A Holy Vengeance (22 page)

Through the barred grill in the door of her cell, Constance had been watching the activity that had been taking place throughout the day in the bail. Roget had appeared earlier with two prisoners in tow, and after that there had been a constant flow of people arriving—the Templar, the soap-maker and his wife and Wiger. Then, after an interval, Sir Bascot and Roget had left the ward again, returning a short time later with yet another prisoner, who had then been manacled and taken into the keep. Then one of the town guards had arrived and mounted the steps of the fore-building that led up to the hall and now, just a few minutes ago, she had watched in wonder as the man in manacles and two others—a man and a woman—were brought back into the bail and re-incarcerated. What did it all mean? Had the murderer been found? Was he one of those under arrest? And, if he was, what crime had the other two committed?

Just as she was about to give up her vigil and lie down on her pallet to try and get some much-needed rest, she saw Roget running across the ward towards her.

She held her breath as he unbarred and opened the door. “You are free,
ma cher coeur
,” he cried as he took her into his arms. “The villain has been found and Lady Nicolaa has told me I may take you home.”

Constance’s knees almost gave way and had it not been for Roget’s strong arms supporting her, she would have fallen to the floor. “Thanks be to God,” she breathed, “and to you, Roget, for your faith in me. I thought my life would soon be over.”

“Not while I am here to protect you, Constance,” Roget said sincerely. “Never again will I leave your side, if you will have me for your husband.”

“With all my heart, I accept,” she replied joyfully. “It is all I have ever wanted since first I met you.”

Roget’s heart swelled with a true passion he had never before known for any other woman. “Then let me take you home,
ma bien-aimée
, so we can tell our good news to little Agnes.”

* * *

At the top of the steps leading into the keep, Bascot and Gianni watched, with smiles on their faces, as the happy pair left the ward. The Templar regarded the lad that stood beside him with tenderness in his own heart. This murder investigation had been, he thought, one of the most evil they had encountered and, he knew, had brought dark memories resurging from Gianni’s early childhood. He had noticed the youngster’s obvious relief when the guard from the town gate had revealed that Lorinda was dead. It had been almost palpable. It had not been until that moment that Bascot had finally realised how frightened Gianni had been from the day when the so-called witch had first been mentioned. Yet still he had continued with his part in the enquiry, even though to do so must have cost him dearly.

“You have shown great courage during this investigation, Gianni,” he commended the lad, “and I am proud of you.”

Gianni gave his former master a shy smile. God and the Templar had allayed all his fear of
stregas
; never again would any such devilish creature make him fearful. He would never forget, or fail to be grateful, to his former master for guiding him to the truth of God’s love and protection.

* * *

Late the next morning, all of the church bells in Lincoln rang out in joyous celebration for the murderer’s apprehension and Brother Abelard strode through the streets announcing that a midday Mass would still be held at the market cross, but instead of a service of supplication it would be one of thanksgiving. Nicolaa had sent the glad tidings of Garson’s arrest to Bishop William at almost midnight the night before and he had been overjoyed, deciding to keep to his plan of conducting the open-air service, and had sent back a note to the castle and also one to the preceptory of his intention.

As the hour of noon approached, the bishop, in full regalia, led the whole complement of clerics from the cathedral out of the Minster and into the town. With them rode a troupe of Templars, Everard d’Arderon at their head. By sheer strength of will, the ailing preceptor sat upon his horse as upright as the Templar pennant that flew above his head, and with great gladness in his heart that the last battle in which he would ever fight had resulted in another victory for Christ. Down Steep Hill and into the town they all went, coming to a halt in front of the huge stone rood in the middle of Mikelgate.

All of the townsfolk were already gathered and stood in respectful silence as Bishop William mounted the steps that led up to the cross. Before he had time to raise his hands and begin the service, however, there was a great gasp from everyone in the crowd as, one after another, they raised their heads and gazed into the sky above. There, descending slowly from a lofty height, were two ravens and, as the crowd watched with wonder, they alighted on the roof of a nearby building. With bright back eyes they settled down to watch the service.

“Praise be to the Lord,” Bishop William’s voice rang out in jubilant tones, “for St. Dunstan has sent his holy messengers to witness our thanksgiving. God’s mercy is great, as is His love for us. Let us bow our heads in prayer and express our eternal gratitude for delivering us from the machinations of the Devil.”

A special session of the sheriff’s court was held upon Gerard Camville’s return a few days later in order to try the perpetrator of the murders of Emma Ferroner and Gwen Hurdler. Garson was sentenced to death and, because of the sacrilegious nature of his crimes, given the extreme penalty of being enclosed in a wicker cage hung from the battlements and there left exposed, without water or food, in the heat of the summer sun, until he should expire. Three days later his corpse was taken out into the greenwood near Coleby, where his mother had been born and was now buried, and laid to rest alongside her corpse in an unmarked grave.

Nor did the sheriff show any mercy to Aliz and Dern. They were each sentenced to be branded on the cheek with a large capital
P
—for procurer—so they should forever bear the mark of their corruptness, and were afterwards to have their heads, feet and hands enclosed in stocks in the marketplace so the populace could pelt them with missiles of excrement and rotten food. Although Dern survived the punishment, Aliz did not, her skull crushed by a mouldy cabbage into which a rock had been secreted and thrown, so it was said, by the father of the little girl she had forced into prostitution.

* * *

Robert Ferroner, on having it confirmed that the woman he had scorned so many years before had been ultimately responsible for the death of his beloved Emma, sold his workshop and house and gave the proceeds to the church. Once that was done, he donned a threadbare cloak and broad-brimmed reed hat and left on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, to beg forgiveness for the profligacy of his younger days at the place where Jesus had died. He was never seen in Lincoln again.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The setting for
A Holy Vengeance
is an authentic one. Nicolaa de la Haye was hereditary castellan of Lincoln castle during this period and her husband, Gerard Camville, was sheriff. The personalities they have been given in the story have been formed by conclusions the author has drawn from events during the reigns of King Richard I and King John.

The word
witch
is derived from the Old English word
wicca
(for a man) and
wicce
(for a woman), and denoted a person who had concourse with the Devil and was, therefore, skilled in the art of dark magic and, as a consequence, greatly feared throughout medieval society. Cunning folk, on the other hand, were essentially healers and not regarded as evil, which is borne out by the fact that the word
cunning
most likely originates in the Old Norse
kunnani
meaning knowledge. Cunning men and women were accepted without suspicion by the populace as practitioners of the healing arts and were revered due to the fact that they were often the only medical aid available in the many small hamlets throughout Britain and Europe.

In the period in which
A Holy Vengeance
is set, the difference between witches and cunning folk was clearly recognised. By the time a widespread persecution of witches began in the 16th century, that distinction had become blurred and many innocent women underwent terrible punishments simply because they were conversant with the medicinal properties of various plants and herbs.

For details of medieval Lincoln and the Order of the Knights Templar, I am much indebted to the following:

Medieval Lincoln
by J.W.F. Hill (C.U.P.)

Dungeon, Fire and Sword
by John J. Robinson (M. Evans & Company)

The Templars
by Piers Paul Read (Weidenfeld & Nicolson)

Maureen Ash
was born in London, England, and has had a lifelong interest in British medieval history. Visits to castle ruins and old churches have provided the inspiration for her novels. She enjoys Celtic music, browsing in bookstores and Belgian chocolate.

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