A Deadly Penance (20 page)
“Yes, I have,” the barber confirmed. “I have attended him as his barber-surgeon for many years.”
The Templar had not expected such good fortune, but had merely hoped that since Adgate and Gildas were near to each other in age, the barber might recall the furrier from the days of their youth, and remember the details of his first marriage. His hope rising, Bascot continued the conversation carefully. “I am sure you are aware that Adgate’s young wife was most distressed at being in the castle on the night of the murder.”
Gildas gave a nod of agreement, the jowls on his fat face wobbling slightly as he did so. “Yes, we all heard of how upset she was,” he said, and then added disapprovingly, “And there were some who claimed she was more friendly with the dead man than she should have been. Such malicious gossip should not be given any credence, and so I have told all those who have repeated it to me.”
The Templar believed him. Although Gildas, with his gregarious nature, liked to prattle of the mundane events that occurred from day to day, he was not a spiteful man and Bascot knew he would frown on those who repeated any rumour that cast unfounded aspersions on the reputation of another.
“Just so,” Bascot agreed. “And it is because of these tales that I do not wish to go to Master Adgate and ask him my questions directly. This murder has already given him enough upset and I do not wish to discommode him further.”
The Templar paused for a moment to ensure Gildas was amenable to respecting the implied confidentiality and, when the barber gave a sympathetic smile, went on. “There is a need to find out some information concerning Adgate’s first wife who, I understand, died some years ago. Lady Nicolaa has had the suggestion made to her that the former Mistress Adgate may have been related to Aubrey Tercel. If this is true, then it would be most distressing for the furrier to discover that, in addition to the unkind tales about his present wife, he could also be related, albeit by marriage, to the murdered man. That is why I have come to you. The castellan has asked me to try and find out the truth in a discreet in not a manner, if I can, and I thought that, as a long-standing citizen of Lincoln, and one who meets many of the townsfolk through your trade, you might be able to give me the information we seek. Do you happen to know the name of Adgate’s first wife, or the town from whence she came?”
Mention of the possibility that he might be of practical help to the castellan made the barber straighten up in his chair. Nicolaa de la Haye was held in high repute by the townspeople of Lincoln and the Templar had been sure Gildas would be eager to assist her. “Yes, yes, Sir Bascot, indeed I can help you, for not only has Simon been my customer for many years, but has been my friend since our youth. His first wife’s name was Martha. Both my own wife and I knew her well. But I do not think the dead man could have been related to her. Tercel was from Stamford, was he not?”
When the Templar confirmed the statement, Gildas went on. “Martha came from Hull; she was the daughter of a taw-yer in that town. Simon married her about twenty years ago, soon after he met her when he went to the port to oversee the delivery of some furs from Scandinavia. He had commissioned her father to preserve some of the furs so they could be safely sent to Lincoln before deterioration set in and when Simon went to his shop to inspect the completion of the work, Martha was there and my friend was smitten. It wasn’t many months later that they married and they were very happy until, sadly, just two years later, the poor woman was taken ill with an abscess in her breast and died. But while she was alive, she often spoke to my wife and myself of her family and, as far as I can recall, they were all from Yorkshire. I do not think it likely she was related to the murdered man; I am sure she would have mentioned it if she had any relatives in a town so close to Lincoln.”
Chagrin surged through Bascot. Adgate’s marriage had taken place too long after the time of Tercel’s birth to make it likely that his first wife had been the cofferer’s mother and, even had that not been the case, to investigate further and try to discover whether a woman from the distant town of Hull had travelled to Winchester so many years ago would be nigh on impossible.
Nonetheless, Bascot thanked the barber for his time and, as he prepared to leave, said, “It is just as well I spoke to you, Gildas, and not to Master Adgate. To have involved his dead wife’s name in such a grisly business may well have brought him further grief, and I know I can trust you to keep the matter in confidence from him.”
The barber rose from his stool, his countenance full of gratification as Bascot added, “I shall tell Lady Nicolaa of your cooperation. I know she will be most appreciative.”
O
NCE THEY WERE OUT ON THE STREET, THE TEMPLAR DECIDED, as a last resort, to go and speak again to Hacher, the barber Tercel had visited just before he was murdered. “I do not expect a further questioning of Hacher will be useful,” he said to Gianni, “but there is always the possibility that he may have remembered something pertinent since we last spoke to him. If he does not, I fear this investigation has come to a standstill.”
