by Maureen Ash
In the castle, Nicolaa De La Haye sent instructions to her bailiff at Brattleby to try and find out if all of the Roulan family had, as they said, remained at Ingham over the last two weeks. Such information could not be obtained quickly. It would take time for the bailiff to approach those who lived at the Roulan manor house in such a way as to engage in casual conversation. While she waited, the castellan chafed at the delay.
Roget embarked on his rounds of knocking on doors in the town enquiring about the Roulan family. As he had told Bascot was his intention, he began with the home of the perfumer, Constance Turner. He was given a warm welcome and invited in to partake of a cup of wine and pleased to find that, this time, it was one of good Spanish red which Constance had bought for him especially. As the captain sat in a little parlour enjoying both the wine and Constance’s lovely smile, he was surprised to hear that the perfumer’s little maid, Agnes, had been perversely relieved when she heard of the attack on Terese.
“Agnes now reasons that the murderer is not aware that she saw him,” Constance told Roget with a mischievous glint in her eye, “for, she said, if he had, he would have come after her and not attacked another woman. I do not follow her logic, but am thankful that she thinks thus, for she is now willing to go about her duties as formerly and I can at last give my full attention to my work.”
Roget spent a pleasant hour in Constance’s parlour before he reluctantly left to resume his task of trying to discover whether any of the Roulan family had been seen in Lincoln. Before he left, however, he obtained a promise from the perfumer that he could come back and spend an evening in her company.
“I will cook you a meal,” Constance said with an inviting smile, “and may even get another bottle of Spanish wine to accompany it.”
“It will be my pleasure, ma belle, to provide the wine,” the captain replied.
When Roget left, both he and Constance were well satisfied with the arrangement.
Twenty-four
“ Grimson is a lying cowson!” Camville growled to Bascot the following morning. “He anchored his vessel on the southern side of the estuary, just as Thorson said he might have done.”
The sheriff gestured at the message he had received the day before from the town official in Hull, which now lay unfurled on a table in Camville’s private chamber. The sheriff was pacing the room in exasperation as he spoke. Nicolaa de la Haye was also present and it was she who related the details of the message.
“Although the men on Sven’s list all confirmed he had been in contact with them on the days he stated, the Hull bailiff couldn’t find anyone who saw Grimson’s vessel in the port,” she said. “Since my husband had asked that a check be made on that detail, the bailiff sent one of his constables across to Barton to question the man that operates the ferry across the Humber. The ferryman remembered seeing Sven’s boat at anchor in the harbour and also stated that he took both Sven and his wife across to Hull, but he swears the two sailors weren’t with them. As Bailiff Thorson said, it would have been an easy matter, during the time Grimson’s boat was at Barton, for the seamen to have sailed a skiff down the Ancholme to Bishopbridge, and then walked to Lincoln and killed both of the prostitutes before returning the way they had come.”
“And despite Thorson keeping watch over the Grimson party while they are here in Lincoln,” Camville added, “it could be that one of them is responsible for the attack on the harlots’ childminder. I should have thrown them all in the castle gaol when they first came.”
Bascot considered the conclusion Camville had reached. The Templar had always felt that the Grimson faction was not telling the complete truth but, as he had said to Roget, he did not think they were lying in a direct fashion, only omitting certain facts for their own purposes. He mentally reviewed the tale that Dunny had told them and Joan Grimson’s later claim that the knight who had killed her brother was from Lincolnshire. The remarks Thorson had made about Scallion’s unsavoury reputation came to his mind and then Roget’s mention of Bishopbridge as he and Bascot had ridden up Ermine Street and approached the turnoff to the Roulan manor house. Suddenly, the Grimsons’ purpose became clear.
“I do not believe the seamen killed the prostitutes, lord,” he said to Camville, “although I think, as Thorson suggested, that they did make the journey down the Ancholme. But it was not Lincoln that was their destination.”
