A Deadly Penance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Author’s Note

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Maureen Ash

  Praise for

  The Alehouse Murders

  “I loved The Alehouse Murders. Combining marvelous period detail with characters whose emotions and personalities would ring true in any era, Maureen Ash has launched a terrific new historical mystery series. I’ll be standing in line for the next Templar Knight Mystery.”

  —Jayne Ann Krentz, New York Times bestselling author

  “A deft re-creation of a time and place, with characters you’ll want to meet again.”

  —Margaret Frazer, national bestselling author

  “An excellent mystery, very suspenseful and clever, with a sympathetic sleuth sure to captivate readers.”

  —Sharon Kay Penman, New York Times bestselling author

  “A delightful addition to the medieval mystery list. It is well researched and, even better, well written, with distinct, interesting characters and plot twists that I didn’t expect . . . I look forward to more books in the series.”

  —Sharan Newman, author of The Witch in the Well

  “Fans of quality historical mysteries will be delighted with this debut . . . the first in what will hopefully be a long-running series of Templar Knights whodunits.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “[Ash’s] complex hero, Sir Bascot de Marins, immediately engages the reader as he tracks a ruthless killer in a mystery that will keep the reader guessing until the very end.”

  —Victoria Thompson, national bestselling author

  “A perplexing mystery with its flawed but sympathetic hero . . . An enjoyable read.”

  —Gumshoe Review

  “Good, old-fashioned mystery. I look forward to more.”

  —Meritorious Mysteries

  “Maureen Ash’s series will be very popular if the future novels are the quality of The Alehouse Murders.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Interesting reading.”

  —San Jose Mercury News

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Maureen Ash

  THE ALEHOUSE MURDERS

  DEATH OF A SQUIRE

  A PLAGUE OF POISON

  MURDER FOR CHRIST’S MASS

  SHROUD OF DISHONOUR

  A DEADLY PENANCE

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2011 by Maureen Ash.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime trade paperback edition / November 2011

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ash, Maureen, 1939–

  p. cm.—(A Templar knight mystery)

  ISBN : 978-1-101-54561-4

  1. Templars—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 3. Middle Ages—Fiction. I. Title.

  PR9199.4.A885D43 2011

  813’.6—dc22

  2010054200

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  List of Characters

  PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

  Bascot de Marins—a Templar Knight

  Gianni—a mute Italian boy, former servant to Bascot

  Nicolaa de la Haye—hereditary castellan of Lincoln castle

  Richard Camville—Nicolaa’s son

  Petronille de la Haye—Nicolaa’s sister

  Richard de Humez (Dickon)—Petronille’s husband

  Alinor de Humez—Petronille’s daughter

  Ernulf—serjeant of Lincoln garrison

  KNIGHTS AND SERVANTS FROM STAMFORD

  Stephen Wharton—knight

  Hugh Bruet—knight

  Aubrey Tercel—cofferer

  Margaret—sempstress

  Elise—maidservant

  MERCHANTS AND TRADESMEN IN LINCOLN TOWN

  Guild Leaders and Their Families

  Gildas—barber-surgeon

  Simon Adgate—furrier

  Clarice Adgate—Simon’s wife

  Thomas Wickson—Chandler

  Edith Wickson—Thomas’ wife

  Merisel Wickson—Thomas’ daughter

  John Sealsmith—seal maker

  Imogene Sealsmith—John’s wife

  Other Merchants and Tradesmen

  Hacher—barber-surgeon

  Reinbald of Hungate—wine merchant

  Harald—Reinbald’s nephew

  AT RISEHOLME

  Stoddard—bailiff

  Willi, Mark, Joan, Emma and Annie—foundlings

  OTHERS

  Pinchbeck—coroner

  Everard d’Arderon—Templar preceptor

  Lambert—clerk

  Nicholas—groom

  Hedgset—leech

  Prologue

  Lincolns hire—January 1177

  THE AIR IN THE CONVENT CHAMBER WAS CLOSE, AND REDOLENT with the scent of purifying herbs. Outside, the stormy weather of the past few days had calmed, but it was still cold, and the casements were shuttered against the chill. The single source of warmth was from the burning embers of a brazier set in one corner.

