by Ash, Maureen
IN THE TOWN, ROGET BEGAN HIS ENQUIRY ABOUT A POSSIBLE sighting of Askil or Dunny within the confines of Lincoln. First he went to the brothel where Elfie had worked and asked Verlain and the other prostitutes if any of them had ever had a customer, or if Elfreda had ever mentioned meeting a man, that had eyes of different colours, one blue and the other brown. He also gave them a physical description of Dunny, describing his slim frame and manner of speaking. The stewe-keeper and all the prostitutes had shaken their heads, assuring the captain they would have remembered such a peculiarity as Askil’s if they had ever seen or heard of such a rarity and, as far as they knew, none of their customers were seamen. From the bawdy house, Roget went to visit the childminder Terese and asked her the same. She, too, shook her head in negation.
Discouraged, Roget went to Danesgate and knocked at the door of the home belonging to the perfumer, Constance Turner.
Constance answered the door herself and seemed relieved by his appearance. “I am glad you are here, Captain,” she said, inviting him inside. “I hope you have come to tell me the man who murdered my neighbour has been apprehended.”
Reluctantly, Roget told her he had not. The perfumer’s smile was as lovely as he remembered, and so was the warmth in her soft brown eyes. He knew that Constance was not a woman who would be interested in a casual dalliance and, for the first time in his lecherous life, found himself longing for the company of a female without considering whether or not she was beddable.
“No, mistress, I am afraid the villain who murdered Adele has not yet been found,” Roget said. “But you must not be fearful; one of my guards has been on constant watch near your house, both during the day and at night. It would be impossible for him to get into your home.”
“I know you have kept your promise, Captain,” Constance replied. “I have seen your men outside, but it is not for myself that I am concerned, it is my maid Agnes. She will not leave the house, not at all, not even if I go with her. At night, and during the day, she bars the front door and the back entrance for fear the man she saw outside Adele’s door will come in and kill her, just as he did my neighbour. I have been forced to go and get our bread and other food myself and, by the time I return, she is in a terrible state, shaking with fear and crying lest I have been murdered while I was gone. Not only am I concerned for her sanity, she is upsetting my customers with her weeping and wailing and, since you instructed me not to speak of what Agnes saw, it is most difficult to convince them she has not lost her senses. I do not know what I am going to do about her.”
“Let me speak to the little one,” Roget offered. “Perhaps I can allay her fears.”
Constance led him upstairs to the chamber where she prepared her scents and sweet-smelling unguents. “Agnes will not leave the upper floor except to go down and bar the doors,” Constance said as they went up the stairs. “She keeps herself either locked in her room or stays with me while I work.”
The chamber they entered was crammed with pots and stoppered jars. Bunches of herbs and orrisroot hung from a beam in the ceiling. Some of the pots contained dried leaves or pieces of root that had been crushed with a pestle, others were filled with liquid, among them the goat’s milk that Constance had said Agnes had gone to fetch early in the morning of the day that Adele had been strangled. The room had a heady fragrance that was almost overpowering and Roget recoiled slightly when they went in. Constance noticed his reaction and went over to the larger of the two casements and threw it open.
“I am sorry, Captain, for the strong aroma. I am so used to it that I sometimes forget it can be cloying, especially to men.”
In a corner of the room Agnes was seated on a stool. She was, as Constance had said, in a state of abject terror. Her eyes were red from weeping and her hands were clenched into fists on her bony knees. She was a girl of the utmost plainness and her sorry state made her more unattractive, but not even the most hard-hearted of men could have failed to be touched by her plight. She was like a tiny rabbit caught in a trap, fearfully waiting for its neck to be wrung. Roget went over to her, and hunkering down in front of her, spoke in soft tones, assuring her she had no need to be afraid. “I promise you, ma petite, that you will come to no harm. One of my guards will be outside your mistress’s house every hour of the day and night. This man who is frightening you will not get in here, I assure you.”
He took her hand in his and stroked it. Her fingers were thin and the skin rough, the nails bitten down to the quick. Roget continued to speak in the same vein until the girl began to relax. Finally she gave him a tremulous smile and when Roget asked her if she could summon up the courage to answer some questions, she gave him a hesitant nod.
