A Deadly Penance tk-6

by Maureen Ash

  “So do I, lady,” Bascot said with heartfelt sincerity. “To take another’s life without just cause is an abomination.”

  As the first course, wooden platters of sliced venison set round about with a selection of boiled vegetables, was placed in front of them, the Templar let his eye roam over the company at the tables below. He saw Gianni seated among the upper servants of the household alongside John Blund and Lambert, the latter a senior clerk who was Blund’s assistant. The boy gave the Templar a shy smile which Bascot returned. At the table reserved for the household knights, he saw an unfamiliar face and asked Petronille if the stranger was attached to her retinue.

  “Yes,” she replied. “That is Hugh Bruet. My husband gave him charge of leading our escort to Lincoln and staying here with us until it was time for our return to Stamford.”

  “And the rest of your entourage, lady,” Bascot asked, “how many are they?”

  “We came with four men-at-arms under Bruet’s direction, and I brought with me a maidservant who is also my sempstress, along with another young maid that is attendant to Alinor. Originally there was also, of course, my dead cofferer.”

  “Richard says he will use his father’s private chamber for interviewing our servants,” Alinor said to Bascot from her seat beside him. “I have told them to go to the back of the hall after the meal is over and wait until they are summoned.

  “I shall sit in with you and my cousin while you speak to them, Sir Bascot,” Alinor added determinedly. “As Tercel was a member of our household, his murder is an affront to my father’s good name and, since my mother has given her permission, I intend to stand in his place in the matter.”

  Bascot smiled inwardly. Although his young son’s death had deprived Richard de Humez of a male heir, Alinor, like her aunt, had more than enough courage to step into his place.

  The first in Petronille’s retinue to be interviewed was Hugh Bruet, the knight that Bascot had noticed at table in the hall. Gianni had been summoned to take notes of any relevant details and was perched on a stool in the corner with his wax tablet on his knee. The chamber they were in was a large one, containing a bed covered with wolfskins, spare tack for horses and, on a table to one side of the room, a magnificent chessboard set with playing pieces. When Bruet came into the room, he glanced around him and gave a nod of appreciation for the masculine accoutrements.

  He was a man of middle years with a stocky build that swelled with hard muscle and it was easy to see why de Humez had chosen him for the task of escorting his wife and daughter on their journey. Bruet had a battle-hardened look about his person that would quickly deter any outlaws foolish enough to attack the cavalcade he led. He stood easily in front of Bascot, Richard and Alinor and, when asked about his knowledge of Tercel’s activities during the time the de Humez party had been in Lincoln, admitted that he had little.

  “The only times I had occasion to be in the cofferer’s company was on our journey here and, after our arrival, when we all attended services in the cathedral during Christ’s Mass,” he said gruffly. “If he went into town I would not be aware of it; my duties lie in overseeing the safety of Lady Petronille and Lady Alinor; all else is without my province and beyond my interest.”

  “And you never heard report of any friends, or enemies, that Tercel may have made while he was here?” Richard pressed.

  “No, lord, I have not,” Hugh replied shortly. “As I said, our paths did not often cross.”

  Richard dismissed the knight and, as they waited for the first of the men-at-arms to come up to the chamber, discussed what the knight had said.

  “I am sure that Bruet, like myself, did not approve of Tercel,” Alinor told her cousin and the Templar. “I think that Hugh, too, sensed that there was something about him that was false, a slyness that was a mixture of diffidence and conceit.”

  “But your father must have trusted him, lady,” Bascot objected, “else he would not have given him the appointment to act as cofferer during your visit.”

  “I do not say he was dishonest, Sir Bascot,” Alinor replied, “only that he seemed to wear a mask over his inner thoughts. He reminded me of a mummer in a play, acting the role of a person that was not truly himself. I mentioned it to my father once, just after Tercel arrived, and he told me that I was imagining it and not to be foolish.”

  The Templar, unlike her father, took heed of Alinor’s words and, as he glanced towards Gianni, saw that the boy was making a notation on his tablet using the curious shortened form of words that Lambert had taught him to employ when taking dictation. Someone had killed Aubrey Tercel and there had to be a reason. Alinor’s suggestion gave him pause for thought. It was not uncommon for people to display alternate facets of their personality according to the requirements of different situations. Perhaps it had not been the man with which his companions had all been familiar who had engendered enough hatred to cause his murder, but the disparate character who lurked beneath the cofferer’s mask.

