Shroud of Dishonour tk-5

by Maureen Ash

  “The sheriff has sent us to ask you a few questions concerning the recent murders that have taken place in Lincoln town,” Roget told Gilbert when he enquired the reason for their presence.

  A wary look came into Gilbert’s eyes, but he bade them be seated and directed the elder of the two women, who he introduced as his wife, Margaret, to bring wine for their guests. She was a few years younger than her husband and had a wan comeliness in her pale blue eyes and small shapely mouth. A few tendrils of blond hair showed at the rim of a linen coif which covered her head in a haphazard fashion, as though she had donned it hastily. Bringing cups from an open-faced cupboard at the end of the room, she poured a full measure in each and then set them before the two visitors.

  The other woman, much younger and with the same dark hair and hazel eyes as Gilbert and Herve, but without the unfortunate prominence of the family nose, also rose from her seat and went to stand beside the man standing by the window. Her figure was plump, and the set of her shoulders seemed defiant.

  “My sister, Julia,” Gilbert said as she moved away from the table. He then gestured to the man seated by the fireplace. “And that is Herve, my younger brother.”

  “And this,” Herve proclaimed in a slurred voice and throwing his arm up and pointing to the man beside his sister, “is Savaric. He is also a relative, a half brother, a baseborn offspring of my father’s lechery, but a member of our family all the same.”

  A look of disgust crossed Julia’s face. “Have another cup of wine, Herve. Perhaps it will make you incapable of speech, for which we will all be truly thankful.”

  “Enough, both of you,” Gilbert said and turned to Bascot and Roget with a look of apology on his face. “I am sorry if we seem inhospitable. A private matter we were discussing has caused some dissension between us but”-here he gave a stern glance at his siblings-“it will be put aside for now.”

  Returning his attention to his visitors, Gilbert said, “We have heard about the murder of two prostitutes in Lincoln. But I do not understand why you have come to ask us questions about these crimes. I can assure you that neither Herve nor I are in the habit of frequenting brothels, so we could not have seen or heard anything that would be pertinent.”

  Although it had been Roget who had related the purpose of their coming to Ingham, it was to Bascot that Gilbert, who held the status of knight, made his response, addressing him as a man of equal rank.

  “The reason we have come is that the motivation for both of these murders seems to be dual in nature. The manner in which they were carried out suggests not only a hatred for harlots but also for the Templar Order,” Bascot replied. “We are therefore looking for some trace of a connection between the two. It could be, for instance, that a Templar brother was in the habit of consorting with prostitutes before he joined our ranks and, because of that indulgence, has incurred a grievous enmity in a person who is seeking revenge. We have been told that your brother, Jacques, often sought out the company of such women…”

  A bark of drunken laughter came from Herve. “Often! That is an understatement. The only time Jacques wasn’t rutting was when he was sleeping. And even then, more often than not, he kept a bawd in bed beside him to be handy for when he woke up.”

  Everyone was, momentarily, shocked into silence by Herve’s outburst. Julia broke it by striding across the room and slapping her brother firmly across the face. “You pig! Have you no compassion for our brother? I wish it was you who suffered-”

  Gilbert cut his sister’s outburst short. “I said that is enough, Julia. Be quiet!”

  As his sister, her face flaming with anger, clamped her full lips shut and walked defiantly back to stand beside Savaric, Gilbert once again apologised for his family’s rude display of emotion. “We were recently told that Jacques is dead and are all sorely grieved. I fear that sorrow has overtaken my sister’s sensibility.”

  Gilbert’s pronouncement surprised Bascot and he asked how they had learned of their brother’s demise. It was usual for the Order to send a message to the preceptory nearest to the family of any brother who had met his end while serving in their ranks, in order that the dead Templar’s relatives could be informed. None such had come to the Lincoln enclave.

