A Deadly Penance

by Maureen Ash

  “Then she, along with Adgate, must be interviewed again,” Richard agreed. “And let us hope we learn something useful by doing so. So far, we have little to lead us in the direction this investigation should take.”

  Having made that decision, he sent the servant on duty outside the chamber door to fetch up the last servant in Petronille’s retinue, the young woman who was Alinor’s maidservant. She was about twenty years of age and came into the chamber confidently, her manner sprightly. Before she entered, Alinor told them that the maid’s name was Elise, and that she was the daughter of the de Humez butler at Stamford.

  “I chose her as my personal maid because she has a pleasant demeanour and is enthusiastic in her tasks,” Alinor added. “She also provides me with a lively turn of conversation. Her cheerfulness has helped me get through many a sad hour since my brother’s death.”

  True to Alinor’s description, Elise answered their questions forthrightly, saying that although she had not engaged in much conversation with the murdered man, she was sure he had a paramour in the town. “Not long after we came to Lincoln, he started going to a barber in the town to get his hair and beard trimmed,” she said with a cheeky grin, “and I sometimes smelled some kind of perfume on him when we sat down to our meals in the hall. Men don’t usually take such care with their appearance unless there is a woman they want to impress, but I don’t know who she was. It is not a matter which he would have confided to me, for I rebuked him once for being over-familiar and, after that, he kept himself apart from my company.”

  Alinor frowned. “You did not tell me that he gave you offence, Elise.”

  “There was no need, lady,” Elise replied with a confident air. “I left him in no doubt that I thought him a coxcomb and he did not trouble me again.”

  Barely concealing a smile for the direct manner in which Elise had answered their questions, Richard dismissed her and turned to the Templar. “From what the maid has told us, it seems there is a good possibility that Tercel had a paramour in the town. It could be this liaison is at the root of the murder.”

  “Maybe that is what Clarice Adgate is keeping secret,” Alinor said suddenly. “She is a young and handsome woman married to an elderly husband. Perhaps she was not ill last night, but used that stratagem as an excuse to leave the feast early—knowing her husband would be engaged with the company in the hall for some hours—so as to meet with Tercel, who was her lover.”

  “She would be taking a great risk of discovery,” Richard said. “Her husband could have come to the guest chamber at any time to see how she was faring.”

  “But is not danger part of the attraction of an illicit love affair?” Alinor replied. “And maybe there is more that she is hiding. Perhaps Adgate did come to check on her, found Tercel making him a cuckold, and killed him in a fit of rage.”

  But even as she made the postulation, Alinor was shaking her head in negation, recalling what Richard had told her of the interviews he and his mother had conducted earlier that morning. “No, that cannot be so. You told me that the other couple who were given lodgings in the old tower—the head of the armourer’s guild and his wife—stayed with Adgate for the duration of the feast and that they all left the hall together when it was time to retire.”

  “Besides that, Cousin,” Richard said, “if Adgate had found his wife and Tercel in flagrante delicto, it is more than likely he would have attacked the cofferer in the chamber where he found them and, if he murdered him, done the deed there. And we know that cannot have happened because there is no doubt Tercel was murdered up on the ramparts. The bolt that killed him was embedded in the door post behind him and gives irrefutable evidence that the bow was fired from within the walkway.”

  “Also, the choice of such a weapon must be considered,” Bascot added. “We know that the killing must have been premeditated. Whether the crossbow was taken from the armoury in the days since the bowyer last maintained it or just a short time before it was used for the murder, whoever fired it planned his actions carefully. It was not, as you suggest, an act done in the heat of sudden anger. If it were so, Adgate would have used a knife or his fists.”

  At Alinor’s downcast look, the Templar hastened to assure her that her proposal was not entirely without merit. “Nonetheless, you may be correct in your assumption that Tercel was having an adulterous affair, and even if it was not with Clarice Adgate, it might have been with one of the other women who attended the feast. If that is so, and her husband knew of it, he may have formulated a plan to kill his wife’s lover under cover of the celebration.” He turned to Richard. “Besides the furrier, do any of the other guild leaders have young and attractive wives?”