Constance had stood and watched the captain calm her young maid and, when Roget stood up and turned to face her, she gave him a grateful smile, her eyes alight with appreciation of his kindness. The captain felt a stirring in the region of his heart and tried to ignore it. He had long ago promised himself that he would never get seriously involved with any woman, but realised he was perilously close to feeling more for this lovely perfumer than simple lust. Trying to disguise his emotion from both himself and Constance, he asked if either of the women had seen men answering the description of Askil and Dunny.
“They are both sailors; Askil is the older of the pair and has eyes of unusual colour—one is brown and the other blue. Dunny is young, very slim and has pitted skin on his face. Have you noticed any men who look like that outside in the street, or entering Adele’s house?”
Constance and Agnes both shook their heads and suddenly the little maid burst into tears. “But I didn’t see the man’s face, Captain,” she wailed. “He could have had eyes like you said, or a scarred face, and I wouldn’t have noticed. What if he did and thinks I saw him? He’ll be sure to come after me.”
This time it was Constance who calmed her maid. In an even voice she said, “Then the guard outside will catch him, Agnes, and your travail will be over. Come now, pour the captain a cup of cordial. We must show our appreciation for the care he is taking to protect us. It is not every woman in the town who has a guard on their door day and night. You must compose yourself and be brave.”
Her words seemed to penetrate the fog of fear that surrounded Agnes and she went to the corner and poured some liquid into a cup for Roget. It was thin stuff and scented with some sort of flower essence, but he drank it down as though it were ambrosia. To remain in the company of the attractive perfumer he would have drunk stagnant water and believed it to be the finest of wines.
Nineteen
ABOUT AN HOUR AFTER PRIME, GIANNI AND ERNULF LEFT THE castle bail and walked across the grounds of the Minster and through the gate in the eastern wall of the city. As they travelled along the path that led to the enclave, the boy felt his anxiety return. That morning he had looked at his reflection in the piece of polished metal that Ernulf used for shaving. In its wavy surface he could see the fine line of down on his upper lip and, initially, it had swelled his confidence. Now, however, apprehension filled him with a desire to run back to the castle.
As they approached the preceptory, Gianni distracted himself by remembering what Bascot had told him about the Lincoln enclave. The Templar had said it was a small one, similar to other provincial preceptories that were subordinate to commanderies in large cities like London and Paris. Some of these were huge, Bascot had said, especially in lands where there was need to protect pilgrims from infidel attack and the brothers were often engaged in battle with Saracen forces. The larger ones usually had a castle as their base and many more officers in the chain of command, such as a seneschal and a marshal. Nonetheless, when they neared the squat twin towers that guarded the entrance, Gianni’s heart began to pound. What if the Templar on the gate refused to admit a boy of his small stature? Had Lady Nicolaa been right in saying he was old enough to go inside or had she been mistaken? He was glad he had the stocky bulk of Ernulf by his side. The serjeant would ensure, at least, that the message Gianni carri
ed would be given to his former master.
The boy’s fear was not realised. After Ernulf told the guard of the purpose of the visit, the Templar man-at-arms made no demur at Gianni’s presence and bid them come in, calling to one of the soldiers inside the compound to tell Sir Bascot there was a message for him from the castle.
After they walked through the solid archway of stone, Gianni was surprised to see that the interior of the enclave, although smaller, was not much different in arrangement from the castle bail. To one side was a long low building housing the stables, there were storehouses and a forge and, instead of a keep, a two-storied building where the Templars ate and took their rest. Only the round chapel marked a strangeness that Gianni was not accustomed to; that and the absence of women. The latter radiated an aura of male-ness that was almost palpable. Here were men carrying out tasks that, in the bail, were the lot of female servants—in one corner a man with a humped back was washing clothes in a huge tub of water and, nearby, another was emptying vegetable slops from the kitchen onto a midden. The air rang with the sounds and smells of masculinity—the clashing of the blacksmith’s hammer on his anvil, the acrid tang of sweat and the pungent aroma of leather and metal. It was an atmosphere that Gianni breathed in eagerly, consciously relishing his emerging manhood.
