The Canterbury Murders (3 page)

Chapter Four

The king came thundering through the gate on a snow-white stallion, the hem of his ermine-lined cloak streaming out behind him. At his heels was an escort of half-a-dozen mercenaries, all wearing coats of mail with conical metal helmets and each heavily armed with sword and mace.

John came to a sliding halt in the middle of the bail, his expression as dark as a storm cloud. It lightened slightly when he saw Nicolaa standing with Marshal at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the keep. After he had dismounted and tossed the reins of his horse to a waiting groom, he came across to where she was standing and greeted her warmly, clasping both of her hands in his. “I am pleased to see you, lady,” he said, “although I would wish the circumstances were different.”

“As would I,” Nicolaa assured him. “Marshal has told me of the murder of your servant.”

John nodded, his eyes full of sorrow. “Poor Molly. She did not deserve to die such a terrible death.”

Abruptly he put aside his grief, and in a brusque tone he said to Marshal, “Has de Cornhill arrived yet? He is sheriff; he should be here to attend me, especially as a crime has been committed in his bailiwick. His continued absence is most displeasing to me.”

“A letter arrived from him this morning, after you had left for Dover,” the earl replied, his manner equally stiff, the constraint between Marshal and the king obvious. “He is at his estate in Rochester and apologises for his tardiness, but he has been overtaken by a virulent fever and is unable to rise from his bed.”

“Damnation,” John swore softly.

“As you requested in the message you left for me, I met with the coroner at the townhouse after you left this morning,” Marshal added. “He has recorded the details of the murder and released the body for burial. The town bailiff came with him and offered his assistance in the search for the murderer, but his resources are limited—he has only the men of the town guard at his disposal—and their expertise is confined to dealing with much smaller crimes, such as robbery and drunkenness. Despite his willingness, I fear his efforts will not meet with much success.”

“No, the investigation cannot be left in the hands of a town official,” John declared. “Someone of more competence must be found, and quickly, before the trail grows cold. I will give the matter some thought.”

Turning back to Nicolaa, he apologised for keeping her standing in the cold. “You have had a long journey, lady, and will be anxious to know the reason for my summons. Come, let us go into the keep and I will enlighten you.”

As he took Nicolaa’s arm and turned towards the stone tower, he added over his shoulder, “It will be best if you come with us, Marshal. You are aware of the subject I wish to raise with Lady Nicolaa, and our conversation will be rendered more expedient if you are present.”

As John led the way into the hall, Miles and Gilles, as well as Gianni and Clare, rose from their seats and hurriedly made an obeisance, but the king swept past them all, flinging his cloak to a servant and calling for a flagon of wine as he made his way to one of the corner towers. At the top of the winding staircase, he led Nicolaa and Marshal into a room of moderate size, furnished, as was the hall, with only the bare necessities. On one side was a narrow bed and on the other a small table set about with two chairs, a wooden settle and some stools.

Bidding them both to take a seat, John paced the length of the room before sitting down himself and waving a hand dismissively at their surroundings. “I apologise, Nicolaa, for bringing you to such a comfortless chamber, but ladies do not often come inside the ward, so none of the rooms are kept suitable for their reception.”

Nicolaa glanced at Marshal. The earl had been correct when he said that John had changed. The king’s habitual smooth urbanity was gone, replaced by a nervous energy, and in the depths of the dark flashing eyes he had inherited from his beautiful mother was a haunted look. Around his neck were gold chains strung with religious medals, and an image of the Virgin Mary was pinned to his fur-lined hat, almost as though he needed to reinforce heaven’s protection.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door and a servant appeared with a flagon of wine. Once they had all been served with a cup, and the servant departed, the king began to explain his purpose in requesting Nicolaa’s presence.

“I am sure you are aware, lady, through my summons to your husband, that due to the perilous situation in Normandy I have been forced to summon a convocation of the Great Council at Oxford.”

At Nicolaa’s confirming nod, he went on. “It is because of this meeting that I have sent for you. My purpose was twofold, and both parts concern the queen. Firstly, I fear for her safety. Earlier this year, in Normandy, minions of Philip tried to take her hostage at Chinon, and I am concerned this may happen again, here in England.”

