Shroud of Dishonour (20 page)

There could be no doubt of the young man’s sincerity. It radiated from him like a beacon. Emilius next posed a question of a more blunt nature.

“Do you find it difficult to keep your vow of chastity?”

Alan’s florid face turned an even brighter red and he stumbled over his answer. “I’ve never lain with a woman, sir,” he replied.

“That does not answer my question,” Emilius pressed. “It would be understandable if you did. Sometimes a man’s natural urges are overwhelming.”

This time Alan’s answer was more forthright, and he squared his shoulders before he replied. “My father is a pious man and explained to me, when I was a young boy, that it is sinful to lie with a woman outside of marriage. I will admit there were occasions when I had unclean thoughts about one of the girls in my village, but I went to our priest and confessed, and he gave me absolution. Once I decided to see if the Order would accept me, our Lord purged my soul of desire.”

He turned and spoke directly to d’Arderon. “If I am suspected of causing the murder of those women, Preceptor, I swear to you by Christ’s holy name that I am innocent.”

So earnest was his reply that d’Arderon nodded his head and dismissed him. Once the young man-at-arms had left, the preceptor asked Bascot and Emilius if they thought he was telling the truth, not only about the harlots, but about knowing Robert Scallion.

“I would think so,” Bascot said slowly. “He could easily have denied all knowledge of the trader. The fact that he didn’t implies he is not lying. As for the murders, I think he is too ingenuous to have practised the deception required to kill them.”

“And you, Emilius?” d’Arderon said. “What is your impression of him?”

“I agree with de Marins. And I must admit that the boy has restored my faith in the integrity of our brothers. He is young yet, and artless, but his devotion to our Lord is genuine. His faith will not be weakened by maturity, but strengthened, as it should be.”

Hoping the draper’s conviction proved to be a true one, d’Arderon sent for the other man-at-arms, Thomas of Penhill. This soldier was a seasoned Templar. Although he had never been posted to active duty in foreign lands, he had been in the Order for ten years and, besides his skill with horses, had shown on the training ground that he had more than a passing ability with a short sword. He was of average height, well-muscled in shoulder and arm, with hair of bright red that contrasted with the darkness of the neatly trimmed beard that covered his chin. He stood easily in front of the preceptor, his back erect and manner deferential.

His father had been a farrier who had sometimes been called upon to help with shoeing the horses in the Penhill preceptory. Thomas had joined the Order in the year that King Richard had mounted his Crusade in the Holy Land, caught up in the fervour that had swept through Christendom at that time.

“I was five years at Penhill preceptory and was then ordered to join the enclave at Temple Hirst,” he said. “When I first joined the Order I had hoped to be sent to Outremer, but it did not happen. But even though I have never been on active duty,” he told them, “not a day has gone by when I regretted my decision to become a Templar. While I care for the mounts that go to our brethren in Outremer and Portugal, I know that Lord Jesus has blessed me with my skill so that I may ensure only those animals with the best of strength go to aid our men. When I was told that I was to be sent to Portugal, I rejoiced, for it seems a sign that God is pleased with my efforts and is rewarding me by sending me to a post where I can take an active part in defending our faith.”

When asked about his trips to Faxfleet, Thomas answered readily, saying he had often gone there, not only with horses but sometimes with bales of wool that had been sheared from sheep on Templar properties in Yorkshire. The name of Robert Scallion meant nothing to him, he said, for the mounts were, without exception, put aboard galleys belonging to the Order and the wool was always taken by the same vessel, one belonging to a trader that had a contract with the Templars to deliver it to Flanders. That trader had not been Scallion.

The two officers and Bascot accepted his explanation and then asked if he had ever been to Lincoln in the days before he had joined the Order and, if so, had he visited any prostitutes within the town.

Thomas, a mature man, was not embarrassed by the nature of the second part of the question as the guileless young Alan had been. He told them he had never been to Lincoln before in his life and that his village, like the Penhill preceptory, was far from any town that was large enough to have a brothel.

“There was a girl in my village that I tumbled a couple of times when I was a young lad,” he replied frankly, “but I’ve kept the vow I made on my initiation. I’ll admit that at first I didn’t find it easy, but ‘tis like any other temptation—if you don’t give in to it, the urge goes away in time.”

After d’Arderon dismissed him, he looked questioningly at the draper and Bascot.

“I think that Thomas, like Alan, is also telling the truth,” Emilius said. “I am sure that neither of these men is involved in the murders, either through an act of lechery, or a desire for revenge because of Scallion’s death.”

The preceptor and Bascot agreed, although privately Bascot knew that those responsible for the commission of secret murder usually possessed great deviousness and would find it easy to mislead others. He was not completely sure that both of the men-at-arms were innocent, especially Alan, who had admitted to being away from his pallet during the hours Elfreda was murdered. He could be masking his guilt behind a naive demeanour. Bascot was, therefore, relieved when d’Arderon did not change his decision to delay the departure of the contingent for another few days.

I
N THE TOWN,
R
OGET BEGAN HIS ENQUIRY ABOUT A POSSIBLE sighting of Askil or Dunny within the confines of Lincoln. First he went to the brothel where Elfie had worked and asked Verlain and the other prostitutes if any of them had ever had a customer, or if Elfreda had ever mentioned meeting a man, that had eyes of different colours, one blue and the other brown. He also gave them a physical description of Dunny, describing his slim frame and manner of speaking. The stewe-keeper and all the prostitutes had shaken their heads, assuring the captain they would have remembered such a peculiarity as Askil’s if they had ever seen or heard of such a rarity and, as far as they knew, none of their customers were seamen. From the bawdy house, Roget went to visit the childminder Terese and asked her the same. She, too, shook her head in negation.