  “No,” Richard replied. “All the townsmen are of mature years and, except for Adgate, married to women of similar age.”

  Bascot posed his next question reluctantly; it was a sensitive one but had to be asked. Before he did so, he explained to Richard his reason for asking it. “We should also consider that the murderer may be a resident in the castle, one of the men in your household, perhaps, who had developed a fondness for a maid and was angry because she had become amorously involved with another man. Or, since it is conceivable that a woman could have fired the bow, a female servant that Tercel had taken advantage of and then spurned.”

  At Richard’s nod of acceptance, the Templar said carefully, “Are there any, among your mother’s household servants, that could be suspected of such an entanglement?”

  Richard shook his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement at the Templar’s discomfiture, and told Bascot that they had already considered such an eventuality and deemed it unlikely. “As you well know, my mother would dismiss any servant found guilty of lewdness, but that does not mean it did not happen, just that it had not yet caught the attention of her eagle eye, or of Eudo’s, our steward. But my mother is a good mistress and I do not think any of our women servants would take the chance of losing their position, no matter how persuasive Tercel might have been.”

  Bascot accepted Richard’s assessment and, leaving the possibility that a paramour was somehow involved in the murder, they turned their thoughts to other ways it might be possible to gain information.

  “The two guests that did not spend the night within the ward remain to be questioned,” Richard said. “It is a slim hope, but they may have seen or heard something that might help us. I shall send a message asking them to return to the ward. . . .”

  “It might be best to interview them in their own homes or business premises,” Bascot interjected. “A formal interrogation can be intimidating and stifle the remembrance of small details. Since there is little more that can be done here I will, if you wish, go into town tomorrow morning and speak to both of them. I can also go to Adgate’s home and ascertain whether or not it was from his shop that Tercel purchased the furs for your aunt. And, at the same time, try to discover if his wife is, in fact, hiding some detail that may be useful to us.”

  Richard accepted the Templar’s offer gratefully. “I must admit that I have had my fill of playing inquisitor and will be glad of a respite, even if only a brief one. Your help is greatly appreciated, de Marins.” The castellan’s son looked over to where Gianni was sitting. “I will have Gianni transcribe a record of the interviews we have just conducted in case you wish to review them. Is there anything else you require?”

  The Templar nodded. “Yes, with Lady Nicolaa’s consent, I would like Gianni to accompany me into town tomorrow and be present while I interview the other two guild leaders. He has been with me on such ventures before and can make notes of the conversations, as he has done in the past.”

  Gianni’s face broke into a grin as Richard, on his mother’s behalf, gave permission for the lad to be absent from the scriptorium. The boy could think of nothing finer than to be in his former master’s company as they once again attempted to track down a secret murderer. From his answering smile, Gianni knew the Templar felt the same.

  Nine

  THE
NEXT MORNING, AFTER THE SERVICE AT TERCE, BASCOT rode out of the commandery and across the Minster in the direction of the castle. Stalls selling heated wine and roasted chestnuts had already been set up in the area around the cathedral and the aroma of hot meat pies wafted in the air as roving vendors hawked their wares among the small crowd that had attended the morning service. Even though the temperature was slightly warmer, the Templar was well wrapped up in his cloak and wore a black quilted arming cap on his head for protection against the chill. As he passed out of the Minster grounds and crossed Ermine Street, there was already foot traffic and wagons on the main thoroughfare, all making their way towards Northgate, Lincoln’s northernmost exit, and the one that led out into the open countryside.

  When Bascot reached the castle gate, he saw Gianni waiting for him just inside the entrance, eyes alight with excitement. On his head the boy had a fur-lined cap that had been given to him by Ernulf a couple of winters before. The last time he had seen Gianni wearing it, it had been too large, but now it fitted snugly over his curls and, with a heartrending pang, Bascot was once more made aware of how much the boy had grown.

  With a lighthearted step, Gianni ran forward and handed a piece of parchment to the Templar. On the paper were written the names of the two townsmen that had yet to be interviewed. One of them was known to Bascot, a barber-surgeon he had met three years before when a priest had been stabbed in St. Andrew’s Church. Bascot had not made the acquaintance of the other, who was, according to the note Gianni had made beside his name, head of the chandler’s guild.