John’s trepidation was not without foundation. There were those amongst his English barons who were in agreement with Marshal, especially those who held fiefs in other lands across the Narrow Sea directly from Philip, and felt that the king should cede Normandy to French rule. If, unlike the earl, they were unscrupulous, it was not impossible that they would stoop to seizing Isabella and use the threat of harming her to force the king to their will.

“While the council at Oxford is in session,” John continued, “I would have the queen in the safekeeping of a person I can trust. I want you, Nicolaa, under the protection of Marshal, to take Isabella to Lincoln and keep her there until it is ended.”

“Of course, sire,” Nicolaa willingly agreed, grateful that the task John required of her, although heavy with responsibility, was not to be an onerous one. “Do you wish us to depart immediately?”

John shook his head. “No, and that brings me to the other reason that I asked you to journey here. My original plan was for myself and Isabella to stay in Canterbury, and you with us, until after we had attended the celebration of Our Lord’s nativity at the cathedral. It would have been of great benefit for Isabella to have a woman of the English nobility at her side when she meets with the many nobles, and their wives, who will travel here for Christ’s Mass, especially one who is known and liked by all. Isabella brought only two companions with her from Normandy—one no more than a young girl and the other, although mature, only recently come to her service. Neither is of noble birth and neither is suitable to attend her on the many social occasions that will take place before the end of December.”

As the king paused, Nicolaa’s heart sank. If she complied with John’s request—and she really had no choice other than to do so—this would be the first Christ’s Mass that she had ever spent away from her home. But even though she would be sorry for it, she had to admit the wisdom of John’s proposal. She had met the queen for the first time in Lincoln, three years before, and had found her to be a pampered and willful young woman sadly lacking in tact. She was also inclined to be condescending—a trait that would not sit well with many of the barons’ wives, especially those of mature years—and was in sore need of an intermediary to smooth any sensibilities she inadvertently ruffled.

“As I said, Nicolaa, that was my original intention,” John continued, his voice full of frustration, “but this murder has complicated these arrangements. Since the villain who killed my poor washerwoman managed to slip past the mercenaries’ guard, I cannot now be certain, even with their protection, that Isabella will be safe in Canterbury. That is why I have taken her back to Dover. Until the matter is resolved and she is able to return—which I hope will be soon—I would ask that you stay here, in the town, until you can take up the duties I have described.”

“Of course, sire,” Nicolaa answered. “Do you wish me to reside at the Stour Street townhouse?”

“No, at the moment I have ordered it sealed off and the staff placed under guard until I am certain none of them is responsible for my servant’s death. I do not intend to stay there myself and, in the interim, shall do as Marshal had done and take up residence at the cathedral priory. But there is another royal townhouse, on Watling Street, that will be suitable for you. It is not as large as the one on Stour Street, but it is still capacious enough for you and your retinue to lodge in reasonable comfort.”

Nicolaa nodded and, the audience seeming at an end, she waited for John’s dismissal, but instead he returned to the subject of the murder.

“As I said, I am not content to leave the town bailiff in charge of the investigation and it has occurred to me, Nicolaa, that the last time I was in Lincoln, there was a Templar knight in your household who possessed a remarkable talent for solving crimes of secret murder. His name, I recall, was Bascot de Marins. Is he still in your service?”

“No, sire. He rejoined the Templar ranks not long after your visit,” Nicolaa replied.

“A pity,” John said ruefully. “He would have suited the task well.”

“I have heard of this monk,” Marshal said. “He has solved more than one murder in Lincoln town, has he not, lady?”

“Yes,” she replied, “and earned my everlasting gratitude for doing so.”

John had remained silent throughout their exchange, but his expression was thoughtful and he suddenly said, “Was de Marins posted abroad after he rejoined the Order?”

“No, sire,” Nicolaa replied. “He has been in the Lincoln preceptory ever since, and now holds the office of draper.”