Camville spun around in surprise and Nicolaa raised her eyebrows in query. “Where else could they have been going?” she asked.
“Ingham,” Bascot replied.
An hour later Sven and Joan Grimson and the two seamen stood once again in the hall of the castle, facing Gerard Camville, Lady Nicolaa and Bascot, who were all seated on the dais. As before, Roget stood to one side in the company of Peter Thorson.
Camville let silence reign for a few moments and then he rose from his seat and came down onto the floor of the hall, coming to a stop a few paces in front of Sven, his hand on the hilt of the sword at his belt. “You have been lying to me, Grimson, and I have no patience with prevarication, or the men who practise it.”
Sven Grimson blanched. Although taller by a good hand’s span than the sheriff, Camville’s massive bulk, and his authority, seemed to tower over the boat owner.
“Lord, I have not told you an untruth, I swear,” he stuttered. “I went to Hull, just as I said, to enquire if anyone knew the name of a knight Joan’s brother had fraternised with in the town. We thought it might be that he was the one who killed Robert…”
“And you sent the two seamen who work for you to seek him also, did you not?” Camville demanded.
Grimson shook his head in confusion. “They went with me to Hull…” he began to protest.
“To Barton, you mean,” the sheriff barked.
“We anchored at Barton, it is true,” Sven said nervously, “but we went to Hull, as we said, to try and find out the identity of…”
“Enough,” Camville roared. “You already knew the name of the knight that killed your brother-by-marriage. It is Jacques Roulan. And you sent the two seamen to Ingham to see if he had returned home. If you do not admit the truth, I will charge you all with bearing false witness to an officer of the king.” The sheriff’s rage was palpable.
Joan Grimson laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “What you say is true, Sir Gerard. We did know that it was Jacques Roulan who killed Robert, and that was the main reason Sven and I went to Hull. But we found no one who had seen him recently and neither did Askil and Dunny when they went to Ingham.”
Camville turned his venom on the wife. “That, mistress, is because he is dead!”
Now it was Joan’s turn to step back in shock. “But he cannot be,” she said haltingly, her composure finally slipping. “Dunny saw him run away, after he had killed Robert. He was not injured in the fight between them…”
“A man can die many ways, mistress,” Camville replied, “and it was months ago that Roulan took your brother’s life. Much can happen in such a space of time.”
Nicolaa’s cool voice interjected from where she sat on the dais. “I suggest, Master Grimson, that you and your wife now tell us exactly what you know of the night your brother died in Acre, and of your actions since you learned of it.”
And so the whole story came out. As Bascot had suspected, Dunny had, all along, been aware of the identity of the knight who had killed Robert Scallion. He had heard his employer call Jacques by name and had relayed the information to Askil who, having been a lifelong friend and companion of the boat owner, knew the Roulan brother from the days before the knight had joined the Templars and had, on one or two occasions, been present when Scallion and Jacques had shared a debauched drinking spree in the alehouses and brothels of Hull. When Askil had brought her brother’s vessel home, Joan had reasoned that if Roulan had been expelled from the Templar Order for murdering a Christian, it was probable he would have returned home to Ingham. She had insisted they make an attempt to find him.
Still Joan per
sisted in her claim that neither she nor her husband had any intention of harming Roulan if they found him, claiming that their purpose had merely been to denounce him to the sheriff and hope that some repercussions would fall on the family, if not on Jacques himself. Since it would be easy for Askil and Dunny to pose as itinerant seamen looking for work, it had been Joan’s idea to send them to the village near the manor house and see if they could discover if Jacques had returned, while she and Sven went to Hull and looked for the knight in the alehouses and brothels where he and her brother had been so fond of carousing. The two sailors went to the hamlet and took lodgings in the local alehouse, telling the ale keeper they were on their way to Torksey and hoped to find work on the barges that carry goods up and down the River Trent. That night, they sat in the alehouse and got into conversation with some of the villagers over a few rounds of ale, encouraging them to talk about the local nobility. Eventually the name of Roulan was mentioned, and that one of the family had joined the Templar Order. Many tales were told of his rakehell ways before he became a monk, but no mention was made that he had come back to England or of his having been seen in the neighbourhood. Not aware that Savaric had only recently returned with the report of Jacques’ demise and that this news had not yet reached the villagers, Askil and Dunny decided their journey had been in vain and returned to Bishopbridge. They then went back to Barton as they had come, via the Ancholme, and rejoined Joan and Sven. After discussing the matter and deciding that Jacques must still be in the Holy Land, they had all sailed back to Grimsby.
