A Deadly Penance

by Maureen Ash

  Hedgset did not answer immediately, first instructing two servants to fetch the top of another trestle table for use as a makeshift stretcher. When they had done so, he bade them hold the litter steady while he eased Elise’s prone form onto its surface. Only when that had been done did he make a response to Richard’s question, and his reluctance to do so was evident as he glanced at Alinor’s white face. Nonetheless, he did not mince his words. “With knife wounds, lord, there is always a chance they may prove fatal,” he said bluntly. “I have had strong men die within a few hours from no more than a scratch and others recover completely from what appeared to be a mortal wound. If the humours in the maid’s body are not too far out of balance, and if the blade has not pricked her spleen or her liver, she has a chance; that is all I can tell you.”

  Hedgset stepped back and Alinor, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to keep her composure, told the two servants to take Elise to her own chamber, adding that the girl was to be placed in the large bed that Alinor used. She would nurse the maid herself, she said, but, as she went to follow the servants to their destination, she heard Richard ask Margaret what she had seen of the attack and paused to hear the sempstress’ answer.

  “It all happened so fast, lord,” Margaret replied. “There was quite a large number of people watching a strange bird that spoke words just as though it were human. One minute Elise was exclaiming with the rest of us how clever it was and the next . . . I heard her cry out. Then she fell down onto the ground beside me.”

  “Did you recognise anyone in the crowd?” Richard asked.

  Margaret faltered. “I didn’t notice who was there, lord . . . I did not think to look, my attention was on the bird.” She turned to Alinor. “Oh, lady, the person that stabbed Elise must be the same one as murdered Aubrey. Who else would have reason to do such a thing? And we do not know where he will strike next. It could even be that he will attack your mother if he gets the chance. We are none of us safe here—please, please, let us go back to Stamford before he kills again.”

  As she had listened to Margaret, the set of Alinor’s mouth had become determined and her response to the plea was firm. “It will do no good to run from this villain. If he is intent on harming another one of us, he will seek us out wherever we are. I do not intend to give him the satisfaction of seeing us flee like a startled hare.”

  Margaret’s face fell in disappointment as her mistress’ daughter turned to catch up to the two servants bearing Elise’s inert form out of the hall.

  Twenty-five

  WHEN BASCOT LEFT REINBALD’S HOUSE, HE TURNED HIS horse toward the lower part of town and the shop of Simon Adgate. His route took him away from the top of Mikelgate Street, and so he did not pass the spot where Elise had been stabbed, nor see the little knots of townsfolk standing looking up Steep Hill towards the castle, in the direction that Nicholas had dashed with the unconscious Elise held fast in his arms.

  As he rode, Bascot pondered what he had been told by the wine merchant about the neighbour who had travelled to Winchester over twenty years before. “The draper’s name was Thomas Adgate and, although I am not absolutely sure, I believe the two young girls were kinfolk of his.”

  “Do you know if the draper was any relation to Simon Adgate, the furrier?” Bascot had asked.

  “I believe so. Thomas was Simon’s uncle, I think, or a cousin of some sort.” The wine merchant had shaken his head sadly. “Many years ago, the Adgates were a prolific family, all related to an ancestor named Ad who, at one time, owned premises near Stonebow gate, but in my own generation, not many male children were born to the family. All of them were engaged in the cloth trade, fullers, dyers, drapers and a couple of furriers. Now only Simon, to my uncertain knowledge, is left.”

  “And the girls—are they still here in Lincoln?”

  Reinbald had pondered for a moment and then said, “Do you know, I don’t believe I ever saw either of them again after the draper returned from his trip. Not that I recall, anyway.”

  As Bascot reined his horse in at the door to the furrier’s premises, he wondered if he had stumbled across yet another connection between Adgate and the murdered Tercel. First it had been discovered his wife was involved in an adulterous affair with the dead man and now it appeared that a relative of Adgate’s could be Tercel’s mother. Alinor’s intuition had been correct when she had insisted that Adgate was hiding something apart from his wife’s affair. Was it possible, despite strong evidence to the contrary, that it was the furrier who was responsible for the cofferer’s death?

