Just as the roaring noise overwhelmed him, he heard a strange guttural voice rasping in his ear. ‘Leave the Prioress alone, you bloody bastard.’
‘Stop your damned bellyaching!’ Simon said, averting his head from the bowl of watered cider. ‘God’s Ballocks! If I wanted to fill myself with water, I’d jump in the river.’
‘You are lucky to have been with us when you collapsed,’ Baldwin said.
They were still in the tavern. Once he was sure that Simon was going to recover, Munio had left them to go and speak to the house of Musciatto to confirm that Parceval had told the truth about the money. The Prioress had hurried away with Parceval while the two lifted Simon and set him down on the table top. Baldwin now stood above him, cooling a cloth in a bowl of chilly vinegar and dabbing it on his head. He had felt a terrible fear when Simon toppled over, thinking that the Bailiff might die. Others he had known had died from heat exhaustion — and the idea that his best friend should succumb was appalling.
‘Are you sure you are …’ he choked out.
‘I am fine, Baldwin! God in heaven! I was just a bit thirsty, that’s all.’
Baldwin could not prevent him from sitting upright. He stood back, wiping his hands on the cloth, then thought better of it, dipped it in the vinegar, and passed it to Simon again.
‘Are you sure this is supposed to help?’ Simon growled. ‘It makes me feel like puking.’
‘Better that than dying,’ Baldwin said shortly. ‘Are you sure you haven’t shown any sign of illness until today?’
‘Well, only a little,’ Simon admitted reluctantly.
‘What?’
‘I just felt a bit … I had a touch of gut rot during the night.’
‘Last night? What of before?’ Simon’s shiftiness made Baldwin exclaim in exasperation. ‘Good God, man! You should have told me.’
‘I will in future, Baldwin. All right? Now give me more cider, and then we can decide what we need to do next.’
Baldwin sat on a bench and watched as Simon drained his cup. ‘I don’t know that cider is the best drink for a man in your condition,’ he said miserably.
Simon lowered his cup. ‘Baldwin, I am not dead, and I won’t die either, provided I am just a little more careful. That’s all I need, a bit more care.’
‘Very well,’ Baldwin said. He looked in towards the tavern-keeper. ‘He does not seem to like having you lying on his table.’
‘Tough!’ Simon said unsympathetically. ‘If he wants, he can come here and tell me I’m not allowed. I’ll settle his mind on the matter.’
Baldwin smiled. He was about to speak when he heard an odd noise outside in the crowds. ‘What’s that?’
Simon turned his head, wincing a little as he did so. ‘Sounds like some sort of upset.’
‘My heavens, I hope it’s not another dead man,’ Baldwin murmured. He sat up and stared out into the roadway, craning his neck to see what was happening.
Simon hopped down from the table and tensed his legs slightly. He still felt rather wobbly, but a great deal better than he had before. ‘Any sign?’
‘There’s a man hurrying here.’
Simon saw him, a large ox-like man with a square head and thick neck. He was running straight towards them. ‘I don’t recognise him.’
Nor did Baldwin, but soon the man was talking to the tavern-keeper, and the two men came to Simon and Baldwin and indicated that they were wanted.
‘By whom?’ Baldwin demanded.
‘Munio.’
Gregory came to gradually, like an old dog stirring from a deep sleep.
The first thing he became aware of was that his cheek was sore. There was a solid lump under it, and he tried to move his head to a more comfortable position. That was when he realised that not only was the lump hard, his head was very painful too.
‘Christ alive!’ he muttered.
‘You should be careful of your language in a god fearing town like this one.’
Gregory opened one eye and stared at Munio. ‘Ah, senor, I …’ he began, but Munio waved a hand.
‘I can speak English as well as Castilian or Basque. Perhaps it would be safer to stick to that.’
‘Safer?’ Gregory became aware that a small crowd was milling about them, and from the muttering, people were not happy to have found him there. ‘What happened?’ he asked thickly.
‘I was hoping you could tell me that,’ Munio said.
‘But I was … walking. Oh yes, I was on my way to-’ He suddenly lifted his head. The pain was like a swift thrust from a dagger, straight in at the back of his skull. ‘Christ Jesus!’ he moaned, and began retching.
Baldwin and Simon arrived as he ejected a stream of yellowish bile onto the slabs, and Baldwin muttered to Munio, who sent their messenger to a nearby wine-seller. He was soon back with a skin of wine, and Munio passed it to Gregory without comment.
The injured man’s mouth tasted foul, as though he had woken from a night’s carousing, and the strong wine was a relief. He swilled some and spat it out, then drank a goodly mouthful and swallowed with gratitude. ‘That’s better.’
‘What happened?’ Munio asked.
Simon stared at the cleric without comprehending why they had been called here. ‘Is this someone else who’s been attacked?’
‘Yes,’ Munio answered. ‘Fortunately this one wasn’t killed, although he could have been, had he been hit a little harder.’
‘Is there anything to connect this attack with either of the others?’ Baldwin asked.
Munio nodded to Gregory.
‘I was going to see my lady,’ the man explained, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. ‘I was married to her once, but she left me and took the vows.’
Baldwin said, ‘You are Gregory?’
‘How did you know my name?’
‘Because we were looking for you,’ Baldwin said, smiling at Munio. ‘You must have heard that there have been some murders here. A man was killed yesterday, only an old beggar, but-’
‘And a woman the day before,’ Munio interrupted. ‘Now we find you here, beaten over the head, just like the first corpse — the woman. Yet you are alive.’ The Pesquisidor was clearly angry that Baldwin appeared to have forgotten all about poor Joana, and was concentrating all his efforts on the murder of Matthew.
To his credit, Baldwin heard the rough note of anger in Munio’s voice and looked abashed. He nodded hurriedly. ‘Yes. The woman was beaten to death, and although you have not suffered so much damage as she did, perhaps there is some connection between the attacks.’
‘Connection?’ Gregory echoed dully, but then his head jerked up. ‘Yes! I was going to talk to my wife. She tried to hurt me before, I think — and this must have been her again! Christ, but my head hurts! I saw her man, you see, and I thought that she was trying to punish me for … well, for a past misdemeanour.’ His voice trailed away.
‘What misdemeanour was this?’ Baldwin demanded curtly. He had other things to check up on.
‘Sir, you are English. I can speak freely in front of you. My wife and I had not enjoyed a happy marriage. She decided to join a convent, and when I was in my cups, she had me agree to dissolve our marriage so that she could take up the vows. In jest I said that I would do so too, and thought little more of it. Next morning, she refused to see me, saying that our union was no more, that she was a Bride of Christ, and I a Brother. I found this infuriating, and sought to make up with her as a husband and wife should, with the result that she accused me of rape and locked her door to me. That day she left my house.’
‘What of it?’ Baldwin asked.
‘She has not forgiven me. On the day I arrived here, she learned somehow which party I was with, and set her men to attack it with the aim of killing me. I just heard them discussing their attack! By a miracle there was a second party, this of honourable knights …’ A vision of Sir Charles’s face came to his mind, but he pushed the memory away. ‘Well, they rescued us. Drove off the others and saved us from death.’
‘You were with Don Ruy?’ Simon asked.