Shroud of Dishonour tk-5

by Maureen Ash

  Suddenly Hamo yelled at one of the men-at-arms on the practise ground. The soldier was young, a recent initiate into the Order, and although he had proved to have remarkable archery skills, he was having difficulty in gaining proficiency with the short sword he was now attempting to wield.

  “Keep your arm up!” Hamo shouted and strode over to the lad. Pulling his own weapon from his belt, the serjeant took the youngster’s position opposite his opponent, a seasoned man-at-arms of mature years. With two sharp lunges and a vicious slash, Hamo disarmed the veteran. “That’s how it’s done,” he said to the new recruit. “You won’t get a second chance if you’re facing a Saracen, for you’ll be dead. Make sure your first attack is the enemy’s last.”

  Shamefaced, the young man-at-arms nodded and, with renewed vigour, recommenced his struggle. This time he was more aggressive and Hamo nodded in satisfaction. “Keep at it, lad. By the time you leave, we’ll have you more than ready to confront those heathen bastards.”

  As d’Arderon, Emilius and Bascot approached the dining hall, the preceptor mentioned that more recruits from one of the northern preceptories were expected to arrive within the next two weeks. There had been many men through the commandery since Eastertide. Pope Innocent III had sent out a call for a new Crusade, and it was planned to begin later in the year. The response to the pope’s summons had been enthusiastic and, because of it, an influx of supplicants had requested admission into the Order, preferring to take up arms in the ranks of the Templars rather than in a secular capacity. A few were men who had given their pledge of poverty, chastity and obedience for a defined number of years-two, five or sometimes ten-and had made a donation of land or money as proof of their sincerity. Of these, a small number were married and had obtained their wives’ consent to join the Order for a limited period. Many of the supplicants were men of knight’s rank, but there were also a substantial number of freeborn villeins, often younger sons of a family overburdened with children, but nonetheless genuine in their devotion for all that. The latter would serve as men-at-arms.

  The town of Lincoln was centred around Ermine Street and was the main route to the south of England and ports along the coast. Nearly all of the recent arrivals came from northern preceptories, gathering at the Lincoln enclave before setting out on the last leg of their journey to travel to Templar strongholds in various parts of the world. For most of them, their destination would be the Holy Land, but some-like the recently departed contingent-would go to Portugal, others to Spain or Cyprus.

  “If more men are expected, I’d better take inventory of our stock of small clothes,” Emilius said in response to d’Arderon’s pronouncement, referring to his duty to ensure that all Templar brothers were, as the Rule demanded, correctly attired. “We are running low, and I may need to send to London for more.”

  D’Arderon nodded and Bascot offered to assist the draper in his chore. Emilius’s disabled arm made certain tasks difficult, even though his sound arm was heavily muscled and he was surprisingly agile in using it. But the tedious chore of taking the clothing out, counting the number of garments and replacing them, was more easily done with the use of two arms than one.

  At the preceptor’s dismissal, the two knights walked towards the chapel. The Order’s raiment was stored in coffers in the vestry, along with a small aumbry containing the altar vessels.

  As they entered the church, the pleasant aroma of incense met them and they genuflected in front of the altar before going into the vestry, a chamber situated behind a statue of the Virgin Mary. When Emilius opened the door of the room, a faint, and unwholesome, odour overlaid the pervasive smell of incense. Bascot remarked on it to the draper.

  “Yes, Brother John mentioned it after he conducted the dawn service this morning. He noticed it when he came in here to fetch the chalice and paten,” the draper replied. “It is probably a rat that has worked its way into the rubble infill between the stones of the wall and died. If it doesn’t dissipate soon, I will send into town for a rat-catcher and see if his dogs can locate the source.”

  Three large wooden chests were ranged against one wall of the chamber and a few black flies hovered over one of them, others were crawling on the lid.

  Bascot motioned towards the coffer. “I do not think you will need a rat-catcher, Draper. The dead rat must be in, or behind, that chest. The weather has been unseasonably warm of late. Its carcass would begin to smell very quickly.”

