In the castle keep as time for the midday meal approached, trestle tables were set up in the hall and laid with platters of cold meat, bowls of pottage and bread. The sheriff had not yet returned in response to the messenger Nicolaa de la Haye had sent to inform him of the second murder and the castellan sat at the table on the dais alone, barely touching the food a page placed in front of her. Her slightly protuberant blue eyes gazed unfocussed over the sea of heads below. From time to time she took a small sip from her wine cup.
As the clerks in the scriptorium came down to the hall for their meal, Gianni glanced quickly around to see who had entered and then signed to Lambert that he would not take his accustomed place at their table, but eat in the barracks instead. The clerk looked surprised, but made no comment. Grabbing some slices of cold pork and a couple of chunks of the coarse rye bread meant for those of lower station, Gianni ran out of the keep, down the steps of the forebuilding and into the bail. Everyone in the castle knew about the killing of the second prostitute and that Roget had been sent by Lady Nicolaa to tell the commander of the preceptory what had happened. Gianni knew that once the captain had done that he would return to the castle and await the sheriff’s return. Since Gerard Camville had not yet arrived, and neither Roget nor Ernulf was in the hall, Gianni reckoned they were both in the long low building that housed the garrison. The boy, out of concern for his former master, hoped to learn from Roget more details about the murder that had taken place that morning.
When he ran into the barracks, it was almost empty. Most of the men-at-arms had gone to the hall to eat the midday meal but, aware that Ernulf usually kept a supply of food in the cubicle he used for his private sleeping place, Gianni was sure that was where the serjeant and Roget would be.
He heard a low murmur of conversation as he approached the stout leather curtain that separated the serjeant’s compartment from the large open space where the men-at-arms slept and knew his assumption had been correct. Rattling the leather screen to warn of his approach, he slipped inside.
Both men looked up as he came in, but beyond a nod of greeting they paid him no mind. During the two years that the Templar had stayed in Lincoln castle, the boy had often accompanied Bascot while he had shared a pot of ale with Roget and Ernulf and they were accustomed to his silent company.
Moving quietly to the corner and sitting atop his usual perch on a stack of rolled up straw mattresses, Gianni munched quietly on his bread and meat as he listened to Roget tell how Adele Delorme had been killed and of the terrible wound on her chest.
“It was a sight to chill a man’s blood,” the captain said as he recalled the prostitute’s face, her mouth agape and jaw stiffened. “She was a woman of rare beauty. For someone to destroy such loveliness is in itself a sacrilege.”
Gianni had seen the woman Roget was speaking of. She had, indeed, been beautiful, with hair the colour of burnished copper and green eyes that were reminiscent of limpid pools in a forest glade. Her figure had been tall and willowy, and the boy had seen men catch their breath at sight of her slim, swanlike neck.
“The batard must have strangled her first,” Roget went on, “because only a little blood had seeped from the wound.”
“And you say he carved a Templar cross on her?” Ernulf asked disbelievingly.
Roget nodded. “Aye, he did. A downward slash and a sideways stroke on one breast. He even splayed the ends out like they are on the crosses the brothers wear. He wanted to be sure there was no mistake of his intent.”
Shaken by the recollection, Roget took a hefty swallow from the wine cup he held. Ernulf, too, was staggered by the captain’s description. His broad callused hands tightened around the cup he was holding, the knuckles turning white. “Hanging is too good for the villain that did this,” he growled. “He should be hung, drawn and quartered.”
“I think both the sheriff and preceptor are of a like mind,” Roget replied. “D’Arderon is furious and Camville will be doubly so when he learns of this second murder. When we discover the identity of this chien, he will rue the day his mother bore him.”
“What about the man who found her? Are you sure he isn’t the guilty one?” Ernulf asked.
Roget shook his head. “I do not think so. He is one of her patrons, a wealthy armourer in the town. He says he found her when he turned up for his weekly visit and I think he is telling the truth.”
Gianni recalled some gossip about the prostitute that had circulated among the servants in the castle household some months before. It was said that, about two years previously, she had arrived in Lincoln riding a fine palfrey and accompanied by a manservant who left her company just after their arrival. There had been much speculation about her identity after she had taken up residence in the house in Danesgate, since the house, it was said, was owned by a man of high birth who lived in Newark. The rumour went that he had married a woman of his own class just after Adele’s arrival. The gossips also said that the harlot had been the nobleman’s leman and the house-a dwelling situated on a street inhabited by people of moderate means-had been his payment to her for leaving Newark before he wedded his young wife. After she had settled in, Adele had patronised shops in the town and let it be known by her manner and suggestive glances that her charms were for sale, and that the price of buying them would not be cheap. It had not taken long before men were knocking at her door, but she turned away all except for a select few.
“He might be lying,” Ernulf said in response to Roget’s opinion that the armourer was not guilty. “Maybe she had decided she didn’t want him to visit her anymore and he was angry for the dismissal. You are sure it wasn’t him?”
Roget shook his head. “She had been dead for at least twelve hours when he found her last evening and raised the alarm. This morning, early, I went and questioned his family-he is a widower but has two sons and a daughter-and his servants, and they all gave witness that he had been with them all through the previous night and the morning until he went to the shop where he fashions the armour he sells. One of his apprentices lives in his house and he was with the armourer for the rest of the day. It could not have been him.”
