A Holy Vengeance (8 page)

The next morning, just before the hour of Prime, a complement of four Templar knights and four men-at-arms left the enclave en route to the cathedral. MacHeth had sent a message the night before to the bishop and Lady Nicolaa advising them of d’Arderon’s intent to send the brothers out on patrol. The eight soldiers of Christ, he told them, would split into pairs, each comprising a knight and one of the men-at-arms and, in rotation, visit each of the places of worship in Lincoln, timing their arrival to coincide with one of the daily services so that once news spread of their presence, the townsfolk would feel protected while they attended Mass.

The militant monks made an impressive sight as they rode through the deserted Minster; all were armed and wearing coats of mail, and the cross patté was emblazoned on the white surcotes of the knights and the black ones of the men-at-arms. In the van, the Beauséant, the banner that was carried into battle, was held aloft. When they arrived at the cathedral entrance, Bishop William was there to greet them, dressed in the black robes of the Benedictine Order, Dean Roger by his side, and a group of lesser clerics behind.

“Brothers in Christ, I welcome you,” the bishop said with fervent sincerity.

“And I return your greeting in His name,” MacHeth replied. “Together we shall fight this battle against the evil that has invaded the town and, to Our Lord’s glory, we shall win.”

After handing the Beauséant to one of the other knights, MacHeth and a man-at-arms went inside the cathedral to wait until it should be time for the service at Prime to begin, while the rest of the troupe rode off down into the town, splitting up as another pair of a knight and man-at-arms stopped at the church of St. Michael, the next at St. Cuthbert’s, and the third at St. Martin’s, all arriving in time to attend early Mass. As they rode down Mikelgate, there were only a few people on the streets, mainly vendors setting out their wares ready for marketing, but those that were there stood and stared in wonder. It would not be long before word spread throughout the town that the Templars had come to protect them against the wiles of the Devil.

* * *

Bascot did not leave the preceptory until after he had attended the morning service in the enclave’s chapel. As he rode through the Minster grounds, MacHeth and the accompanying man-at-arms were just leaving to go to another church, ensuring they were on time for the next service to be held at Terce. Bascot joined them and together they rode through the gate that led out onto Ermine Street and were gratified to see that a few vendors were already hesitantly making their way up Steep Hill towards the cathedral, no longer fearful of entering the Minster grounds. As MacHeth and the man-at-arms rode past them, they dropped to their knees and crossed themselves, giving audible thanks for their protection.

In the ward, Bascot left his horse at the stables, and went into the keep. Lady Nicolaa, with Gianni, was waiting for him in the hall, and told him that she had just sent a message to Preceptor d’Arderon thanking him for his vigilance.

“A most ingenious plan,” she said gratefully. “Nearly all of the townspeople, like myself, have never witnessed the Templars prepared and ready for battle. Such an impressive sight will hearten them, I know, and bring them back into Lincoln’s churches while we carry out our hunt for the murderer.”

* * *

Just before the sun had risen that morning, the door to Constance’s cell was opened, and a maidservant, under the watchful eye of the guard outside, brought her a wooden platter on which was laid some cold meat and day-old oaten bread, along with a flagon of watered ale. The servant gave her only a nod of greeting, laying the platter and ale on the floor, and then left, taking the remains of the pottage the perfumer had been given the night before, and barely touched, away with her.

Constance had not slept, tossing and turning on the hard straw pallet, listening to the footsteps of the guards on duty as they tramped circuits of the walkway at the top of the palisade. Once or twice she had fallen into a light doze, from which disturbing dreams had startled her awake. Stifling a sob, she took a sip of the ale, and tried to tidy her clothing and hair. Aside from her fear that she would be found guilty of Emma’s death, she was worried about Agnes. How was her little maidservant faring? Constance was quite sure she was almost as frightened as her mistress, and sitting in terror in the empty house where they had, up until now, lived so happily together.

