Shroud of Dishonour (22 page)

“Did she see the man who attacked her?”

“She says not, but now that she has had time to reflect, she may remember something that will help us catch this
chien.
”

As they reached Bailgate and descended Steep Hill into the town, Roget told Bascot of another happening that had taken place the night before. Bailiff Thorson had arrived at the castle in the early evening with the news that he, along with Sven Grimson, his wife, and the two seamen, had come to Lincoln and taken lodgings in the town.

“Thorson said Sven and Joan had insisted on coming to Lincoln to speak to the sheriff personally, as they had further information that would allow Sir Gerard to lift the restriction that had been placed on them. They asked that they be granted a meeting with him today.”

“We only came back from Grimsby two days ago,” Bascot said in astonishment. “How did they miraculously come by ‘further information’ in such a short time?” He shook his head in disbelief. “It would appear we were right to suspect they were lying. Does Thorson know what it is they have to tell?”

“No. He said only that Sven and Joan came to him the morning after we left and insisted they must speak to Sir Gerard themselves, that what they had to tell could not be passed through another’s agency. Because the bailiff had taken responsibility for ensuring they would not flee, he decided that he could not countenance them setting off unaccompanied, so he came with them.”

“And how did Camville react to this news?”

Roget gave an evil grin. “He lost his temper. I was not there, but Ernulf told me that although he did not rail at Thorson, he told the bailiff he would see the Grimsons at his leisure and they could consider themselves fortunate he did not throw all four of them in the castle gaol.”

Roget urged his horse into a trot as they approached Butwerk and the hovel where Terese lived. “I think he plans to talk to Sven and the others this afternoon, which is another reason why we cannot go to Ingham today
.
Sir Gerard would like you to be present when he hears what it is they have to say.”

O
NE OF THE TOWN GUARDS UNDER
R
OGET’S COMMAND WAS on duty outside Terese’s door when they arrived. The captain asked him if all had been well during the rest of the night and, when the soldier nodded, they knocked on the door.

When Terese opened it, it was obvious she had managed to get little sleep. Her erect figure was slightly stooped and lines of weariness etched her face. She bid both of them come in and gently shooed the band of little girls, who were gathered behind her clutching at her skirt, to the far side of the room, urging them to sit quietly while she spoke to their visitors.

“They do not know what has happened, but are aware that something is wrong,” Terese said. “It would be best if we spoke about this matter in quiet tones, so they are not alarmed any further.”

“If you will allow me, mistress, I can think of a way to distract them,” Roget said and strode to the door. Giving the guard a couple of pennies from the purse at his belt, the captain told the soldier to go to the nearest baker and buy two loaves of fresh bread. “And some honey or conserve to spread on it. And don’t dally, or else you will feel the sole of my boot on your backside.”

The guard sped off and Terese smiled. “You are not quite so fearsome as you seem, Captain,” she said.

“Women of all ages should be cherished, not frightened,” Roget responded gallantly.

While they waited for the guard, the captain poured them all a cup of wine from the flask he kept hanging from his saddle and, as soon as the soldier returned and the bread and honey had been distributed among the children—whose eyes all stretched wide at the rare treat—and they were sitting quietly, Roget asked Terese to tell Bascot of her frightening experience the night before.

“I was only a few steps from the stewe,” she said in soft tones, “and just passing the mouth of an alleyway that leads to a midden at the back of the houses. I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye and suddenly I felt something—a cord or a piece of rope—go around my neck and begin to tighten. I barely had time to pull out the knife I have been carrying since Elfie was killed before the garrotte cut off my breath entirely. I am fortunate I had a weapon on me.”

She pulled a small blade about five or six inches long from a small battered sheath strung on a cord around her waist. Although the knife was not very big, Bascot and Roget saw that it had been honed to a fine sharpness on both sides of the blade. The edges glinted wickedly in the narrow shaft of sunlight that came through the small casement beside the front door. “It is the knife I use to cut up vegetables. I had the tinker sharpen it for me,” she explained. “It has served me well.”

“And then, mistress,” Bascot prompted as her eyes began to darken with remembered terror.

Terese recovered her composure and continued, “My cloak must have hampered my attacker from tightening the cord further and, as he moved close behind me to get a better grip, I stabbed out with my little blade.” She demonstrated the action she had used, holding her arm stiffly down at her side and driving the knife backwards.

Her lips drew into a small smile of satisfaction. “I felt it cut into that pig’s flesh, the top of his leg I think, and so I pulled it out and struck again. He gave a grunt of pain and I felt the noose go slack. Then I screamed and the door to the stewe flew open and Verlain’s guard came rushing out. But before he could grab ahold of my attacker, the coward had turned and run back down the alleyway. The guard searched the area, as did two of your constables, Captain, after Verlain rang the alarm bell at the end of the street to summon them, but they could not find him.”

“You showed remarkable courage, mistress,” Bascot said to her.

“Not courage, lord, but desperation. My life may not be worth much, but it is mine, and I do not intend to give it up to any but the Good Lord above when He decides it is time.”

Both men agreed wholeheartedly with her sentiment and Bascot asked if she had seen the face of her attacker.

“No, I did not,” she answered with a dissatisfied grimace. “The moon is in a dark phase so there was not much light in the street, only a small glimmer from the torch outside Verlain’s stewe. And the villain had a cloak on with a hood which shadowed his face. I am sorry, lords, I have been wracking my poor brain all night to try and think of something that may help you identify him, but I cannot. It all happened so fast, and it was very dark.”

