Death of a Squire (Templar Knight Mysteries, No. 2)

by Maureen Ash

  “My husband has gone to keep vigil at Tostig’s bier,” Nicolaa said by way of explaining the sheriff’s absence. Bascot nodded. He was not surprised. The evidence that Gerard Camville felt genuine grief for the death of his servant had been plain when he had overridden the castle priest’s protests and ordered that the body of the dead forester be placed in the castle chapel to await burial. “He may be a murderer,” he had said to the shocked cleric, “but he was my loyal servant. If I show God how much I valued him in life then perhaps our Good Lord will be compassionate when Tostig stands before him at death. Now, get out of my way, priest.”

  William offered Bascot the wine jug as Nicolaa invited him to be seated. “I gave orders for Melisande and Copley to be detained at her home under guard until I should know the king’s pleasure in the matter,” she said. “You have left Joanna under lock and key?”

  Bascot nodded. “Ernulf has her secured.”

  Nicolaa stood up from her seat but motioned for Bascot to keep to his when he would have risen. “I need to move,” she said with a small smile. “My limbs are so weary that if I do not stir them, my feet will take root in the floorboards.”

  She took a few steps to the end of the room, then paced back. “What did the girl Joanna tell you, de Marins? Did she confirm the dairymaid’s tale?”

  “For the most part. Hubert did proposition Bettina and threaten her with ravishment if she did not comply….”

  “So the little maker of buttermilk was telling the truth?” William said.

  “Yes, she was,” Bascot replied, “except she, and the other villagers, omitted to tell us that it was two nights before Hubert was killed that he first demanded she meet him.”

  At William’s look of confusion, Nicolaa interrupted. “I have not told William all of the tangle, de Marins. I thought it best to wait until it was confirmed by Tostig’s paramour. He does not yet know how all of this began.”

  Bascot took a sip of his wine and spoke directly to the sheriff’s brother. “According to Joanna, she and the forester took advantage of any occasion that Melisande was absent from her home or early abed to spend the night together in the hunting lodge. On the night that Hubert waited in vain for the dairymaid, he saw them together in the forest. The next day he got Bettina alone in one of the castle cowsheds and berated her for not coming to meet him, demanding that she turn up the next night or he would take her then and there on the bare boards of the floor. Frightened, she promised she would do as he asked. Then Hubert asked her the identity of the girl he had seen with Tostig the night before and Bettina told him she was the daughter of a wealthy widow in Lincoln. Hubert laughed and said she was a toothsome piece and he had a fancy to have a turn with her himself. He told Bettina to tell Tostig of his desire and, if the forester proved unwilling to share his bawd, then he, Hubert, would apprise the sheriff of the use to which his servant was putting the hunting lodge.”

  Bascot shrugged. “Whether the squire was serious about carrying out his threat we will never know, but both Bettina and Tostig had no cause to doubt it, if only because Hubert had shown himself relentless in his pursuit of the dairymaid.”

  “I knew he was a singularly unpleasant boy, but I never suspected he was capable of such villainy,” William said.

  Bascot nodded. “He was sly enough not to reveal his true nature to his elders, but your other squires and pages knew of it and had good reason to hate him. He seems to have been a boy who had never learned to keep his appetites under control. And he had become so accustomed to exploiting any weakness he found in others, or in gaining an advantage by threatening to reveal a secret they nurtured, that he had come to believe that he would never come to any harm by doing so. And that is why he failed to recognize the danger of trying to use Tostig in such a manner.”

  “What happened when Bettina gave the forester Hubert’s message?” William asked. “Did Tostig and the dairymaid devise the plan to kill him?”

  The Templar shook his head. “No. When Bettina told the forester of her conversation with the squire, Tostig was understandably furious. He told Bettina that she was, on the following night, to do as she had done before, stay in the village and tell her uncle to again close the gates and guard them against intrusion. If asked, they were to deny any knowledge of the matter. And they did as they were told. But they did not realise that Tostig was going to kill Hubert; they thought he meant only to give him a beating or perhaps threaten to expose the squire to his lord. When they learned what the forester had done, they feared to be punished for their own involvement.

