by Maureen Ash
Now, as Gianni watched Roget trudge up the steps of the forebuilding and into the keep, the lad felt a fleeting pang of nostalgia for the time before his master had left to rejoin the Order. In all of the previous investigations the Templar had carried out, it had been Gianni who had been by his side, often helping his master to find some important scrap of information that led to a successful outcome. He touched the pieces of much-scraped vellum on which Lambert had written the questions Gianni was to study. The lad knew that after Roget had made his report to Sir Gerard, he would, as was his habit, come and share a cup of ale or wine with Ernulf. It was also probable that the captain would tell the serjeant of the people they had spoken to that afternoon about the most recent murder and what results, if any, had been gained. Gianni decided that he would take his papers into Ernulf’s cubicle and, as he had done earlier, listen to their conversation. He might not be able to accompany his former master and help him seek out the evil person who had killed those poor women, but hearing about the places the Templar had been and the information he had gleaned would go a little way to assuaging the exclusion Gianni felt.
In the preceptory, Bascot told d’Arderon of the paucity of evidence he and Roget had uncovered. The preceptor was a little heartened by the fact that the cloak clasp Agnes had seen was expensive.
“Even if it does not exonerate one of our brothers from having congress with these women, it does make it unlikely that it was a Templar who committed the crimes,” d’Arderon said. “No brother is allowed to retain any of his personal wealth once he has joined the Order, although…” The preceptor gritted his teeth and did not finish what he had been about to say.
Bascot knew what d’Arderon’s unspoken thought had been. It had been over eighty years since the Templar Order had been founded and, since that time, the number of brothers had grown from a sparse few to many hundreds scattered over all the lands of Christendom. With such an influx of initiates, and despite the Order’s attempt to ensure that all applicants were free from the taint of worldly desires, it was impossible to ensure that every brother took his oath with complete sincerity. If an initiate found himself to be apprehensive of the abject state of poverty the Order required of its brethren, it would not be difficult to secrete some coins or small items of jewellery in a scrip or saddlebag as security against a time of need. And to any man with enough evil in his heart to commit secret murder, the retention of a few valuables would seem a paltry sin by comparison.
D’Arderon gave a heavy sigh. “I do not see what more we can do until the answers arrive from the northern preceptories,” he said. “And, if the replies contain no report of any of the newly arrived men having been punished for consorting with prostitutes, we are at a standstill.”
“Not necessarily, Preceptor,” Bascot replied and gave voice to the thought that had occurred to him after he left Roget and was on his way back to the enclave. “It may be that we have been misled, deliberately or otherwise, away from the true provocation for these crimes.”
“What do you mean?” d’Arderon asked in surprise.
“The occupation of both of the murdered women has led us to believe that the betrayal signified by the silver coins and the cross carved on Adele Delorme’s torso is concerned with harlotry. But perhaps the victims were prostitutes because, by the very nature of the trade they ply, they are easy targets for violence. Harlots are accustomed to entertaining men who are strangers and would not be wary of being alone in the company of a man they do not know. If that is so, it might be that the murderer is not accusing the Templar brethren of lechery, but of a falsity of an entirely different nature.”
Bascot paused for a moment before expanding on the notion that had come to him. “Have you, in recent months, had any disagreement with someone who is dependent on the Order for their livelihood? A supplier perhaps, whose goods have proved to be shoddy? Or someone who has protested the loss of part of an inheritance because a piece of property, or a sum of money, has been donated to the Order?”
The preceptor gave his full consideration to the question but, in the end, shook his head. “None that I can recall. There are always minor complaints from time to time-the cook declares that some of the vegetables lack freshness, or the wheelwright grouches that some of the wood we purchase from a timber yard in the town has not been properly seasoned. But these are all minor matters and usually resolved amicably.”
“Has anyone recently deposited monies with you in exchange for a note of credit?” Bascot asked.
It was not uncommon for travellers, fearful of robbery while on their journey, to leave funds in the care of the Order in exchange for a receipt which, when they reached their destination, could be presented to a preceptory in the area for the stipulated sum. To cover the cost of handling the money, and to avoid the sin of usury, the amount declared was always lessened by a small percentage. It was just possible that someone who had undertaken one of these transactions now felt he had been betrayed, perhaps through loss of the receipt to provide authorization for release of the funds.
“There have only been one or two such requests in the two years I have been in Lincoln,” d’Arderon replied. “And, as far as I am aware, neither gave cause for concern. If you wish, you may go through our records. It might be that something has escaped my memory but I am sure, if there was something that caused a heavy grievance, I would remember it.”
“It may be an exercise in futility, Preceptor, but I think it should be undertaken.”
D’Arderon nodded. “I will tell Emilius to make the records available to you after Prime tomorrow morning.”
