A Deadly Penance (5 page)
“We are making good use of Gianni’s talents, de Marins,” Nicolaa informed the Templar. “He has been present during all the interviews Richard conducted and has made notes of any pertinent details. Unfortunately, there has not been much for him to record.” She held up the sheets of parchment. “He had just made a fair copy of the results, if you wish to look at them.”
The Templar thanked the castellan and, when he saw the clear script in which the details were written, gave Gianni a nod of approval. Nicolaa noticed the gesture and, with a warm smile, said, “Gianni has done well since he began his training under Master Blund. He has now completed his formal lessons and I have given him a permanent post as clerk in the scriptorium.”
As Gianni reddened under the praise, Bascot felt his heart swell with pride. When he remembered the frightened young boy he had rescued from certain death in Palermo, he thanked God that he had been the instrument of the lad’s survival.
As he glanced over the list, he saw that alongside the names of two of the guests—a furrier, Simon Adgate, and his wife, Clarice—was a note that they, along with another couple, an armourer and his wife, had been allotted sleeping chambers in the old tower, just below the spot where the murder took place. It was also appended that, when questioned by Richard, none of the four people had either seen or heard anything while they were abed. Beside Clarice Adgate’s name, mention was made that she had retired to the chamber early, before the feast had started, due to feeling unwell. She must be the one guest that Richard had mentioned as not staying in the keep until the celebration was over.
The Templar tapped the notation with a forefinger. “Is Simon Adgate an elderly man with greying hair?” he asked.
Surprised, Nicolaa confirmed the description and asked if he had made the acquaintance of the merchant. “No, I have not,” Bascot replied, “but I passed some of the guests leaving the castle as I arrived and one of them was attired in a particularly fine fur hat, and had with him a young woman wrapped in a vair-trimmed cloak. Since it says here that Adgate is a furrier, it is likely he and his wife would be attired in clothing of such richness. When I saw them I assumed that the woman was his daughter, because of her youth. She seemed to be in much distress.”
“She was,” Nicolaa told him. “The thought that she had been sleeping so close to where the murder was carried out upset her greatly and she reacted with a great outpouring of tears. Her dismay seemed a little excessive, I thought, but her husband told me she has a very sensitive nature, and apologised for her outburst.”
“She was in close proximity to where the murder took place, and at the right hour, and you have said that it could have been a woman who used the bow,” Bascot observed. “Have you discounted her as a suspect?”
“We have,” Nicolaa replied. “Clarice Adgate is, I fear, a rather empty-headed young woman and, whatever the cause of her distress, it denotes a hysterical nature. For the murderer to successfully lure Tercel up onto the ramparts and shoot him, determination and a steady nerve were required. The furrier’s wife does not seem to me to be possessed of either of those attributes.”
Bascot accepted Nicolaa’s assessment without hesitation. He knew the castellan to be ana flan to astute observer of human nature and had rarely known her judgement to prove faulty.
“I have yet to make enquiries of the two guild leaders and their wives that did not remain in the castle overnight,” Richard told him. “But since it is most likely that they, in common with most of the others, would not have known Tercel personally, I do not suppose any of them will have taken particular note of his movements.”
“I presume there was much activity in the hall last night, lady,” Bascot said to Nicolaa. “With the number of people that were present—the guests, your own household and your sister’s retinue—it would have been easy for the dead man to leave the hall relatively unnoticed in the throng.”
“That is true,” she agreed. “Attention was also distracted by a minstrel I hired. He proved to be an excellent jongleur who kept us enthralled with his songs. But as far as we have been able to determine, no one was noticeably absent except Adgate’s wife. And the only one that saw Tercel leave the hall was one of our household servants, and that only because he almost bumped into him as he was on his way to the latrine.”
“Your sister has been in Lincoln for some weeks now, I understand,” Bascot said. “During that time, Tercel might have made an enemy in the town. It would have been easy for an extra person to have slipped in amongst your guests when they arrived. Mayhap the murderer came from without the bail and left after he had completed his mission.”
