Shroud of Dishonour (14 page)

“But the identity of the Templar is not known?” Bascot asked.

The preceptor shook his head. “St. Maur says not, only that he is believed to be of knight’s rank. But because he is thought to be an English Templar, de Coulours thought St. Maur should be apprised of the matter. As you know, any Templar brother found guilty of killing a Christian would merit expulsion from our Order. If his identity is discovered, that is what will happen and he will then be liable for prosecution by the Christian authorities in Acre. The commander of the Acre enclave is investigating the matter, trying to find out if the charge is true. St. Maur says he will inform me immediately if any further information reaches him, but you can see the connection between this death and the recent murders in Lincoln….”

“Yes,” Bascot replied, and Emilius nodded his head. “By now, such a terrible piece of news will not only have become known throughout Acre but also, no doubt, have been conveyed to the dead man’s home port of Grimsby. If Scallion has family there and they have heard that their relative was slain by an unnamed Templar in a brothel, it is more than possible that one of them might feel a need to extract revenge for his death. If so, Lincoln is the closest enclave for the purpose.”

“Such a motive would tally with the circumstances surrounding the murders of the two women,” Emilius added with distaste. “Scallion’s murder took place in a brothel, hence prostitutes were chosen as victims. And the coins implying betrayal—if it was truly one of our brethren who committed this deed, then he is indeed guilty of treachery—not only has he murdered a fellow Christian, he has also dishonoured his oath of chastity.”

“Camville must be told of this news immediately,” d’Arderon said, “especially as you will need his writ to question any of Scallion’s relatives in Grimsby, de Marins. Since it is common knowledge in Acre, there is no need for the matter to be kept private within the Order.”

“I will go to the castle straightaway, Preceptor,” Bascot replied, rising from his seat. As he did so, Emilius asked the preceptor if he would now allow the contingent waiting in the enclave to depart. D’Arderon shook his head. “We do not yet have any surety that Scallion’s death is the cause of these crimes. Until we do, the men stay here.”

B
ASCOT AND
R
OGET STARTED OUT VERY EARLY THE NEXT morning to ride to Grimsby, Camville’s writ safely stowed in the captain’s tunic. The port was nearly forty miles northeast of Lincoln and, if they kept their horses to a steady pace, they would reach it by mid-afternoon. Both men were riding mounts primarily used by messengers—Bascot’s from the preceptory stable and Roget’s from the castle—and capable of covering long distances at a steady speed.

The two men spoke little on the journey, stopping only to rest their horses occasionally and take a pull from the wine flask Roget had slung on his saddle along with a bite of the bread and cheese Bascot had brought from the preceptory kitchen. As they approached the port of Grimsby, situated on a narrow river called the Haven which emptied into the Humber estuary, the ground turned marshy. Grimsby had once been a small village but because of its sheltered position on the small tributary of the Haven—and hence the name of the little river—was fast becoming a thriving little town. Providing a safe harbour from the storms that often ravaged the North Sea, the port was used as a refuge for oceangoing vessels. That advantage, along with the copious quantities of fish its inhabitants were able to catch in their small boats, had swelled its importance to the realm and King John had granted the town a charter in 1201, allowing its inhabitants to enjoy certain privileges that were denied to hamlets less fortunately situated.

As they rode the last few miles, the salty smell of the sea filled the air. There were no walls encircling the port for the wide expanse of marshy ground surrounding the town provided ample defence against any attack by an enemy force. The rippling ground of the flatland was covered in clumps of couch and marram grass on either side of the road, interspersed here and there with wildflowers, the most predominant of which was yellow-wort, the flowers of which were used to make dye. The air was filled with the noise of the birds that proliferated in the marshland, mainly ringed plover and curlews, and they passed several small groups of men and boys reaping a harvest from snares that had been set to trap the fowl. Above them, the strident calls of terns wheeling in the clear blue sky added to the cacophony.

Soon, the port lay ahead of them and, beyond the rooftops of the houses gathered along the few streets of the town, the masts of several ships riding at anchor in the swelling tide could be seen. When they reached a small stone shed set alongside the approach to the main street, they asked the guard inside for directions to the house of the town bailiff, Peter Thorson. The bailiff was known to Gerard Camville and the sheriff had told them to ask for his assistance.

The guard nodded and pointed towards the harbour. “Thorson’s house is the one that overlooks the port,” he said. “Two stories high and has three scallop shells on the door.”

The two men rode down the main street. The town was small, not much more than a village, but seemed orderly. As they dismounted in front of the house that had been described to them, the smell of the ocean and its overlying odour of fish was strong.

Roget wrinkled his nose. “
Faugh
, what a stench. I hope our journey here has not been wasted,
mon ami
. I have never liked being near the sea, it reminds me of too many battles fought on shipboard along the coast of Outremer when I was in the army that followed King Richard on Crusade. I cannot swim and think the only reason I survived was because I was more fearful of drowning than being skewered by an enemy sword.”

Bascot laughed. “I doubt there will be any need for you to board a ship here, Roget. If there are any suspects to be had in Grimsby, it is most likely they will be found on dry land.”

“And for that,
mon ami
, I will be truly thankful.”

A
S THE TEMPLAR AND
R
OGET WERE COMMENCING THEIR ENQUIRIES in Grimsby, Gianni was sitting at one of the lecterns in the scriptorium of Lincoln castle. His attention to his work was distracted as he tried to capture the fleeting thought that had so elusively slipped from his grasp the day before while he had been listening to the conversation between Ernulf and Roget. The exercise had cost him a sleepless night on his pallet in the barracks and, as he copied out various records of tenant fees paid into the Haye coffers, continued to elude him.