  Emilius had a disciplined nature, a love of order which made him well suited for command and the post of draper. With meticulous care, he checked every article of apparel and equipment on a regular basis to determine if repairs or replacements were required. Leather gambesons, boots, sword belts and wrist guards were also subjected to scrutiny, but these items were kept in the armoury. Another of the draper’s duties was the responsibility of ensuring that the hair and beard of each brother was clipped short and neatly trimmed, and tonsures not overgrown. It was important that brothers of all ranks paid obedience to conformity in appearance and dress, for allowing personal taste to take preference increased the danger of being tempted into the sin of pride.

  One of the coffers held the white surcoats worn by knights. Next to it was one packed with the brown and black robes of serjeants and men-at-arms-all emblazoned with the blood-red cross pattee of the Order. The third was filled with the lambskin girdles that all Templars wore under their outer clothing as a reminder of their vow of chastity. This chest also contained a selection of hose and undershirts. It was to this last coffer that the flies seemed attracted.

  “Shall I pull the chest away from the wall?” Bascot asked.

  “Let me check the contents first,” Emilius said. “I do not believe the smell can be coming from inside; the covers are made to fit tightly to prevent the invasion of insects or rodents. But, even so, it might be that one got in while I left the lid open for a short time.”

  The draper lifted the lid and let it fall back against the wall. As he did so, a nauseating odour arose and both men fell back, placing their hands across their noses. The flies began to swirl in a sudden buzzing frenzy.

  “Sweet Jesu, all the raiment will be tainted,” Emilius exclaimed.

  “The carcass must be underneath the clothing,” Bascot replied and, brushing at the flies with one hand, he reached inside the chest with the other, grasping the girdles lying in an untidy bundle on the top.

  “I did not leave the garments like that,” Emilius exclaimed. “They were all neatly folded the last time I…”

  His words trailed off as Bascot pulled the heap of woolly circlets clear of the coffer. As he did so, a dead body was revealed, but it was not that of a rat. It was human. Crammed tightly into the chest, the corpse lay in a foetal position on its side, legs folded up tight against the stomach and the arms pushed down into the folds of a pale blue skirt. Bright blond hair spilled over the shoulders and, around the neck was an indentation that cut deeply into the flesh. It was the type of mark left by a strangling cord.

  “God have mercy,” Emilius breathed. “It is a woman. And she has been murdered.”

  Three

  Just over an hour later, Gerard Camville, sheriff of Lincoln, rode into the preceptory. With him was Roget, the former mercenary who was captain of Camville’s town guard. The two men dismounted and walked towards Bascot, who was waiting for them at the entrance to the chapel.

  Camville was a man of bull-like proportions and irascible temperament. Now his broad features, usually fixed into a scowl, were solemn with disquietude. Beside him, Roget, a fearsome looking man with the scar of an old sword slash bisecting the flesh on one side of his face, had a similar expression. As they paced across the enclave, the Templar knights and men-at-arms of the commandery stood in small silent groups around the perimeter of the central training ground, watching with apprehensive eyes.

  Bascot nodded to both men when they reached the chapel. The Templar knight, from his time in the temporary service of Camville’s wife, N
icolaa de la Haye, knew the sheriff well. The same was true of Roget. During his stay in Lincoln castle, Bascot had assisted the castellan in seeking out the perpetrator of four previous cases of secret murder and the captain had been involved in most of the investigations. They had formed a liking for each other and become fast friends.

  “The preceptor is waiting for you inside the chapel, lord,” Bascot said to Camville. “The body of the murdered girl is in there.”

  The sheriff grunted a response. “D’Arderon’s message said the victim’s identity was unknown,” Camville said as they went into the small church. “I have had no report of a missing female within the town, so have brought Roget along to see if he recognises her.”

  As captain of the sheriff’s guard, Roget was familiar with most of the town’s inhabitants. If the dead girl was from Lincoln, it was likely he would know her identity.