  Eight

  Next in Petronille’s retinue to be interviewed were the men-at-arms. Each was questioned individually but although all of them had seen Tercel leave the ward on quite a few occasions, none knew where he was bound or the identity of any people he may have become acquainted with. As the most senior of the four soldiers had said to Richard, “We’ve bunked in with the garrison since we came and mostly spend our time there, helping out with the regular duties in the ward. We had no cause to speak to the cofferer, and so we didn’t.”

  Once the last of the men-at-arms had been questioned, only the two female servants remained. The first of these was a sempstress, Margaret, a senior household servant who had been with her mistress since before the time of Petronille’s marriage and her removal to Stamford, and who had, over the years, risen to the status of companion. Now approaching middle age, she was soberly dressed in dark grey and had a staid manner. When asked about her knowledge of the victim’s movements during the time they had been in Lincoln, she replied that, except for one occasion, she had none.

  “Aubrey and I sat together at mealtimes,” she said, “and sometimes exchanged a few pleasantries, but beyond that the only contact I had with him was when he brought me some pelts of vair he had chosen as being suitable for Epiphany gifts from my mistress to her sister and daughter. Lady Petronille had sent him into town to obtain some samples and told him to bring those he had selected for my approval before the final purchase was made. Later, I stitched those that I chose for Lady Alinor onto the sleeves of the bliaut she is now wearing.”

  She nodded in the direction of Petronille’s daughter who, over her gown of moss green, wore an overgarment of heavy red wool with sleeves that fitted close to the elbow and then flared out to fall in a gracious drape to her knees. The cuffs were trimmed with the bluish grey squirrel fur called vair. “Lady Nicolaa’s sempstress did the same with those milady gave to her sister,” Margaret added.

  Bascot and Alinor both glanced at Richard and saw that a frown had appeared on his face. Simon Adgate, the burgess whose wife had been so distraught upon learning of the murder, was the head of the furrier’s guild. Had it been from his shop that Tercel had purchased the furs for his mistress? They listened with interest as Richard posed his next question to the sempstress.

  “There are five or six furriers in Lincoln,” Richard said to Margaret. “Did Tercel mention which establishment he got them from?”

  The sempstress shook her head. “He brought a selection of perhaps a dozen furs. I do not know if they all came from the same furrier, or from two or three different ones.”

  After Margaret was dismissed, they took a few moments to discuss what she had told them before they sent for the young woman who was Alinor’s maid.

  “When you interviewed Adgate earlier this morning, was he one of those who denied being acquainted with the victim?” Bascot asked Richard.

  Richard shook his head. “No, he was not. He admitted he knew who he was, but gave me the impression it was no more tha
n awareness of his identity.” The castellan’s son paused as he mentally reviewed his conversation with the furrier. “I did not know, then, that my aunt had sent Tercel into Lincoln to buy furs, so I did not ask Adgate if they were purchased from his shop. And Adgate did not volunteer the information, although he did not strike me as being particularly evasive.”

  “Then he needs to be asked that question,” Bascot said. “Even if they did not come from Adgate’s premises, he may know from whom they were purchased. It is the first intimation we have of a place in the town that Tercel visited during the time he was in Lincoln.”

  Alinor had looked thoughtful while they were speaking and now added her own contribution to the conversation. “Perhaps Adgate’s wife, Clarice, should also be interviewed again,” she said slowly.

  “Why?” Richard asked.

  “Well, primarily because you told me that she seemed inordinately upset when she heard about the murder.”

  Both men nodded and waited for her to continue. “I know that my aunt said she thought Mistress Adgate’s outburst was due to her unstable nature, but it still seems excessive and makes me wonder if her reaction was provoked by something other than hysteria.”

  Alinor took a breath and expanded on her notion. “We know she retired early from the feast because of her indisposition and so was abed in her chamber in the old tower at the time the murder took place. What if the cause of her distress was because she saw, or heard, something that she did not realise was important until hours later, when she learned what had happened?”

  “But, surely, she would have told me of it when I spoke to her,” Richard protested.

  “Maybe she was too frightened to do so and that is why she burst into tears,” Alinor replied. “If she knows something that will identify the murderer, she may be fearful of speaking out lest she put herself in danger.”

  “It could be so,” Bascot said contemplatively. “And, if it is, raises the question of whether or not her husband is aware she is hiding her knowledge.”

  “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.