In the barracks, Gianni sat quietly in the corner as, for the second time that day, he listened to the conversation between Roget and Ernulf. The two men paid the boy’s presence no mind, having become accustomed to him being privy to discussions relating to previous investigations the Templar had undertaken. The captain told the serjeant about all the conversations that had taken place with Adele Delorme’s patrons and then, leaning forward, said, “There was one piece of information we uncovered that might be useful. I only tell you because, although unlikely, it is possible that two women in the town may be in danger because of it. If there is an alarm and I need the assistance of you or some of your men, you need to be aware of the cause.”
Ernulf rubbed a hand over his grizzled beard and both men looked at Gianni. “You must keep to yourself what you are about to hear, mon brave,” Roget said to the boy. “The Templar would not thank me if I put you, as well as the women, in peril.”
Gianni nodded and as Roget continued, listened with full attention as the captain told how Constance Turner’s maid had seen a man going into the prostitute’s house about the time Adele had been killed, and of the cloak clasp he was wearing. After Roget had finished the recounting, a fleeting thought began to burgeon in Gianni’s mind but, try as he might, he failed to sustain it.
Twelve
Late the next morning, just before midday, one of the two men-at-arms that d’Arderon had sent with messages to the northern preceptories returned. The preceptor and Emilius were in the open space in the middle of the commandery when he arrived, sharing information about fortifications and conditions in Outremer and Portugal with the men of the contingent. With the exception of the knight that had been in the Holy Land on Crusade, only three of the others, brothers who had been in the Order for some years, had been overseas, but none to the Iberian Peninsula. Emilius was able to impart details of the castles at Tomar and Almourol and the terrain of the surrounding countryside that would enable them to be well prepared on their arrival.
Bascot was systematically going through the enclave’s records in the chamber d’Arderon used as an office. The writing of the preceptor and Emilius was difficult to decipher. Both men had only a basic literacy and the words were a mixture of Norman French and Saxon English, and the spelling of some words varied in many places. It was not common for even highborn men to be skilled in the craft of reading and writing and, of t
he few that were, their scant training had usually been a few haphazard lessons given in their youth by a household priest or tutor. Bascot, not for the first time, realised how fortunate he had been that his father had placed him in a monastery during his formative years. The formal education he had received from the monks had stood him in good stead, not least because it had enabled him to pass his learning on to Gianni, who now was well on his way to becoming a clerk. The Templar wished the boy were beside him now, assisting him with his sharp eyes and quick intelligence, for poring over the often unintelligible writing with only the vision of one eye was making the task a cumbersome one.
When d’Arderon and Emilius came into the chamber with the missive from the preceptor of Temple Hirst, he pushed the sheets of parchment aside, and he and Emilius waited while d’Arderon scanned the letter. As they had expected, because of its closer proximity to Lincoln, the first reply had come from the preceptory at Temple Hirst. The information from this enclave was also the most important for, if a Templar brother was involved in the recent crimes, the commandery’s nearness to Lincoln might have enabled a brother stationed there to become familiar with the town.
When the preceptor had made his laborious way through the contents of the message, he looked up at his companions, and said, “During their time at Temple Hirst, none of the four men now in the contingent had been punished for consorting with harlots.” As Bascot and Emilius began to express their gratification, d’Arderon held up his hand. “As you are aware, we also asked for any background that was known about the newly come brothers. It seems that two of those previously stationed at Templar Hirst were born and bred close to, or in, Lincolnshire.”
The preceptor went on to name the two men, one a man-at-arms, Thomas, who had been designated to look after the contingent’s horses on their journey overseas, and the other the young lad, named Alan, who had been ill on the night Elfreda had been killed in the chapel.
“The Temple Hirst preceptor says he has no cause to doubt the horse-handler. Brother Thomas has been under his command for the last five years and has never given any reason for reprimand or an indication of dissatisfaction with the conduct of his other brethren. The preceptor cannot vouch for Brother Alan, because he is a recent initiate. But he does come from Barton, a village on the Lincolnshire side of the Humber estuary, and claims to be the youngest son of a man who weaves baskets and creels for fishermen in the area.”
Bascot recalled the callow young lad that had so shamefacedly told him of the embarrassing effects of his bilious stomach. “He seems an unlikely candidate to be either visiting prostitutes or conspiring at women’s deaths,” he remarked.
“I agree,” the preceptor replied. “He has a good ability with a bow-Hamo remarked on his skill and Alan told him that, as a boy, he used to practise regularly at the village butts-but other than that he seems a guileless youth. Beyond the odd fumble with a girl from his village, I doubt he has had any intimate contact with women at all, let alone a prostitute. And he certainly does not seem worldly enough to foster the deep hatred that seems to be inspiring this murderer.”
The preceptor rubbed a hand over the short grey hairs of his beard. Relief was on his face, and also on Emilius’s. It did not seem probable that any of the Temple Hirst men were involved in the crimes. The other preceptories, at York and Penhill, were much farther north, and because of the distance from Lincoln, it was unlikely that any of the men from one of these enclaves could be implicated. They could not be certain of the latter supposition, however, until the responses from the preceptors of both the northern commanderies had been received.