  When Bascot entered the shop, Adgate was serving a customer, a man who had brought his wife to select a fur-lined tippet. Clarice was with the furrier, placing various lengths of fur about her shoulders so that the woman could consider which of the scarflike garments she favoured. Adgate’s assistant hovered nearby.

  When Bascot was shown in by the guard at the door, the furrier immediately came forward, his expression one of watchfulness. The customers looked speculatively towards Bascot as they noticed the Templar badge on the front of his cloak. Clarice looked frightened.

  “I would have a few moments of private speech with you, Adgate,” Bascot said brusquely.

  Signalling to his assistant to take his place, the furrier led Bascot to the hall where they had spoken together before. He offered the Templar a cup of wine which Bascot declined.

  “I have come to ask about two relatives of yours, women who were related to a draper named Thomas Adgate. They were, I believe, your cousins.”

  The furrier said nothing in response, just nodded.

  “What were their names?” Bascot asked.

  Adgate looked to the side, away from the Templar’s gaze. “May I ask why you want to know, Sir Bascot?”

  “The information may be pertinent to the investigation into the murder of Lady Petronille’s retainer,” Bascot replied.

  “I do not see how it can be,” the furrier replied. “What can either of my cousins have to do with it?”

  Irritated by the furrier’s avoidance of a direct answer, Bascot decided to be more forceful with his questions and took a bold leap, as though his knowledge was certain rather than nebulous. “I am told that one of your cousins went to Winchester with Thomas Adgate some twenty-five years ago. That is the time, and the place, where Aubrey Tercel—the man your wife was having an affair with—was conceived. Later, the child was given into the care of another and the mother returned to her home in Lincoln. I have reason to believe that Tercel’s mother and one of your cousins are the same person.”

  The vitality seemed to drain out of Adgate. He sank onto the seat of a chair at the table and, with shaking hands, poured himself a cup of wine before he answered. When his response came, it was murmured in a voice that was barely audible.

  “Yes, she is,” he said quietly.

  The Templar experienced a thrill of satisfaction. Although he was still far from obtaining proof of the woman’s, or Adgate’s, culpability, he was making progress towards that end. It was evident in the furrier’s submissive attitude that he was on the verge of revealing that which he had so far kept concealed. Bascot’s voice took on a hard edge as he pressed his advantage. “Had Tercel discovered that fact? Was that the matter you discussed with him here, in this very room, on the day that your wife said you were closeted with him for a long time? And the reason you were arguing with him in the street in front of your premises?”

  Adgate looked up in startlement at the last statement.

  “You were seen, furrier, by a neighbour,” the Templar informed him.

  The flesh on Adgate’s face sagged, and he nodded miserably.

  “Then you must tell me your cousin’s name.”

  But instead of responding as Bascot had expected him to do, and reveal his cousin’s identity, the furrier pulled himself up and squared his shoulders. “I will not do so. She has suffered enough. And I am certain she did not commit the murder. To know her name will profit you nothing, and will ca
use her great distress if it is revealed. I have kept her secret all of these years and I will not betray her now.”

  Bascot struggled to keep his temper at the furrier’s refusal and consoled himself with the thought that now that they knew the woman was related to Adgate, it would take only a little effort to unearth the name of both his cousins. Gildas, the barber, as a good friend of Adgate, would know the identities of the other members of the furrier’s family, and so, most probably, would other merchants in the town. It was simply a matter of asking, finding out their names and then questioning both of them to determine which of them had gone to Winchester in the year of Tercel’s conception. But even if they found the woman, it did not prove she was linked to the death of her illegitimate son, or that Adgate had been involved in the killing.

