Sins of Inheritance (Templar Knight Mysteries Book 9) Read online

  Sins of Inheritance

  A Templar Knight Mystery

  By

  Maureen Ash

  Templar Knight Mysteries

  The Alehouse Murders

  Death of a Squire

  A Plague of Poison

  Murder for Christ’s Mass

  Shroud of Dishonour

  A Deadly Penance

  The Canterbury Murders

  A Holy Vengeance

  Copyright © Maureen Ash 2016

  All rights reserved. Maureen Ash asserts the right always to be identified as the author of this work. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Principle Characters

  Bascot de Marins – A Templar Knight

  Gianni – Mute Italian boy, former servant to Bascot, now a clerk in castle scriptorium

  Nicolaa de la Haye – Hereditary castellan of Lincoln castle

  Gerard Camville – Lady Nicolaa’s husband and sheriff of Lincolnshire

  In the Castle

  Miles de Laxton – Knight

  Roget – Captain of town guard

  Clare – Sempstress

  Lambert – Secretarius

  Ewan - Clerk

  Ernulf – Serjeant of garrison

  Eudo – Steward

  Rollo – Man-at-Arms

  Templar Knights

  Feradac MacHeth – Preceptor of Lincoln commandery

  Geoffrey de Rennes – Preceptor of Temple Bruer commandery

  Morgan ap Griffid – Knight in Temple Bruer

  Lincoln Townsfolk

  Edward Tisser – Draper

  Mary Tisser – Edward’s wife

  Adam Tisser – Edward’s brother

  Bracel – Edward’s clerk

  William of Blois – Bishop

  Brother Jehan – Infirmarian of All Saint’s Priory

  Italians

  Arrigo Teramo – Emissary to Lincoln

  Enzu – Teramo’s servant

  Collingham Village

  Corbin – Reeve

  Father Steven – Priest

  Nottingham

  Robert de Vieuxpont – Sheriff

  Sybil de Morville – De Vieuxpont’s aunt

  Father Timothy – Priest

  Martin Tisser – Weaver

  Gode Tisser – Martin’s brother

  Peter and Anne Vetir – Draper and his wife

  Richilda Thornton – Sister to Edward’s mother, Emmaline

  Clifford – De Vieuxpont’s secretarius

  Laine – Sheep farmer

  Grimsby

  Peter Thorson – Bailiff

  Mistress Thorson – Peter’s wife

  Nils – Seaman

  Anker – Fisherman

  Italy

  Berardo di Marsi - Count

  Rinaldo di Marsi – Berardo’s cousin

  Umberto di Marsi – Rinaldo’s missing son

  Cettina Sclafani – Rinaldo’s second wife

  Lupo di Marsi – Cardinal

  Father William – English priest

  Marco Ferrero – Sicilian friend of Rinaldo

  Deceased Characters

  In Lincoln:

  John Tisser – Edward’s father

  Gilbert Tisser – Edward’s uncle

  CHAPTER 1

  Lincoln, May, 1205

  Edward Tisser, a prominent draper in the town, was striding about the bedchamber with impatient steps as he directed a manservant to make haste in packing a change of clothing into a leather satchel. His wife, Mary, a pleasant-featured young woman of affable temperament, was standing in the doorway, staring at him in astonishment.

  “Do not linger over niceties,” Edward said to the servant. “I do not need much, just an extra pair of hose and a change of undergarments. And another pair of shoes,” he added and nodded in satisfaction as the servant included the footwear. “Now go downstairs and see that my horse is saddled and tell the cook to prepare some bread, cheese and meat along with a flagon of wine to take with me. I will be leaving shortly.”

  As the harried servant left the room in a rush, Mary could contain her confusion no longer. “Edward, what are you doing? You cannot start out on pilgrimage today. There are matters that must be attended to before you go on such a long journey. You are due to go to Coleby this morning to approve the samples you ordered from the weaver there and, besides that commitment, you have many others in the next few days, including making ready for the cloth fayre next month. You cannot leave now.”

  Edward reached for the small coffer in which he kept money and, opening it, took out a quantity of coins and transferred them to the scrip on his belt, then gave the key into her safekeeping. “Bracel can go to Coleby and inspect the samples. He has been our family’s clerk for many years and knows what is required almost as well as I do. And he can also take care of all the other matters. I have told him he may hire a temporary assistant if need be.”

  But Mary continued her protest, now in a different direction. “Why hire another employee when Adam can help him? It is a waste of money.”

  “No,” Edward declared. “Adam is not ready. He is too young to take on the responsibility.”

  “Your brother is eighteen now and almost the same age as you when your father died and you took over management of the drapery. And he is eager to help.”

  Edward shook his head in negation and Mary had no choice but to accept his decision. This was an old argument between them and one she knew full well, from past experience, it was useless to pursue further. Her husband seemed fond of his brother, and treated him with courtesy, but every time she suggested that Adam be taught the rudiments of the trade in which Edward was so successful, she was met with the same obstinate refusal.