Discouraged, Roget went to Danesgate and knocked at the door of the home belonging to the perfumer, Constance Turner.

Constance answered the door herself and seemed relieved by his appearance. “I am glad you are here, Captain,” she said, inviting him inside. “I hope you have come to tell me the man who murdered my neighbour has been apprehended.”

Reluctantly, Roget told her he had not. The perfumer’s smile was as lovely as he remembered, and so was the warmth in her soft brown eyes. He knew that Constance was not a woman who would be interested in a casual dalliance and, for the first time in his lecherous life, found himself longing for the company of a female without considering whether or not she was beddable.

“No, mistress, I am afraid the villain who murdered Adele has not yet been found,” Roget said. “But you must not be fearful; one of my guards has been on constant watch near your house, both during the day and at night. It would be impossible for him to get into your home.”

“I know you have kept your promise, Captain,” Constance replied. “I have seen your men outside, but it is not for myself that I am concerned, it is my maid Agnes. She will not leave the house, not at all, not even if I go with her. At night, and during the day, she bars the front door and the back entrance for fear the man she saw outside Adele’s door will come in and kill her, just as he did my neighbour. I have been forced to go and get our bread and other food myself and, by the time I return, she is in a terrible state, shaking with fear and crying lest I have been murdered while I was gone. Not only am I concerned for her sanity, she is upsetting my customers with her weeping and wailing and, since you instructed me not to speak of what Agnes saw, it is most difficult to convince them she has not lost her senses. I do not know what I am going to do about her.”

“Let me speak to the little one,” Roget offered. “Perhaps I can allay her fears.”

Constance led him upstairs to the chamber where she prepared her scents and sweet-smelling unguents. “Agnes will not leave the upper floor except to go down and bar the doors,” Constance said as they went up the stairs. “She keeps herself either locked in her room or stays with me while I work.”

The chamber they entered was crammed with pots and stoppered jars. Bunches of herbs and orrisroot hung from a beam in the ceiling. Some of the pots contained dried leaves or pieces of root that had been crushed with a pestle, others were filled with liquid, among them the goat’s milk that Constance had said Agnes had gone to fetch early in the morning of the day that Adele had been strangled. The room had a heady fragrance that was almost overpowering and Roget recoiled slightly when they went in. Constance noticed his reaction and went over to the larger of the two casements and threw it open.

“I am sorry, Captain, for the strong aroma. I am so used to it that I sometimes forget it can be cloying, especially to men.”

In a corner of the room Agnes was seated on a stool. She was, as Constance had said, in a state of abject terror. Her eyes were red from weeping and her hands were clenched into fists on her bony knees. She was a girl of the utmost plainness and her sorry state made her more unattractive, but not even the most hard-hearted of men could have failed to be touched by her plight. She was like a tiny rabbit caught in a trap, fearfully waiting for its neck to be wrung. Roget went over to her, and hunkering down in front of her, spoke in soft tones, assuring her she had no need to be afraid. “I promise you,
ma petite
, that you will come to no harm. One of my guards will be outside your mistress’s house every hour of the day and night. This man who is frightening you will not get in here, I assure you.”

He took her hand in his and stroked it. Her fingers were thin and the skin rough, the nails bitten down to the quick. Roget continued to speak in the same vein until the girl began to relax. Finally she gave him a tremulous smile and when Roget asked her if she could summon up the courage to answer some questions, she gave him a hesitant nod.

Constance had stood and watched the captain calm her young maid and, when Roget stood up and turned to face her, she gave him a grateful smile, her eyes alight with appreciation of his kindness. The captain felt a stirring in the region of his heart and tried to ignore it. He had long ago promised himself that he would never get seriously involved with any woman, but realised he was perilously close to feeling more for this lovely perfumer than simple lust. Trying to disguise his emotion from both himself and Constance, he asked if either of the women had seen men answering the description of Askil and Dunny.

“They are both sailors; Askil is the older of the pair and has eyes of unusual colour—one is brown and the other blue. Dunny is young, very slim and has pitted skin on his face. Have you noticed any men who look like that outside in the street, or entering Adele’s house?”

Constance and Agnes both shook their heads and suddenly the little maid burst into tears. “But I didn’t see the man’s face, Captain,” she wailed. “He could have had eyes like you said, or a scarred face, and I wouldn’t have noticed. What if he did and thinks I saw him? He’ll be sure to come after me.”

This time it was Constance who calmed her maid. In an even voice she said, “Then the guard outside will catch him, Agnes, and your travail will be over. Come now, pour the captain a cup of cordial. We must show our appreciation for the care he is taking to protect us. It is not every woman in the town who has a guard on their door day and night. You must compose yourself and be brave.”

Her words seemed to penetrate the fog of fear that surrounded Agnes and she went to the corner and poured some liquid into a cup for Roget. It was thin stuff and scented with some sort of flower essence, but he drank it down as though it were ambrosia. To remain in the company of the attractive perfumer he would have drunk stagnant water and believed it to be the finest of wines.

A
BOUT AN HOUR AFTER
P
RIME,
G
IANNI AND
E
RNULF LEFT THE castle bail and walked across the grounds of the Minster and through the gate in the eastern wall of the city. As they travelled along the path that led to the enclave, the boy felt his anxiety return. That morning he had looked at his reflection in the piece of polished metal that Ernulf used for shaving. In its wavy surface he could see the fine line of down on his upper lip and, initially, it had swelled his confidence. Now, however, apprehension filled him with a desire to run back to the castle.