A Deadly Penance (6 page)
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 Cthetedhad 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 t Cot that the bhat 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.
not a matter t Cot that the bhat 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
I
N 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.
N 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.
B Fauthot reascot 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.”
“So do I, lady,” Bascot said with heartfelt sincerity. “To take another’s life without just cause is an abomination.”
As the first course, wooden platters of sliced venison set round about with a selection of boiled vegetables, was placed in front of them, the Templar let his eye roam over the company at the tables below. He saw Gianni seated among the upper servants of the household alongside John Blund and Lambert, the latter a senior clerk who was Blund’s assistant. The boy gave the Templar a shy smile which Bascot returned. At the table reserved for the household knights, he saw an unfamiliar face and asked Petronille if the stranger was attached to her retinue.
“Yes,” she replied. “That is Hugh Bruet. My husband gave him charge of leading our escort to Lincoln and staying here with us until it was time for our return to Stamford.”
“And the rest of your entourage, lady,” Bascot asked, “how man Kd, to y are they?”
“We came with four men-at-arms under Bruet’s direction, and I brought with me a maidservant who is also my sempstress, along with another young maid that is attendant to Alinor. Originally there was also, of course, my dead cofferer.”
“Richard says he will use his father’s private chamber for interviewing our servants,” Alinor said to Bascot from her seat beside him. “I have told them to go to the back of the hall after the meal is over and wait until they are summoned.
“I shall sit in with you and my cousin while you speak to them, Sir Bascot,” Alinor added determinedly. “As Tercel was a member of our household, his murder is an affront to my father’s good name and, since my mother has given her permission, I intend to stand in his place in the matter.”
Bascot smiled inwardly. Although his young son’s death had deprived Richard de Humez of a male heir, Alinor, like her aunt, had more than enough courage to step into his place.
T
HE FIRST IN PETRONILLE’S RETINUE TO BE INTERVIEWED WAS Hugh Bruet, the knight that Bascot had noticed at table in the hall. Gianni had been summoned to take notes of any relevant details and was perched on a stool in the corner with his wax tablet on his knee. The chamber they were in was a large one, containing a bed covered with wolfskins, spare tack for horses and, on a table to one side of the room, a magnificent chessboard set with playing pieces. When Bruet came into the room, he glanced around him and gave a nod of appreciation for the masculine accoutrements.
HE FIRST IN PETRONILLE’S RETINUE TO BE INTERVIEWED WAS Hugh Bruet, the knight that Bascot had noticed at table in the hall. Gianni had been summoned to take notes of any relevant details and was perched on a stool in the corner with his wax tablet on his knee. The chamber they were in was a large one, containing a bed covered with wolfskins, spare tack for horses and, on a table to one side of the room, a magnificent chessboard set with playing pieces. When Bruet came into the room, he glanced around him and gave a nod of appreciation for the masculine accoutrements.
He was a man of middle years with a stocky build that swelled with hard muscle and it was easy to see why de Humez had chosen him for the task of escorting his wife and daughter on their journey. Bruet had a battle-hardened look about his person that would quickly deter any outlaws foolish enough to attack the cavalcade he led. He stood easily in front of Bascot, Richard and Alinor and, when asked about his knowledge of Tercel’s activities during the time the de Humez party had been in Lincoln, admitted that he had little.
“The only times I had occasion to be in the cofferer’s company was on our journey here and, after our arrival, when we all attended services in the cathedral during Christ’s Mass,” he said gruffly. “If he went into town I would not be aware of it; my duties lie in overseeing the safety of Lady Petronille and Lady Alinor; all else is without my province and beyond my interest.”
“And you never heard report of any friends, or enemies, that Tercel may have made while he was here?” Richard pressed.
“No, lord, I have not,” Hugh replied shortly. “As I said, our paths did not often cross.”
Richard dismissed the knight and, as they waited for the first of the men-at-arms to come up to the chamber, discussed what the knight had said.
“I am sure that Bruet, like myself, did not approve of Tercel,” Alinor told her cousin and the Templar. “I think that Hugh, too, sensed that there was something about him that was false, a slyness that was a mixture of diffidence and conceit.”
“But your father must have trusted him, lady,” Bascot objected, “else he would not have given him the appointment to act as cofferer during your visit.”
“I do not say he was dishonest, Sir Bascot,” Alinor replied, “only that he seemed to wear a mask over his inner thoughts. He reminded me of a mummer in a play, acting the role of a person that was not K thtime truly himself. I mentioned it to my father once, just after Tercel arrived, and he told me that I was imagining it and not to be foolish.”
The Templar, unlike her father, took heed of Alinor’s words and, as he glanced towards Gianni, saw that the boy was making a notation on his tablet using the curious shortened form of words that Lambert had taught him to employ when taking dictation. Someone had killed Aubrey Tercel and there had to be a reason. Alinor’s suggestion gave him pause for thought. It was not uncommon for people to display alternate facets of their personality ac
cording to the requirements of different situations. Perhaps it had not been the man with which his companions had all been familiar who had engendered enough hatred to cause his murder, but the disparate character who lurked beneath the cofferer’s mask.
cording to the requirements of different situations. Perhaps it had not been the man with which his companions had all been familiar who had engendered enough hatred to cause his murder, but the disparate character who lurked beneath the cofferer’s mask.
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