  “It is unfair of you to expect Bracel to manage all of your affairs. Our more affluent customers expect to have the owner of the business tend to their needs, not his clerk. We will be in ruins by the time you return.”

  “Nonsense,” Edward replied. “Bracel oversees everything when I travel to a cloth fayre in London or Paris, and he does it well. Our patrons will have no cause for complaint.”

  Mary rarely lost her temper, but she did now, and stamped her foot. “You are being ridiculous. Your usual journeys abroad are made at a fast pace on horseback. You are never gone for more than two or three weeks. But the pilgrim band with whom you intend to travel are on foot and the pace will necessarily be slow. You will be gone for a long time, perhaps months. And the summer fayre here in Lincoln accounts for a large part of the business; you must be here to ensure all goes well. However competent Bracel is, he is still only a clerk. By all means go to the shrine of St. James in Compostela if you have to, but wait until you have put your affairs in order before you set out.”

  Edward’s dark brown eyes were full of misery as he answered her. “I cannot wait, Mary. Out little Dickon almost died two nights ago, and I must go and plead with St. James for his intercession to make our son well.”

  He turned to her and spoke intently. “Does it not say in the bible that the iniquity of the father will be visited on his children to the third and fourth generation? That is why little Dickon suffers; he is an innocent and it is my stain he bears. Only St. James can help him.”

  “What iniquity are you speaking of, Edward?” Mary demanded. “What have you done that is so terrible?”

  Her husband shook his head. “It is better you do not know. The burden is mine alone to bear.”

  Seeing the misery on
his face, Mary ceased to harangue him. Edward had always been impulsive in temperament and once he formed an idea in his head, it was nigh on impossible to dissuade him from acting on it. He might be right, she conceded, for their two older children, Beatrice and Anne, had been healthy all their short lives while their youngest, little Richard, had been sickly from the moment he was born, his chest so weak he could barely breathe despite a constant dosing of a variety of remedies suggested by a well-respected local physician. But even if this mysterious sin of Edward’s was the cause, she had a presentiment that her husband was being too hasty in his decision.

  She shook her head. It had been the occasion of a party of pilgrims passing through Lincoln that had put Edward in such a fever to go to Spain. He had seen them yesterday on Mikelgate, the main street in the town, and, after speaking with them, had been filled with a desire to join them. Late that evening, and after they had left to continue their journey, he had gone to see the priest at the church the family attended and, by means of a hefty donation, persuaded the prelate to bless his intention and provide him with a pilgrim’s staff and wide-brimmed hat. She looked to where they lay on the bed, and watched as Edward reverently picked them up and then came and enfolded her in his arms in a kiss of farewell.

  “Do not worry, wife, all will be well, and Bracel will cope admirably while I am gone, of that I am certain. I must leave you now so as to catch up with the pilgrim band. They will have stopped to rest last night and will not have had a chance to travel too much farther this morning. Once I am with them, I will stable my horse at the first place I find a responsible hostler and pick it up on my way back from Spain.”

  At her downcast expression, he released her and, regarding her with shining eyes, clasped her hands tightly in his. “Just remember the rewards of my journey, Mary. Little Dickon completely recovered and breathing easily, with no more sleepless nights while we wait in fear for his death rattle. Any privation will be worth it.”

  Relenting, Mary patted her husband’s arm. Aside from his capriciousness, Edward had been a good husband to her. He was faithful, attentive and an excellent provider. Whatever this iniquity that he spoke of, she was sure it had been magnified out of all proportion in his mind, but if going on pilgrimage gave his soul rest, it would be worth it, especially if it resulted in a cure for Dickon.

  With good grace, she followed him downstairs, watched him mount his palfrey and, with an enthusiastic wave of his hand in her direction, trot out of the gate at the end of the yard. She could not have known that, before many hours had passed, she would bitterly regret not having paid more attention to her foreboding and making a more determined attempt to stop him leaving.

  ****************

  Later that same morning, a party of four horsemen, comprised of an Italian emissary named Arrigo Teramo and his attendants, two of whom were armed and acted as guards, and the other a body servant, was approaching Lincoln from the south along

  Ermine Street, the great thoroughfare that travelled north from London to York. It was a fine day, with a cloudless sky and the trees in the forest on either side of them were in full leaf. It was pleasant day for their journey, but within five miles of Lincoln they saw, a little way ahead of them, a saddled but riderless horse cropping grass on the verge of the road. Cautiously Teramo reined in his horse and held up his hand to signal the men of his escort to come to a halt. After carefully scrutinizing the greenwood for signs of the horse’s rider, and seeing no one, he ordered one of the guards to go forward and secure the animal.

