A Deadly Penance tk-6

by Maureen Ash

  When they were finally dismissed, all of the men gratefully threw themselves down on their pallets to get a few hours rest before the next shift of duty, the errant pair who were at fault thankful they still had employment. Ernulf, his broad face set in a scowl, stomped to the small cubicle at the back of the building that served as his personal quarters and, pulling aside the leather screen that served as a door, went inside.

  Muttering to himself discontentedly, he seized a leather jack of ale from where it stood in a corner and poured himself a full mug, heating it by plunging into its depths the tip of a metal poker that had been sitting in the burning embers of a brazier. When the murky liquid had been scalded, he threw himself down onto a stool and took a long pull.

  As the tension slowly drained out of him, he began to ruminate on who had access to Lady Nicolaa’s crossbow and when it might have been taken from its case. Richard Camville had spoken to the castle bowyer while they had been waiting for Coroner Pinchbeck to arrive and the bowyer had said that he had replaced the bowstring on the weapon two weeks before and had not had occasion, since that time, to handle it again. If the murderer was someone who lived within the ward-and Ernulf shuddered at the thought that it could be someone known to him-then the bow could have been removed at any time since then and kept hidden until it was used to kill Tercel. But, if the person responsible for the death had been one of those who came to the feast-a much more preferable assumption to the serjeant-then it would have to have been removed sometime during yesterday afternoon or evening.

  Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw, Ernulf felt a renewed sense of frustration. The only thing that was certain was that the bow had been returned to its usual place after the murder, for it had been there a few hours later when Richard and Ernulf had gone to the armoury after the discovery of the body. If he was to recall anything that would help identify the murderer, it would be profitless to try and determine when the bow had been taken, for it could have been removed at any time over the last fortnight; he must try to remember if he had seen anyone near the armoury during the time it was replaced.

  Most of the guests had arrived earlier in the afternoon and had been in the keep by the time of the evening meal, the earliest hour at which Tercel could have been killed. Ernulf focussed on the few minutes after he had eaten and had left the hall to return to the barracks. It had been dark by then, with only the flaming torches set along the perimeter of the ward to lighten the gloom, and most of the people he had seen in the ward merely dim figures well wrapped up in cloaks and hoods. While he could not recall seeing any of them near the door to the armoury in the old tower, he had to admit that he had assumed all of them were members of the castle household who slept outside the keep; the blacksmith in the smithy, the grooms in the stable and those such as the cowherd and goose girl who slept in small shacks alongside their charges. Now he wondered if had been mistaken. Could it be that one of the closely shrouded figures had been the murderer? Concentrating his attention, he tried to re-create the scene in his mind, but for all his efforts, the only person he could recall with any clarity was the furrier’s wife; and he had recognised her only because the white fur on the hood of her cloak had shone bright in the gloom as she tripped across the bail. While it was true she had been heading in the direction of the old tower, her presence there, according to Sir Richard, had been accounted for.

  After that, he had spent the remainder of the evening in the barracks polishing his boots with goose grease and repairing a rip in his tunic before taking a final walk around the bail to ensure all was in order for the night. By then it had been close onto the midnight hour and he had stayed in the ward until the eastern gate had been barred behind the four guests that had left. Once assured that everyone was abed, he had gone to his own pallet for a few hours’ rest. At no time had there been any occurrence that had seemed untoward, nor could he now call any helpful detail to mind.

  Annoyed that his mental exercise had proved futile, the serjeant poured himself another cup of ale and again heated it with the tip of the hot poker. Sir Richard had told him that he was going to ask Bascot de Marins to assist in the murder enquiry and Ernulf fervently hoped the Templar would be able to do so. The serjeant had come to know Bascot quite well during the two years he had stayed in the castle as part of Lady Nicolaa’s retinue and had a high respect for his ability to seek out those who perpetrated secret murder. Ernulf prayed the Templar would once again prove his competence and catch the sneaky bastard who had crept up onto the ramparts and killed Lady Petronille’s cofferer.

  As the guild leaders who had stayed the night in the castle went back to their homes, all of them-with the exception of Simon Adgate-felt gratified by the success of the previous evening’s celebration. The unfortunate incident of the murder had dimmed their enjoyment a little, but none of them had been personally acquainted with the dead man and so his demise did not trouble them unduly. Once they were safely within their own walls and had seated themselves at their respective tables to enjoy the midday meal, uppermost in their minds was the project they had supported and the glow of satisfaction they were still deriving from their participation.

  The day before had been the designated date for the monies the guild leaders had collected in support of Nicolaa de la Haye’s scheme to be handed into her care. She had, a few days before the appointed time, sent a message to all of them that the occasion would be marked by a celebratory meal which they, and their wives, were invited to attend. The castellan’s gesture of appreciation had pleased them all, especially the women, and they had dressed in their best finery for the occasion.

