. When he reached the beggar, he was dead, a wound in his breast. It must have punctured his heart.’
‘It takes only an inch or so of steel to stop the heart,’ Baldwin said inconsequentially. ‘Did he see the man who stabbed Matthew?’
‘No. The man was facing away the whole time. The lad said it could have been anyone. There are so many pilgrims, and they are changing every day, so it would have been a miracle if he had recognised the man.’
‘What of the beggarwoman? Did she recognise him?’
‘I haven’t spoken to her yet. I was seeking her when your messenger told me you wanted to talk. I was very busy. My apologies. I didn’t intend to be rude, but I think my response might have seemed so.’
Baldwin gave a flick of the hand as though discarding any possible upset. ‘You had much to deal with.’
‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’
Simon saw that Baldwin wasn’t quite recovered from his shock on hearing of Matthew’s death, so he began to tell Munio of their conversation with Dona Stefania and Don Ruy.
‘So there are two other men from Don Ruy’s band of pilgrims with whom we should speak,’ Munio summarised. ‘This peasant who ravished the Prioress, and the priestly man, Frey Ramon, wherever he might be.’
‘There is a third man, of course,’ Simon pointed out. ‘The felon. We know Don Ruy saw him. Perhaps he had something to do with all this! It is too much of a coincidence that he should take back the horse and then be seen leaving the city. He made sure Joana went to pay the blackmailer, and then followed her.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said, trying to set his mind to the problem again. It was hard. All he could see was the careworn face of Matthew as he had seen him yesterday. It was only one day ago, and that made it so much more difficult to believe that the man was truly dead. There was an emptiness in his soul. It had been fine to learn that his old friend was alive, to see a comrade from the days of his youth, and now that last friend was dead. ‘I shall find him,’ he growled.
‘Who?’ Simon asked, but then he looked at Baldwin’s face and understood.
‘Munio, could I see Matthew’s body? I wish to say farewell to an old friend.’
Chapter Fifteen
Dona Stefania got up from her kneeling posture and made her way out of the chapel. This was her third visit here today, and she would spend as much time here as she could over the next days. She had to make sure that her decision was right.
It had been hard, deciding to steal the thing, but better that than seeing the priory collapse. That was her overriding concern, the survival of the priory. It was not a task made any easier by her nuns. Usually, a Prioress should be able to hope for the assistance of her Sisters, but in the convent of Vigo there were too many arguments as her nuns vied for power. It was frustrating, but there was little peace in her home. That was part of the reason why she had acquired this thing.
There was a tingling in her breast at the thought. She had borrowed the relic from Orthez to help her convent and it had worked, bringing in many people from about the lands. Vigo was some way south of Compostela, and had always suffered from a lack of pilgrims, but with rumours of the relic’s miracles carefully disseminated by Dona Stefania, suddenly folk made the short journey from Compostela down to her convent. People who had never heard of the place before had suddenly started flocking there.
When the demand came for the relic to be returned, she hadn’t believed it at first. However, the request was confirmed by the Bishop of Compostela, and it was impossible to ignore. When she had asked to borrow the sacred relic, she had said she would want it for some years, and the church at Orthez had apparently had no objection. But now, after seeing how much profit Dona Stefania had made from the relic, they had apparently changed their minds. One of the priests had passed by her convent, and when he saw how many travellers were stopping there, he obviously took back highly favourable reports about the success of her venture. After that, it took but a few days for the church authorities, especially that pathetic old cretin Sebastian, to decide to demand the return of their relic, Saint Peter’s finger bone.
They should have been more polite. As it was, they were rude and discourteous, and that got her goat immediately. She swore that she wouldn’t return the thing to them, no matter what they demanded. In fact, she screwed up the parchment and hurled it into the fire. Damn them and their legalistic rubbish! They had forgotten that Dona Stefania was the daughter of a lord, once wife to an important knight, or they wouldn’t have dared write in so curt a manner.