The Alehouse Murders (20 page)

Scothern nodded and Bascot unrolled the letter and scanned the contents. The scribing was neat, probably written by a clerk or priest. It was in formal language, thanking her former lover for his interest in their son and telling how she had, with the help of relatives, been able to follow her father’s trade of perfume maker. She went on to say that she had never married, that her whole existence had revolved around Hugo and that she had never let him forget that his father was of the English nobility. He was a fine boy, she had appended, whom she had managed to have educated and who had repaid her efforts by being hardworking and honest. The letter closed by saying that she hoped one day Philip would want to meet his son and that they looked forward to further communications from him.

In all, it was a letter written with almost fawning polite-ness and hinted at the underlying hope of some gain from the resumption of de Kyme’s interest. Philip’s reply was enthusiastic, expressing a desire to see his son and offering to pay the expenses of the boy’s trip to England. Eleanor’s reply to this letter was effusive, as was the next, and last, one. She told him the boy would journey as soon as he could to Lincoln and would bring his pregnant wife with him. She thanked him for his generosity and said that, once Hugo was safely on his way, she would be going on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James in Compostella to thank God for her boy’s good fortune in being reunited with his father.

“That Hugo’s mother was going on a journey was not mentioned when Sir Philip learned that it was his son who had been murdered,” Bascot said to Scothern.

“I believe he had forgotten,” the
secretarius
replied. “He was so distraught, I think he gave little thought to how much Hugo’s mother would be grieved.”

“Has any attempt been made to inform her?” Bascot asked, noting again the clerk’s seeming nervousness as he replied.

“Sir Philip bade me write a letter to the priest at La Lune. When she returns I have no doubt he will tell her the sad news.”

Scothern busied himself rerolling Eleanor’s letters and started a little when Bascot told him that he would take them back with him to Lincoln for it was probable they would be needed when the charge was brought against Lady Sybil and Conal at the assizes. The clerk’s edginess irritated Bascot and finally he said, “What is it, Scothern? You quiver like a deer that has scented the hounds. Is there something you are not telling me?”

The clerk shook his head vigorously. “No. No, Sir Bascot. It is only . . .”

“Out with it,” Bascot prompted.

“It is only that I wonder if I did the right thing in telling you my suspicions about the identity of the two murdered young people. Perhaps it would have been better had they been left unknown. When the boy did not turn up Sir Philip would perhaps have thought he had not come after all, or that he had perished somewhere on the journey long before he reached Lincoln.”

“Why do you say that?” Bascot asked.

Scothern shook his head again, and his reply, when it came, was hesitant. “I never thought that Sir Philip would think Lady Sybil and Conal had anything to do with the boy’s death. And now, Roger and Alan de Kyme, they . . .”

As his voice trailed off, Bascot felt empathy for the clerk. “All and sundry gather like beggars at a funeral feast, do they not? You fear that whichever way this turns out, those who are not satisfied with the result will turn on you as being the instigator of their misfortune?”

“In the days before heralds were honoured for their craft, it was not unusual for a lord to have the bearer of bad tidings put to death,” Scothern replied, his full mouth drawn into a tight line.

Before Bascot could make any response there was a light footfall at the door. The Templar swung on his heel, cursing the stab of pain in his ankle as he did so, turning the sighted side of his face towards the person that had entered. It was Isobel Scothern. She had a trail of gowns over one arm and a clutch of ribbons in the other. She gave Bascot a cool look.

“My sister is here to gather some clothing for Lady Sybil,” Scothern explained. “Her mistress did not take many garments with her on the journey to Lincoln.”

“Neither did I, brother. We did not expect to make such a long stay.”

With barely concealed contempt she gave Bascot an aloof nod of acknowledgement, then spoke again to Scothern. “I have nearly completed my task, but Lady Sybil instructed me to also bring some jewellery that she left here. It would seem to have been taken from the casket where it is usually kept. Do you know where it is?”