  The Templar regarded the furrier. Was he a man who would commit murder to protect his cousin’s dark secret, or pay another to do so? Adgate had, so far, evidenced a merchant’s glib evasiveness, side-stepping all of the questions put to him, never telling an outright lie but confining himself to a partial truth when nothing else would suffice. Despite his irritation at Adgate’s continuing subterfuge, Bascot felt that the furrier was an honest man at heart and that if he was involved in the machinations of the murder, would have found it impossible to successfully conceal his guilt. The Templar looked carefully at the man seated before him. For the first time since Bascot had made his acquaintance, Adgate looked his age. The pouches beneath his eyes looked bruised and his skin was sallow. The Templar could not detect any trace of culpability in the furrier’s demeanour, instead Adgate exuded an ineffable lassitude, as though the events which had overtaken him—Tercel’s haranguing, his wife’s betrayal and, last but not least, the admission of his cousin’s secret—had wearied him beyond his strength. Although he felt some sympathy for the man who fate had, it appeared, chosen to buffet through the actions of others rather than his own, it remained imperative to discover if the murdered man’s mother had a connection with her son’s death and, to that end, he must pursue the matter.

  “How did Tercel learn that his mother was related to you?” he asked.

  Adgate raised haggard eyes to Bascot. “I do not know. Truly I do not. He merely said he had proof of his mother’s identity and that she was my cousin. Then he pressed me to tell him who his father was.”

  “And who was it?”

  “I could not tell Tercel and nor can I tell you, Sir Bascot, for I do not know,” Adgate replied.

  The Templar felt his temper rise. “Come, furrier, surely your cousin’s parents, at least, would have known the man’s name. Or are you saying they refused to tell you?”

  “No, I am not. No one knew who he was.”

  At Bascot’s uncomprehending look, the furrier added, “My cousin was raped, Sir Bascot. The assault took place in the darkness of evening and she was attacked from behind. She never saw the face of her assailant.”

  The Templar finally began to understand Adgate’s reticence. To have borne a child as the result of an illicit liaison would certainly cause damage to a woman’s reputation, but it was a sin that, although frowned upon, would have been understood and perhaps forgotten with the passage of time. But to have conceived a child due to a sexual assault would tarnish the mother, and the babe, with a stigma that could never be erased. Any woman defiled in such a fashion would be thought to have attracted her attacker due to her lewd nature, and so it would be she, and not the rapist, who was blamed for her misfortune. She would be considered on a level with a harlot, and her child no better than those born to the women in that profession. It could not be wondered at that she had hidden her condition and was willing to give up the babe after it was born. It was the only means she had of hiding her shame and, at the same time, protecting the child from a life filled with the scorn of others.

  “Did you tell Tercel the truth of his paternity?” Bascot asked.

  “What would have been the purpose in that?” Adgate said resignedly. “He seemed to have formed the impression that his father was of royal blood. Even though he angered me with the haughtiness of his demand, so much so that I felt like striking him, I could not bring myself to tell him what had happened to his mother, for he was, after all, related to me by blood.” The furrier looked at Bascot with a plea for understanding in his eyes. “Surely it was better for him to believe that a royal prince had been his father than to be told that his sire was a nameless villain who had violated a defenceless young girl.”

  IN THE CASTLE SOLAR, NICOLAA AND PETRONILLE SAT WITH Richard discussing what Willi had told them. The boy was still in the chamber, standing a little apart from the group, huddled close to the protective presence of Ernulf at the far end of the room. Richard had returned to his mother and aunt after Elise had been removed from the hall and had told them that the leech and Alinor were watching over the wounded maid.

  Once assured that no more could be done at the moment for the unfortunate girl, Nicolaa told her son what Willi had related about his sighting of the person near the old tower.

  “The boy says he saw a figure coming through the door of the armoury while he and the other children were being taken to the stables. It would have been about the time we assume that Tercel was killed; just as the meal for the guild leaders was about to be served and a little while after Clarice Adgate had left to meet him.”

  “Could he see the person clearly?” Richard asked.

  “Well enough to say it was a woman. Although her head was covered by the hood of a cloak, the edges of a coif showed beneath it and there was a trail of skirts below the hem of her mantle.”