  Bascot led the two men into the vestry. Additional incense had been set burning and it had, in part, masked the rank smell of death. D’Arderon and Emilius were both inside the chamber, kneeling alongside the preceptory’s priest, Brother John, as he intoned Prayers for the Dead. Camville, Roget and Bascot knelt beside them until the priest was finished and Brother John’s gloved hands, kept continually covered so they were pristine for the celebration of Mass, moved in the sign of a cross over the body.

  “I have done what I can for the soul of this unfortunate woman,” the priest said as he and the others rose to their feet. Brother John was an elderly man, fussy and precise, and his face was drawn downward in lines of sadness. “As soon as she can be moved, her body can be taken to the nunnery in the Priory of All Saints. There her earthly remains can be properly cared for by those of her own gender.”

  The priest moved towards the vestry door. “Please inform me when that has been done, Preceptor,” he said to d’Arderon. “The chapel has been defiled by this violence and will need to be reconsecrated before it can be used again. Until then, I will conduct our services outside, under the clean air of God’s heaven.”

  “Thank you for coming so quickly, Gerard,” d’Arderon said to the sheriff as Brother John departed, well aware that in most cases of a reported crime, Camville would send Roget or one of his household knights to take down the details. The import of this crime, however, was serious enough to bring the sheriff in person. Not only had murder been done, it had been committed in a house of God, a heinous act compounded by blasphemy.

  Camville and Roget moved to the open coffer. The girl still lay as though in foetal sleep; only the angry purple circle around her neck marked the violence that had been done to her. Her blue kirtle was of cheap material, and the skirts were gathered above her ankles, exposing small feet encased in shabby boots. Her hands were almost hidden from sight in the folds of her gown, but two slim fingers protruded, the nails ragged and bitten to the quick.

  Roget reached in and gently brushed the bright hair back from her face, so that her features could be seen more clearly. The flesh had a waxy appearance from the effect of encroaching decomposition, and her once pretty hazel eyes were bulging and bloodshot. From between her lips, the tip of her tongue protruded. The death rictus had come and gone.

  “Le pauvre petite,” Roget said as he crossed himself. “She is known to me, lord,” he said to Camville. “She is one of the prostitutes from a stewe in Butwerk. I do not recall her name, but the stewe-holder will know it.”

  The sheriff nodded and looked at d’Arderon. “She’s been dead for a couple of days at least. Do you have any idea how she, or her body, could have got into the preceptory?”

  D’Arderon shook his head. The preceptor’s face was ashen. “None at all,” he said. “There have been many brothers through the commandery in the last few weeks, but for one of them to smuggle in a woman… and then murder her… It is too incredible to contemplate.”

  “She must have been placed in the coffer during the last two days, lord,” Bascot said. “Brother Emilius received a supply of new girdles from London three days ago and added them to the few that were left. Her body has been put in here since then.”

  Emilius nodded and pointed to the two chests containing surcoats, the lids of which were open to reveal the garments inside, all neatly folded. “I also received a few new surcoats, not many, and I added those to the inventory as well. As you can see, the other chests have not been disturbed.”

  “After the preceptor sent his message to you,” Bascot said to the sheriff, “I spoke to the guards who have been on the gate for the last two days. The only way a female could have been brought in here is if she was disguised as a man. All of them are certain that no one of suspicious appearance has been admitted, except for one. He is one of the younger men-at-arms and told me that two men hired from the local populace to help the preceptory’s grooms were admitted an hour before Matins two nights ago. Both of them wore cloaks and hoods which shielded their faces, but one of them was small and slight; the guard assumed he was a young lad. It was his companion who requested entrance, saying they had been ordered by Serjeant Hamo to report early for instructions about their duties. The guard knew that Hamo had hired extra men because, with so many brothers passing through on their way to enclaves overseas, there are too many horses for the preceptory’s grooms to care for. He admitted them without question.”