  “Joanna told me that she waited with Tostig for Hubert to arrive at the old hunting lodge where he expected to find a thoroughly cowed Bettina. The squire knew the area well, apparently, from previous visits to Lincoln and accompanying you, Sir William, on numerous hunts. It is possible he may have used the old lodge for dalliance before. When Hubert arrived, he found Joanna in the dairymaid’s stead. While she pretended acquiescence to his lust, Tostig came up behind and rendered him speechless—and senseless—by half-strangling him with a thin cord.”

  Bascot took a swallow of wine before he continued. “Although it was their intent to kill him, they did not want to leave his body there; it was too close to the new hunting lodge where Tostig had his bed and belongings. So they trussed Hubert’s hands and took him away from the area, to the oak where they hanged him, because it grew by one of the main tracks through the forest. Tostig wanted it to appear that the murder had been carried out by someone from the town, not anyone associated with the forest and its inhabitants. It was common knowledge among the castle servants that Hubert was held in extreme dislike by his peers, and even with hatred by some of them. Tostig wanted the hunt for the murderer to be behind the city walls, not in the woodland where he lived and worked.”

  “That was why the boy’s body was left clothed, and his dagger in his belt,” Nicolaa interjected. “To make it appear that Hubert had been killed over some private quarrel with a person of his acquaintance, and not for profit by someone in the forest.”

  “In retrospect,” Bascot added, “it was a simple plan and should have worked. But things began to go wrong for Tostig almost from the start.”

  “The poachers, you mean?” said William.

  “That was the first problem to plague him, yes, but it was not an insurmountable one,” said Bascot. “When he came to ‘discover’ the body the following morning and found the slaughtered deer, Joanna said he considered cutting Hubert down and stripping him to make it look as though the poachers had killed the squire, but he feared that to do so would bring the very thing he didn’t want, an active search throughout the woodland, so the forester left the squire’s body as it was in the hope that his original plan would still work. And it might have, for it seemed unlikely that outlaws would have left such valuables as his clothes and dagger behind if they had killed the boy. But it was after he had dealt with the matter of the poachers that a much greater difficulty arose.”

  “Something to do with Bettina, I presume?” William said.

  “Yes. Tostig had neglected to tell the villagers—including Bettina—that he had moved the boy and hanged him near the track, not at the old hunting lodge. And when you and your brother went to question the villagers about Hubert’s death, you did not mention where it was that he had been found, did you?”

  William thought for a moment. “No, we did not.”

  “So, when I went to the village the following morning they believed that the boy had been hanged at the place where he had ordered the dairymaid to meet him. When Gianni found Bettina hiding—and she had concealed herself for fear of being recognised and perhaps remembered as seen in conversation with Hubert—she blurted out the tale that she told to protect herself and the villagers. But it led me to search where Tostig did not want me to go—the grounds of the old hunting lodge.”

  “So it was he that fired the arrow at you on the day of the hunt?”

  “It was. He had heard Alain and Renault
speak of seeing me ahead of them that morning and he tracked me. When he saw me kneel to look at the marks Hubert’s boots had made on the ground he was worried about what implications I might draw from them, and so he fired the shaft. He didn’t mean to miss. If I had been killed it would have been assumed that a stray arrow meant for the deer had caused it. I was too close to where he had apprehended the boy, you see. And I kept on asking questions. He was worried that, in the end, I might get answers.”

  “And the charcoal burner and his family—what part did they play in all of this?”

  Here Bascot gave a deep sigh and put his wine cup down. “Their deaths might have been avoided if I had brought the burner into the castle for questioning on the day that I went to see him. The fact that I did not consigned them to their fate.”

  “How so?” William asked.

