A Holy Vengeance

by Maureen Ash

  He paused for a moment and then went on. “I still believe the heart of this coil lies with Emma Ferroner. If that is so, then Mistress Hurdler was chosen as a victim purely at random. In order to promote his deception, it was necessary for the murderer to kill again at another holy site and he chose the one near Greetwell because it is not a heavily populated area, so he could be fairly sure of not being seen when he made the attack. Then he simply waited—perhaps throughout the hours after dusk last night as well as this morning—for someone to appear who was weak enough to succumb easily. To her misfortune, it was Gwen Hurdler. Had not little Letty somehow escaped his notice through being hidden by the rushes, I am certain it would have been she who died.”

  The castellan rose from her seat and began to pace, an action she indulged in only when agitated.

  “Your theory makes sense, de Marins, but even though you may have convinced the Greetwell villagers that Mistress Hurdler’s death was not demoniacally inspired, I fear it will still be impossible to accomplish that same task here in town,” she declared. “The townsfolk may well view it from the perspective that as this second murder appears to have been haphazard, and committed with no obvious malice towards the victim, then it must, as they are convinced is the case with Emma Ferroner, have been perpetrated by the Devil. Panic will break out afresh and even though we have seen through the murderer’s ploy, it will still have been, to that extent, successful.”

  “Then we should, with all speed, look deeper into who had probable cause to wish Emma Ferroner dead. There are still some lines of enquiry to pursue and they must be followed up quickly. She was heiress to a moderate fortune, and where there is money, there can be avarice. She was also not completely happy in her marriage, which could have caused her husband to take a lover—thus provoking a desire in either him or his paramour to be rid of her. I would like to delve deeper into both of these motives and also to interview a witness that has yet to be seen—Robert Ferroner’s housekeeper. She was away from her duties on the day that all the armourer’s other employees were questioned and so was missed. It is possible that, since her work kept her in close company with Mistress Ferroner, she may have some information that is pertinent.”

  “Yes, I recall you began to mention her earlier before you were interrupted by Ernulf bringing news of the attack at Greetwell.”

  “That is so, lady,” Bascot replied. “Additionally, I think it would be wise to try and discover the whereabouts of the woman Lorinda, if only to eliminate her as a possible suspect.”

  The castellan had been about to resume her seat but now, after dabbing at her damp brow with a small square of linen, said, “This chamber is too small and stuffy for constructive thought. Come, let us go up to the solar, where the air is fresher, and we can discuss the matter further.”

  * * *

  Early that same morning, Roget had started his enquiries into the background of the alekeep, Dern. Most of the alehouses in Lincoln were shut at such an early hour, but he did not allow this to deter him. Constance’s life was at stake and he was desperate to prove her innocence. Accordingly, he rapped impatiently on the door of each alehouse he visited until someone answered. He was determined to find evidence, if it existed, that would force the alekeep into revealing more about Wiger and whether or not he had a motive for killing his wife. Anything that might lift suspicion from Constance was well worth the effort, and he was not prepared to allow anything to stand in pursuit of justice for the woman he loved.

  He had made enquiries at four or five alehouses before he found an alekeep who had been able to tell him a little of Dern’s history. Most of the others had known nothing more than his name and that he kept an establishment outside the southern wall of the town. The captain had begun to despair until he walked into a small, but tidy, alehouse on the western side of Lincoln, near All Saints Church. At first the alekeep, aroused from his sleep, had been non-committal, merely acknowledging that he knew who Dern was, but when Roget had told him that he was hoping for information that would help with the investigation into the murder of the armourer’s daughter, he had been more forthcoming.

  “Aye, I knows Dern,” he had said, “although I wish to God I didn’t.”

  “Why is that?” Roget asked. “Do you have some quarrel with him?”

  The alekeep had shaken his head and the captain had asked to be served with a pot of ale, offering to also buy one for his host, to encourage further conversation.

  After drawing two cups and taking a long draught from the one he poured for himself, the alekeep became more communicative. “One of my sisters was married to Dern’s cousin,” he said, wiping some dregs of ale from his lips with the back of his hand. “The cousin is dead now—he was a boatman and, one night when he had too much to drink, fell off a dock down on the Witham River, and drowned. Anyway, we don’t talk about Dern much out of consideration for my sister’s brood of babbies. He’s not a man we want them to know they are related to.”

  Roget felt a surge of exhilaration. “What has Dern done, mon frère, that makes your family so ashamed of a connection with him?”

  “’Twas a long while ago,” was the reply, “and most of the folk in Lincoln would not know about it, but Dern’s father used to run an alehouse out near Coleby, a few miles south of town. His mother died before Dern was grown and he helped in the alehouse for a few years until his father took sick. That was when Dern showed his true nature. My sister’s husband said he deliberately left his sire unattended while he was ill so he would die all the sooner and, when he expired, Dern took the bit of silver his father had put by, sold the alehouse out at Coleby and opened up the one he runs now, outside the city wall.”

  “That was a callous act, certainly,” Roget said, disappointed there was not more to the tale. Even if Dern had secretly murdered his father, it would be difficult to find any proof after such a long time.

