‘You have been accused, and you deny the charge, but you give us no explanation of why you are wrongly accused. Will you not explain how someone could think that they saw you, when you say you did not leave the city?’
That’s it! Doña Stefanía thought gleefully. Let him wriggle out of that!
‘I did leave the city for a short while,’ Don Ruy said stiffly. ‘I hired a mount from a stable and rode out for exercise. I hadn’t thought it would matter – but then I didn’t expect to be accused of murder for talking to the good Doña Stefanía either,’ he added with a bow to her.
He was impressive, she admitted. Suave and calm, even when accused of such a dreadful crime.
‘Where exactly did you ride?’
‘I rode out along the river northwards.’
‘Did you come to a clearing?’
Don Ruy considered. ‘The ground was flat, and I don’t recall one in particular. There was a stretch which looked a little like a ford. I passed by a place where women were washing their clothes.’
‘A ford,’ Baldwin repeated in English for Simon. ‘He says he passed a place that was a ford, where women were washing their clothing.’
‘So?’
‘I hadn’t noticed that it was a crossing place.’ Returning to Don Ruy, he said, ‘The ford – did you see anyone near there?’
‘I saw two horses tied to a tree.’
‘Was there a man there, or a woman?’
‘Over on the opposite side of the river, walking together, away from me. I didn’t see their faces. I don’t know who they were.’
‘Come, Don Ruy! You must remember the girl at least. She wore a blue tunic, with embroidery at the neck and hem.’
‘Very well. Yes. It was the beautiful dark-haired servant of Doña Stefanía here,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘Yes, it was because of her that I rode up that way. I noticed her at the city gate, and from interest, I trailed after her up the roadway. She went on ahead at speed, but I slowed because my mount had a stone in its hoof. At first I thought that it was a miserable creature that had been foisted on me, but when I had it out, the beast rode all right. Still, when I got to the ford she had gone already.’
‘Gone where?’
‘Over the river, like I said. One of the horses was hers – I recognised it. It was hot, and what should be more natural than that she should cross the river in bare feet to cool them, before walking with her man?’
‘Which man?’
‘She was with Frey Ramón when I saw her.’
Doña Stefanía felt the world tottering about her. ‘No! This is ludicrous! How can that be? Don, how do you know the good Brother Ramón? Do you know him?’
‘I know him well enough, and his horse,’ snapped Don Ruy irritably, and turned to face Baldwin. ‘Our bands of pilgrims were together at Tours until four days ago. His horse is black, with a white flash on the left shoulder that extends up the neck almost to the head. He has a grey ankle on the right rear leg, too. It was his horse, all right. And he was there, too, walking with Joana over on the other bank of the river. I knew her from the journey here to the city. She was with Doña Stefanía. It was her I overheard telling of the Doña’s … indiscretion.’
‘What were they doing there?’ Doña Stefanía said, ignoring his last words. ‘They were supposed to meet back here.’
‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin interrupted her, ‘we should wait until we have an opportunity to ask the good Frey Ramón.’
‘Joana promised she was going straight to meet this Ruy,’ the Prioress persisted. ‘What was she doing with Ramón? If Ruy saw Ramón, he might have thought that she had brought a guard or a witness, and left her there. He might not have negotiated. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I did not ask to see her, I didn’t ask for money, and I didn’t go there to haggle!’ Don Ruy said firmly, reddening. ‘Look, they were obviously lovers, with their own little rendezvous on the other side of the river, away from the road, where they could take their ease in privacy. Where is the mystery in that?’
‘What then? Did you ride on?’ Baldwin asked.
‘No. I turned back immediately and made for the city. Then, because I was not tired, I cantered about the walls for some exercise. A little later, when I returned to the gate, I saw one man leaving.’ Don Ruy frowned. ‘I don’t know if you had heard, but my group were attacked on the way here by a set of felons who drew weapons and hurled themselves at us. Luckily there were three men-at-arms who happened upon us as the attack was underway. They charged the malfechores and put them to flight, killing several of them. The man I saw leaving the city was one of our attackers, I think. A hunched man with his head held at an odd angle. He didn’t see me, and rode off along the road, the same way that I had taken.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I came here to a tavern, sat and drank off some wine. I was hot by then. The weather was most warm.’
‘Did you not bludgeon her to death?’ Doña Stefanía burst out. ‘You wanted her, you waited until Frey Ramón was gone, and then you killed her, poor child, so you could rob her!’
‘I have told you, Doña, that I returned to Compostela, put the horse in the stable, paid the groom, and came here for a drink. I was only gone for a short time.’
‘You say that the two of them were there together, but why should that be?’ the Prioress repeated – but then realised what she had said. Suddenly the thoughts crowded in upon her thick and fast. ‘Joana could have made up the whole blackmail story in order to feather her own nest,’ she said wildly. ‘She might have spun the whole story to me just to make me give her my money, which she would then share with her man. But now she’s dead – and where’s the money? My God! Her man! Ramón, where is he? Perhaps he killed her and took all the money!’
She leaped to her feet, and although Baldwin tried to calm her and persuade her to sit, she refused, but instead bolted off towards the Cathedral.
Chapter Twelve
At a tree some tens of yards away, Parceval heard her screech and glanced up with a sudden coldness in his chest as though he was going to witness her death again, this time while he was sober. It made his bones feel as though they had turned to lard, his blood seeming to clog in his veins, as though time was standing still, so that he could extract every last tiny moment of horror from this scene.
The drinking horn which he had grasped fell from his nerveless fingers even as his eyes fearfully took in the sight – and a tidal wave of relief flooded over him.
He watched as the Prioress pelted across the square towards the Cathedral, his fingers beginning a brief fluttering as though nerves had been trapped and were now renewed as the sensation returned to them, but inside, all he felt was self-loathing and sickness. She had been so perfect, his daughter, and now she was destroyed utterly. All because of Hellin van Coye. ‘Damn you, you …’
But there were no words foul enough to suit Hellin van Coye. Parceval waved at the wine-seller and acquired a fresh horn, paying with a gold coin. In his distraction, he waved the man away without checking his change, and realised later that he had given the potman more than enough for three jugs, and although he felt annoyed to have wasted money, he had plenty more. No, the only thing that concerned him was that others shouldn’t realise how much cash he carried with him. That was a real problem. He didn’t want people to even remotely suspect that he was no more a scruffy peasant than the Bishop was. Hellin had friends all over the world, and one of them might take it upon himself to ensure that Hellin’s murderer didn’t have to worry himself about the return trip to Ypres.
He would protect himself against any attacker, he vowed, surreptitiously fingering his knife’s hilt. As he repeated his oath to himself, his gaze drifted over the people in the square and just for one moment, he saw a face staring at him, and he felt as though Hellin’s ghost had paraded in front of him.