  It had greatly increased their joy when they had found, on their arrival at the castle in mid-afternoon, that William of Blois, prebendary and precentor of Lincoln cathedral, was also in attendance, seated on the dais beside Nicolaa and her sister. William had been elected by the Lincoln cathedral chapter to fill the office of bishop, left vacant by the death of Hugh of Avalon in 1200, but due to a dispute between the chapter and the king, had not yet been consecrated in the office. This event, however, was expected to take place in a few months’ time and the precentor had come to the castle to give his wholehearted support to the establishment of Lady Nicolaa’s foundling home. William was an elderly man and frail but, nonetheless, his voice had been filled with vigour as he spoke of his approval for the scheme.

  Once the guild leaders and their wives had all taken their seats at tables set up just below the dais, Nicolaa had given a signal to her steward and five young children had been led into the hall and told to stand in front of the guests. All of the youngsters were clad in rags and their faces pinched with hunger. The company had naturally been dismayed at their condition, and many of the women present gave audible gasps of dismay for the children’s piteous state.

  Nicolaa had then risen and spoken to the assembly. “These are the first of the orphans that have been chosen by priests within the town as deserving of assistance,” she said. “None of them have a parent or adult protector to care for them and, as you can see, are in desperate need of food and shelter. It is for the support of such as these that all of you, and the members of your guilds, have contributed funds. Due to your generosity, these children, and those that will follow them, will be provided with food and clothing for months to come. You may be assured that you have, by your beneficence, saved them from starvation and certain death.”

  She gave a slight pause to let her next words have more impact. “I am sure Precentor William will agree with me when I say that Bishop Hugh is certain to be looking down from heaven at this very moment and pronouncing a benediction on all of those who have participated in this act of charity.”

  There was a collective sigh of contentment at her words. Hugh of Avalon had been unceasing in his efforts to help the poor of Lincoln. They all well remembered how he had harangued the more affluent citizens of the town into giving alms for the indigent and monies for the upkeep of the lazar house in Pottergate. Of abstemious
nature himself, he had sternly reminded them of the passage in the Bible that stated how difficult it was for rich men to enter the kingdom of heaven and, by the forceful dint of his personality, inveigled them into opening their purses on behalf of the needy. There was no question that the late bishop had been the most devout of men and all of them had heard the rumour that he would soon be nominated for sainthood; to receive his blessing for participating in this charitable venture, especially from beyond the grave, would ensure the remission of many sins. All of the townsmen felt that the monies they donated would be well-spent.

  Nicolaa let the children linger a moment longer to reinforce the mood she had invoked and then gave her steward a signal to lead them from the chamber. Almost immediately, the guild leaders rose from their seats and, hefting bags filled with silver pennies, approached Nicolaa’s secretary, John Blund, who was seated at a small table near the dais waiting to receive the pledges and issue written receipts. As they passed in front of the high table, Precentor William rose to his feet and, after exchanging a surreptitious smile of accomplishment with Lady Nicolaa, added his individual blessing to the enterprise.

  Although the precentor left before the feast began, the joyful mood continued throughout the evening, enhanced by Nicolaa’s pronouncement that the total sum of their largesse had proved great enough to pay for the hire of a few local tradesmen to give the boys among the orphans instruction in basic crafts such as carpentry and cobbling.

  “Also,” she added with a gesture to where Petronille was seated beside her, “my sister, although no longer a resident of Lincoln, has added a generous donation of her own which she wishes to be used for the hire of a sempstress to give lessons in simple sewing to the female children.”

  This information was met with a round of appreciative applause from the townsmen and Petronille bowed her head in gracious acknowledgement. She knew how much the success of this enterprise meant to Nicolaa and had gladly given her support. Her sister’s determination to sponsor a refuge had been precipitated by an event that occurred during the winter of the previous year when the bodies of two children, one of them not much more than an infant, had been discovered near a huge refuse ditch just outside Lincoln’s town walls. Nicolaa had been extremely distressed by the incident and had formed a resolve to do her utmost to prevent any other destitute children within the precincts of the town from suffering such a dire fate. She had quickly set to work enlisting the aid of Precentor William, telling the clergyman that, as an example to others, she was willing to donate the use of one of the buildings on her own estate, and the servants to staff it, for use as a foundling home. The precentor had admired her determination and, acknowledging the dire need for such an establishment, had added his efforts to hers, instructing the clergy of the town to do their utmost to persuade Lincoln’s leading citizens to donate funds for the project.

  The merchants and tradesmen had been slow to respond at first but then, when they realised that Nicolaa would look with disfavour on any who did not support her plan, had been quick to come forward. For many of them, the castle was their foremost customer and the loss of income they would suffer if Lady Nicolaa decided to purchase the wares and services they provided from another source would make a severe impact on their revenue. Finally, at the season of Christ’s Mass, the promise of their pledges had enabled Nicolaa to put the finishing touches on her plans and she had ordered that the barn on her property at Riseholme be made ready to receive its first recipients. Petronille felt joy in her sister’s accomplishment, as did the townsmen who, once they had overcome their initial disinclination to part with their hard-earned silver, preened themselves on a wave of benign self-righteousness.