  “Ah, but that was only the beginning of his wickedness,” the alekeep continued. “He had a young sister he took with him when he left. She was not much past puberty at the time. When Dern bought the alehouse down on the banks of the Witham, he put her to harlotry in a room upstairs and charged men good money to lay with her. ’Tis even claimed he used her himself at times.”

  The alekeep spat on the floor in disgust. “And there were rumours he kept other young girls on his premises for any other deviants like himself whose taste also runs to bedding children.”

  “Ma foi, what a bâtard.” Roget was shocked. Dern was not only a paedophile; he was also a panderer of defenceless little girls. The captain’s gorge rose in his throat at the depravity.

  “Aye, he is,” the alekeep agreed. “The rest of his family was so disgusted with his behaviour that my sister’s husband and two other kinsmen went to confront him, but Dern got word they was comin’ and hired himself a couple of bodyguards. When his cousin and the others arrived, the bodyguards beat all three of them so badly they could hardly stand and Dern gave warning that if they ever came back, he would see to it that none of them ever walked again. That’s why none of us admit to being related to him, or speak of him at all, God rot him.”

  Chapter 26

  As Roget was hastening to the castle to give Lady Nicolaa a report of his findings about Dern, she was seated in the solar with Bascot and Gianni, listening to the Templar explaining why it might be worthwhile to try to discover the whereabouts of Robert Ferroner’s former paramour, Lorinda.

  “It is, as the armourer said, too much of a coincidence that with the murder of his daughter, the curse, by that one act, is suddenly fulfilled, even though twenty-five years have passed since it was laid on him,” he said to Nicolaa. “True coincidences are rare, and I mistrust events of seeming concurrence; if looked at closely enough, they are usually related in some fashion. A search should be made for her if only to make certain she is not responsible.”

  “Yes, you could be right,” Nicolaa said slowl
y. “But she will be difficult to locate. The armourer told you that no one seemed to know where she came from except that her home might have been in one of the villages south of Lincoln. That is an area too extensive to search and would consume much time, and time is a factor of which we have little.”

  “If we follow up the sighting that Mistress Glover’s husband made when he saw Lorinda in Newark and find that she took up residence there, the effort expended in the search will be negligible,” Bascot argued. “Newark is not very far from Lincoln, only seventeen or eighteen miles; it would only take a few hours to go there and back. Master Glover told his wife that the house he saw her about to enter belonged to the head of the drapers’ guild. Although many years have passed, it should not be difficult to discover the identity of such a prominent citizen and ask if he or his family know anything about her.”

  Nicolaa considered his proposal. “’Tis a long chance there will be any trace of her after all this time, but since we do not have many other trails to follow, I agree it is one worth taking.” She looked up at the light streaming through the window. “The day is only half gone and the light stays late at this time of year. If you leave now you should arrive there late this afternoon, and will still be able to make some enquiries before the day is done.”

  “On the way to Newark, lady,” Bascot added, “I would like to stop off and interview Ferroner’s housemaid. Our route south lies near the armourer’s house and it should take only a few moments to speak to her, so the small detour should not delay us long.”

  The castellan nodded. “Very well, de Marins, you have my leave to pursue both enquiries. Let us pray one of them will prove successful. I would advise you to take Ernulf with you when you go to Newark. He is a close comrade of the serjeant of the castle garrison there—they have known each other from the time when they were both very young, I believe—and their friendship might help expedite your search. I will also draft a letter to Robert de Gaugi, the constable of the castle, directing him, in Gerard’s name, to give you any assistance you require. In the meantime, I will question Mistress Turner regarding the report Master Drogue gave me and try to find out if she is, once again, lying.”

  As Nicolaa had just finished dictating a hasty message addressed to de Gaugi for Gianni to pen and take with them, the door to the solar opened and Roget came in. His satisfaction was obvious as he told Lady Nicolaa he had unearthed some information about Dern that might prove helpful to intimidate him. The Templar signed to Gianni that they would stay to hear what the captain had to say, and when Roget was done, Gianni touched Bascot on the arm. During the course of his recounting, the captain had mentioned that Dern’s family came from Coleby and, after extracting the record of the interview that had been held with Ferroner’s employee Noll, Gianni pointed to the place where the master armourer had mentioned the names of a few of the villages south of Lincoln where Lorinda might have lived. One of them was Coleby.

  “Well done, Gianni,” Bascot said and gave Nicolaa the information. “I would judge Dern to be roughly thirty-five or six years of age, so he would have been about ten years old when Lorinda disappeared from the area. If she lived in or near Coleby, he might have known her and, if so, where she went.”

  Nicolaa was pleased they had discovered a possible connection between the two individuals. “Although it is a tenuous thread, it is still worth looking into, especially as you believe the alekeep is hiding something.”

  She rose from her seat, a little more energized now the investigation seemed to be moving forward. “Do you go on your way, de Marins, and, please God, bring back some proof that will aid us. In the meantime, I will have Roget pay another visit to Dern.”