“And, so, mistress, for this capricious whim to avenge your brother, you have wasted my time and that of Bailiff Thorson,” Camville said.
For once Joan was contrite. “I apologise for that, lord,” she said. “I admit my grief overwhelmed my good sense.”
“So it did, mistress, so it did,” Camville replied, returning to his seat on the dais and picking up his wine cup. “And you shall pay for that error. Before you return home, you and your husband will sign a pledge to submit a fine of twenty pounds for the inconvenience you have caused me, and you will also give Bailiff Thorson a sum of five pounds for the cost of his time and trouble in escorting you to Lincoln.”
Sven Grimson gasped at the amount. “But, lord, that is more silver than I can earn in many weeks with my fishing boats…”
Camville leaned forward and glowered. “Would you rather spend six months in Lincoln’s town gaol?”
The boat owner shook his head and, accompanied by his wife and the two sailors, Roget and Thorson escorted them out of the hall.
Camville grunted in disgust as they left and took another swallow of wine. Nicolaa commended Bascot on his insight in realising that Scallion and Roulan’s similar penchant for whoring and drinking could have easily thrown them into each other’s company in Hull, and then connecting that with the fact that Bishopbridge was close to the Roulan manor house at Ingham and could quite conceivably have been the sailors’ destination instead of Lincoln. With hindsight, it was an obvious link, but one that had not been so beforehand. The Templar shook his head in denial of the compliment.
“Exposure of the Grimsons’ lies has brought us no closer to discovering the identity of the murderer. And unless we can garner some new information, or uncover a pertinent detail that has been missed, I fear we shall get no further.”
The Templar’s heart sank as he thought of telling Preceptor d’Arderon that the Grimson party was now cleared of suspicion. The elimination of their culpability took the investigation back to where it had been at the beginning and the need to once again face the unpleasant prospect that it might be a Templar brother who was guilty of the crimes.
As Bascot drained his wine cup and prepared to return to the enclave, the Haye bailiff from Brattleby came into the hall, requesting an audience with Nicolaa. Although not apparent at the time, the bailiff’s report would eventually provide the means of unearthing the evidence the Templar was so desperate to find.
Twenty-five
Bascot returned to the preceptory in a dispirited mood. The Haye bailiff had confirmed what Gilbert Roulan had told them; that, to the Ingham servants’ knowledge, none of the family had gone to Lincoln during the days in question, nor left the property at all except to travel to their holding at Marton on a few occasions. As Lady Nicolaa had told him to be thorough, the bailiff had then gone to Marton to ensure the proclaimed reason for their absences had been a true one.
The property at Marton was about eight miles southeast of Ingham and close to the Trent River. It was small, its income mainly derived from a herd of pigs that was raised there and fed mainly on mast that fell from a large stand of oaks growing on the perimeter of the property. Under the guise of making a routine inspection for Lady Nicolaa, the bailiff had spoken to the swineherd who lived there and looked after the pigs.
