Shroud of Dishonour (10 page)

When d’Arderon reached the preceptory gate, he charged through and came to a sliding halt in the middle of the compound. Dismounting in one fluid motion, he tossed the reins of his horse to a groom, and strode off in the direction of his office.

“Emilius! De Marins! Attend me,” he barked, never once turning his head.

The draper, who had just begun his inspection of the men-at-arm’s equipment and clothing, looked up in surprise at d’Arderon’s abrupt entrance into the commandery, and hastily told the brothers standing in line to await his return before hurrying after the preceptor. When Bascot caught up with him, he told the draper in a few succinct words of the murder of a second harlot and that a Templar cross had been carved on her chest. Emilius’s gaze grew cloudy with dismay as he assimilated the blasphemous nature of the wanton cruelty.

When they entered the preceptor’s office, d’Arderon was standing by the one small window the room possessed, gazing out of the narrow aperture at the men under his command, now standing in puzzled groups looking towards his office.

The preceptor turned and spoke as Bascot and Emilius entered the room. “This murdering bastard must be caught,” he rasped. “Not only has he killed two women, he has placed the Order, and this enclave, under attack.”

D’Arderon moved to the desk, the expression on his face rigid with suppressed wrath. “Until I order differently, no one is to leave the commandery without my express permission.”

“But, Preceptor,” Emilius protested, “the contingent going to Portugal is due to leave tomorrow….”

“Their departure must be delayed,” d’Arderon replied abruptly. “Someone in the preceptory is the cause of this devil’s hatred. I would stake my life that it is not one of the brothers that are based here in Lincoln, nor any of our lay brothers or servants. The two murders must be connected, so the men of the cohort that just left can be exonerated. Therefore it must be one of the men in the contingent that is still in the enclave. Until I discover which of them has committed the sin that is enraging this madman, they will stay.”

Emilius said no more, but his expression mirrored his disappointment of the preceptor’s decision. The morale of the men was already low; to be told they would not leave as planned would deflate it further.

“The only information we have on these brothers was contained in the missive sent from London to warn us of their arrival,” d’Arderon continued. “It states only their name, rank and length of service.” He barked an order at Emilius. “You will write immediately, Draper, to the preceptories from which they came and ask for more information about each man, especially whether any have been subjected to punishment and, if so, the reason for it.”

“Many of them have only recently joined the Order,” Emilius replied repressively. “It is hardly likely they would have transgressed in such a short space of time.”

At the implied criticism in the draper’s voice, the anger that d’Arderon had been holding in check finally exploded.

“You will follow my orders, Draper, and without question, as you are sworn to do.” The preceptor had not raised his voice, but there was no mistaking the depth of his emotion.

Emilius, whose steadfast commitment to his vow of obedience had wavered for a moment, flinched at the reprimand and nodded his acceptance of the rebuke.

D’Arderon walked over towards the window and stood looking out the grilled opening for a few long moments in silence before turning once again towards the two knights. When he spoke, his words were milder in tone. “If this devil’s objective is to cause dissension among us, we must take care that he does not succeed. There is another reason for my keeping the contingent back, Emilius, and it is that we cannot be certain that the man committing these outrages is not a Templar.”

The draper reacted to d’Arderon’s words with a shocked countenance and the preceptor looked at Bascot. “My charge comes as no surprise to you, does it, de Marins?”

When Bascot gave a brief nod in response to the question, the draper looked at him in puzzlement. For all his battle experience, Emilius’s forthright nature still contained a touch of innocence. His devotion to Christ and the Order had blinded him to the fact that it was not only infidels who were capable of evil acts, and had certainly never led him to envision that the murderer might be a fellow Templar.

“I have considered the whereabouts of all of the men on the night the harlot was smuggled into the chapel,” d’Arderon said to the draper. “At that time, the men of both contingents were here. With the press of bodies it would not have been difficult for one of them to steal out before Vespers or Compline and go into the town.”

The preceptor began to pace as he went on. “The same is true of this latest murder. Captain Roget said she was killed sometime yesterday morning. There was a lot of movement about the enclave yesterday—the men were preparing themselves for today’s inspection, grooms were exercising the horses out on the hillside, and others were helping to unload a supply of grain. It would not have been impossible for a lone man to slip out and go into Lincoln; the track down the hillside gives easy access to a gate into the city. And he need not have been gone long enough to be missed. I do not imagine it would take a great space of time for a man to murder a helpless woman and desecrate her body.” These last words were uttered in tones of disgust.

“But surely the man who did this must have local knowledge?” Emilius said. “These men have only been here for a few days—how would they know where to find prostitutes within a town that is strange to them?”

“That is why I want to know more about each one,” d’Arderon said. “It is quite possible that one of them has been in Lincoln before, or even lived here. May God prevent my suspicion proving true, but we must be certain.”

Dismally, Emilius nodded his reluctant acceptance of his superior’s opinion and his disciplined nature reasserted itself. “Do you wish me to also write a letter to Master Berard in London, Preceptor,” he asked, “to give warning that the contingent will not leave tomorrow as planned? It will be necessary to inform the captain of the ship on which they are to travel that their arrival will be delayed.”

“No, I will do that myself,” d’Arderon replied.

The preceptor spoke to Bascot. “My stricture that no one leaves the enclave does not include you, de Marins. I want you to pursue this villain with every capability you possess. If need be, you are excused attendance at any of the daily services.”

Bascot nodded his understanding and the three men closed their eyes in prayer, offering up a supplication for heavenly guidance.

I
N 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.”