“What makes you think it is Elfie’s killer that attacked you, mistress?” Bascot asked. “Might it not have been someone who was merely intent on stealing the money you had just collected from Verlain?”

Terese shook her head. “If it had been a thief, he could have simply struck me over the head to knock me senseless and then robbed me of the little bit of silver I was carrying. This man was intent on killing me. That is why I think it is the same one that murdered poor Elfie and Adele Delorme. In the gloom, it would have been easy for him to have mistaken me for one of the bawds from Verlain’s stewe, for the darkness would have hidden the age lines on my face. And it was in Verlain’s brothel that he found easy prey once before, when he took poor Elfie to your Templar chapel and killed her. No, he was not a thief.”

Bascot put his next question with seeming mildness so as not to influence Terese’s answer in any way. “There is a slim possibility that it might be a woman who is responsible for these crimes. Did you notice anything about your attacker that might indicate whether this could be so?”

After a fleeting glance of surprise, the former harlot gave the question careful consideration. Finally she said that she could not be certain. “I only saw his figure after he—or she—ran back down the alley.” She concentrated for a moment longer as she thought carefully over the attack before reluctantly shaking her head. “I could feel my assailant’s body close against my back, but was not aware of any breasts pressing into me. It could have been a woman who is not buxom but, I am sorry, lord, I cannot be sure.”

“But, whoever it was, you are certain you wounded him?” Bascot pressed.

“Oh, yes, of that I am most positive. My little knife was bloodied to the haft.” Terese gave a grim smile of satisfaction. “And he was limping as he ran away.”

A
FTER LEAVING
T
ERESE,
B
ASCOT AND
R
OGET RODE BACK TO the castle. As they did so, the captain remarked that he was going to ask Gerard Camville to second some of the castle’s men-at-arms to the town guard.

“I have a dozen men,” the captain added. “Two are needed to guard the perfumer’s house—one during the day and another at night—and now another two to keep watch at Terese’s home. That will leave me with only eight men, four for the day shifts and four for nights, to patrol the town. It is not enough to maintain security, especially with this mad dog of a murderer on the loose. It is unfortunate that Terese did not catch a glimpse of the face of the person who attacked her. That would have been most helpful.”

“Even though she did not, Roget,” Bascot replied, “she marked him with her knife and said he was limping from the effect of the wound. We must take particular notice of any man, or woman, who is favouring one leg.”

He paused for a moment and then added, “Terese said, like the man Mistress Turner’s maid saw, that her assailant was of average height. It might be worthwhile to take note of the stance of those in the Grimson party, since they were all in Lincoln last night. Sven is too tall, but Askil would fit the description, and so might Dunny, even if he is perhaps a little short of stature. And if a female is responsible, Joan is the right height and also a strongly built woman.”

“I believe Peter Thorson and the constable he brought with him watched over them all in the lodgings where they stayed last night,” Roget told him. “The bailiff is not a man to shirk his duty. I would be surprised if any of them would have been able to escape his vigilance.”

“Perhaps so, but it can be difficult for a man to oversee a woman all night long unless he is her husband. With Sven’s connivance, Joan could easily have slipped out without Thorson being aware of it.”

Roget gave a chuckle. “For a chaste Templar, your knowledge of a woman’s ways sometimes surprises me.”

Bascot returned his smile. “In the years of my youth, before I joined the Order, I was often tempted by the charms of a willing female. And I did not always resist.”

A
FTER LEAVING THEIR HORSES IN THE CASTLE STABLES, THE pair went into the keep, where trestle tables were being set up for the midday meal. The Haye steward, Eudo, met them at the door and told Bascot he was to convey an invitation from the sheriff that the Templar stay and eat with the household so that he would be present when Thorson brought the Grimson party to the hall after the meal was over.

While Roget went to sit with Ernulf and the men of the garrison near the back of the hall, Bascot took the seat he had been accustomed to use while he had been staying in the castle, at a table used by the household knights set just below the dais. In the centre of the table was a huge salt cellar that marked the division of those of highborn status from ones of lower station. Bascot’s regular seat had been at the lower edge of the line of demarcation and, as he slid into place, the knights in Camville’s retinue all gave him a warm greeting. A few moments later, Gianni came into the hall with John Blund and Lambert. As one of the higher ranking household staff, the secretary took his seat just below the salt and expressed his pleasure at being in Bascot’s company. Both Gianni and Lambert, as Blund’s assistants, were allowed to sit beside the secretary, and Lambert did so, but Gianni immediately came around behind the Templar and filled his wine cup. The lad then began to lade Bascot’s trencher with viands from a huge platter in the middle of the table, just as he had done every day for the two years he had been the Templar’s servant.

John Blund looked on with a nod of approval and Lambert gave a smile of commendation. Bascot felt a warm glow in his heart and, when Gianni had piled his trencher high, thanked the lad and gave him permission to take his own seat. The boy’s actions were a nice gesture of courtesy, and betokened well for the character of the man he was on the verge of becoming.

Once the meal was over, Gerard Camville, seated on the dais, sent a page to where Bascot was sitting with an invitation to share a cup of wine at the high table while they waited for the Grimsons and the two seamen to appear. The Templar joined the sheriff and Lady Nicolaa while the detritus of food was removed and the tables taken down and stacked against the walls and then, as Camville had instructed, the hall was cleared of servants. When the expected party arrived in the company of Bailiff Thorson and his constable, the huge chamber was empty except for Bascot, the sheriff, Nicolaa de la Haye and Roget. The steward, Eudo, had remained at the door only long enough to usher Thorson and his constable, with the Grimson party trailing behind, into the hall before exiting himself.