“Did the villain leave anything behind in Adele’s house that might help you find out who he is?” Ernulf asked.
“Only one thing,” Roget said grimly. “Just like was done with Elfreda’s body, Adele had a leather pouch full of coins lying close beside her. I counted them. There were thirty silver pennies.”
In the Preceptory, Bascot and Emilius reviewed the list that had been sent from London with details of the men belonging to the delayed contingent. As d’Arderon had said, the only information it contained was each man’s name, rank and length of service. Before the draper sat down to write letters to all the preceptories from which they had come, the pair discussed each one, trying to recall the little that had been said during snatched exchanges of conversation while the newcomers had been in the commandery. It was not much and, except for the two knights that had told of their previous battle experience-the one who had fought with William Marshall on the continent and the former crusader-none had mentioned any personal details, either of their lives before they joined the Order, or in the time since.
Of the eighteen men, apart from Bascot, that had been scheduled to leave for Portsmouth the next day, nine were from Penhill, a preceptory some miles northwest of York. Of these, eight were comprised of the four knights in the contingent, and included the two young men who had recently received their spurs of knighthood, and their squires. Both of the older knights were widowers and had requested admittance to the Order for a period of five years. The ninth man was a man-at-arms, a veteran Templar, who had been reassigned to active duty.
Of the remaining nine men, five were from the preceptory at York. All were of men-at-arms rank and had been stationed in the northern preceptory over the winter months while they waited to be sent overseas. The other four were from Temple Hirst in South Yorkshire. One was a man-at-arms who had proved himself to have an exceptional skill with horses and was to take charge of the contingent’s animals and see them safely to their destination. The other three comprised of two men-at-arms who had joined the brotherhood some years before and the last was the recently initiated young lad who had suffered from gripes in his belly on the night Elfreda had been killed.
Taking the Templar seal, an image of two men astride one horse, from the wooden box where it was kept, Emilius then laid out some parchment, an inkpot and quill, and prepared to make a start on the messages. Despite the handicap of performing the task one-handed, he was surprisingly adept at handling the scribing tools. Once the letters were finished, he would roll them up and seal them with some melted wax, and press the seal into the surface. They would then be taken by messengers to their destination. As he picked up the quill to start on the first one, he gave a sigh.
“These are to be sent off directly after I have completed them. If the messengers meet with no delays in obtaining the responses, they should return by the day after tomorrow.”
As he dipped the quill into the ink, he added, “I shall pray that the preceptor’s suspicions prove unfounded. It is hard to think that one of our brothers could be guilty.”
When Bascot agreed with the sentiment, Emilius rubbed his hand over the sling on his withered arm and said, “During the battle when I received this wound, one of our Portuguese brothers lost his life to a Saracen arrow. We had been sent out into the countryside south of Almourol to try and find a band of Moors that had been ravaging villages in the area. We had been gone for some hours and had stopped to take a brief rest when the heathens attacked us, taking us by surprise. The brother who was killed had unbuckled the ventail over his chin and mouth to take a sup of water and an arrow took him in the cheek. It went deep and into his brain. He died almost at once.”
The draper’s eyes misted in sad remembrance. “Before we left Almourol to seek the Moors, that same knight had just completed his punishment for consorting with one of the Christian women in a village near the castle. She was a pretty thing, lushly formed as many of the women from Portugal are, and was unmarried and willing. The temptation was too great for him to resist, I suppose, and he bedded her. No one knew he had done so, but his conscience lay heavy on him and he went to our commander, confessed his sin and willingly paid penance. While I do not condone his breaking of his vow, I understand it. For brothers who are lusty, chastity is hard to bear.”
He gestured towards the list of names. “If any of the men we are enquiring about has committed that same transgression, and has atoned, surely their wrongdoing could not spawn such hatred as these crimes suggest? Those of us who remain chaste are only too aware how hard it is to resist a woman’s charms and would understand, and forgive, the sin of a brother who has strayed.”
“Sometimes envy is just as great a spur as lust, Emilius,” Bascot replied. “To watch another enjoy what you fervently desire can, in some men, foster a deep resentment which can turn to hatred.”
The draper nodded. “You may be right,” he admitted reluctantly. “It could be that one of our brothers has succumbed to what St. Paul called mysterium iniquitatis-the mystery of evil. But I hope it proves not to be a Templar that has either caused, or perpetrated these murders. The crimes are terrible ones for any man to commit, but for a Templar it is doubly so. He will not only have betrayed Christ and his brethren, but every man, woman and child in Christendom. The faith the populace have in the probity of those who belong to the Order will be severely tested.”
Bascot nodded in commiseration. The purpose of the Order was to protect Christians; if it was found that one of its members had killed two Christian women, it would break a trust that should be inviolable. The doubting glances passersby had directed at Bascot on the day he had gone into town with Roget would become ones of loathing and disgust.
Emilius looked up, his face suddenly etched with determination. “As the preceptor said, we are at battle with this villain, Templar or not. The outcome shall be as God wills it. In that we must trust.”