Nicolaa gave the notion some thought and said, “It is possible, I suppose. Petronille is an easy mistress; all of her servants have been given leave to attend services in the cathedral whenever they wish, or to go abroad in the town if their absence does not cause a disruption in the commission of their duties. It is conceivable that Tercel might have made an enemy among the townspeople during his forays into Lincoln.” She looked at her son. “My sister’s servants will have to be questioned again, to see if any of them know where he went, and whom he met, on those occasions that he left the ward.”
Richard nodded. “It is
as good a place as any to start, I suppose. Will you assist me, de Marins?”
as good a place as any to start, I suppose. Will you assist me, de Marins?”
“With pleasure,” the Templar replied.
Six
I
T WAS NEARING MIDDAY BY THE TIME SIMON ADGATE AND HIS wife, Clarice, arrived at their fine stone house situated near Stonebow, the principal gate at the lower end of Lincoln town. Their journey from the castle had been slow; even though the sun was shining, its meagre warmth had not completely melted the coating of ice on the cobbles and the streets were still slippery. They had been forced to guide their horses down the sharp incline of Steep Hill with great care until they reached the main thoroughfare of Mikelgate. Once away from the castle ward, Simon had ceased his attempts to comfort his wife and become aloof. By the time the couple had reached the turning where their house was located, Clarice’s crying had been reduced to quiet hiccupping sobs and she was timorously glancing sidelong at her husband’s stern face. His grey eyes were hard and the deep furrows alongside his mouth seemed as though they were set in stone.
T WAS NEARING MIDDAY BY THE TIME SIMON ADGATE AND HIS wife, Clarice, arrived at their fine stone house situated near Stonebow, the principal gate at the lower end of Lincoln town. Their journey from the castle had been slow; even though the sun was shining, its meagre warmth had not completely melted the coating of ice on the cobbles and the streets were still slippery. They had been forced to guide their horses down the sharp incline of Steep Hill with great care until they reached the main thoroughfare of Mikelgate. Once away from the castle ward, Simon had ceased his attempts to comfort his wife and become aloof. By the time the couple had reached the turning where their house was located, Clarice’s crying had been reduced to quiet hiccupping sobs and she was timorously glancing sidelong at her husband’s stern face. His grey eyes were hard and the deep furrows alongside his mouth seemed as though they were set in stone.
Adgate’s business premises adjoined his house. Since he knew that his assistant would be in the shop attending to any customers that had come out on this cold morning, he guided their horses around to the small stable at the back of the building eneeand, after giving the animals into care of a groom, led his wife directly into the house. The middle-aged maidservant who supervised Adgate’s household heard their entry and came forward to take their outer clothing.
“There is a good fire in the hall, Master Simon,” she said with a worried glance at Clarice’s tear-stained face. “Shall I bring some mulled wine to warm you?”
Simon shook his head. “Take your mistress up to our bedchamber,” he instructed tersely, “and help her disrobe and get into bed. She has had a bad shock and is in need of rest.”
As the servant took Clarice’s arm and led her up the stairs to the upper storey, Simon went into the room that served as a small hall. It was a graciously appointed chamber containing a highly polished oak table and chairs and padded settles. There were tapestries on the walls depicting hunting scenes, and many of the animals whose furs he sold were portrayed in the background—foxes, squirrels, rabbits and the weasel from which ermine was obtained. On the floor, in front of the hearth, was a fine wolfskin rug on which lay two pairs of soft shoes—one pair for himself and the other for Clarice—lined with lamb’s wool. Simon walked over to an open-faced cupboard at the end of the room and took down a silver goblet, into which he poured a full measure of wine from a flagon on the table. Then he sat down heavily on one of the settles near the fireplace, hardly feeling the warmth of the flames. It was as though the ice that covered the town had invaded his heart.
Clarice’s outburst of tears had shocked him, and it had taken only moments for him to realise that her grief for the death of a man she was supposed to have known only in the most casual fashion was inordinate. The implication of her unseemly weeping hit him like a hammer blow and, with a sense of desolation, he realised she had been intimately involved with Aubrey Tercel. As the other guild leaders and their wives had turned to stare at her in puzzlement, his first reaction had been to protect both her and his own reputation and so he had led her apart from the group. But the effort of keeping his anger in check and forcing himself to show a solicitous concern towards her had placed him under a great strain, especially as it had been compounded with a personal fear of quite a different nature.