“In answer to my question about whether any of the Roulans had lately visited the property,” the bailiff reported, “the swineherd confirmed what the servants at Ingham had said, that some of them had been there recently. He said that none of them had used to come very much in the past, but lately Savaric had been there at least three times that he knew of, although Sir Gilbert and Sir Herve had only come once, accompanied by Lady Julia. It appears the reason they went is that they are intending to make Savaric the steward of the place and there is need to sanction repairs he has suggested be made to the small dilapidated manor house on the property. At any rate, lady, they did go to Marton just as the servants at Ingham told me and aside from the times they went there, have gone nowhere else.”
After Nicolaa thanked her bailiff and dismissed him, she, Camville and Bascot had discussed what, if any, direction the investigation into the harlots’ murder should take.
“Roget has made enquiries in the town to see if anyone has lately seen Julia Roulan or Savaric about the streets of Lincoln,” Camville declared. “A couple of merchants-a cutler who supplies the Roulan household with spoons and other household utensils, and a draper from whom they buy cloth for bed linen-recall Julia, in the company of Gilbert’s wife, Margaret, making purchases last autumn, but none since then. It is the same with Savaric. Before he left to join the Templars with Jacques, he would, on occasion, carry out errands for Gilbert’s father in Lincoln, but no one remembers seeing him since he returned from Outremer.
The sheriff shifted his restless frame in his chair as he went on. “As far as I can see, if neither the Grimsons nor the Roulans are involved in these crimes, there is nowhere to look for this murderer except in the Templar preceptory.”
He had looked directly at Bascot as he spoke and the Templar felt compelled to give a response. “Preceptor d’Arderon has investigated all of the men that are in the enclave, lord, and, as far as we can determine, none are guilty, either of giving cause for the murderer’s enmity, or of committing the crimes.”
Camville nodded his acceptance of the statement and added, “Then, de Marins, much as it grieves me to say so, I fear we must accept that we may not find this miscreant.”
When he returned to the preceptory, Bascot told d’Arderon what had passed and then resumed his regular duties, but his mind was not on his tasks as he went to check on his destrier and, afterwards, join the men at practise on the training ground. By the time Compline had passed, he was more than ready to retire but found, when he lay down on his pallet, that sleep took a long time in coming. When it finally did, it was filled with fragmented dreams of his childhood, and of the years he had spent with the monks in the monastery to which he had been given as an oblate-a gift to God-before his sire removed him to fill the place of an older brother of Bascot’s who had died.
He tossed and turned on his pallet, trying not to disturb the men who were sleeping alongside him on two long rows of pallets in the dormitory. Even though he was accustomed to the rush lights that were kept burning all night long in the chamber, their glimmer disturbed his peace and he flung his arm over his sighted eye to block the light. Eventually he
fell into a doze but his rest was soon invaded by a vivid dream involving the elderly monk who had taught reading and writing to the novices in the monastery. He could see the monk’s face clearly. Above his former tutor’s head was a halo and around him, whirling so fast they were almost a blur, were spinning discs of light. The sensation made Bascot feel as though he were falling even though he was lying flat on his back and he woke with a start. As he opened his eye, the dream receded but, as it did so, the sound of the monk’s voice instructing him in a lesson echoed in his mind-“and you will conjugate the verb in Latin and French.”
He knew that the tutor’s words had not been spoken in his dream, but came from some deep well in his memory of the actual days he and the other novices had been sitting at their lessons. But the words had been extremely clear, just as though the monk was sitting at his bedside. The intense reality of the experience left him fully awake and he knew that it would be useless to again seek rest, so he quietly pulled on his boots and, leaving the dormitory, went outside into the open air.
There had only been a few brief showers over the preceding days and the hard-packed earth of the training ground was dry and dusty. Above him stars wheeled in the sky, pin-pricks of light that formed a bright background for a half-full moon. As he walked from the dormitory out into the open space in front of him, the guard on the gate did not hear his steps and he realised how easy it would have been for Elfreda and her killer to have stolen through the shadows around the perimeter of the walls and gone into the chapel. The duty of the sentry was to keep out intruders, and his attention would be focussed outward, beyond the walls, not towards the inhabitants of the preceptory.