“I do, Bella. It is locked away and Sir Philip has ordered that it remain so. He said that most of it was his gift to her on their wedding day and, since she has not proved a true wife, he does not feel any obligation to leave it in her possession.” Scothern stammered over the words.

“I see. So your most puissant lord intends not only to strip his lady of her good name, but also of the few paltry trinkets he gave her as a bride gift.” The scorn in Isobel’s voice was like ice. “I will tell Lady Sybil your words, Will. I wish you well of your master.”

With her parting remark she left the room, a trace of honeysuckle perfume lingering after her. Scothern turned to the Templar. “That is another problem with my revelation to you, Sir Bascot. My sister and I have become estranged over it.”

“Are you surprised at that?” Bascot asked.

“Not really,” Scothern replied miserably. “Females are ever capricious.”

G
IANNI SAT IN HIS PLACE AMONGST THE CASTLE hounds and peered out from behind one of the shaggy heads to stare at the people seated with Lady Nicolaa at the table on the dais. The midday meal had already been served and the castellan was lingering over wine and sweetmeats with the newly come guests. Gianni had never seen any of these people in Lincoln before. They were two men of middle age, both tall and fair-haired, and an elderly woman who was almost as tall as the men but, unlike them, was thin and fond of punctuating her speech by thumping on the floor with the short staff she carried as an aid in walking. The cane was mounted on top with the head of a raven fashioned in silver. Gianni watched as her fingers clenched and unclenched in frustration around the sharp pointed beak as she spoke.

As far as Gianni could tell, Lady Nicolaa was trying to placate the two men, who looked enough alike to be brothers. Gianni knew they were speaking about the murder of the people in the alehouse and, since his master was concerned in the affair, he strained his ears to try and hear what was being said over the scratchings and grunts of the dogs.

Bascot had left early that morning, before these new visitors had come. Gianni did not like it when the Templar was away from him, even for a short space, and he almost always took refuge with the hounds until his master returned or went to sit by himself in their tiny room at the top of the old keep. Even now, after he had been with the Templar for almost a year, he mistrusted any other human companion. He had too many memories from his childhood of the blows and curses that had rained on him when he had begged for scraps of food, and happenings far worse from some of those who had at first seemed inclined to be generous, to ever feel entirely comfortable with any other person.

He had even distrusted the Templar at first, although he had snatched the loaf of bread that Bascot had held out to him before running away to eat it. It was only when the Templar had come again the next day, this time with some cooked meat wrapped in a cloth, that Gianni had begun to feel that the one-eyed limping stranger meant him no harm. Bascot had laid the food down in the middle of the wharf among the pilings where Gianni spent his nights, then had moved a distance away, keeping at bay the other beggars clamouring for his largesse, until Gianni had crept from his hiding place and taken the bundle. With an amused grin, Bascot had watched while Gianni, his eyes flicking warily back and forth from the Templar to the hungry gaze of the other beggars, had wolfed down the contents of the parcel until there was none left. Still the Templar had not made a move that was threatening. He had just nodded his head and turned away. At a safe distance, Gianni had followed his benefactor and seen him turn into an inn near the docks. All night the boy had sat, waiting, until in the morning the Templar had reappeared and handed him a pear and some cheese.

From that day on, Gianni had never left the Templar’s side. He had been fed and clothed, taught to read and write, and had willingly clambered up behind his new master to travel on horseback the many days and nights it had taken to reach this strange land across the Narrow Sea. To Gianni, with only memories of pain and hunger throughout the duration of his young life, the Templar was a combination of the father he could not remember and the God he had never been able to find. Now, when de Marins went away from his company, the Palermo urchin was always uneasy until he returned.

Up on the dais, the old woman was again banging her stick and this time her voice carried clearly to Gianni. She was speaking to one of the two men who had come with her and seemed to be berating him.

“You Danish! Always the same, hold fast with one hand and reach to take more with the other. Sybil and Conal did not commit this crime, I tell you. If it is her dower property you are concerned with, then know that it will never be returned if she is found guilty. How can you think of oak trees when it is the honour of your family you should be defending?” The old lady banged the floor with her stick again. “She would have had short shrift at your board, Magnus. Neither you or Ailwin are known for your generosity.”