NCE THEY WERE OUT ON THE STREET, THE TEMPLAR DECIDED, as a last resort, to go and speak again to Hacher, the barber Tercel had visited just before he was murdered. “I do not expect a further questioning of Hacher will be useful,” he said to Gianni, “but there is always the possibility that he may have remembered something pertinent since we last spoke to him. If he does not, I fear this investigation has come to a standstill.”
Hacher’s shop, when they walked in, was busy. Two customers were waiting on stools near the door, the assistant was trimming the beard of a man seated on a high-backed chair, and Hacher was just finishing the treatment of a man with toothache. As the barber doused the lit candle he had been holding near the customer’s aching molar in an effort to draw out the worms believed to cause the pain, he saw the Templar and nodded, saying he would be with his visitor in just a moment. Hacher then handed a small bottle of oil of clo oft apprecves to the customer, whose face was a picture of misery, telling him to apply the oil to his gums overnight and return the following morning. Bascot winced at the sight. One of his own back teeth ached at times, especially after he had eaten a
candi
. He felt a great degree of empathy for the customer.
candi
. He felt a great degree of empathy for the customer.
“If the ache persists, I will draw the tooth,” Hacher said. “And then cup a little blood to balance the humours in your body. If you wish, I have some tincture of poppy to help you sleep.”
The customer mumbled that he didn’t need it for he had pledged an offering to St. Apollonia, the patron saint of those suffering from toothache, and was sure that she would soon ease his pain. With slumped shoulders he left the shop, his hand held firmly to his jaw.
Hacher came forward to where Bascot and Gianni were standing, attempting to form a smile on his doleful countenance as he asked how he could be of assistance.
“We have come to ask you a few more questions about Aubrey Tercel. I would like you to again recall the conversations you had with him on the two occasions you trimmed his hair. Are you certain he did not mention anyone in the town to you, one of the merchants, perhaps, or some other tradesman?”
Hacher’s domed forehead wrinkled in concentration. “He told me he was in the retinue of Lady Nicolaa’s sister and held the position of cofferer,” the barber said in his slow lugubrious manner, “but I think he only did that to impress on me that he was of some importance for, just after he said that, he warned me to take especial care while attending his hair.” Hacher sniffed. “I replied that I always gave the best of my service to every patron, whether of high standing or low.”
Bascot gave a nod of seeming sympathy, knowing he would have to be patient if he was going to get any information out of the man. “Did he speak of anything else?”
“We exchanged a few remarks about the quality of wine available in the town,” Hacher replied. “I told him I preferred, when I can afford it, a vintage made from the grapes of Portugal and he agreed with my taste and asked where I bought it. I told him there were several merchants in the town who sell the vintage and we left it at that.”
Clarice had also mentioned that she and her lover had discussed wine, but it was a common enough subject, and not likely to be of importance. “And you are certain he spoke of nothing else?” Bascot pressed.
“I do not thi
nk so,” the barber replied and then added ironically, “He did not seem a man much given to conversation.”
nk so,” the barber replied and then added ironically, “He did not seem a man much given to conversation.”
The Templar and Gianni left the shop, their spirits low. Even though they had achieved the goal of finding out about Simon Adgate’s first wife, the information had been of no significance and now Bascot found himself nonplussed as to which direction to take next. So far, they had only discovered what appeared to be two completely disparate motives for the crime—that of a violent reaction from a jealous lover or, alternatively, an attempt by Tercel’s mother, or someone close to her, to protect her sullied reputation. Was it possible that the two were linked together in some manner? And, if so, how?
Twenty-one
I
T WAS LATE IN THE MORNING BY THE TIME NICOLAA AND PETRONILLE returned to the bail. Bruet and Ernulf had been thorough in their search for the missing boy, coursinand wed and g through the forest all around Riseholme for a good distance, but there had been no trace of him. The castellan had questioned young Mark exhaustively while the search was being conducted, but he had not been able to add much to what he had already told them except that it had been “a long time before it got light” that Willi crept out from where they were sleeping. Deciding that the boy must have gone a good distance, or maybe even reached Lincoln, before they arrived, she gave orders for the party to return to the castle.