  Bascot paused. “I then spoke to Hamo. He hired only three local men; and none of them were told to report early.”

  “So that is how the girl got into the enclave,” Camville said. “Even though it would seem she came willingly, it was probably her companion who murdered her.”

  “It would appear so, lord,” Bascot replied.

  “But why?” d’Arderon demanded angrily. “This is more than simple murder, much as that evil act is to be decried. To kill anyone, man or woman, in the precincts of a church is an abomination. Surely no Christian would damn his soul in such a terrible manner.”

  His words chilled them all. The preceptor was right, only an infidel would have such blatant disregard for a house of the Christian God.

  “But if that was the intent, why choose our chapel?” Bascot said musingly. “It would have been much easier to commit this sacrilege in any of the churches in town, or even the cathedral. Their doors are open to all at any hour of the day or night. Why was the girl brought here, where access can only be gained through a gate protected by an armed guard? It would seem the murderer’s intent was not only to defile a chapel, but that it must be a Templar one.”

  The others reflected on Bascot’s comment as Emilius went outside and called to one of the men-at-arms to take a message to the prior of All Saints and ask his permission for the corpse to be taken to the death chamber in the nunnery. Two other soldiers were sent for a makeshift bier on which to place the body.

  “Perhaps knowledge of the girl’s identity will make the matter clearer,” Camville said. He spoke to Roget. “Go to the stewe where she worked and find out her name and anything else that is known about her, especially if she has any connection with the Templar Order, such as a family member that belongs to it. Ask also about her customers. It may be one of them that used her as a tool for his own vengeful purposes.”

  While he was speaking the stretcher arrived and the preceptor gave a terse order for the soldiers to lift the woman’s body out of the coffer and place it on the litter. With grim faces, they did as they were bid, taking care to be gentle. As the harlot was lifted up, a sound coincided with the movement, a dull thud that startled both of the men-at-arms.

  Motioning for the men to move aside, Camville strode to the chest and looked in. “Were any monies kept in this chest?” he asked as he reached in and drew forth a leather pouch that chinked with a metallic clatter as he picked it up.

  Emilius, to whom the sheriff had directed the question, gazed at the pouch, his expression astonished. “No,” he assured Camville. “Only clothing.”

  The sheriff hefted the purse and then opened it, spilling half of the contents into the pa
lm of his hand. “There is a goodly quantity of money here. At a guess, I would say there are thirty pence.”

  Silence reigned as the men took in the implication of the number of coins. It was the amount of silver pieces that Judas had been paid to betray Jesus.

  Camville was the first to speak, looking at Bascot as he did so. “Your question is answered, de Marins. It seems the murderer used a Templar chapel because he is accusing someone in your enclave of forswearing their vow of chastity, mayhap with this particular harlot.”

  Four

  “ Is this villain’s allegation a true one, Everard?” Camville demanded of the preceptor. “Have any of the men under your command been consorting with prostitutes?”

  D’Arderon’s heavy jaw tightened. “If any had, you are well aware that I could not disclose it to you, Gerard,” he answered stiffly. “All that passes within our brotherhood is private and not to be revealed to those outside the Order.”

  If discovered, punishment for any Templar found to have had congress with a harlot was severe. At the very least, he would be whipped, but the chastisement was more likely to be confinement in manacles for a specified period. But any disciplinary measures that were meted out, as with all other affairs concerning the brotherhood, were kept strictly to the knowledge of those within the Order. To reveal these matters to an outsider was considered a grave infraction of the Templar Rule and could result in expulsion.

  Camville’s eyes narrowed in suppressed anger at d’Arderon’s refusal to answer. The two men had a great deal of respect for each other and the confrontation between them was not an easy one. “Damn it, man,” Camville spat out, struggling to keep his choleric temper under control. “A harlot has been murdered in your church. If I am to discover the identity of the miscreant who is responsible, I must have your cooperation. At least tell me if the accusation is warranted.”