  Now, as these same citizens settled themselves comfortably in their homes and prepared to enjoy the midday meal, there were not many who regarded the death of Aubrey Tercel with much interest. Although most felt some sympathy for Lady Petronille in the loss of her servant-a few of the older townsmen remembered her from the days of her youth when she had been growing up in the castle-the general feeling was that since the dead man had not been from Lincoln and was largely unknown throughout the town, it was not a matter that need concern them unduly. None of them could foresee that it would not be long before all of them would be drawn into the murder investigation, and in a manner they could never have anticipated.

  Seven

  In the castle, it was decided that Petronille’s servants should be questioned after the midday meal was over and Nicolaa invited Bascot to take a seat at the table on the dais and dine with them. Before they went to the hall, however, the Templar asked Richard if he could view the corpse.

  “Since I did not see Tercel while he was alive,” he explained, “it might be helpful to familiarise myself with his appearance before we interview the servants in your aunt’s retinue. That way, I can put a visage to the person of whom we are speaking.”

  Richard agreed and the pair went down to the small chapel on the lower floor of the keep where the body had been placed in a coffin and laid in a niche.

  “I have sent a man-at-arms to Stamford with a message informing Uncle Dickon of what has happened. I assume he will wish the body returned to Stamford for burial, but it is best to be sure before I arrange transport. Since the weather is so cold, Tercel’s flesh will not deteriorate unduly while we await my uncle’s reply.”

  The chapel was, indeed, very cold and both Bascot and Richard felt the heaviness of the chill as they walked to where the corpse was lying. Candles had been placed at each end of a temporary bier and by their flickering light the face of the dead man could be seen. The death rictus had not yet faded but, due to the fact that Tercel had fallen in a prone position at the moment of his demise, his body lay relatively flat and in a semblance of rest.

  “The remains will be taken outside the ward to the church of St. Clement this evening,” Richard told Bascot. “The priest will hold a Mass for the care of his soul and my aunt and Alinor, along with the other servants in their retinue, can go and offer their respects if they wish. The body will remain there until we know where it is to be buried.” St. Clement was the small church just outside the castle walls to the north and the one attended by the soldiers of the garrison as well as most of the household staff.

  Bascot removed the cloak covering the corpse. The murdered man looked to have been in his mid-twenties, of slim proportions, and well muscled in a wiry fashion. Although the jaw gaped open, it could be seen that his features had been pleasing, with high cheekbones and a strong chin. The mouth, despite the unnatural contortion of the death stiffening, still retained a sensuous fullness. But it was difficult, without life’s animation, to determine the personality of the man that had once inhabited what was now only a deteriorating earthly shell.

  The Templar noticed that he seemed to have taken care of his appearance. His reddish blond hair and short beard were neatly trimmed and had been smoothed with a pomade that had a strong aroma of sage. His clothes, which were of a moderate quality becoming to an upper servant in a baron’s household, had been carefully chosen. He was clad in a dark blue tunic of heavy wool that complemented his pale colouring and the belt around his waist was of soft red leather tooled with spiral decorations, as were the shoes on his feet. Only the gaping hole made by the crossbow bolt in the cloth over his chest, and the traces of blood surrounding the tear, marred the neatness of his aspect.

  Bascot noticed a glint of gold at the neck of the dead man’s tunic and pushed the collar aside to examine it more closely. It was a gold chain and when he pulled it free, discovered a ring depending from it, a heavy gold band surmounted by the design of a crossed knot. “An expensive piece of jewellery for a servant,” he remarked to Richard, and then, as he turned the ring to the light of the candles, noticed there was an engraving on the inside of the band-a crescent moon with the points facing upwards and half encircling a small star. Both symbols were often used separately by the noble class, but it was not common to see them in concert.
The Templar remembered seeing this combination only once before, and, when he passed it to the sheriff’s son, so did Richard.

  “That is the design Lionheart used on his great seal,” he exclaimed, using the soubriquet by which the late King Richard had been commonly known. “Why would my aunt’s cofferer be wearing a ring engraved with a royal motif?”

  Bascot shrugged. “Lionheart was generous and it would not surprise me if he had given the ring to a retainer as a reward for service, even if the recipient was a commoner. Perhaps Tercel came by it as a gift of inheritance from some family member.”

  “You could be right,” Richard agreed. “I shall ask my aunt about it.”

  “Was his scrip on him when he was found?” Bascot asked.

  Richard nodded. “Alinor has taken charge of it. The money that was given into his care was all accounted for, with the expenditures that had been made on my aunt’s behalf since she arrived in Lincoln listed on a piece of parchment and kept with the coins that remained-a sum of just over two pounds.”

  “Then, since the money was not taken, robbery could not have been the motive for the murder,” Bascot said and pulled the cloak back up to the dead man’s chin. “We must seek elsewhere for the reason.”

  They left the chapel and went back up to the hall where the serving of the midday meal was just about to begin. Making their way to the table set on the dais, Richard took a seat alongside his mother, and Bascot a place between Petronille and her daughter farther along the large oaken board.

  The castellan’s sister welcomed him warmly. The Templar had been of great assistance to her family in the past and she expressed her relief that he had come to their aid once again. “I cannot fathom why anyone would wish my servant dead, Sir Bascot,” she said. “But I hope you will be just as successful in seeking out this murderer as you have in catching similar villains in times past.”