Page 43 of Under a Spanish Sky

Luc realised that the night patrol had found a corpse. His immediate reaction was one of relief. They were talking about a dead man, not woman. The body couldn’t belong to Aimée. But could it be the friar?

‘We’d better get him off the street. We’ll go and get the cart. Who’s going to wait with the body?’

There was silence. Clearly none of them fancied standing around in the dark with a dead body, and a murderer on the loose.

‘All right then, we’ll all go. He isn’t going to move, after all.’

There was general agreement. Luc heard them move off, their shadows flickering against the walls of the shops and houses as they disappeared.

As soon as they were out of sight, he slipped down the road to the body.

His heart sank as he saw the dark monastic habit.

There was no doubt about it. It was definitely the friar.

He reached down and around the body, searching for the cause of death.

A first pale glimmer of moonlight began to shed some illumination on the scene.

All at once he saw what had happened. Friar Laurent’s head had been twisted viciously round, so that it was past his shoulder.

His neck had been broken. Silently, ruthlessly and professionally.

He laid the friar gently back on the cobbles. Raising his hand, he made the sign of the cross over him and murmured a prayer. Then he stood up and set off at a run.

He reached the inn within two minutes. Aware that the killer might be lying in wait for him with a bow, he steeled himself and ran the last few steps in a crouching zigzag.

He reached the door unscathed and burst in.

Inside, everything was calm and still. Most of the pilgrims had retired to bed and there were only a few men left around the table, drinking wine and talking in low tones.

They looked up in surprise at his abrupt entrance.

Hastily, he made his way across the room towards the group where, to his immense relief, he saw Aimée leaning against her pack, chatting to Beatrice.

‘Everything all right?’ Beatrice took one look at his face and realised that all was far from well. Aimée, hearing him approach, turned towards him with a smile.

‘Did you find Laurent?’

He sat down beside them and took a deep breath. Somehow, the enormity of the crime made it hard to accept, and even harder to describe.

‘I’m afraid I have bad news, very bad news.’

He noticed a few heads around them look up, among them Thomas, looking sleepy. Luc paused for a moment, his mind struggling to make sense of this. Of all the things he had expected to find in there, Thomas in his bedroll was not one of them.

‘I’m afraid Friar Laurent’s dead.’ He heard sharp intakes of breath around the folk in this corner of the room.

More people stirred. The family from Champagne peered out of their beds like chicks in a nest. To Luc’s amazement, the oldest of them spoke.

None of them had been heard to utter more than a syllable at a time for weeks now.

‘How did he die?’

The question, coming from such an unexpected source, only served to further confuse Luc. His head was spinning. Mechanically, he recounted the facts.

‘I found him lying in the road. He was savagely attacked. His assailant broke his neck. At least that means he would have died instantly, and without suffering.’

‘But who would want to kill the friar?’ Jeanne stared helplessly at her mother.

‘My dear girl, there are some terrible people in the world. May God have mercy on his soul.’ Beatrice was weeping. As the news sank in, others followed suit. Laurent had been well loved.

‘Have the authorities been informed?’ Thomas pulled himself out of bed and came over to stand beside Luc. Luc found himself inching away from him.

‘The nightwatchmen found him before I did. I heard them say they were going to get a cart.’ Luc glanced at the man beside him.

The very professional nature of the killing had immediately stirred Luc’s suspicions that it might have been the stocky man’s handiwork, but his face gave nothing away.

Thomas was fully clothed, but that meant nothing.

Most of the pilgrims slept in their clothes, only removing jacket and breeches if it was exceptionally warm. He felt Aimée’s hand on his arm.

‘You were right in your fears for him, Luc.’

‘What fears?’ Thomas sounded interested.

Luc told them all about the messenger and his doubts as to how the bishop could have traced Laurent.

‘I went to the Bishop’s Palace to look for him, but it was closed up and dark.

I don’t think he even got there. I’m afraid it looks like the killer, or killers, were lying in wait for him.

’ He was still racking his brains for a motive. The friar’s death made no sense.

‘Have you asked the innkeeper about the messenger?’ Aimée was practical, as always. ‘Did he recognise the person who delivered it? This isn’t a big town. I’d imagine the innkeeper would know most of the people here.’