With this last riposte she threw back her head, causing the white linen of her old-fashioned headdress to flutter around her thin shoulders as she added another insult. “But what else can you expect from Danish stock? The people of Norway know that to their cost.”

Ailwin spoke again. “
Tante
Hilde, your family and mine have all lived in England for many generations now. Let us forget these old feuds of our ancestors.”

“To forget one’s heritage is to take away the meaning of life,” the old woman expostulated. “I am the only member left of Conal’s father’s family, and he is the one that will carry on our name. For him I will fight with all the strength I have left.”

On saying this, the old woman pushed herself to her feet, using her cane as a lever. A woman servant of middle age rushed to her side from below the dais, but Hilde brushed her away and stood proudly erect. As she turned to leave, there was the sound of voices at the entrance to the hall and Conal and his mother came in, followed by Bascot and Ernulf.

Conal strode immediately to Hilde’s side, taking her in his arms and embracing her. “
Tante
, I am pleased to see you.”

“And I you,” Hilde said as she reached up a gnarled hand and stroked his cheek. “You grow more like your father every day.”

Gently he led her back to her seat, then greeted his uncles. Sybil did the same, then both she and Conal sat down beside Hilde.

Gianni crept forward now, closer to where Bascot and Ernulf stood. Nicolaa de la Haye beckoned to the Templar and introduced him to her guests.

“These are Lady Sybil’s brothers, Ailwin and Magnus Redwison. Lady Hilde is great-aunt to Conal. His father was her nephew, her brother’s son.” She explained Bascot’s role in the matter of the crime with which Conal and his mother were charged. “Sir Bascot is gathering evidence to place before the judges at the assizes. It is to be hoped he will find some information that will prove your sister’s innocence, my lords,” she said to Magnus and Ailwin, “but so far, none has been forthcoming.” She looked at Bascot. “Unless, de Marins, there is something new since last we spoke . . .”

“Nothing, lady,” Bascot replied, “but neither is there anything to prove their guilt.”

“Exactly,” burst out Hilde, leaning forward and thumping her cane to emphasize her point. “That is because they have none. Tell me, Templar, have you found any indication of someone else’s involvement? Another party who would profit by this boy’s death? There are other heirs to de Kyme’s estates, are there not? A nephew and some cousins? Where were they when this deed was done? Does he have a leman who hopes to become his wife if he is free of Sybil?”

Bascot smiled at the old woman. He liked her forthright-ness and, since his visit to de Kyme that morning, her thoughts echoed his own. There were others beside Conal for whom the inheritance of the baron could provide a strong enough lure to tempt them to commit murder. But to interrogate persons of the status of de Kyme’s nephew and cousin might result in harsh complaints from them at such treatment, and needed to have the direct authority of the sheriff, not just that of Nicolaa de la Haye. In answering Lady Hilde, he chose his words carefully, in order not to offend the woman who had so generously given him a place in her retinue.

“So far, lady, my commission has been only to determine if your great-nephew and his mother could or could not have had the opportunity to commit the murders. But perhaps you are right, it may be worthwhile to look for another likely culprit. But to do so, I will need a warrant whose power will not be questioned. Many who are touched by this affair will not take kindly to my intervention otherwise.”

Lady Hilde immediately understood the delicacy of his words and swung her piercing gaze on Nicolaa. “The truth must be found, and it is the duty of the sheriff to ensure that it is. And your’s also, Lady Nicolaa, as keeper of the king’s castle and his peace. Will you persuade your husband to this course?”

Nicolaa considered the suggestion, not taking offence at the imperiousness in the older woman’s tone and the unnecessary reminder of the obligations of her office. Finally she nodded in agreement. “There is sense in what you say, de Marins. And, since Conal is of knight’s rank, there should be no complaint if those of equal status are questioned. I have no doubt Gerard will agree. He is as anxious as I to have this matter resolved. I pledge the warrant in his stead, and those here are witness to my words. May God give you His divine assistance.”