A few moments later, as the sun rose in the sky, she heard the call of the gateward as the massive doors leading into the bail from Ermine Street were opened. Then came the bustle of the castle servants going about their duties—the stamp of horses’ hoofs as the grooms led them out for exercise, the ring of the blacksmith’s hammer on his anvil and the squawking of geese and chickens in anticipation of being fed.

She rose from the pallet on which she had been sitting and, going to the grill in the door, saw the Templar knight Bascot de Marins, ride his horse to the stable door, dismount and go into the keep. A few moments later, he reappeared with Lady Nicolaa’s clerk, Gianni, beside him. Roget had come into the ward as well, and walked over to stand outside the barracks with the serjeant, Ernulf. The Templar and Gianni went over to the pair and, after exchanging a few words of brief conversation, Sir Bascot, in company with the young clerk, came up to her cell and instructed the guard to unbar the door.

When they came in, Constance dipped a curtsey in greeting to the Templar knight. She had met him before on the occasion that Agnes had given evidence when the prostitute was murdered and, as Roget had told her that he was now investigating Emma’s death, rightly assumed he had come to ask her more questions. She remembered him as having a reserved manner that had impressed her and would much rather be interrogated by him than by the formidable castellan.

“I am sorry to see you here, mistress,” he said courteously when he came into the cell, motioning for her to seat herself on the pallet.

“I thank you, lord, for your compassion,” Constance replied as he took up a place on the only other piece of furniture available, an old three-legged stool. Gianni stood beside him, wax tablet and stylus in his hands.

“I have come to ask you to tell me what you know about Emma Ferroner and her family, but before you do that, I would first like you to tell me all that you saw and heard when your friend was slain.”

Now, by the evidence of the ravens, assured that it had not been the perfumer who had struck the blows that killed her friend, the Templar had decided to treat her, for the moment, as if she were also innocent of complicity in the crime. If she was, she may have information that could be vital.

“But I have already related what happened to Lady Nicolaa,” Constance protested, not wanting to revisit the memory of the flashing knife descending on Emma’s back.

“I know it will be distressing,” Bascot said gently, “but sometimes small details are remembered in the retelling that might prove helpful.”

Reluctantly Constance nodded and asked him where he would like her to begin.

“Am I correct in assuming that nothing eventful occurred during the journey from your house to Newport Arch and subsequent passage out onto Ermine Street?” he asked.

At Constance’s nod, he told her to begin her recounting at the time when she and Emma had turned off the highway and entered the path that led to the shrine. “Take your time and tell me slowly,” he added, “and do not leave out any detail, no matter how small.”

Constance took a deep breath as she began to reiterate the tale, saying they had met no one on the path, and the greenwood had been full of sunshine and birdsong.

“When we came to the dell where the shrine is located, we saw the ravens and noticed that their nest in a nearby tree had fledglings in it, which we thought might be a good omen for Emma. Then she went over to pray to the saint, kneeling down in front of his statue,” she added, “and I stepped a little apart to give her privacy.”

“How far away did you go?” the Templar asked.

“Only a few paces,” Constance replied, “about the length of this cell,” she added, signifying that the space between her and Emma had been about ten feet.

“And did you look about you once you had moved away from her?”

Constance frowned as she tried to concentrate. “Not really. There was a clump of gilliflowers in full flower right next to where I was standing and their scent was at its peak. I remember looking at them, thinking that before we returned to town I would pick some to take home to make perfume. I don’t recall noticing anything else.”

“And how long before the murderer appeared?”

“It could not have been more than a minute or two,” Constance replied. “One moment I was looking down at the flowers and then I suddenly realised that the birdsong had ceased and the greenwood was silent. It alarmed me and I turned towards Emma to call out to her that something was wrong when a man with a knife in his hand burst from the trees on the eastern side of the dell. Before I had time to warn her he had run over to Emma and attacked her.”

Tears moistened her eyes as she struggled to go on, and Bascot spoke to her gently. “It is very important that you tell me all that you saw. Take a moment to compose yourself and then continue.”