John smiled with satisfaction. “Excellent. In that case, it may be that all is not lost. The English master of the Templars, Amery St. Maur, is a reasonable man and may be willing—if I offer a donation of substantial size to their cause—to grant me a loan of de Marins’ services for a space.”

Nicolaa heard the king’s suggestion with mixed feelings. The Templar would not be pleased if John’s request was successful; Bascot had no love for the king and would not welcome secondment to his service. But at the same time, it was also true that the Templar’s rare ability would be an asset. She, as much as John, wished the murder solved, for the duty John had assigned her of keeping company with the queen would be impossible to fulfill while Isabella remained in seclusion at Dover, and to pass the season of Christ’s Mass alone, and without a diversion to keep her thoughts away from her family in Lincoln, would be heartbreaking.

“I shall send a letter to St. Maur without delay,” John pronounced, “and hope he will grant my petition.”

After a brief discussion of any other steps that could be taken to discover the identity of the murderer, Nicolaa and William Marshal left the king’s presence, the castellan to go to the accommodations that had been provided for her and her entourage on Watling Street, and the earl to return to the cathedral guesthouse.

After Nicolaa and Marshal had left, John began once again to pace the small chamber, discarding the pretence of self-assurance he had attempted to maintain while in their company. It was imperative that the identity of this murderer be discovered, and speedily, and not only for the reason he had given, but for another, and one much more menacing, that must remain hidden. There was a risk that this security might be breached if the Templar investigated the death, but John had the glimmer of a stratagem that, if the need arose, would circumvent such an eventuality. John was prepared to hazard the chance—having the loan of de Marins’ quick intelligence was an advantage he could not afford to disregard.

Chapter Five

The constable of Canterbury castle, Nicholas de Criel, an amiable knight with a genial manner, personally escorted Nicolaa and her small retinue to the townhouse on Watling Street. Although, as John had mentioned, it was of modest proportions, there was ample room to supply comfortable accommodation for herself and her escort, for it included a large storehouse at the rear of the premises where the men-at-arms could lay their pallets.

As they had ridden through the crowded streets to their destination, Nicolaa’s mind had tumbled over the conversation she had with the king just before leaving the keep and how he had spoken again of his slain servant.

“Quite apart from the threat implied by her murder,” John had said, “I am sorely grieved at her death. She was a good and faithful servant and I will miss her.” Nicolaa had been surprised to see that John’s eyes were moist as he spoke. “She was the niece of my previous washerwoman, who was also trustworthy,” the king told her. “When her aunt became too elderly to continue her duties, Molly was given the post and has been with me for many years. She could be a bit garrulous at times,” he said fondly, “but, for all that, I knew she was truly loyal. Such devotion is not often found and should be appreciated.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “She had family here, in Canterbury, a sister, I believe, who is married to a tradesman of some sort. I shall ensure she is notified of Molly’s death. It is the least I can do.”

It was not difficult for Nicolaa to understand why John had placed such a high value on his laundress for she was well aware that, from infancy, he had been surrounded by treachery from within, and without, his family. It was not, therefore, surprising that he would appreciate anyone, even a servant of the lowest standing, in whom he could place his complete trust.

In the interest of justice, and because it would be to her advantage to have the enquiry into the murder expedited, she had made a suggestion.

“Sire, I have learned from watching the Templar that it is advisable to examine the corpse and the place where the slaying occurred as quickly as possible to try and discover if the murderer left traces of his identity,” she told him. “Even if the Order gives consent for de Marins to come to your aid, it will be some days before he will arrive. By then vital evidence may be lost. The clerk I brought with me, Gianni, often accompanied the Templar while he carried out enquiries on my behalf, and is familiar with de Marins’ methods. Will you allow him to undertake these initial tasks, and perhaps interview the townhouse staff as well? The information will be useful to whoever is finally given the responsibility of apprehending the culprit, whether it is the Templar or some other. And there is always the chance that Gianni may uncover a vital fact that will enable this mystery to be solved quickly.”

