by Maureen Ash
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 morning, 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 batard 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.”
Roget gave an admiring chuckle. “She is a woman formidable, that Terese. Even after Verlain summoned one of my guards, she did not cry one tear, just begged that she be escorted to her home straightaway, for she did not want to leave the little ones for too long a time.”
“Did she see the man who attacked her?”
“She says not, but now that she has had time to reflect, she may remember something that will help us catch this chien.”
As they reached Bailgate and descended Steep Hill into the town, Roget told Bascot of another happening that had taken place the night before. Bailiff Thorson had arrived at the castle in the early evening with the news that he, along with Sven Grimson, his wife, and the two seamen, had come to Lincoln and taken lodgings in the town.
“Thorson said Sven and Joan had insisted on coming to Lincoln to speak to the sheriff personally, as they had further information that would allow Sir Gerard to lift the restriction that had been placed on them. They asked that they be granted a meeting with him today.”
“We only came back from Grimsby two days ago,” Bascot said in astonishment. “How did they miraculously come by ‘further information’ in such a short time?” He shook his head in disbelief. “It would appear we were right to suspect they were lying. Does Thorson know what it is they have to tell?”
“No. He said only that Sven and Joan came to him the morning after we left and insisted they must speak to Sir Gerard themselves, that what they had to tell could not be passed through another’s agency. Because the bailiff had taken responsibility for ensuring they would not flee, he decided that he could not countenance them setting off unaccompanied, so he came with them.”
“And how did Camville react to this news?”
Roget gave an evil grin. “He lost his temper. I was not there, but Ernulf told me that although he did not rail at Thorson, he told the bailiff he would see the Grimsons at his leisure and they could consider themselves fortunate he did not throw all four of them in the castle gaol.”
Roget urged his horse into a trot as they approached Butwerk and the hovel where Terese lived. “I think he plans to talk to Sven and the others this afternoon, which is another reason why we cannot go to Ingham today. Sir Gerard would like you to be present when he hears what it is they have to say.”
One of the town guards under Roget’s command was on duty outside Terese’s door when they arrived. The captain asked him if all had been well during the rest of the night and, when the soldier nodded, they knocked on the door.
When Terese opened it, it was obvious she had managed to get little sleep. Her erect figure was slightly stooped and lines of weariness etched her face. She bid both of them come in and gently shooed the band of little girls, who were gathered behind her clutching at her skirt, to the far side of the room, urging them to sit quietly while she spoke to their visitors.
“They do not know what has happened, but are aware that something is wrong,” Terese said. “It would be best if we spoke about this matter in quiet tones, so they are not alarmed any further.”
“If you will allow me, mistress, I can think of a way to distract them,” Roget said and strode to the door. Giving the guard a couple of pennies from the purse at his belt, the captain told the soldier to go to the nearest baker and buy two loaves of fresh bread. “And some honey or conserve to spread on it. And don’t dally, or else you will feel the sole of my boot on your backside.”
The guard sped off and Terese smiled. “You are not quite so fearsome as you seem, Captain,” she said.
“Women of all ages should be cherished, not frightened,” Roget responded gallantly.
While they waited for the guard, the captain poured them all a cup of wine from the flask he kept hanging from his saddle and, as soon as the soldier returned and the bread and honey had been distributed among the children-whose eyes all stretched wide at the rare treat-and they were sitting quietly, Roget asked Terese to tell Bascot of her frightening experience the night before.
“I was only a few steps from the stewe,” she said in soft tones, “and just passing the mouth of an alleyway that leads to a midden at the back of the houses. I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye and suddenly I felt something-a cord or a piece of rope-go around my neck and begin to tighten. I barely had time to pull out the knife I have been carrying since Elfie was killed before the garrotte cut off my breath entirely. I am fortunate I had a weapon on me.”
She pulled a small blade about five or six inches long from a small battered sheath strung on a cord around her waist. Although the knife was not very big, Bascot and Roget saw that it had been honed to a fine sharpness on both sides of the blade. The edges glinted wickedly in the narrow shaft of sunlight that came through the small casement beside the front door. “It is the knife I use to cut up vegetables. I had the tinker sharpen it for me,” she explained. “It has served me well.”
“And then, mistress,” Bascot prompted as her eyes began to darken with remembered terror.
Terese recovered her composure and continued, “My cloak must have hampered my attacker from tightening the cord further and, as he moved close behind me to get a better grip, I stabbed out with my little blade.” She demonstrated the action she had used, holding her arm stiffly down at her side and driving the knife backwards.
Her lips drew into a small smile of satisfaction. “I felt it cut into that pig’s flesh, the top of his leg I think, and so I pulled it out and struck again. He gave a grunt of pain and I felt the noose go slack. Then I screamed and the door to the stewe flew open and Verlain’s guard came rushing out. But before he could grab ahold of my attacker, the coward had turned and run back down the alleyway. The guard searched the area, as did two of your constables, Captain,
after Verlain rang the alarm bell at the end of the street to summon them, but they could not find him.”
“You showed remarkable courage, mistress,” Bascot said to her.
“Not courage, lord, but desperation. My life may not be worth much, but it is mine, and I do not intend to give it up to any but the Good Lord above when He decides it is time.”
Both men agreed wholeheartedly with her sentiment and Bascot asked if she had seen the face of her attacker.
“No, I did not,” she answered with a dissatisfied grimace. “The moon is in a dark phase so there was not much light in the street, only a small glimmer from the torch outside Verlain’s stewe. And the villain had a cloak on with a hood which shadowed his face. I am sorry, lords, I have been wracking my poor brain all night to try and think of something that may help you identify him, but I cannot. It all happened so fast, and it was very dark.”
“What makes you think it is Elfie’s killer that attacked you, mistress?” Bascot asked. “Might it not have been someone who was merely intent on stealing the money you had just collected from Verlain?”
Terese shook her head. “If it had been a thief, he could have simply struck me over the head to knock me senseless and then robbed me of the little bit of silver I was carrying. This man was intent on killing me. That is why I think it is the same one that murdered poor Elfie and Adele Delorme. In the gloom, it would have been easy for him to have mistaken me for one of the bawds from Verlain’s stewe, for the darkness would have hidden the age lines on my face. And it was in Verlain’s brothel that he found easy prey once before, when he took poor Elfie to your Templar chapel and killed her. No, he was not a thief.”