  “Savaric came with the news two weeks ago,” Gilbert replied, waving a hand in the direction of his baseborn half brother. “When Jacques joined the Order, Savaric went with him as his squire. After my brother was taken from his earthly life, Savaric returned here as quickly as he could and told us what had happened. I am sure a report of his death will soon reach your preceptor.”

  Bascot focussed his attention on the man by the casement. Savaric’s grave expression had not altered throughout the exchange between the Templar and Gilbert, nor had he moved when Julia had leapt forward and slapped Herve’s face. If Savaric had returned to Lincoln after Jacques’ death, it meant he had reneged on his oath to serve in the Templar ranks. It was not a common occurrence for a squire to leave the Order when the lord he followed died, but it was not unknown. Such a sad event usually strengthened a man’s devotion, but there were a few occasions when it eradicated it. Now the darkness of the skin on the upper half of his face was explained. When he had shaved off the beard that was required to be worn by every Templar brother, the newly exposed flesh was much paler than the rest from lack of exposure to the harsh glare of the sun in Outremer.

  “How did Jacques die?” Bascot asked the squire. The Templar recalled that the records in the preceptory had stated that Jacques Roulan had been stationed at Qaqun, near Acre. There were often confrontations with the Saracens in the area and, if the knight had died in battle, the report of Jacques’ death would have been sent quite quickly, for a notation of it would have been included in the details that were sent of any clash with Saracen forces to Templar headquarters in London or Paris. But if Jacques had been stricken with one of the many illnesses that afflicted men in the harsh climes of the Holy Land, it was quite possible the news had been delayed, waiting for inclusion in the next regular report that was sent every few months to London from commanderies in Outremer.

  “Sir Jacques’ horse bit him in the shoulder and the wound suppurated,” Savaric replied in a harsh monotone. “He withstood the infection for a time, but a fever took him in the end.”

  The Templar nodded. Destriers could be fractious and often struck out with teeth or hooves and even if the wound was small, it could easily become putrid. The Templar offered Gilbert condolences for the family’s loss and then returned to the reason he and Roget had come.

  “Even though your brother is dead, it does not change the possibility that the indulgence of his carnal appetites may have spawned a reason for the murders. We are considering the likelihood that it may be a woman who is responsible and that the passage of time has deepened her hatred. Are you aware of any paramour that Jacques had, highborn or otherwise, that may have been left distraught, or in humiliating circumstances, by his desertion?

  Herve, far from being discountenanced by his sister’s attack, now lurched to his feet. “If you mean, Sir Bascot, did my brother leave a pregnant female behind him when he went overseas, the answer can only be one of uncertainty. Jacques roamed far and wide to take his pleasure. He could have scattered bastards from Nottingham to York for all we know.”

  Now it was Gilbert who became angry with his brother and, rising, he went over and pushed the drunken man back in his chair. “If you cannot speak of Jacques with respect, then speak not at all, Herve. If you open your mouth again, you will feel the weight of my fist.”

  Gilbert returned to his chair and once again expressed his regret for one of his sibling’s unseemly behaviour. “All of our family are under great pressure at the moment,” he said tightly. “It is not so long since my father died and then Savaric brought the news about Jacques… Herve seeks solace in a wine cup, while our mother lies upstairs on her bed and refuses to rise. It is a difficult time.”

  He motioned for his wife to refill his wine cu
p before he continued. “To answer your question in a sensible fashion, Sir Bascot, I do not know of any woman that Jacques may have treated in the fashion you suggest. There had been no marriage arranged for him, nor had he professed any interest in a woman of suitable rank. As for any

  … other females he consorted with, of them I have no knowledge. To put it less crudely than Herve, not only was Jacques of a licentious nature, he was also fickle with it.”

  “Did he visit any brothels in Lincoln?” Bascot asked. Even though Jacques Roulan had left Lincoln well over a year ago there might have been a prostitute who, like dead Elfie, had borne a child and believed him to be the father. The Templar remembered the bitterness with which Terese had spoken of the ways of men. A woman struggling to raise an infant may well have felt hatred for the man who impregnated her and focussed her rage on the Order he had joined. If so, other women in her profession would be an easy target, for none would expect violence from one of their own.