  “Tostig followed me when I went to the burner’s mounds. Everyone in the forest knew of his liaison with Joanna, including Chard and his sons. It would have been impossible for the pair to keep their meetings secret from people who live in the forest and know and use all of its byways. But Chard was a truculent man and, unlike the villagers, had nothing to fear from the sheriff. While he may only have guessed that Tostig had murdered the squire, he had sure knowledge of the extra purpose to which the forester put the hunting lodge. Tostig told him to say nothing of Joanna if he was asked and the charcoal burner agreed, but when I threatened Chard with the sheriff’s authority, the forester was worried that if I returned, the charcoal burner would tell what he knew. Especially since Adam, in an attempt to forestall me from further questioning of his father, told me the partial truth of seeing a man and a woman on a forest track. I had assumed the pair to be Hubert and a woman he had an assignation with, but Tostig did not know that, and feared Chard would reveal that it was himself and Joanna.”

  “So the forester killed them all, including the youngest son, who was only a small boy.” William’s voice was heavy.

  “Yes, he did,” Bascot replied.

  “I cannot say that I feel much sympathy for my squire,” William said. “It would appear that the forester had a great love for his paramour and that he also put much value on his post as my brother’s servant. By threatening to defile the girl and jeopardise Tostig’s position, Hubert provoked his own death, grievous as that may be. But the burner and his sons—that is different. They were the innocents in all of this.”

  They all fell silent at his words and stayed so until Nicolaa rose and poured them all more wine.

  “The day that you went to rescue your servant,” William said heavily, “and Tostig denied knowledge of a track that would lead me to your aid—then, too, he must have been lying, in the hopes of provoking your death at the hands of the outlaws.”

  “I do not know for certain, my lord, but it is possible, even probable. He was not aware of the information that Gianni possessed, but since I would have gone on investigating the murder of your squire if I survived the confrontation with the brigands, it is most likely he would have welcomed my capture, or death, at their hands. If he had been successful in keeping you from assisting me, that is most likely what would have happened.”

  “Thanks be to God that Eadric decided to speak up, then,” William said fervently. “Was he not privy to Tostig’s culpability?”

  “No,” Nicolaa replied. “He knew of Copley and his arrangements with the brigands, but he also knew that Tostig had warned the agister that he would not betray him as long as he kept his unlawful activities out of Gerard’s chase. Of Tostig’s liaison with Joanna, and the killing of the squire, Eadric knew nothing. He was most often away from the area, in the southern part of the bailiwick, and did not keep company with the villagers in the north.”

  William turned to Bascot. “But you weren’t aware of any of this at the time, de Marins. How did you discover that it was Tostig that had murdered Hubert?”

  “Something my young servant, Gianni, overheard. One day in the hall he heard two merchants talking about Tostig and ‘his pretty town piece.’ One of the men said that it was only a matter of time before the forester’s lechery was discovered and that would put an end to his trysts in ‘the bower in the greenwood.’ It was also said that if the forester had been riding his horse instead of his leman on the night the squire was killed, it might have been him that caught Fulcher instead of Copley. Gianni remembered that Tostig had told me that he had not been in the area where Hubert was killed at the time the squire met his death, saying he had gone to the southern part of the chase and, due to his horse throwing a shoe, had not arrived back at the lodge until well past the middle of the night. Why had he lied? It could have been merely to cover up his relationship with a woman, but could it have been more than that? Was he hiding something else, something that might be connected to the deaths of Hubert and the charcoal burner’s family? Gianni decided it was worthwhile to try and find out.

  “So he set out to go to the village and ask them the name of the forester’s paramour. Gianni reasoned that the villagers must know who the girl was and he could, through written questions to the village priest, get them to reveal her name. Once he knew her identity she could then be questioned about Tostig’s whereabouts on the night of the killing. He should not have gone alone, I know, and should have told me instead, but like many a young lad, he envisioned himself being lauded as a hero and impressing everyone with his cleverness.”