As he sipped the wine, he tried to still his racing thoughts. Had his protestations that his wife’s anguish was due to her delicate nature been accepted by Lady Nicolaa and Sir Richard? He was not sure, for he had seen the dawning of speculation in their eyes. But that was the least of his worries, he thought, and again dread gripped him. There was far more at stake than the loss of his good name; if what he feared was true, then the well-being, indeed the very lives, of people that were dear to him hung in the balance. Fervently, he offered up a prayer that even if Clarice’s adulterous affair should be discovered, the other connection between himself and the dead man would remain a secret. If it did not, the consequences could be disastrous.
I
N THE CASTLE BARRACKS, ERNULF WAS ALSO IN A STATE OF agitation, but for an entirely different reason. As serjeant of the garrison, it was his responsibility to ensure that the castle and its inhabitants were safe, and he felt that since the men under his command had not been alert enough to catch the murderer it was he, as their senior officer, who was at fault. Whether the murderer had come from without the walls, or within, his entry up onto the ramparts should have been seen by one of the guards and challenged. After the inquest, and following the coroner’s questioning of all of the men-at-arms who had been on duty, Ernulf had subjected them to a sec Cthe was noond inquisition in the barracks, voicing his displeasure for their lack of vigilance.
N THE CASTLE BARRACKS, ERNULF WAS ALSO IN A STATE OF agitation, but for an entirely different reason. As serjeant of the garrison, it was his responsibility to ensure that the castle and its inhabitants were safe, and he felt that since the men under his command had not been alert enough to catch the murderer it was he, as their senior officer, who was at fault. Whether the murderer had come from without the walls, or within, his entry up onto the ramparts should have been seen by one of the guards and challenged. After the inquest, and following the coroner’s questioning of all of the men-at-arms who had been on duty, Ernulf had subjected them to a sec Cthe was noond inquisition in the barracks, voicing his displeasure for their lack of vigilance.
“How could you have missed someone being killed right under your noses?” he thundered. “What if this miscreant had been an enemy come to breach the walls? I reckon he could have led a troupe of soldiers inside the bail while you was all standin’ around scratching your arses.”
The two guards who had stood the night watch on the stretch of the ramparts where the murder had taken place withstood the tirade without speaking while the rest of the men-at-arms glanced at them uncomfortably. The pair were all too aware they had been lax; even if it was reasonable to claim that the murderer could have slipped by them during the few minutes that their route took them away from the area near the old tower, they should have found the body long before the serjeant did. No matter that the night air had been so cold it numbed a man’s senses, or that the bitter wind had forced them to keep their heads down lest their breath freeze in their mouths, the door that gave admittance to the tower should have been regularly checked to ensure that it remained locked. If they had gone across the catwalk to perform that simple task, they would have found the corpse and raised the alarm long before dawn’s light. The delay of those few precious hours might well have enabled the murderer to escape. Ernulf had every right to be furious. They eyed him warily; it was entirely possible they would be dismissed from their posts.
The serjeant gave a curt nod in their direction. “You two will be docked half a month’s salary for this night’s shoddy work,” he said curtly and then glared at the other men standing in front of him. “And the rest of you had better take heed. Let me catch any of you idle cowsons sleepin’ at your posts again and you’ll be standin’ on the outside of the bail, looking for work.”
When they were finally dismissed, all of the men gratefully threw themselves down on their pallets to get a few hours rest before the next shift of duty, the errant pair who were at fault thankful they still had employment. Ernulf, his broad face set in a scowl, stomped to the small cubicle at the back of the building that served as his personal quarters and, pulling aside the leather screen that served as a door, went inside.
Muttering to himself discontentedly, he seized a leather jack of ale from where it stood in a corner and poured himself a full mug, heating it by plunging into its depths the tip of a metal poker that had been sitting in the burning embers of a brazier. When the murky liquid had been scalded, he threw himself down onto a stool and took a long pull.