  Richard considered the information. “There would be no reason for a woman to be in the armoury, so that fact in itself is suspicious, and makes me inclined to believe the boy. Now we have only to find the woman and have him identify her.”

  “Yes,” Nicolaa said, “but therein lies the difficulty. Willi is not familiar with any of the guild leaders’ wives or, beyond the two or three maidservants he has come into contact with, any of the females in my household. Neither is he acquainted with many of the women in the town. He says he believes he would know her if he saw her again, but we can hardly take him by the hand and traipse him through the bail and the streets of the town so he can search the faces of all the women who live here.”

  “And while she remains undiscovered, the boy is in danger,” Petronille interjected. “It will not take long for the real reason the boy was brought here to become common knowledge. Even though his sighting of the murderer was never told to anyone directly and is, so far, known only to us few, such information has an insidious way of being ferreted out and then travelling from one person to another as though it was borne on the wind.”

  “We must contrive a means of keeping him safe and yet, at the same time, seek an opportunity for him to regard the faces of any of the women who might be deemed culpable,” Nicolaa said. “We could start with the wives of the guild leaders. If I ask them all to come here under the pretext of discussing further candidates for the foundling home, Willi could be in the hall when they arrive. . . .”

  As the castellan was speaking, Alinor came into the room. Her gown was splattered with bloodstains, but there was a smile of relief on her face. “The leech thinks that, with careful nursing, Elise will recover,” she said. “She came to her senses for a few moments and although she is in pain, seemed rational. Hedgset says that her humours are weak, but appear to be in balance, and he has given her more juice of poppy to help her sleep. I have told him to remain with her until I return and that I will personally keep watch over her. I have also asked your steward, Aunt, to arrange for one of your men-at-arms to stand guard at the door.”

  “Was the girl able to tell you who attacked her?” Richard asked.

  Alinor shook her head. “She remembers little; only craning her head to see the talking bird and then a sharp pain in her side.”

  “Thanks be to God that she was not killed,” Petronille exclaimed.
“What of Margaret? She, too, must be sore distressed.”

  “She stayed with me while Hedgset attended Elise and, like myself, is relieved to hear that the leech thinks she is out of danger. I have sent her to the stables to tell the groom, Nicholas, that, as far as Hedgset can determine, Elise is not mortally wounded. I thought it only right that the groom should be reassured, for if it had not been for his valiant effort, Elise could have bled to death in the street.”

  For a moment, the ghost of a smile appeared on Alinor’s face. “I think Nicholas has taken quite a fancy to Elise. If she returns his affection, I may still yet lose her company but, thankfully, it will only be to a husband and not because of her death.”

  Twenty-six

  WILLI REMAINED STANDING QUIETLY BESIDE ERNULF AT THE back of the room as Lady Nicolaa spoke to the young noblewoman who had just come in about the girl that had been stabbed. The young lady had blood spatters on the front of her gown that he supposed must have come from the victim and he stared at them in growing fear until, after she left, Lady Nicolaa began to discuss with her sister and son the ways in which they could manage for him to see the faces of all of the women who had been in the hall on the night of the feast. Then he began to wish he had lied and told the castellan that he hadn’t seen the murderer. If he had, they might have let him go. He felt unsafe here in the castle, even with the serjeant standing by his side. What would happen when he went to sleep? Even if they put him in the barracks with all the men-at-arms to keep watch, that murdering woman had managed to slip past everyone in the castle to kill that man up on the ramparts, hadn’t she? And it must have been her that stabbed that girl in the town. What was to stop her from creeping past the soldiers and sticking a knife in him in just the same way?

  He waited with seeming patience while the lord and the two ladies talked, but his thoughts were whirling. He had felt much safer on the streets of the town and knew he had to get away from the castle. He didn’t know where he would go, but his guts had been churning ever since Ernulf had brought him into the ward. He must look for a way to escape. He knew the gates on the eastern side of the bail were left open during the day; if he got a chance, he could dart through them and run across the Minster and out one of the gates in the town wall into the countryside. He didn’t know where he would go once he reached there, but he knew he had to get away from here.