  “He may have done, and most probably did,” Gilbert replied. “He visited stewes in most of the towns throughout Lincolnshire.”

  The eldest Roulan brother raised his tired eyes to Bascot. “Jacques’ immoral behaviour caused my father much distress. While it is understandable for a man to visit a brothel on occasion, there was no excuse for my brother to neglect his duties on our demesne so he could spend his days in a constant bout of drinking and whoring. He was never here, and not often at the Marton property that would one day be his and which Father had given into his charge. Finally, my sire issued an ultimatum and told Jacques that if he did not mend his ways, he would disown him. At first, my brother paid no mind and continued with his profligacy, but when Father ordered all of Jacques’ belongings packed into a coffer and told him to leave, my brother finally realised our sire’s threat had not been an idle one.

  “It was then that my father entreated Jacques to take holy orders and join a monastery. He reminded my brother that his sins were many-not only did he need to atone for his inordinate lust but also for his dilatoriness towards his responsibilities. Such monumental disregard was an offence to God and only a life of abstinence would give proof of his repentance.”

  Gilbert took another swallow of his wine and said that it had been Jacques’ own idea to join the Templar Order. “He felt that the monotony of life as an ordinary monk would not suit one of his restless disposition and that the military aspect of the Templars would be more to his taste. Within a short time, Jacques was as ardent to become a celibate soldier in the service of Christ as he had once been in the pursuit of female company. My brother, Sir Bascot, was a man of deep passions but, unfortunately, they were often quixotic.”

  Bascot considered the implications of what he had been told and the attitudes of the various members of the dead knight’s family. It seemed that Jacques had not been the only Roulan possessed of strong emotions. Both Herve and Julia displayed a tendency to let impulse rule their actions. Not so with Gilbert and Savaric, although the Templar suspected their inner feelings were just as unruly, but held in check by necessity. Gilbert because, now he was head of this turbulent family, he needed to try and control them as his unfortunate father had attempted to do and Savaric, due to his baseborn status, had probably learned to present a bland face to his legitimate relatives at a very young age. Any one of them could be responsible for the murder of the prostitutes, with the possible exception of Herve, who did not seem to have felt much love for his dead brother. Could it be that one of the people in this room had become so enraged by the news of Jacques’ death that they were seeking an outlet for their grief by murdering the women they perceived as having led him astray?

  The Templar glanced at Roget, who looked back with a quizzical raise of his heavy black brows. Bascot gave a nod and the captain spoke to Gilbert, asking him, and the others, for an account of their whereabouts during the times the two prostitutes were killed and also on the evening of the previous day.

  At the inclusion of the last, Gilbert’s head snapped up.

  “Why yesterday night? Has another prostitute been killed so recently?”

  “A former harlot was attacked but fortunately she did not die,” Bascot replied.

  At his response there was an audible hiss of indrawn breath from Julia, and Gilbert’s wife, Margaret, stifled a sob. Gilbert shook his head wearily and answered Roget’s question.

  “We have all been here at Ingham during every one of those times,” he declared. “On the first occasion, Savaric had barely returned with his sad news and it took all of us, and our energies, to cope with my mother, who was in a hysterical state. Since then, except for duties about the estate, we have all been here at Ingham. Our servants can verify this, not only my steward but also the men who care for our sheep. They will attest to the truth of my words.”

  Bascot knew that questioning the servants would most likely prove futile. Any servant would lie to protect a master on whom his livelihood depended. He did not, however, voice this opinion, and merely said that steps would be taken to do so. He and Roget rose from their seats and, with a sigh of weary resignation, Gilbert Roulan accompanied them to the door.