“Gianni?” John said thoughtfully. “Is he not the servant that the Templar wished to adopt before he decided to rejoin the Order?”

“The very same, sire,” she replied. “After de Marins left my service, I had the lad trained as a clerk and he has shown great talent, so much so in fact that I brought him with me to Canterbury to act as my
secretarius
during the visit.”

Neither of them spoke of the one and only occasion when the king had met Bascot and which she was certain John recalled. Due to Nicolaa mentioning in the king’s presence some three years before that she had tried, and failed, to persuade the Templar to join her retinue on a permanent basis, John, as a favour to her, had tried to tempt him away from his expressed purpose of rejoining the Order. The king had made the generous offer of restoring the fief of the Templar’s dead father to him if he would renounce his vows, and also that he would arrange for Gianni to be made Bascot’s heir. The proffered bribe had caused de Marins much soul-searching as he had tried to choose between his love for the boy and his desire to serve Christ. Finally it had been Gianni himself who, in a flood of self-sacrifice, had convinced his master to follow the dictates of his heart and rejoin the Templars, but Bascot had only done so after Nicolaa had assured him she would place the boy under her personal protection. And she had never been sorry for her agreement to the request. Gianni had proved his worth many times over, and she had come to value him almost as much as the Templar had done.

“But if I recall correctly, is not the lad a mute?” John had asked with a frown. “How will he be able to question the staff?”

“I shall send one of my household knights, Miles de Laxton, with him. Miles has some literacy and is intelligent. Gianni can instruct him in the questions that are to be asked by writing them down, and then recording the replies. He and the Templar worked together in just such a fashion.”

“Very well,” John had said. “It is a step forward, at least, and one that can be taken immediately. Have the lad make a written copy of all the information he gathers and send it to me for scrutiny.”

Now, as they neared the townhouse, Nicolaa glanced behind her to where Gianni was riding alongside Clare. She knew he would be pleased to hear that the Templar might join them, and would also, she hoped, rise to the challenge she was about to set him. With a wry smile she remembered how, shortly after Bascot had arrived in Lincoln, she had tested the Templar’s mettle in a similar manner and not found him wanting. Indeed, he had greatly surpassed her expectations. It was time to see whether or not Gianni could follow in his former master’s footsteps.

At the Watling Street townhouse an elderly manservant was waiting for them outside the door, alerted to Nicolaa’s arrival by a man-at-arms that Criel had sent on ahead. As they dismounted, two grooms came running to take their horses, and the manservant, a slightly plump individual with a pleasant smile, came forward and introduced himself as Dauton, steward for the property, and then led her and the rest of the party inside.

“A fire has been lighted in here, lady,” he said, pushing open a door just inside the entryway to show them a small hall containing comfortable chairs and a high-backed settle in front of a capacious fireplace, “and I have ordered heated wine to be brought for your comfort until a meal has been made ready. The main sleeping chamber is above with a small room alongside for your maidservant, and is in readiness for you as soon as should require it. For the knights in your entourage, there are chambers that would be suitable on both the upper and lower floors and all have been aired and laid with clean linen.”

“It might be best if Miles and I slept on the ground floor, lady,” Gilles suggested. “If this murderer is seeking to harm the king, it might be wise for us to keep guard over your person while you are staying in a house which he might visit. We can alternate in keeping watch at night.”

“I hope your fear will prove groundless,” Nicolaa replied, “but it is a sensible precaution, nonetheless.” She spoke to Dauton. “Have my knights shown over the premises and accommodate their direction as to sleeping arrangements and the like.”

The steward nodded and Criel, who had been standing listening to their conversation, now took his leave. “I am at your service, lady,” he said to her. “The castle is not far away. Send for me if you should require my assistance with any matter at all.”

