Page 41 of Under a Spanish Sky

It was the hottest part of the day. Looking down from the hillside, they could just make out the roofs and towers of Santo Domingo de la Calzada before them.

In less than an hour they would be there and the group was strung out over several hundred paces.

The friar was up at the front, while Luc and Aimée were joined at the rear by the stonemason.

‘You didn’t waste much time, did you?’ The mason’s voice was slurred, his breath toxic.

Luc ignored him, hoping he would lapse into drunken silence. But the stonemason’s brain, unusually at this time of day, was still functioning.

‘You didn’t wait long to get the little lady into bed with you, did you?’

Luc bit his tongue and feigned deafness.

‘Good in bed, is she? Even if she’s blind, she’s got all the right bits, I’ll be bound.’

This was too much. Drunk or not, the man had overstepped the mark.

Luc stopped in his tracks. The mason stumbled past him.

Luc pushed out his foot. The man tripped, falling headlong onto the dusty track.

He roared in anger, flailed about, and pulled himself to his knees.

Heads turned in the group ahead. Luc stepped forward as the man struggled to get to his feet and caught him by the scruff of the neck, holding him down on his knees.

He spoke quietly and firmly, the menace clear in his voice.

‘Mason, you really should watch what you say. One of these days you’re going to say something rude to somebody less forgiving than me and you’ll get into trouble, serious trouble. You’ll remember that now, won’t you?’

He released his hold and turned dismissively away.

He caught Aimée’s arm again and set off towards the others once more.

He had taken only a few steps when he heard a familiar noise.

It was the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn from a sheath.

He whirled round, protecting Aimée with his body.

He found himself confronted by the mason holding a vicious-looking knife, the point aimed at Luc’s chest. The man’s face was covered in dust from the path, his knuckles bloodied, scuffed from his contact with the ground.

‘Nobody does that to me. I’m going to slit you from ear to ear.’ The man’s voice was heavy with rage as well as drink.

‘Aimée, take a couple of steps backwards. You’ll be fine.’ Luc pushed her gently backwards and she did as she was bidden, fear etched on her face.

‘Luc, be careful.’ He could hear the anxiety in her voice.

Luc didn’t take his eyes off the stonemason. He heard running feet behind him as the others came back to see what was happening. The mason, seeing that he had an audience, and seeing no weapon in Luc’s hand, took a pace forward.

‘You’re drunk, mason. Don’t do anything foolish.’ Luc’s right hand was on the hilt of the hidden dagger. For the moment, it remained concealed in his sleeve. ‘Put the knife away, apologise to the lady and we’ll forget the whole thing.’

‘From ear to ear, you Templar bastard.’ He must have seen the shock on Luc’s face. He raised his voice. ‘You heard me. I know what you are. You’re a cowardly Templar, escaping from justice. You’ve probably got a sack of gold in your pack. It’ll be a pleasure to do the executioner’s job for him.’

Luc heard intakes of breath from behind. He kept his eyes on the point of the knife, his mind racing. Just then he heard a movement and Friar Laurent pushed past, deliberately stepping in between them.

‘Get out of the way, monk. This is between me and him.’ The mason’s voice was a snarl.

‘You’re drunk, man. You could be arrested for pulling a knife on a fellow pilgrim. Wound him, and they’ll string you up. Listen to me, will you?’

‘String me up? I’ll probably get a medal for killing a Templar.’ The man was sounding less drunk now. His eyes were unnaturally bright, but he was in control of his faculties. Luc caught the friar by the arm.

‘Be careful, Laurent. The man’s off his head.’

The baker and the new man, Thomas, appeared alongside the friar.

The stonemason, relishing the audience, stepped forward once more.

Luc knew he was still out of range of any but the most desperate lunge, so he kept his knife hidden.

The best way of convincing the other members of the group that he was not a Templar was to appear helpless.

He took a step back. The stonemason crowed.

‘That’s right, you coward. Back away. But it won’t do you any good.

This blade’s got your name on it. Right now!

’ He leapt towards Luc, his teeth bared in a wicked grin.

But as he started moving, just as Luc was about to pull out his knife, the new man, Thomas, reacted.

With lightning speed, he reversed his heavy staff and lashed out.

There was a sickening thud as the solid end of the wooden staff crashed into the base of the stonemason’s skull.