  Twenty-three

  “ Ma Foi, what a tribe!” Roget exclaimed as they rode down the track leading to Ermine Street. “My mother was a harridan and my father a toper, but compared to that lot, they seem like angels.” He gave Bascot a sidelong glance. “Do you think one of them is the person we are seeking?”

  “I would rule out Gilbert and his wife as suspect,” Bascot replied. “The eldest brother is a dutiful man and might murder to protect one of kin, but I do not believe he would jeopardise the safety of his wife, and his holdings, to take revenge for a fate that Jacques brought on himself. And Herve, too, I think, is not culpable. Unless his professed dislike of his dead brother is a pretence-which I think a drunken man would find hard to simulate so convincingly-I do not believe he is responsible. That is not to say,” Bascot added, “that they are not protecting another member of their family who is guilty.”

  “If the murderer is a woman, I do not think it can be Gilbert’s wife,” Roget said. “And if the person who attacked Terese is the same one who killed the harlots, Margaret is too short to fit the description Terese gave us.”

  “And of too frail and timid a nature, I suspect,” Bascot replied in agreement. “That leaves Julia-who is tall enough and, from the way she struck her brother, of sufficient strength-and the baseborn half brother, Savaric.”

  “I will ask about the town to see if anyone noticed either of them during the times the two prostitutes, and Terese, were attacked,” Roget replied, and then grimaced. “That means my knuckles will once again become bruised from knocking on doors.” Almost as the words left his mouth, his aspect brightened. “I will go first to question the perfumer, Constance, and her maid. That task, at least, will be a pleasure.”

  Bascot smiled at his friend’s bewitchment with Mistress Turner. It was not often Roget took an interest in a respectable woman. He wondered if the captain, after so many years of protesting he would never take a wife, had finally succumbed to the charms of a female.

  “It might also be advisable to ask Lady Nicolaa if her bailiff, or some other person on her household staff at Brattleby, can speak to the servants on the Roulan property. Servants will be less reluctant to tell another menial the truth about Gilbert’s claim that none of his family left his demesne during the times in question. They might not be so forthright with either of us.”

  “A good thought, mon ami,” Roget replied. “I will suggest it to Sir Gerard as soon as we return to the keep.”

  The next two days passed uneventfully. In the preceptory Bascot, having given a report of all that had passed with the Grimson party and the Roulan family to d’Arderon, joined the other men in the enclave in the regular regime of attending religious services throughout the day and taking part in daily exercise in the training ground. The tempers of all of the men were growing short. The men of the contingen
t were eager to be gone and found the delay frustrating, while the regular soldiers based in the Lincoln enclave grew testy from sharing the overcrowded quarters. Even the servant with the crooked back, normally cheerful, wore a scowl on his face as he cleaned the midden and strewed flea-deterring herbs on sleeping pallets.

  As Bascot went about his duties, he went over and over in his mind the small amount of information that was known about the murderer. The only hints to his, or her, identity were the limited description that Terese had given and the gold cloak clasp Agnes had seen. He tried to fit them in with the suspects they had-Joan and Sven Grimson, the two seamen they employed, and Savaric and Julia Roulan. There were also the two Templar men-at-arms, Thomas and Alan. Although the description might fit all of them, it was unlikely that either Askil or Dunny would possess such a valuable item as the clasp, or Savaric who, as a baseborn relative, would not have access to the wealth of the Roulan family. With respect to the two Templars, even if they had not given up all of the valuables they possessed at the time they joined the Order, both came from impoverished backgrounds and were unlikely to have ever owned such an expensive piece of jewellery.

  Bascot felt as though he were trying to reconstruct a shattered pottery jar from only half the pieces. There was something that dragged at the edge of his consciousness-a half-remembered phrase or a detail that had seemed of little importance at the time-but now would not come to the surface. Doggedly he threw himself into training the two unseasoned knights that had come from York. Once before a bout of strenuous exercise had loosened the knots that hampered his thoughts, he hoped it would happen again.