Free The Templar's Penance: (Knights Templar 15) by Michael Jecks Page A

face of her cruelty, Caterina held her head high, but as she turned, she couldn’t help a shuddering sob from racking herframe. It was only with an effort, Joana noticed, that she kept herself from breaking down and weeping. The maid was somewhat disappointed not to hear evidence of Caterina’s grief as the beggarwoman passed in among the stalls and out of sight.
    ‘Poor bitch,’ Domingo muttered. He was still wiping his eyes, and now his voice sounded thick.
    ‘Oh, you’re not going to start weeping again, are you?’
    ‘I’m not weeping! I don’t weep! I seek the murderer of my son, and when I find him, I’ll make him regret ever trying to harm a hair on my Sancho’s head.’
    ‘Very brave, very commendable,’ Joana said. ‘Right – did you take the mare like I told you?’
    ‘Yes, and put her back in the stable.’
    ‘Good. Then go. I shall find Doña Stefanía and comfort her, and then take her place.’
    ‘Are you sure of this?’ Domingo asked hesitantly. ‘It may be dangerous.’
    ‘Domingo,’ she returned impatiently, ‘you are a fool. You worry about yourself and leave my safety to me.’
    And with a new sense of purpose, Joana strode off to seek her mistress.
    Doña Stefanía’s annoyance grew as she wondered where Joana had gone. The maid was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she had made a tryst with Ramón, and had forgotten the time, or perhaps she had forgotten about Doña Stefanía’s appointment. Either way, she was late, and that was intolerable, today of all days.
    Time was moving on. She had to find her mount, the Prioress thought, patting her purse. Where on earth was that peasant with her horse? Gazing about her with a crease forming on her perfect, broad forehead, she felt a rising disquiet. Thefts from pilgrims were always a problem. Women were robbed, knocked on the head, raped, sometimes taken and kept imprisoned by uncultured villeins who sought better quality wives than the women of the villages in which they lived. Well, that was fine. Men were at risk too, she knew. Only the other day she had passedLavamentula, and was told that it was a famous place for robberies, with pilgrims having all their clothes stolen while they bathed in the waters.
    It would be no surprise if her mount had been stolen. Men had eyed it with interest in several towns as she passed through. The horse had cost her a small fortune. Ambleres were always hideously costly, and a popular target for thieves. Damn the lad, she wasn’t going to see it taken by a beardless boy!
    Aha! Thank God. There he stood – over near the well, just where she’d told him to take her mount before she went up to the Cathedral. The thought was hardly in her mind before she was on her way over to him.
    Seeing her mistress, Joana lifted her skirts to hurry over and join her.
    ‘Where is my horse?’ Doña Stefanía demanded as she reached the lad.
    ‘
Your
horse?’ he repeated, a faintly anxious expression rising to his face. He was a typically swarthy, unhealthy-looking serf, vacuous and incompetent – and right this minute as nervous as any felon caught filching a lord or lady’s purse.
    ‘Yes,’ she said tightly, ‘
my
horse. I left her with you while I went into the Cathedral. Perhaps you remember now?’
    ‘But the man …’
    ‘What man?’ she snorted. His manner was shifty; why she had left her mare with him, she didn’t know. Looking at him now, it seemed obvious he was a wastrel. He’d taken her mount and probably sold it already. ‘Where is my horse, you thief?’
    ‘My lady, please don’t shout!’ he begged, his hands up, but it was too late. There was whispering and now a space opened about them as the crowd became willing and eager witnesses. Among the voices, Doña Stefanía heard muttering as other pilgrims realised that this fellow had not just robbed any old pilgrim, he had taken a lady’s horse, and a lady of the cloth at that. There were many who would be ready to hang a man for that.
    ‘You