‘That’s a good thought, Aimée. I’ll go and ask him now.’ Luc turned and made his way back across the room. As he reached the other side, he realised that Thomas was right behind him. Reaching a quiet corner, Luc stopped and turned.

‘It’s about time you and I had a word.’ He kept his voice low, although there was nobody within earshot.

‘Always pleased to talk, Luc.’ Thomas affected a relaxed, cordial tone, but Luc could see he was very much on guard.

‘Tell me, Thomas, how long have you been in here this evening? I went out less than an hour ago and you weren’t here then.’

‘That’s funny. I got here almost exactly an hour ago. We must have missed each other by seconds.’ Thomas met and held Luc’s eye. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘It just seems like a big coincidence that the friar and the stonemason were both killed in the same way. A very professional way. You’re clearly an expert.’

‘Professional? Expert? Thanks for the compliments. But—’ Thomas’s voice dropped even lower ‘—if there’s a professional killer here, are you so sure it’s me? It’s you, and you know it.’

Luc stepped slowly back, until his shoulders touched the stone wall behind him. He began to ease his right hand towards his sleeve as Thomas continued.

‘You’re big enough and strong enough to have killed the monk with your bare hands.

I dare say you’ve done that sort of thing before.

’ Thomas was staring at him with an ironic smile.

‘Just like I know you think you could kill me with that dagger you keep up your sleeve, if you wanted to.’ He did not, however, roll up his own sleeves and Luc watched his hands very carefully.

‘Who are you?’

‘Thomas. I already told you that.’

Luc glanced around. They were still clear of prying ears. ‘Did you kill the friar?’ He kept his tone level. The other man’s stare didn’t waver.

‘What if I did?’

‘Are you telling me you killed Friar Laurent?’

‘I’m just saying, why should that bother you if I did? He represented the Catholic Church and the Pope. Everything you hate and fear.’

‘Why should I hate and fear the Church?’ Luc glanced around again. This conversation was moving into dangerous waters.

‘We’re neither of us children, Luc. I know who you are.

You can probably guess who I am. You’re a fugitive.

And it’s the Catholic Church, my Catholic Church, you’re running from.

’ His expression hardened. ‘And the Catholic Church is going to get you, and get what you’re carrying.

You can’t escape. You and the girl are pawns in a much bigger game; you must know that by now. ’

Luc tensed his muscles. He could feel the blood pulsing in his throat. The other man smiled and took a half-step back.

‘Before you launch yourself at me, Templar, remember this. You’re getting old now.

You’re no longer as fit and fast as you once were.

You’ve been running and hiding for too long.

Me, I’m a specialist. Try me, if you like, but don’t forget you’ve been warned.

You won’t get your knife out of its sheath. ’

They stood like that for a full minute, without another word being uttered. Finally, Luc dropped his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a croak. He saw the triumph in the other’s eyes.

‘So why kill the friar? Surely he’s one of your own?’

‘He was, but he was weak. He took a liking to you, or more probably to the pretty girl. As a result, he betrayed the trust placed in him by His Holiness. He betrayed the Church, my Church.’ Thomas’s voice was harder now. ‘He died so that you could be arrested and tried for his murder.’

Luc was genuinely surprised now. This man, this assassin, was prepared to kill a member of the Church just like that? Thomas was happy to explain.

‘Today, on the road, everybody in our group heard the stonemason accuse you of being a Templar. By the way, my compliments on your acting skills. What was it you said? “I have a horror of weapons and all forms of violence.” I almost laughed out loud. I killed the mason, because I didn’t want you to be killed by him. We want you alive, you see?’

Now Luc did. It made perfect sense. The friar had been killed while Luc was away from the inn.

He had been alone and so had no alibi. The stonemason had accused him of being a Templar in front of the friar.

There was a macabre logic in the idea of Luc killing Friar Laurent before he could reveal what he had heard to the bishop.

The other man’s eyes were watching closely.

He saw the comprehension dawn on Luc’s face.