After the constable left, and Gilles and Miles had gone about their inspection of the rooms, Nicolaa directed Clare to go upstairs and unpack the two small coffers of clothing and personal effects she had brought from Lincoln. She then told Gianni to remain with her. As Dauton hurried away to fetch the promised wine she entered the hall and sank gratefully onto the comfortable padded cushions of the settle, indicating to Gianni that he seat himself on a chair across from her. After the wine had been brought and they were alone, Nicolaa sat for a few moments in contemplation of the lad perched nervously in front of her, a sliver of doubt beginning to assail her. Was Gianni, after all, mature enough to undertake the responsibility she was about to give him? He had often assisted the Templar in previous investigations and she knew that his intelligence was swift, but the leading role she was about to assign him might prove to be too weighty for his young shoulders. She recalled when he had first arrived in Lincoln with de Marins three years before, a malnourished and timorous young lad, in fear of any but the Templar. de Marins had found him begging on a wharf in Palermo as he had made his way back to England from the Holy Land and, to save the child from death by malnutrition, had taken him as his servant, teaching him to read and write as they progressed on the journey. The intervening years of good food and decent shelter had made their impact of the boy’s physical condition. Although he had never grown much in stature—due, perhaps, to a lack of nutrition during the formative years of childhood—he was now of a slim but sturdy build, with a mop of lustrous brown hair and luminous dark eyes. But he was still young. Gianni had not known how old he had been when the Templar found him, but it had been assumed that he was, then, about twelve years of age and, if they were correct in their estimation, would now be in his fifteenth year. She could see the dark shadow of a beard on his cheeks and upper lip where he had recently begun to shave, and although this was a sign of his approaching manhood, it did not signify he would be capable of the task she was about to set him. But she had tested his competence before and not found him wanting, she reminded herself. And so, thrusting her uncertainty aside, she told him the details of the murder, adding that the Templar had been sent for and that it was possible he may be allowed to come to Canterbury and investigate the crime.

At this information, Gianni’s eyes lit up. He had not seen his former master for some months. Although the lad was happy with his new life in Nicolaa’s service, he missed the Templar’s company and often thought longingly of the time when they had been together.

“Even if de Marins is given permission, Gianni,” Nicolaa warned, “it will take some days for him to travel to Canterbury. During the intervening time, any telltale traces the murderer may have left could be lost.”

The boy nodded his understanding. The Templar always carefully examined the place where a murder had been done as quickly after the death as possible, and also carried out a similar inspection of the victim’s body, lest vital clues be inadvertently removed or destroyed by the passage of time.

“It is imperative that we do not let that happen,” Nicolaa told him. “King John has therefore given me permission to set in motion a preliminary enquiry and has agreed with my suggestion that you undertake it on his behalf.”

For a moment Gianni was stunned with surprise, but his recovery was quick. After nodding a solemn acceptance of the dictate, his fingers flew to the wax tablet at his belt, the one he used to take dictation before transferring it to parchment, and he raised his eyebrows in question.

“That is correct,” she told him. “You will take notes of all you see and make a permanent record of your findings for the use of whoever finally investigates the crime, whether the Templar or some other. You are also to make a copy of all of the details and send them to the king for his perusal.”

Satisfied that the boy now understood the great responsibility that had been placed on him and— by his eager expression—with his willingness to undertake the task, she outlined the initial steps he should take.

“You have been with de Marins many times during his searches for a murderer. Follow his lead. Go and examine the house where the deed was done. Look in every nook and cranny for some sign that may give a clue to the identity of the killer. You have the king’s authority to question all of the servants—who will be kept under guard at the townhouse pending proof of their innocence or guilt—to determine whether or not any of them can be considered a suspect, or has information that may prove helpful.”

As she said this she saw consternation cross Gianni’s face and added that she would send Miles de Laxton with him, as she had told the king, and that he was to write down his questions for the knight to ask. “After you have finished at the townhouse, go and examine the corpse. The Earl of Pembroke told me that the body has been taken to the death house in the church of St. Alphege, and I will write a letter for you to give to the priest there explaining that you have royal authority to do whatever you deem necessary.”

Now true alarm came over Gianni’s countenance, and she smiled reassuringly. “Since the victim was a woman, and it would not be seemly for you to examine the corpse personally, I will direct Clare to accompany you to the church. She is not fainthearted and will, I know, be able to carry out the task under your direction.”