Constance nodded and, after wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress, described how the murderer had twice plunged his blade into her friend’s back. “It happened so fast, lord, that I could barely believe what I had seen. One moment Emma was on her knees praying and the next she was sprawled facedown on the ground with blood oozing from her back. It was as though my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

“I understand,” Bascot said. “Are you certain the assailant was male?”

“I believe so, lord. He did not have the bearing of a woman.”

“Tell me your impression of his manner when he approached your friend,” Bascot directed. “Did he seem frenzied, or was he purposeful?”

The perfumer was puzzled at the nature of his question, and gave it some thought before she answered. “He came all in a rush,” she replied after a moment and then, with a catch in her voice, went on, “and had the knife lifted high before he reached her. Then he . . . then he . . . then he dashed it down and plunged it in her back twice, very quickly.”

“And where was he standing—behind her back or to one side?”

“Beside her, lord, on her right,” Constance replied quietly, making a successful attempt to control her emotions. “I was on her left hand and, after she fell, he darted around her feet and ran to where I was standing and grabbed my arm. It was then that the ravens flew down at his head.”

The Templar nodded. The actions of the killer that the perfumer had described gave some question as to whether he had been a hardened assassin, just as he and Lady Nicolaa had discussed. The attack seemed unplanned in its method and delivering his thrusts from a sideways position also sounded as though it could have been accidental, which might indicate the assailant was a novice. These were points that needed to be considered in their search for the culprit.

Resuming his questioning of the perfumer, he asked her if she recalled whether or not she had looked at the murderer’s hand when he took hold of her. “If so, did you notice if there were any distinguishing marks on it, moles or scars or the like?”

Constance did her best to try to visualize his hand, realising her answer to this particular question could help to identify Emma’s assailant. She closed her eyes and sat in deep concentration for a moment.

Finally she shook her head, “I am sorry, lord. Except for the strength of his grip, I can recall nothing remarkable about his hand.”

“Then I would like you to describe his actions when the ravens attacked him.”

“He gave a shriek when they came at him and began pecking at his head,” she said slowly. “They were cawing and croaking and making a fearsome noise and he dropped the knife as he turned and ran, curling his arms up over his head to protect it. The last I saw of him was as he disappeared into the greenwood, but the ravens did not give up their pursuit, flying up above the trees as though they were tracking him.”

As the Templar and Nicolaa had agreed, this was a strange reaction for a hired murderer, and reinforced the possibility they were seeking a man untrained in arms.

“Thank you, mistress,” Bascot said to Constance, not altogether disappointed by her witness. “Now I would like you to tell me all that you can about Mistress Ferroner’s nature and the routine of her life—whether or not she was complaisant with her father, for example, and her husband, what other female friends she had and if there was anything or anyone with which she was dissatisfied.”

Constance gave the question long consideration before she answered.

“Emma was lonely, I think,” Constance said slowly. “For female company, that is. The armoury is a place only for men and is never visited by women. And since her mother is long dead and she had no other female relatives, the only other woman she saw on a daily basis is the older female servant who takes care of her father’s house.

“As for friends, there was only myself, I think, and the elderly woman that used to attend Emma after her mother died, but left when she was full grown.”

“This attendant—what was her name?”

“Nan Glover,” Constance told him. “She is a widow who was in dire straits at the time Emma’s mother died, and grateful when Master Ferroner offered her the position. Emma was very fond of her and used to go and visit her sometimes after Mistress Glover left the armourer’s employ and went to live with her son. But she did not go very often lately, because the son recently married and Emma did not like his wife.”

“And how did you make Emma’s acquaintance?”

“Mistress Glover brought her to me one day, a little while after Emma had become betrothed, and asked me to show her my wares. She bought a couple of my products and then lingered for a while in conversation. She was, then, very merry, looking forward to her forthcoming wedding and excited about the prospect of becoming a wife and having children.”