The bulk of his work entailed making copies for the archives of the many documents that passed through the hands of John Blund and Lambert. It was tedious work but Gianni enjoyed it. Not only were his writing skills improving with the exercise, but his Latin vocabulary was being greatly enhanced by the formal wording of many of the official papers. He was, as well, gaining a good knowledge of the vast properties that comprised the demesne Nicolaa de la Haye had inherited from her father. Pursuant to Lady Nicolaa’s instructions, a duplicate was made of every record and stored in a chamber in another part of the keep. John Blund had explained to him that the reason for doing so was because, in the castellan’s younger years, a carelessly tended candle had caused a small fire in the scriptorium and resulted in the loss of quite a few important documents. Thereafter, Nicolaa’s father, Richard de la Haye, had instructed that a copy be made of every record and retained elsewhere. His daughter now followed the practise he had inaugurated.

As Gianni pulled forward another sheet of paper, a deed of transfer, onto the shelf of the lectern and placed a piece of second-grade vellum in front of him, he suddenly remembered what it was that he had been trying to remember. A few weeks before, he had been copying another such deed, a record of a Haye tenant requesting Lady Nicolaa’s permission to change the name of the heir from an older son to a younger. The bequest entailed a property of a few arpents located not too many miles distant from the bulk of the estate. The reason for the alteration had been that the older son had now decided to “dedicate the rest of his mortal life to the service of Christ” and had entered holy orders. It had not been the contents of the document that had lodged in Gianni’s mind—there were many such requests made to Lady Nicolaa who, because she held her lands directly from the king, was required to approve any changes in tenancy—but because there had been two different spellings of the older son’s name and it had prompted Gianni to enquire of Lambert if he should make them conform and, if so, which spelling he should use.

Lambert had authorised the amendment, instructing him which form of the name was correct and then gone on to add a comment about the individual concerned in the document. “I do not expect the Roulan family will be sorry to see this son gone from their family home,” he had said. “Lady Nicolaa’s bailiff at Brattleby told me that he has a penchant for consorting with immoral women and that, before his father died, this inclination caused his sire much grief.”

Lambert had tapped his ink-stained fingers on the document, his prominent jaw thrust out in disapproval as he said, “While the property was under this son’s care, he lived there alone with some servants, supposedly preparing himself for the day when he would inherit it, but the bailiff told me there were rumours that prostitutes were often seen on the premises, sometimes staying for as long as two or three days at a time.” The clerk had sniffed. “I would like to think that his sudden desire to join a monastery is due to repentance for his sinful ways, but I think it is most probably because his father threatened to cast him out of the family home if he did not make reparation for his sins. So the Brattleby bailiff gave me to understand, anyway.”

The reason the connection of Lambert’s comments and Roget’s recounting had occurred to him, Gianni realised, was because of the mention of monks and prostitutes. The document did not state which order the errant son had joined, but it could just as easily have been the Templars as the Benedictines or Cistercians. Could there be a link between this man and the murder of the two harlots? From helping his former master with previous murder investigations, Gianni was well aware that while there could be many reasons for a person to commit murder, one of the more common compulsions was lust. A lover threatened, or scorned, or a woman left to face the birth of an illegitimate child, could foster a terrible need for revenge on the person responsible. Had this Jacques Roulan, the son who had so disappointed his father, committed such a sin and fled to the seclusion of a religious order to escape the consequences? Could the hatred of the person he had wronged become so all consuming that they were now wreaking vengeance on the Order he had joined and the fallen women he had fraternised with? There was only the slimmest chance that such speculations would prove true, but the boy remembered how often, in the past, it had been some seemingly innocuous scrap of information that had proved vital. How he wished the Templar was still in the castle and he could convey his suspicions to his former master. But that was not possible. The Templar was in the preceptory and youngsters, even male ones, were not allowed inside its walls.

Since Gianni had been in the scriptorium the previous day when the Templar had come to the castle to tell Gerard Camville of the information sent by Amery St. Maur, the boy did not know that there was now hope of one or more possible suspects for the crime to be found in Grimsby, and his desire to help his former master remained with him for the rest of the day like an itch he could not scratch. Finally, deciding that his conclusions must be brought to the Templar’s attention in some way, he decided to write out the details of the document where Jacques Roulan was mentioned, along with how he thought it was possible there was a connection to the murders. He would then ask John Blund if he would give it to Lady Nicolaa with a request that, if she thought it relevant, she would see that the information was given to Bascot.

This he did and, gesturing to Lambert his intention by means of the gestures he and the clerk used to communicate, asked his help in explaining his purpose to Blund. When Gianni’s information and conclusions were given to the secretary, he gave it his careful consideration for a few long and silent moments.

Finally, he nodded his head in assent. “I well know how much assistance you gave Sir Bascot when he delved into previous murders and so does milady. It would be remiss of me not to present your conjectures to her, even if they prove to be erroneous.” He lifted up the piece of parchment. “I shall ensure this is given to her before the end of the day.”

W
HILE
G
IANNI WAS SECURING
B
LUND’S PROMISE TO INTERCEDE on his behalf with Nicolaa de la Haye, Ernulf, the serjeant of the castle garrison, was knocking on the door of the former prostitute, Terese. He had been sent by the castellan to give her the thirty silver pennies that Preceptor d’Arderon had sent to the castle the day before.

As Ernulf had ridden down through Lincoln, he had noticed that the women of the town were fearful. All the females he saw were travelling in groups of two or three as they went about their daily shopping in the markets and stalls. Even though the murderer’s victims, thus far, had been prostitutes, there was no assurance that if the villain struck again, he would not choose a woman of good repute as a target. The serjeant damned the murderer under his breath and hoped that the Templar and Roget would have good fortune in Grimsby.