He went down like a stone, headfirst into the dust.

There was stunned silence. Luc looked down at the stonemason, but the violence of the blow, and the precision with which it had landed, told him the man was dead. The friar dropped to his knees beside the body and laid his hand on the mason’s throat. After a few moments he looked up.

‘He’s dead.’

Aimée gave a little cry and ran forward, tripping as she did so. Luc reached out and swept her into his arms before she could fall. ‘It’s all right, Aimée.’

She gripped him tightly, an expression of overwhelming relief on her face. ‘Thank the Lord. I didn’t know, I didn’t know.’ The thought of losing him from her life was too terrible to contemplate. She burst into tears and Luc cradled her against his chest.

‘Well, there’s nothing more we can do for him now.

’ Friar Laurent made the sign of the cross over the dead man and looked up at Thomas.

The other pilgrims had all backed away, unsettled by the savagery of his attack.

‘Thomas, you were acting to protect an unarmed man. The authorities won’t worry you, once we tell them the circumstances.

’ He pulled himself to his feet. ‘Luc, I believe you owe your life to Thomas.’

As his blood began to cool, Luc was rejoicing.

This intervention by the new man was a godsend as it allowed Luc to remain anonymous.

He held out his hand. ‘I thank you with all my heart, Thomas.’ He kept his voice suitably humble.

‘It’s ironic he accused me of being a Templar.

I have a horror of weapons and all forms of violence.

You saved my life, and I’m in your debt. ’

‘You’re very welcome, Luc. I’m just sorry I seem to have hit him too hard.

’ Thomas neither looked, nor sounded, contrite.

Luc studied him carefully. As a soldier himself, he knew full well how carefully executed the murder had been.

And he had little doubt that it had been murder.

For some reason, as yet unfathomable, Thomas had deliberately killed the stonemason.

‘Luc, perhaps you would stay with the body, while I take Thomas to the authorities in Santo Domingo to explain what happened. I’m sure they’ll send a cart to collect and bury the mason.

When you get into town, one of us will be waiting for you in front of the cathedral.

Otherwise you won’t know where we’re lodged. ’

Luc nodded in agreement.

The friar knelt down once more and searched through the mason’s clothes until he found his purse. From it, he removed, and carefully unfolded, his pilgrim’s passport. ‘Louis Dubois of Beauvais. I never knew his full name.’ He straightened up, tucked the purse into his pocket, and looked round.

‘Should we move him off the road?’ Luc did his best to maintain the impression of a helpless victim, unfamiliar with violent death. ‘What if a cart were to come along?’

The friar nodded. Together with Thomas, Luc lifted the dead man and moved him into the shade of a scrawny holm-oak tree at the side of the road.

Then he and Aimée waited alongside the corpse as the others set off.

In the shade of the tree, there was a large rock, its smooth surface testimony to its regular use by passing pilgrims in search of shelter from the relentless sun.

Luc led Aimée to it and they both sat down. She kept hold of his hand.

Once the group was out of earshot, he recounted what had happened.

‘So you’re saying that this Thomas man deliberately killed the stonemason?’ Aimée’s voice was sceptical. ‘Couldn’t it just have been a lucky blow?’

‘It might.’ Luc sounded even more sceptical. ‘Except for the speed of it. You didn’t see it, but Thomas was like a striking serpent. I was reaching for the knife I keep up my sleeve. Before I could draw it, he had swung and connected, and with deadly accuracy.’

His eyes flicked down to the body beside them.

The stonemason’s head was lying at an impossible angle.

The blow had broken his neck. It could almost have been the work of the infamous Assassins.

For a moment, Luc’s thoughts flashed back to his fighting years in the Holy Land.

He had seen more than his fair share of violent death over there, but rarely as perfectly executed as this.

‘He meant to do it. Believe me, I know.’ He squeezed Aimée’s hand.

She bowed to his superior experience of these things. ‘All right, he deliberately killed him. So tell me why.’

‘I don’t know.’ Luc’s voice betrayed his mystification. ‘If we accept my theory that he knew what he was doing, then it’s indisputable that he has to be a professional.’

‘A professional what, Luc?’

‘Either a professional soldier, or a professional killer.’

‘A professional soldier who just saved your life.’ She was turning the idea over in her head. ‘Does that mean he might be a Templar like yourself?’