Afonso II utters, “I never murdered my wife. Gasp!”

He continues.

“Proof is I made her the designated consort. My children were young. She was to rule the Kingdom until Sancho was of age to assume the throne. The money is just money. I loved and still love my wife,” he rasps out.

The Saints swoon.

“What you are saying is that she was important to have a smooth transition to your son and a strong Portugal in the Iberian Peninsula. And you loved my mother,” says Afonso III.

“If Afonso II didn’t murder his wife, who did?” I ask the court.

“If we can’t prove someone else other than Afonso II murdered Queen Urraca then they remain in purgatory,” says St. Teresa.

Afonso III’s wife Queen Biatrix joins us.

“Who else could have murdered Queen Urraca?” asks St. Teresa.

“Who were your closest friends and advisors?” asks St. Sanchia.

“In addition, what are the associations and orders both of you frequented,” says St. Teresa.

“I wish permission to continue the murder investigation. We can investigate the acquaintances of both the King and Queen. I propose that we investigate the Queen’s acquaintances first,” I say.

The Saints, Queen Urraca, King Afonso II, Queen Biatrix, and King Afonso III nod in agreement.

I take one last peek at my iPhone and say, “I call forward, Queen Urraca.”

Queen Urraca comes drifting forward shimmering silver light. She has a slender whisper of a physique and a long graceful neck with a waste that is seventy percent of the size of her hips. Her hair resembles gold strands of silk. She’s gorgeous. My chest tightens reminding me of when I was in Miss Gillies class in Kindergarten. For a second, I felt in love.

“Did you have conversations with the Franciscan Friars Minor, say, more than once week?” I ask.

“I met with the lead brother once a month and agreed to fund their voyage to Morocco to convert Muslims to Christianity. I never asked them to predict when I would die,” she answers.

“Then you say someone must have created the story after you died,” I ask.

She replies, “Yes.”

I flip through my notes on the iPhone.

“You’re from Castile aren’t you?” I ask.

“Yes, I am,” she answers.

“Did people from Castile accompany you to Coimbra?”

“Yes, I brought several maids, one for my clothing and one for meals and care.”

“Did one of your maids taste your food?”

“Yes, one did. She never died from poisoning.”

“Who else gave you food or drink, which your taster did not try?”

She looks puzzled, scratches her chin as if she had a beard, then shakes her head, lifts it and says, “My Confessor.”

“How often did you meet with your Confessor?”

“I met with him every day in the morning, at day break. He heard my confession and then I took the sacrament[1].”

“You drank what he gave you. Was it his wine?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“So the only person who gave you food or drink, that your taster had not sampled, was your Confessor.  Tell me more concerning your Confessor?”

“He came with me from Castile. There were several ecclesiastics who escorted me from Toledo.”

“Who was your Confessor’s supervisor?”

“He reported to the Dean of the Sé in Lisboa.”

“What was the name of the Dean?”

“It was Mestre Vicente.”

“Thanks very much Queen Urraca. You have been very helpful.”

I look at my iPhone and two thumb through text notes.

“I now call Afonso II to come forward,” I call out.

Footnote

[1] sacrament – The Roman Catholic Church Communion sacrament is administered in the form of wine by the communicant drinking directly from a chalice

Read Chapter 21  Someone Else