Bascot was among a few pairs of men exercising their military skills in the middle of the training ground. Facing him was a younger man that also wore the three-foot-long sword wielded by those of knight’s rank. The other knight was young and, since Gianni knew there were only the preceptor, the draper and his former master of knight’s rank stationed in the commandery, judged that the younger knight must be one of the men forming the contingent whose departure had been delayed. Bascot was instructing the knight in how to use his shield as a defensive weapon. Both men had kite-shaped shields painted with a Templar cross slung from their shoulders and were holding flails—short-handled weapons to which a length of chain was attached. At the end of the chain was an iron ball fitted with wicked looking spikes. On the ones they were holding, these spikes had been blunted but when they were used in battle, they would be honed to needlepoint sharpness. As Gianni watched, Bascot and his opponent hefted their shields in front of them and began to strike at each other with the flails. In one quick movement, Bascot hooked the edge of the other knight’s shield with the iron ball, pulled it out of his opponent’s grasp and then struck at his exposed body with his own buckler, giving him a hefty blow in the chest. The knight fell back but Bascot did not press his advantage. Instead he began to instruct the man in how he should have moved to defend himself.
Gianni was well aware that if they had been engaged in real battle, Bascot’s shield would have struck more solidly and his flail would have come down in a deadly stroke that would have incapacitated, or even killed, the other man. The boy’s narrow chest swelled with pride. Even though he now thought it unlikely that a Templar had killed the prostitutes, the danger to the man he held in such high regard was always at the back of his mind. Watching Bascot give the young knight instruction had reminded Gianni of the Templar’s skill with arms and went a little way to relieving his concern for his former master’s safety.
The man-at-arms sent by the guard on the gate waited until Bascot had finished instructing the young knight before interrupting to tell of his visitors. As he did so, the Templar looked up and saw Gianni and Ernulf. With a broad grin, he walked around the other pairs of men in the training ground and towards where they were standing. Gianni was so glad to see his master that it took a great effort not to run forward in greeting as he had been accustomed to do when they had been staying in Lincoln castle. Now, conscious of the immaturity of such an action, he merely stood still and returned Bascot’s smile with one of his own.
Ernulf explained why they had come and Bascot took them into the refectory. The eating hall was empty now and, unlike the hall in the castle keep, the long tables of oak had not been pushed to one side but remained in place in rows down the middle of the chamber with benches set alongside. Explaining that they could speak in here privily, the Templar laid his hand on Gianni’s shoulder in a light touch of welcome, and bade him and Ernulf be seated at one of the tables while he read the message Gianni had brought.
When he had finished, he looked up, the icy blue of his eye startlingly bright in the gloom inside the refectory. “Your postulation is of great interest, Gianni. We had never considered that the murderer might be a woman, but now that you have suggested it, I can see no reason why a female could not have committed the crimes, or perhaps acted as an accomplice. A woman of reasonable strength would have no difficulty overcoming another of her own sex and garrotting is a relatively simple method of killing if the victim is taken by surprise. Or she could have approached both of the women and introduced a male confederate. I will convey your suspicion to the preceptor. I have no doubt he will wish me to investigate the background of Jacques Roulan. I, along with Lady Nicolaa, commend you for your perception.”
Gianni flushed with gratification as Bascot spoke to Ernulf. “In her covering note, Lady Nicolaa suggests that I go with Roget to the Roulan manor house at Ingham and question Jacques’ relatives,” he said, “and try to ascertain if there was any liaison Jacques might have formed that could be a basis for these crimes. Please tell her I will be ready to ride there tomorrow morning and will meet Roget at Newport Arch just after Prime.”
Bascot walked back to the gate with his visitors. As they passed the huge storage shed, he asked them to wait for a moment and, going inside, soon returned carrying a small leather sack. It contained over a dozen of the boiled-sugar lumps that were sent to England from Templar properties in the Holy Land, and were made from sweet canes that grew in parts of Outremer. The Arabs called them al-Kandiq, but in England they were known simply as candi, and were one of the items the Templars used in trade to raise funds for the upkeep of the Order.