As the tension slowly drained out of him, he began to ruminate on who had access to Lady Nicolaa’s crossbow and when it might have been taken from its case. Richard Camville had spoken to the castle bowyer while they had been waiting for Coroner Pinchbeck to arrive and the bowyer had said that he had replaced the bowstring on the weapon two weeks before and had not had occasion, since that time, to handle it again. If the murderer was someone who lived within the ward—and Ernulf shuddered at the thought that it could be someone known to him—then the bow could have been removed at any time since then and kept hidden until it was used to kill Tercel. But, if the person responsible for the death had been one of those who came to the feast—a much more preferable assumption to the serjeant—then it would have to have been removed sometime during yesterday afternoon or evening.
Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw, Ernulf felt a renewed sense of frustration. The only thing that was certain was that the bow had been returned to its usual place after the murder, Cr ta renewe for it had been there a few hours later when Richard and Ernulf had gone to the armoury after the discovery of the body. If he was to recall anything that would help identify the murderer, it would be profitless to try and determine when the bow had been taken, for it could have been removed at any time over the last fortnight; he must try to remember if he had seen anyone near the armoury during the time it was replaced.
Most of the guests had arrived earlier in the afternoon and had been in the keep by the time of the evening meal, the earliest hour at which Tercel could have been killed. Ernulf focussed on the few minutes after he had eaten and had left the hall to return to the barracks. It had been dark by then, with only the flaming torches set along the perimeter of the ward to lighten the gloom, and most of the people he had seen in the ward merely dim figures well wrapped up in cloaks and hoods. While he could not recall seeing any of them near the door to the armoury in the old tower, he had to admit that he had assumed all of them were members of the castle household who slept outside the keep; the blacksmith in the smithy, the grooms in the stable and those such as the cowherd and goose girl who slept in small shacks alongside their charges. Now he wondered if had been mistaken. Could it be that one of the closely shrouded figures had been the murderer? Concentrating his attention, he tried to re-create the scene in his mind, but for all his efforts, the only person he could recall with any clarity was the furrier’s wife; and he had recognised her only because the white fur on the hood of her cloak had shone bright in the gloom as she tripped across the bail. While it was true she had been heading in the direction of the old tower, her presence there, according to Sir Richard, had been accounted for.
After that, he had spent the remainder of the evening in the barracks polishing his boots with goose grease and repairing a rip in his tunic before taking a final walk around the bail to ensure all was in order for the night. By then it had been close onto the midnight hour and he had stayed in the ward until the eastern gate had been barred behind the four guests that had left. Once assured that everyone was abed, he had gone to his own pallet for a few hours’ rest. At no time had there been any occurrence that had seemed untoward, nor could he now call any helpful detail to mind.
Annoyed that his mental exercise had proved futile, the serjeant poured himself another cup of ale and again heated it with the tip of the hot poker. Sir Richard had told him that he was going to ask Bascot de Marins to assist in the murder enquiry and Ernulf fervently hoped the Templar would be able to do so. The serjeant had come to know Bascot quite well during the two years he had stayed in the castle as part of Lady Nicolaa’s retinue and had a high respect for his ability to seek out those who perpetrated secret murder. Ernulf prayed the Templar would once again prove his competence and catch the sneaky bastard who had crept up onto the ramparts and killed Lady Petronille’s cofferer.
A
S THE GUILD LEADERS WHO HAD STAYED THE NIGHT IN THE castle went back to their homes, all of them—with the exception of Simon Adgate—felt gratified by the success of the previous evening’s celebration. The unfortunate incident of the murder had dimmed their enjoyment a little, but none of them had been personally acquainted with the dead man and so his demise did not trouble them unduly. Once they were safely within their own walls and had seated themselves at their respective tables to enjoy the midday meal, uppermost in their minds was the project they had supported and the glow of satisfaction they were still deriving from their participation.
S THE GUILD LEADERS WHO HAD STAYED THE NIGHT IN THE castle went back to their homes, all of them—with the exception of Simon Adgate—felt gratified by the success of the previous evening’s celebration. The unfortunate incident of the murder had dimmed their enjoyment a little, but none of them had been personally acquainted with the dead man and so his demise did not trouble them unduly. Once they were safely within their own walls and had seated themselves at their respective tables to enjoy the midday meal, uppermost in their minds was the project they had supported and the glow of satisfaction they were still deriving from their participation.
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