  “We shall see these two citizens before we go to the furrier’s shop,” Bascot said as he motioned for Gianni to scramble up and ride pillion behind him. “The barber, if I remember correctly, is an observant man. Mayhap he will recall something that can help us learn more about the victim.”

  He felt the boy give two light taps on his shoulder, a signal for “yes.” As they rode out of the castle ward and onto Ermine Street, it was as though time had turned backward and they were as they had once been, master and servant on a quest. It gave both of them a great feeling of satisfaction and, had it not been that it was the occasion of a murder that had caused them to be once again in close company, they would have found great joy in the reunion.

  The streets of the town were sparsely populated and those who were out in the cold air were well wrapped in cloaks and hats. The barber, whose name was Gildas, had his business premises on a narrow turning just off Danesgate, near the church where Bascot had first met him. Gildas’ shop was a large establishment employing three assistants and had the sign associated with the trade—a brass cup atop which stood a pole wound about with bandages—outside the door.

  When they went inside, the shop was crowded with customers, all sitting on chairs with elongated backs that ended in wooden headrests. Some of the patrons were having their faces shaved or hair trimmed, while one or two were being bled, some by the opening of a vein on the inside of the elbow, others by dry cupping, where a heated circular vessel was applied to the skin and, as it cooled, drew the blood to the surface. Another, attended by Gildas himself, was stripped to the waist and had leeches affixed to his chest. Piles of bandages, jars of leeches, pairs of wicked-looking pliers for drawing teeth and small, sharp knives were neatly stacked on shelves along the walls and the air was heavy with heat from braziers burning in each corner. The strong scent of perfumed oil was overlaid with the metallic tang of blood and the floor was littered with tufts of hair and soiled bandages.

  When Bascot entered the shop, Gildas immediately left his customer and came forward to greet him. The master barber was as the Templar remembered him; a rotund little man of short stature with greying hair and a merry smile. Around his neck hung a thin silver chain threaded with extracted teeth.

  “Sir Bascot—you are well come, well come indeed.”

  Gildas’ customer, noticing he had been deserted, gave a shout of alarm and the barber motioned for one of his assistants to attend to the man before turning back to his visitor.

  “I expect you have come about the murder that took place in the castle the night before last,” he said knowingly. “We have,” Bascot confirmed. “You were, I understand, one of those who attended the feast that evening?”

  Gildas’ chest swelled with importance. “Yes, as head of our guild, I went there to take the monies I and the other barber-surgeons in the town had collected for donation to Lady Nicolaa’s foundling home.”

  “But you did not stay the night?” Bascot asked.

  Gildas shook his head. “I had an important client coming early the next morning and had to be in my shop to attend him. My wife did not relish the journey home on so cold a night, but she understands that the needs of my customers must come before personal comfort.”

  “The man who was killed was named Aubrey Tercel,” Bascot said, “and was a servant in Lady Petronille’s retinue. Did you know him?”

  “I did not know his name, but I believe I know which man was murdered,” the barber pronounced. “Did he have fair hair and wear a dark blue tunic with a red leather belt?”

  Surprised, the Templar said that the description fitted the dead man. Gildas gave a self-satisfied smile. “When the news of the murder spread throughout the town yesterday and it was said the victim had been a servant of Lady Nicolaa’s sister, one of our guild members, a barber by the name of Hacher, said that a member of Lady Petronille’s retinue had come to his shop twice in the last few weeks to have his hair trimmed.” Gildas gave Bascot a wide smile. “Now, Sir Bascot, I pride myself on being able to recognise the work of every one of our guild members and, when I arrived at the castle, I immediately noticed the man I have just described passing through the hall. I knew at once that he had been to Hacher to have his hair dressed. I would not have taken note of him otherwise. Hacher’s style of work is unmistakable— cut just below the ears and at the sides and long in the back. . . .”

  Bascot had forgotten that Gildas, while observant, was also garrulous and gently cut the barber off in mid-flow. “Then I need to speak to this other barber. Tercel may have said something while in his shop that could be pertinent to the murder investigation. Where can I find him?”