“Here,” he said to Gianni, handing him the sack. “You deserve a reward for your discernment.” The boy’s face lit up with a wide grin. He was very fond of the sweets.
As they made their way back to the castle, Gianni and Ernulf each munched on one of the candi, relishing both the taste of the confection and the success of their errand.
AFTER GIANNI AND ERNULF LEFT, BASCOT WENT TO THE journal that recorded the entrance of initiates into the Order to determine if it had been at the Lincoln commandery that Jacques Roulan had been initiated into the Templars. Gianni’s note had said that the document recording the transfer of property had been dated a year before, so he started at that time and went backwards, presuming the transfer would not have been made until after the original heir had left. He soon found it, some six months before the date Gianni had given. The entry stated that Roulan had been granted admission by the draper who had held the post before Emilius, on a date when d’Arderon would have gone on his annual trip to London to meet with Thomas Berard and preceptors from other English commanderies for a general accounting of the lands they managed for the Order. The record also stated that Roulan had subsequently been posted to the commandery at Qaqun, a small town located near Mount Nablus. Qaqun was not far south of Acre.
Bascot pondered the information. Again, the city of Acre and its environs had popped up in this enquiry, for it was in the suburbs of Acre that Robert Scallion had reportedly been killed by a Templar knight. But Acre was a large port and many Templars were stationed there, as well as in fortresses in other cities and towns in the area. Dismissing the coincidence as having no relevance, Bascot went to find d’Arderon to tell him of Gianni’s hypothesis. Both the preceptor and Emilius would be relieved to learn there might be others beside the people close to Robert Scallion that could be involved in the recent murders. Although the slaying of the prostitutes was still obviously connected to the Templar Order, this latest information provided additional reason to hope that the perpetrator had not been one of their brethren.
Twenty
THE NEXT MORNIN
G, AS ARRANGED, BASCOT WENT TO MEET Roget at Newport Arch. The captain was waiting for him and, as the Templar came up to where the former mercenary sat on his horse, he noticed that Roget looked weary; the old scar on his face had a whitish tinge and even the copper rings threaded through his beard seemed dull.
“I am afraid, mon ami, that our trip to Ingham must be delayed,” Roget said. “Another woman was attacked in town last night. She is not dead, thanks be to God, but it was a near thing.”
Bascot felt a cold chill settle over him. “Another prostitute?” he asked.
Roget shook his head. “She was a harlot once, but not anymore. It was Terese, the woman who looks after Elfie’s little daughter.”
The captain turned his horse back towards the arch, threading it through a few carts laden with produce that were wending their way north on Ermine Street to exit the city. “I spoke to her briefly last night about the man who attacked her, but she was very shaken and concerned for the children in her care. I left one of my guards with her and told her I would be back this morning. The sheriff told me to ask if you would accompany me.”
“Of course,” Bascot replied. “Did her assailant enter her home?”
“No.” Roget ran a tired hand over the ragged scar on his face. “She was in the street near her house when the attack took place.” He gave the Templar an inquisitorial look. “You have been told that Preceptor d’Arderon asked Lady Nicolaa to give Terese the money that was found with Elfie?”
When Bascot nodded, Roget went on. “Terese had lodged the money with Verlain at the stewe. She was fearful it would be stolen if she kept it at home and paid Verlain a small fee to keep it safe for her in the chest where he stores the bawds’ earnings. The stewe is not far from where Terese lives and so is near enough to be convenient for her to get a few coins when she needs them. Last night, she went to the stewe to get a small sum to pay for food over the next few days, leaving the tinker that lives in her house to watch over the children. It was as she was returning that she was attacked. Fortunately, she was carrying a knife—she said she has been doing so ever since Elfie was killed—and managed to stick the bâtard with it. Then she screamed her head off and the ruffian Verlain hires to keep order in the stewe came running but, by the time he got to her, her assailant had run away.”