  Shadows danced and flick
ered from the light of candles set in sconces around the walls as the young woman sitting on the horseshoe-shaped rim of the birthing stool strained against the pain that had engulfed her for the last fourteen hours. Her long tangled braid of pale brown hair was darkened with perspiration, as was the thin shift she wore. Behind her stood a young and sturdy nun who provided a bulwark for the woman to lean against in the throes of her exertions. In front of the stool, crouching at the woman’s feet, was an older nun, the infirmarian of the convent, who was massaging the swollen mass of the mother’s belly with sweet oil of lavender and murmuring words of encouragement. The woman could feel her strength coming to an end. The room was beginning to swim in and out of her vision and she knew it for an incipient warning of unconsciousness. Against the incoming tide of darkness, she could hear the infirmarian’s soft voice urging her on. “Just one more try,” she said gently. “The babe is nearly here.” With what she knew would be her last effort, the woman did as she was bid and, to her relief, the child, with an angry howl of protest, slipped from her womb.

  With deft hands, the infirmarian cut and tied the natal cord and wrapped the infant in a length of clean linen. Handing the swaddled bundle to the sister who had stood behind the birthing chair, she signalled for her to take the babe from the room. Then she bent to attend to the afterbirth.

  “It is a boy,” she murmured as she helped the exhausted mother up from the stool and eased her onto a nearby pallet, “and he appears healthy. I have instructed that he be placed into the charge of a wet nurse, as arranged.”

  The woman nodded. She had seen the gender of the child as he emerged and also the fuzzy growth of down that, moistened by birth fluids, lay like a cap of molten gold on his head. She did not make any protest at his removal. As the infirmarian had said, it had been agreed. And she was exhausted. Her bones felt as though they had no substance and were incapable of sustaining even the slightest movement. All that consumed her now was a desire to sink into the oblivion of sleep.

  The woman closed her eyes as the nun, with a cloth dipped in warm water, cleansed her body of the detritus left by the birthing. It was imperative that she regain her strength for the trials that lay ahead. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she thought of them, for she had no doubt they would be even more daunting than the long months of her confinement. She would need all her wits about her if she was to survive.

  The infirmarian, her task finished, quietly left the room. Outside, the sister who had taken the babe away returned, her arms empty and her hands folded inside the black sleeves of her habit.

  “She will sleep now,” the senior nun said as she removed the capacious apron she had worn to protect her clothing. “I will leave her in your care while I attend to my duties in the infirmary. Sit with her until she awakens and then give her a bowl of hearty meat broth and a cup of ale. Encourage her to take as much of both as she can. She is very weak and her spirits are low; nourishment will help restore her vitality.”

  “Is it certain she does not want to see the babe?” the other sister asked, her young face creased into lines of sympathy for the suffering the woman had endured. “Mayhap she will change her mind now that he is born.”

  The infirmarian shook her head firmly, her countenance regretful. “No, I doubt she will rescind her decision. Soon, the boy will be given into the care of another, one who will see to his future welfare.” She gave a little sigh. “We must offer up prayers that the child has not inherited the morals of the man who sired him. If he has, I fear his life will be naught but a travail of sorrow.”

  One

  Lincoln castle—Late February 1203

  LINCOLN CASTLE STANDS HIGH UPON A KNOLL OVERLOOKING the rolling Lincolnshire countryside. Within the castle’s large bail are two keeps, one a recently built fortress that is the main residence of the hereditary castellan, Nicolaa de la Haye, and her husband, Gerard Camville, and the other an older tower where the bottom floor is used as an armoury and the chambers above for the accommodation of visitors. Now, within the early darkness of a winter evening, the old tower was uninhabited except for a room on the top storey where a man and a woman lay languorously entwined after a brief but passionate session of lovemaking.

  The woman, oblivious to the hardness of the floor on which she was lying, snuggled close into the shoulder of her companion, relishing the masculinity of his smell and the silkiness of his short beard. Solicitously, he kissed her tenderly and covered her with the cloak he had discarded so hastily a short time before.

  “We will have to leave soon, my sweet,” he said, fondling one of her thick auburn plaits. “Your husband may return at any time.”