‘That’s right. All it’ll need now is a word or two from me, and all these fine pilgrims will turn against you. Without us having to dirty our hands, or, more importantly, show our hand, they’ll denounce you to the authorities. They’ll have you in chains in the wink of an eye.’

Luc had no illusions as to his fate if that ever happened. His thoughts turned to Aimée. It was too horrible to contemplate. He hung his head in sheer dejection. Thomas laughed and wiped his mouth with his right hand.

Luc had been waiting for just such an opportunity.

He leapt forward, making no attempt to reach for his hidden dagger.

He saw the other man’s hand snake down from his face to his side and the knife appeared like magic.

But the extra distance his hand had to travel meant that Thomas was still lifting the point upwards when Luc’s left hand slammed into his windpipe.

This was followed by Luc’s right palm that thudded into the man’s nose with brutal force.

The nose shattered under the effect of the blow and Luc pushed it upwards, into the man’s brain. Thomas died on his feet.

Luc caught him before he could fall and rested the body against the wall. There was a faint clink as the knife fell out of the dead man’s hand. Luc scanned the room anxiously, but nobody in the shadows of the dormitory appeared to have noticed anything.

He returned his attention to the dead man.

His face was red with blood, but the flow had stopped as soon as it started and the ground around them was clean and unmarked.

Luc waited for a few moments for his breathing to slow down, then he tore a piece of cloth from the dead man’s shirt and used it to clean the blood off the lifeless face.

Satisfied with the result, he took the dead man’s left arm and pulled it across his shoulders, catching hold of the hand in his own left hand.

With his other arm, he gripped the man tightly around the waist. In this way, he managed to frogmarch the lifeless body past the few remaining drinkers in the next room, without attracting their attention.

Drunkenness was no cause for alarm. He struggled with the door handle for a moment.

Finally, he pulled it open and they disappeared into the night.

Outside, the moon had risen and illuminated the scene.

He swung the body over his shoulder in a more comfortable fireman’s lift and set off down a side road.

He met nobody, but he scanned every shadow apprehensively.

After three or four minutes, he emerged on the riverbank.

The river was wide and deep at that time of year.

Most importantly, it was flowing away from the town centre.

Luc slid the body off his back and into the water, watching as it floated off into the night.

He fell to his knees and gave thanks to the Lord for his salvation. Leaning forward, he scooped a handful of water out of the river. As he splashed his face and wiped the sweat off his brow, he found that his hands were shaking. He wasn’t surprised.

Collecting himself, he set off back up the dark street to the inn.

He let himself in the door and was pleased to see that the drinkers had all retired to bed.

He managed to return to the dormitory without trouble and found that the other members of his group had all gone back to bed.

Aimée was left sitting against her pack, listening nervously for his return.

He slipped off his jacket and lay down beside her, hugging her warmly.

He pulled her ear close to his mouth and covered them both with the blanket.

In the darkness, he whispered the events of the last ten minutes.

‘So he was a Church assassin?’ She turned towards him, whispering in her turn.

‘Yes, Aimée. He knew all about us, and he knew we’re carrying something precious.’

‘Well, that’s more than we do.’ For a moment she allowed herself a flash of frustration. ‘So they appear to know our every move?’

‘Yes, so far. Anyway, for the moment, the initiative’s with us. At least until they find Thomas’s body.’

‘So what do we do now?’

‘We get out of here. We get out of Santo Domingo and we find ourselves another bridge. And from now on, we don’t join any other group of pilgrims. We keep ourselves to ourselves. All right?’

She murmured her agreement.

‘Right, pack up your things as quietly as possible. Try not to wake anybody else. There’s just one thing I must do first.’

He slipped out from under the blanket and over to the spot where Thomas’s pack and bedroll still lay.

He and Aimée could gain a few precious hours if the others thought Thomas had already left.

He lifted both and carried them out to the latrines.

By the light of the moon, he dropped them one by one into the depths of the reeking pit.

Returning to Aimée, he picked up their packs.

Taking her hand, he led her on tiptoe out through the rows of sleeping pilgrims and into the cool night air.

‘Right, from now on, we’re on our own.’

She reached up on her toes and whispered in his ear. ‘Well, there’s nobody I’d rather be with.’ And she kissed him softly on the neck.