T WAS LATE IN THE MORNING BY THE TIME NICOLAA AND PETRONILLE returned to the bail. Bruet and Ernulf had been thorough in their search for the missing boy, coursinand wed and g through the forest all around Riseholme for a good distance, but there had been no trace of him. The castellan had questioned young Mark exhaustively while the search was being conducted, but he had not been able to add much to what he had already told them except that it had been “a long time before it got light” that Willi crept out from where they were sleeping. Deciding that the boy must have gone a good distance, or maybe even reached Lincoln, before they arrived, she gave orders for the party to return to the castle.
“It is in the town we must search,” she said to her sister. “We must return at once.”
Leaving instructions with Stoddard that he was to send news to her immediately if Willi returned to Riseholme, the small party went back to Lincoln. Once there, Nicolaa asked Ernulf if he was familiar with the boy’s appearance.
“Aye, lady. I saw him when I brought all of the children into the hall on the day of the feast. With that bright red hair of his, it was easy to mark him from the rest.”
“Good. Take the groom who drove the children to Riseholme with you—he also had a good opportunity to note the lad’s features—and search for Willi in the vicinity of St. Peter at Arches, where he went for alms. It is unlikely he will show himself at the church, for the priest there would wonder why he is in the town and not at Riseholme, but the streets nearby will be the place that his father left him and it is there that Willi will go to look for him. The other child, Mark, also said that Willi told him his father was over-fond of ale, so visit the alehouses in the area and see if he has been in any of them. And go out to the suburb of Butwerk, too, it is close by and many of the town’s poor seek refuge in the hovels there; it may be that he has joined them. Be discreet, do not tell anyone the reason we are searching for the boy; if one of those you speak to is the person he saw in the bail that night, you could place the lad in danger. Simply say you are looking for the boy because he is ill and may be infectious. That should put the fear of God into any that are sheltering him and induce them to reveal his whereabouts.”
As the serjeant and groom rode out of the bail, Petronille, who was standing nearby, said, “I pray they find him, and speedily. If the murderer saw Willi looking at him, he will be aware the boy can identify him. If their paths should cross while the child is searching for his father, then …”
“He will kill him,” Nicolaa finished grimly. “Let us hope Willi is found before that happens.”
T
HE SUBJECT OF THEIR SEARCH WAS, AT THAT MOMENT, PEERING out from behind an old ale cask that was being used as a water barrel. It was behind a house in a street not far from Pottergate, the town gate which led out into the suburb of Butwerk. Willi was not aware that anyone was looking for him, for he had been outside the walls of Lincoln by the time Bruet and Ernulf had begun their search of the woods. He had not gone into the town through Newport Arch as he had intended, but skirted the walls that encircled Lincoln and slipped into the town through Pottergate on the eastern side, his first intention to look in the sheltered nook down one of the backstreets where he and his father had been accustomed to spend their nights. The lane was rarely used by any of the people that lived nearby; it led only to a high fence that backed onto a yard where a carter kept his old horse and there were no doorways in the walls of the houses on either side. Willi and his father had gathered a pile of old rags in the corner that abutted the wall to keep them warm throughout the night and thd him, the boy believed that was where his da, if he had returned, would have looked for him. But when Willi had gone down into the alley, it was deserted and the rags lay in an undisturbed heap, crusty with a rime of unmelted frost.
HE SUBJECT OF THEIR SEARCH WAS, AT THAT MOMENT, PEERING out from behind an old ale cask that was being used as a water barrel. It was behind a house in a street not far from Pottergate, the town gate which led out into the suburb of Butwerk. Willi was not aware that anyone was looking for him, for he had been outside the walls of Lincoln by the time Bruet and Ernulf had begun their search of the woods. He had not gone into the town through Newport Arch as he had intended, but skirted the walls that encircled Lincoln and slipped into the town through Pottergate on the eastern side, his first intention to look in the sheltered nook down one of the backstreets where he and his father had been accustomed to spend their nights. The lane was rarely used by any of the people that lived nearby; it led only to a high fence that backed onto a yard where a carter kept his old horse and there were no doorways in the walls of the houses on either side. Willi and his father had gathered a pile of old rags in the corner that abutted the wall to keep them warm throughout the night and thd him, the boy believed that was where his da, if he had returned, would have looked for him. But when Willi had gone down into the alley, it was deserted and the rags lay in an undisturbed heap, crusty with a rime of unmelted frost.
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