  “If he does, he will go to the guest chamber below. He will not come up here,” she replied petulantly. Their tryst had been far too short and she did not want it to end.

  “And how will you explain your absence?” her lover asked in amusement.

  “I will tell him I went out for a breath of cool air to relieve the headache I am supposed to have.”

  The man gave a chuckle. “I admit he is gullible, but I doubt that even he would believe such cold weather would serve as a remedy. No, you had best go now, before he decides to retire.”

  Reluctantly, she rose and started to straighten her clothing. As her lover began to pull up his hose, a slight noise came from the passageway outside. The man quickly doused the small rush light burning in a corner. “Hush,” he warned her, and crept stealthily to the door.

  He waited in silence for a few moments before deciding there was no cause for alarm. “Hurry,” he said to the woman as he pushed the door open. “Go down and get into bed. I will wait at the top of the stairs to ensure you get to your room safely.”

  Swathing herself in the expensive fur-lined cloak she had been wearing when she entered the room, the woman did as she was bid, pausing only to give him a quick kiss before stepping through the door. The small landing beyond was shrouded in inky blackness and the man grasped her arm to steady her until her foot found the top step of the circular staircase. As she slowly descended, he held his breath and listened until she reached the lower floor and he heard the sound of the guest chamber door opening and then closing behind her.

  He stood motionless for a moment, listening. He was certain he had heard a noise earlier but now all was quiet. On the other side of the landing was a small basin with a tap fed by water collected in a tank on the roof. An occasional drip from the faucet was all that broke the silence. Deciding he must have been mistaken, he turned to make his own descent to the lower floor when he heard a voice softly call his name. Startled, he turned in the direction of the sound, which seemed to be coming from an archway a few steps above the landing. He knew that the door within the arch gave access to a wooden catwalk spanning the gap between the top of the tower and the ramparts. Why would someone be standing up there? It led nowhere except out onto the parapet. And why would they have opened the door, which had earlier been closed, to let in the cold night air that was now sweeping around him in icy gusts?

  As far as he was aware, no one had known of his intent to meet his lover. Could it be that one of the guards on the palisade had detected their presence and come to investigate? But if that was so, surely any of the men-at-arms would have issued a more forthright challenge. A thrill of dread ran through him as he wondered if it could be the woman’s husband, but a moment’s reflection dismissed the notion from his mind. He and his paramour had been most discreet in their meetings and he was certain that her spouse had no inkling of their liaison. And if, by some chance, the husband had come to see if his wife was recovering from her supposed illness and found her missing from the chamber where she should have been resting, it was unlikely he would have crept stealthily up two flights of stairs in an effort to locate her. He would surmise that she had returned to the hall and their paths had crossed unnoticed in the darkness of the ward. It was in the main keep that the husband would search for her, not within the top stories of the old tower.

  Ag
ain the voice came, urging him to come through the arch and out onto the catwalk. The man’s hand dropped to his belt and the small eating knife strapped to his side. He had no other weapon on his person, but the little blade was sharp and, if necessary, would provide a modicum of defence. He hesitated and the person spoke again, more commandingly this time.

  Still, he vacillated, reluctant to step away from the security of the tower walls. Should he obey the summons or not? His heart leapt with hope as he wondered if the command came from the person he had recently been pressing for information. Was he finally about to receive an answer to the question that had all but taken over his life? The thought of such a lure was almost impossible to resist but, nonetheless, he took a deep breath and cautioned himself to be circumspect. He stood for a moment, indecisive, and then straightened his shoulders and laid a hand on the hilt of his small knife. If he fled, he would never find out.

  Stepping through the arch, the frigid air struck his face like a blow. The sky above was a canopy of stars, pinpricks of hard brightness in the blackness of the cold night sky, but except for the distant figures of the guards pacing the crenellated ramparts surrounding the castle bail, there was no sense of any other human presence. Neither of the guards was near; in the dim light of torches placed at intervals along the perimeter of the walls, the outline of one man-at-arms could just be seen some hundred yards to the west and another soldier a similar distance to the east. Behind him the solid bulk of the old tower loomed, throwing the length of the narrow wooden bridge into deep shadow. Whoever had called must be hidden within that tunnel of blackness.