The second messenger returned late that afternoon, just as d’Arderon was sending Hamo to the castle with the purse of thirty silver coins that had been found with Elfreda’s body. He had told the serjeant that the money was to be given to Nicolaa de la Haye, and had enclosed a request that the castellan take responsibility for ensuring the coins were used for the benefit of Ducette, Elfreda’s little daughter, who was now, due to her mother’s untimely death, an orphan.
“You may leave the purse in the care of Lady Nicolaa’s steward, Hamo,” d’Arderon instructed the serjeant. “I hope that by putting the silver to such a charitable use, it will remove the taint of contamination that is attached to it.”
Just after Hamo left, the messenger that had been sent to the northern preceptories rode through the gate and delivered the pouch he carried into d’Arderon’s hands. “I made good speed, Preceptor,” the man-at-arms said. “Both of the commanders at York and Penhill wrote the replies with all haste, out of consideration for the gravity of the situation.”
As d’Arderon was giving the soldier permission to stable his horse and take a well-earned rest, another rider came through the gate, a Templar cross emblazoned on the front of his tunic and riding a mount that was flecked with foam.
The new arrival slid from his mount and strode to where d’Arderon stood. His face was lined with grime and sweat trickled from beneath the conical helm he wore on his head. In his hand was one of the despatch bags used for communications within the Order. He handed the bag to d’Arderon. “I am come from London, Preceptor,” he said in a voice tinged with weariness. “Master Berard bade me deliver this to you with all speed.”
Calling to Emilius, d’Arderon took both messages with him into the chamber where Bascot had almost finished perusing the records of the enclave. None of the documents had revealed any trace of a situation that could have caused animosity towards the preceptory and he was just preparing to collect them all together when the two officers came in.
The letter from the northern preceptories was put to one side as d’Arderon broke the seal on the letter from Thomas Berard. Inside the rolled up parchment was another letter, also bearing the Templar seal. The preceptor scanned the London master’s missive and tore open the other one, saying as he did so, “There is a letter from Master St. Maur enclosed with Berard’s. I am bid to read it with all haste.”
Amery St. Maur was Templar Master of England and, as such, a senior commander under the Grand Master of the Order, Philip of Plessiez. As the preceptor read through the letter, and Bascot and Emilius waited with barely restrained impatience to learn the contents, d’Arderon’s face became sombre.
“Master St. Maur has recently returned from Paris where he was attending a meeting with our French Master, de Coulours, and other senior brethren. He was in the London enclave when my message arrived.” D’Arderon looked at the two knights, his face wearing an expression of foreboding. “While St. Maur was in Paris, de Coulours gave him some information that he feels may be pertinent to the murders.”
The preceptor laid the letter on the table. “St. Maur says that de Coulours told him of an incident that took place in Acre a few months ago. A Christian man was killed in a brothel in a suburb of the town. The slain man was an Englishman, from Grimsby, and witnesses assert that he was killed by a Templar brother.”
Thirteen
Bascot and Emilius listened in shocked silence as d’Arderon told them what St. Maur had written. “The witnesses testified that not only is it a Templar who is responsible for the slaying of the Christian but that they are also certain he is, like the victim, an Englishman. Apparently, he and the dead man had been speaking together in the English tongue before an argument broke out between them. The squabble ended in a struggle between them with the Christian, whose name was Robert Scallion, dead on the floor. The Templar left before any attempt could be made to detain him. Scallion was, apparently, the owner of a sailing vessel, and traded mainly in onions that he purchased in the Holy Land and brought back to ports in France and England to sell. He was well-known in the brothel from previous visits to Acre and the other patrons in the stewe said he had just recently arrived in the port to lade his vessel with more stock.”
“But the identity of the Templar is not known?” Bascot asked.
The preceptor shook his head. “St. Maur says not, only that he is believed to be of kni
ght’s rank. But because he is thought to be an English Templar, de Coulours thought St. Maur should be apprised of the matter. As you know, any Templar brother found guilty of killing a Christian would merit expulsion from our Order. If his identity is discovered, that is what will happen and he will then be liable for prosecution by the Christian authorities in Acre. The commander of the Acre enclave is investigating the matter, trying to find out if the charge is true. St. Maur says he will inform me immediately if any further information reaches him, but you can see the connection between this death and the recent murders in Lincoln…”
“Yes,” Bascot replied, and Emilius nodded his head. “By now, such a terrible piece of news will not only have become known throughout Acre but also, no doubt, have been conveyed to the dead man’s home port of Grimsby. If Scallion has family there and they have heard that their relative was slain by an unnamed Templar in a brothel, it is more than possible that one of them might feel a need to extract revenge for his death. If so, Lincoln is the closest enclave for the purpose.”
“Such a motive would tally with the circumstances surrounding the murders of the two women,” Emilius added with distaste. “Scallion’s murder took place in a brothel, hence prostitutes were chosen as victims. And the coins implying betrayal-if it was truly one of our brethren who committed this deed, then he is indeed guilty of treachery-not only has he murdered a fellow Christian, he has also dishonoured his oath of chastity.”