  She turned to the captain. “I want this alekeep arrested and brought to the castle for questioning. If he knows where to find villains to assault his kinsmen, then it is certain he will also be able to locate a miscreant willing to kill for money. Take a couple of your men and press him hardly and see if you can verify the charge of pandering young females against him. Whether or not he has any culpability in these murders remains to be seen, but if the accusation of child abuse is true, he will pay for it, and dearly.”

  As they all left the room, the castellan instructed the page standing in attendance by the door to bring Constance Turner to the solar. She could sense they were getting closer to the heart of this mystery. Now she, for her part, must do her utmost to determine whether or not the perfumer was involved in it.

  * * *

  At about the same time as Constance was being taken from her cell, the bishop of Lincoln, William of Blois, was seated in an antechamber with Dean Roger. The bishop was a tall man with very white skin and dark brown hair; the contrast made his tonsured pate shine like a beacon on top of his head. A thoughtful man, but vigorous, he was determined to take some action to calm the fears of the townsfolk.

  “With the Templars’ help we are making God’s presence felt, Roger,” he said to the dean, “but Brother MacHeth told me that some of the monks who have been going out with the patrols are due to leave in three days’ time. We must take advantage of the short space they will be here to reinforce the people’s faith. And I think I know of a way that can be done.”

  The dean made no retort; he knew that the bishop would tell him of his plan in his own methodical way.

  “Before the Templars go, I have it in mind to hold an open-air service in front of the market cross in the town, with the Order’s brothers in attendance. The central theme of the Mass will be a request for Christ to rid us of this evil,” the bishop said. “Not a true exorcism, you understand, for that would make it seem that we are admitting the rumour of the Devil’s involvement is true, just a plea to Our Lord for aid. Along with the Templars, all of our brethren in the cathedral will accompany us, and I will arrange for a message to be sent to every priest in Lincoln to attend as well, so that a united front is shown by all the clerics in the town. It will hearten the populace to witness our Christian forces en masse and be made aware of the strength of the army fighting on God’s behalf.”

  “Do you wish one of our brethren to act as a crier for the service?” Roger asked. Normally, one of two or three volunteer townsmen with ringing voices would perform the task of walking through the streets and calling out any messages that were to be conveyed to the general populace but, in this instance, the dean felt, and he was sure that the bishop would concur, that it would be more appropriate if someone from the cathedral performed the task.

  Bishop William nodded. “Send Brother Abelard,” he said. “He is tall enough to be seen over the heads of most men and his voice is so stentorian it will be heard by everyone within earshot, including Lucifer Himself.”

  Chapter 27

  When Bascot and Gianni left the solar, Roget came with them and waited while the Templar spoke to Ernulf and told him that, on Lady Nicolaa’s orders, he was to accompany them to Newark.

  “I think it will be best, Roget,” Bascot said while Ernulf went to get provisions for their journey, “if you do not go to Dern’s alehouse until after we have spoken to Ferroner’s maidservant so you can report the result of the interview to Lady Nicolaa before we return.”

  Roget agreed and a few minutes later they all rode out of the ward, stopping at the town gaol for a few moments while the captain selected two guards to accompany him to the alehouse.

  The day was, again, a fine one, although there was a little lessening in temperature. A cool breeze wafted over the small contingent as they made their way down Mikelgate and through Stonebow gate.

  Roget and his men waited with Ernulf a little way from the armoury while Bascot and Gianni went around the perimeter of the workshop and onto the path that led to Ferroner’s house. His employees were all visible through the open shutters on the side of the building but none took any notice of their passing.

  “I did not see the armourer in the workshop, so he must not yet have returned to wo
rk,” Bascot remarked to Gianni after scanning all of the men that were inside. “If he is in his house, we shall have to ask his permission to interview his maidservant alone. She may not be so forthcoming in his presence.”

  When they knocked on the door, it was answered by a dour-faced woman in her middle years. Bascot asked her if she was Thea, the woman who held the post of Ferroner’s housekeeper.

  “I am,” she told him. “My niece told me of your earlier visit. But if you wish to see the master again today, he is not here. He is at St. Thomas’ church making funeral arrangements for his daughter. She is to be buried tomorrow morning.”

  “It is you I have come to see, mistress. You were absent when we were here before and so your statement was not taken along with the rest of your master’s employees. We are here to do that now.”

  With a downturned movement of her lips, which Bascot took to be her agreement, she led them into the hall and remained standing as Bascot seated himself at the table and Gianni readied his tablet and stylus to take notes. At Bascot’s instruction to take a seat across from him, Thea seemed a little uncomfortable at not remaining upright in the presence of a man of his rank, and it was with reluctance that she did as she was bid.

  “I fear you have had a wasted journey, lord,” she said brusquely once she was seated. “I have been told of the questions you asked the others and have nothing to add to the answers they gave. I am not aware of anyone who bore Master Ferroner’s daughter any enmity, nor had any reason to wish her dead. I believe what the people in the town are saying is true; she was killed by the Devil or a man possessed of a demon—may God protect the rest of us from such evil—for she had no enemies at all.”