Simon did not notice, for he was immersed in the sudden insight which had come to him last night: that the murder had been planned. The money had either been taken away from the town, perhaps by a pilgrim who had stolen it and now was a hundred miles away, or it had been stashed away for a rainy day. If so, Simon thought, it was an astonishingly restrained person who had committed the crimes.
He finished his meal and donned his tunic and hose, still pursuing the new direction of his thoughts. The more he pondered on it, the more sure he was that he was right. There was only one link missing now, and he was sure that he would soon discover that.
Pulling on his jack and binding his sword about his belly, he left his chamber and went to seek Munio.
The Pesquisidor was sitting at his table in his hall with a somewhat doleful expression on his face, and Simon could not help but notice it. ‘Is all well, Munio?’
‘Yes. Why — should it not be?’ he demanded.
Simon was surprised by his snappishness. ‘My apologies, friend. I did not mean to upset you.’
‘That is right. An English freeman would hardly insult his host, would he?’ Munio said.
Thinking to distract Munio from his strange mood, Simon said, ‘I think I can see what happened out at the ford that day when we found the body. Will you allow me to command some men? Perhaps you too could come with me?’
‘You think I have time to drop all of my official matters on some whim of yours?’ Munio grated, but then he took a deep breath. ‘My apologies, Master Puttock, but I have received some disturbing news today.’
‘But of course,’ Simon said mildly. ‘Shall I ride out alone, then?’
‘No, I shall find a man to help you,’ Munio said, eyeing the man who, so his wife said, desired her.
He was as good as his word. No sooner had he left the house to find Guillem, than two men arrived at Simon’s side. One spoke a form of English, and Simon was convinced that he could explain what he needed. They would walk while Simon rode, as he was still feeling weak. He borrowed Munio’s horse for himself, and the three set off as soon as they could.
Simon wore a small goatskin filled with weak cider about his neck, and as they left the city, he unplugged it and took a long gulp. This weather was peculiar. It was so hot, he wondered how people survived it for long. Surely most people must die young, withered away until they were nothing more than the dried-out husks of the folks they had been. Even Munio, he thought, had been affected. It couldn’t be healthy to live in so hot and inclement a climate. Not like his Dartmoor. There at least there was always abundant moisture. It kept the flesh full and elastic, healthy; not like these thin-skinned foreigners.
It took the trio less than half an hour to reach the ford. Simon sat on his horse, hands crossed over his mount’s cruppers, contemplating the land before him.
The body had been found up there on his left, but Don Ruy had said that Ramon and Joana had been walking over on the other side of the stream. Simon kicked his horse onwards. At the ford the river was only shallow, if broad, and the water came no higher than the men’s knees. Not that they cared. They stoically ploughed through it, without glancing at Simon on his horse.
Once on the other side, Simon began his search. The land here was separated into fields, with a footpath of some sort. On the right-hand side was a ditch, which was a little damp in the very bottom. It looked as though it was used for some form of irrigation. Bushes and a few thin, tormented trees tried to grow here, and there was a thick thorny mess beneath them.
It was here, Simon guessed, that Ramon and his woman had walked, and he rode along at a gentle amble, explaining as simply as he could to the men with him what he expected to find.
Once they understood, the two men set to with a will, and began to shove plants and twigs aside in their search for Simon’s proof. He had hoped that from his vantage point on the horse, he would be the first to see it, but it was the man who understood a little of Simon’s language who suddenly gave a delighted crow-like cry, and pounced. Grinning widely, one hand bleeding with a slash from a vicious thorn, he held up a large leather purse, an expensive, soft, decorated purse filled with gold and silver coins.
‘Well, well, well,’ Simon said with a grin that threatened to separate his crown from his jaw. ‘So I am not so stupid as I feared!’
There was much more to be done, once Simon had proved that part of his theory. Now he was keen to check on other aspects.
Leaving the horse at Munio’s stable for the groom to see to, he walked with the purse into town. Once there, he found a tavern, and sat in full view of the Cathedral, the purse safely tucked inside his jack. He still had the skin about his neck, but set it down and bought a jug of wine. Soon, he began to feel comfortably somnolent in the warm sunshine, watching all the people in the square.
They were all hurrying, but slowly, he noticed. In England, everybody tended to look as though they were hastening everywhere, when they had little reason to; here everyone seemed to move in leisurely fashion and yet they covered the land faster than their Devonshire counterparts.
Simon soon spotted the person he had come to see. The Prioress walked about the place with an anxious expression on her face, turning this way and that, catching the eyes of many people, and as quickly looking away. Her manner was that of a woman who was looking for someone, although she appeared half-terrified that she might find the target of her searching. She caught sight of Simon and he smiled at her, beckoning, but she gave a graceless shake of her head and turned away, walking towards a small group of beggars.
‘You won’t find her there,’ Simon said, comfortable in the knowledge that his simple test had been proven. Now there was only one more trial that he need make. For that, he must have assistance.
If only, he thought, Baldwin was back. He could do with his friend’s help.
Had he but known it, his friend was already back at Munio’s house.
Baldwin, Sir Charles and Paul arrived back at the house a little after lunchtime, just as Simon was sitting at the tavern and waiting for any sign that his assumptions were correct. Baldwin went straight in to find his friend or Munio. Instead he found Margarita, in her hall with a steward, but looking very troubled.
‘My lady! I am so glad to be back and to be able to thank you for your great kindness to me and to my friend.’
‘Sir Baldwin, I am glad to have been a friend to you.’
‘Where is Simon?’
‘He is gone out. I expect he is in the town.’
Baldwin nodded, but he was aware of a certain frigidity about her. ‘Lady, Simon is well?’
‘He was very ill with a fever, Sir Baldwin, but now, yes, he is fully recovered.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ he said heartily, and again, he thought that her manner was a little off. ‘Um. Should I go to find him in the town?’
‘Yes. That might be a very good idea,’ she said as though considering the matter carefully.
He nodded and gave her the best bow he could manage, but when he left the house, his brow was furrowed. There was something very odd in this, he felt sure. Had Simon offended Margarita in some way? Surely that was impossible. Simon was a polite, reasonable, trouble-free guest generally. Perhaps it was simply because he had been so ill. Some men could become pests when unwell, he knew, and yet he had seen Simon when his friend was close to death, and he had never been difficult. If anything, great illness made him more pliant and amenable. No, it was surely not that.
In the yard, he surrendered himself to the fact that he did not know what was wrong and could not, until he had spoken to Simon himself. Perhaps he could throw some light on the matter?