  Bascot paused as he remembered the fear that had snatched at his heart the day Gianni had gone missing. “He became frightened, however, once he was out in the forest on his own and decided to turn back. That was when Edward snatched him and took him to the outlaw called Green Jack.”

  “So Tostig had nothing to do with that?”

  “No, it was pure accident. Edward just happened to come along as Gianni was trying to find his way back to Lincoln and he grabbed the boy, thinking he would fetch a goodly ransom for Jack’s band.

  “When Gianni was safe and told me what he had heard I went to see the villagers. They were still fearful of Tostig, but were now even more frightened of the sheriff, since one of their own had been hanged just that day. I had thought to overcome any reluctance they might have had in telling me Joanna’s name by reminding them of their knowledge of Edward’s complicity with the outlaws. But I had no need to take such a precaution. As soon as I mentioned Tostig they blurted out, without further prompting, what had really happened on the night Hubert met his death.”

  William Camville got up and threw another log on the fire, mulling over what he had heard before saying, “And then the two of you concocted this scheme to get Tostig to reveal himself?”

  “It was the only way, William,” Nicolaa said. “We had enough proof to satisfy us that the forester was the murderer and, if it hadn’t been for all this talk of Hubert being privy to plots hatched against the king, he could just have been arrested and stood trial. But the rumours had to be proved to be unfounded as a reason for the killing, since they were becoming generally accepted as a motive, so we used Melisande Fleming and her crimes against the crown to provide an excuse to provoke Tostig into revealing his guilt, and the real reason for Hubert’s death.”

  William took a sip of his wine. “And the forester’s crimes were all for naught. If your servant overheard two townsmen speaking so openly about him and Fleming’s daughter, it is more than likely their liaison would soon have become common knowledge. It does not take long for such gossip to spread. Hubert’s murder brought the forester and his paramour little gain. And the Chard family none at all.”

  Bascot nodded in agreement, as did Nicolaa, but she added, “But are not all murders profitless in the end, messires, when at our own death we stand in judgement before the highest lord of all?”

  FULCHER FOUND GREEN JACK BY ACCIDENT. HE HAD been able to track him south from the tree which Leila said the outlaw chief had climbed on the day Fulcher had crossed the river with the Templar, but he was not completely sure if he was headed in the rig
ht direction. He had found old trails that looked as though they had been recently used; a few broken twigs and branches that seemed to have been snapped by recent passage and one spot that looked, and smelled, as though it had been soiled by human excrement and urine. What he could not determine with any certainty was whether any of the signs were of recent origin, or if they had been made by men and not animals. The trail had stayed close to the course of the river.

  Just as he was near to a reluctant decision to abandon the hunt for his enemy, he spied a vixen creeping from a hole in what he took to be the edge of a bramble-covered bank. In front of the bank a small trickle of a stream meandered its way to the river. He dropped behind a fallen log and watched her. His stomach was rebelling against the raw fish he had been taking from the river to sustain him. If he was canny, he might have red meat to eat tonight. Wrapped about his shoulders was a rope made of braided river weed that he had fashioned just like those he had done as a child so long ago. It would make a good snare to catch the fox.

  The vixen did not venture far, however. Nose thrusting, she crept to the edge of the stream, lapped a few mouthfuls of water, then turned tail and ran back into the hole. Fulcher crept forward and, with care, lay flat on the ground to spy through the opening and see if he could locate her nest, thinking it would be a burrow in the base of the bank. What he saw, however, surprised him, for there, instead of a lair in the dank earth, was a dark tunnel and, at the end of it, daylight could be seen. Fulcher straightened and made a further inspection of the opening into the tunnel. Now he could see that it was man-made, with twigs and ivy artfully plaited together to hide the larger space behind.

  Retracing his steps to where he had hidden to watch the fox, Fulcher climbed a tree. From the top of it he could see over what he had taken to be the tussocky swell of a hummock in the earth, and could make out that there was indeed a clearing beyond. He could not see into it, but the sparseness of the treetops indicated that there was nothing but low growth inside the circle of the prickly hedge.