  “Just on the other side of Spring Hill, by the church of St. John,” Gildas replied, his round face showing the pleasure he was deriving from being able to help. Bascot had no doubt that, by the end of the barber’s working day, every customer would be regaled with the details he had been able to supply. As he watched one of Gildas’ assistants pick up a pair of vicious-looking pliers and prepare to draw a tooth from a man whose face was contorted with misery, he hoped the story would distract the unfortunate customer from his pain.

  BASCOT AND GIANNI FOUND HACHER’S SHOP IN A LITTLE SIDE street just behind St. John’s church. It was smaller than the one Gildas owned and the barber was the antithesis of the talkative guild master. Tall and skinny, Hacher had a cadaverous face that looked as though it would crack if its owner broke into a smile. There were only two chairs in his shop, one occupied by a man having his luxuriant beard trimmed by an apprentice and the other empty. Hacher was sitting on a stool at the back, surveying his almost-deserted shop with a lugubrious expression. Here, as in Gildas’ premises, the air was filled with pungent aromas but overlying the tang of blood was the strong scent of sage, the same cloying perfume that had emanated from Tercel’s corpse.

  As Bascot and Gianni came through the door, Hacher rose from his seat, and, with a hopeful raising of his sparse eyebrows, enquired how he could be of assistance. When the Templar related why he had come, gloom once again settled over the barber-surgeon’s features, but he confirmed that Aubrey Tercel had come to him twice over the weeks since Christ’s Mass, and had his hair trimmed both times.

  “He was a fussy customer,” Hacher added dolefully. “Complained I hadn’t cut his hair short enough the first time and declared he wasn’t prepared to pay the cost of a second trimming. But he did buy some scented oil to keep h
is locks smooth, so I suppose I gained some profit from his patronage.”

  “While you were attending to his needs, did he make any mention of acquaintances he had made in the town?” Bascot asked. “Perhaps a lady whom he wished to impress?”

  Hacher thought for a moment. “He didn’t say much, just told me he was only in Lincoln until Eastertide and was in the retinue of Lady Nicolaa’s sister. The next time he came, he said he was in a hurry, and we spoke little.”

  “Are you sure he said nothing else—where he was going after he left your shop, for instance?” Bascot pressed.

  When the barber gave a woeful shake of his head, the Templar and Gianni, disappointed, left the shop. But once they were again out in the street, Bascot paused for a moment. “Hacher’s information does not help us much,” he said to Gianni, “but it does give us some indication of Tercel’s personality. It appears he was a vain man, and parsimonious with it. You must have seen him while he was staying at the castle, Gianni. What was your impression of him?”

  Gianni immediately struck a pose, arms akimbo, feet wide apart and head thrown back. The implication was obvious and confirmed Bascot’s judgement of Tercel’s conceit.

  The Templar smiled at the boy’s mimicry, but it quickly faded as he thought that the man the boy was parodying was now dead. A coxcomb he may have been, but he did not deserve to have his life taken by another.

  He looked at the other name on the piece of parchment Gianni had given him. “The chandler’s shop is on Mikelgate, between here and Adgate’s premises. We will go there first and then to the furrier’s.”

  AS BASCOT AND GIANNI WERE ON THEIR WAY TO THE CANDLE makers, the five young foundlings destined to be taken to Riseholme were being shepherded into a capacious wain. The day before, after spending the previous night sleeping on straw in the stables, they had all been thoroughly washed by the castle laundress in the room where she kept a large vat of water boiling to wash the napery used in the hall. The washer-woman was a raw-boned female with arms that swelled with muscle. For all her frightening appearance, she had been gentle with the children, lathering them with soap made from wood ash and tallow and sluicing them down with warm water before she removed the lice from their undernourished bodies. She had then clad them in warm clothes—remnants of old servants’ tunics cut down to smaller sizes by the castle sempstresses—and given them a bowl of warm broth to eat. Now, their pitifully thin frames wrapped up against the cold and their shrunken bellies filled, they were to be taken to their new abode.