  The guard went slowly, sword drawn, looking cautiously about him. The trees in the forest were not overly thick, but the foliage was dense and gave enough cover for outlaws to be lurking, using the ploy of a loose horse as a distraction to bring unwary travellers to a standstill in order to make it easier to attack them.

  As the guard caught up the reins of the animal, Teramo and the other guard drew their own weapons, ready to act at the first sign of danger. The body servant, a slim man about forty years of age and small in stature, sat absolutely still, making a desperate attempt not to show his fear, clutching his hands together in front of him to calm their trembling.

  There was no one in sight; the road before and behind was empty, and Teramo was just beginning to relax his watchful stance when the guard holding the loose horse gave a shout and pointed to the base of a dead oak tree. Its massive trunk was scorched and appeared to have been riven by lightening.

  The emissary rode up to the spot the guard had indicated and there saw the body of a man sprawled on the ground, the shaft of an arrow protruding from deep in the side of his neck and another embedded in his side. Across the side of his face was a bloody furrow.

  The guard knelt beside the body and felt for a heartbeat. “È morto,” he pronounced with a shake of his head and then removed the leather scrip from the dead man’s belt and handed it to his master. It was full of coins.

  Teramo glanced at the riderless horse. From the saddle hung a hat with a wide brim alongside a staff with a crosspiece that ended, on one side, with a hook for carrying a sack containing food and other necessities. Both were accoutrements carried by pilgrims.

  He surveyed the ground close to where the body lay and saw a trail of churned up earth and grass extending the short distance from the road to the tree. It seemed reasonably clear what had happened; the dead man must have been arrowshot as he was riding along the road, his horse had bolted into the forest and he had tumbled from the saddle at the place where they found him.

  “This man has obviously been waylaid and killed,” Teramo said to his servants, “but who did it, or why, is of no concern to us. Nonetheless, to show that we are not guilty of any involvement, we will take his body, and his money and possessions, with us to Lincoln and report his death to the authorities.”

  CHAPTER 2

  By mid-afternoon, Teramo and his escort had crossed the bridge that spanned the Witham River and reached Stonebow, the huge gate that led into Lincoln from the south. There was not much foot traffic, and the few people they passed quickly moved aside to make way and then stood and stared in surprise at the body—the arrows still protruding from the wounds—slung over the back of a horse. It produced a similar reaction in the guards on the gate for, when they saw the corpse, both came running, their faces full of alarm.

  “’Tis Edward Tisser,” one of them exclaimed when he saw the dead man’s visage. “He only left Lincoln this morning to join a party of pilgrims going to Spain. How does he come to be dead?” he asked Teramo.

  “Of that I can tell you nothing,” the Italian replied in excellent English with only the slightest trace of an accent. “We found his body next to the road and, as it was still warm, it would appear he was killed just before we came upon him, but we saw no one else in the vicinity.”

  The guards both nodded. By his demeanour and fine clothes, it was obvious this foreigner was of high rank but, even so, that did not remove him from the suspicion that he might have murdered a citizen of the town.

  “We need to inform our captain of this death, and so must ask you to remain here until we have done so,” the guard said.

  The emissary nodded an assent and, without any further ado, the guards removed the body from the horse and carried it carefully into the guard house inside one of the towers that flanked the gate, and laid it down on the floor of the small space inside. After viewing the wounds, they covered the corpse with an old blanket and then one of them went at a run up Mikelgate to find Roget, captain of the town guard.

  Teramo and his servants nudged their horses to one side out of the way of the traffic passing through the gate but it was not long before a curious crowd had gathered.

  Soon, however, a man whom Teramo correctly assumed to be the captain arrived. As he strode up to the gatehouse the Italian scrutinised him carefully, seeing an individual with broad shoulders and the demeanour of a hardened soldier. A heavy black beard threaded through with copper rings covered the lower half of his
face above which, on one cheek, was the scar of an old sword slash. Behind him trailed a small wain driven by the guard who had fetched him.

  With the merest of glances at Teramo, the captain spoke briefly to the guard who had remained at the gate and then went into the room in the tower where the body lay. After a few moments, he came out and addressed the emissary.

  “I am Roget, captain of Sheriff Camville’s town guard,” he said, with a hint of a Gallic accent in his words, “and have been told that you are the one who found the body. How did you come to be where he was lying?”

  Although the captain made no attempt at intimidation, Teramo could tell, by his confident stance, that Roget was not a man to be trifled with and quietly gave his name and added that he and his escort had come across the dead man as they were journeying to Lincoln where, he hoped, he would be able to gain an interview with Lady Nicolaa de la Haye who was, he had been told, wife of Gerard Camville, sheriff of Lincoln.

  “She is,” Roget confirmed bluntly. “The corpse must be taken to the castle for Sir Gerard to examine, and you will be needed for answering any questions he may have about your finding of the victim. You and your servants will accompany me there now.”

  Teramo again made no demur to the peremptory command and he and his servants waited in silence while the corpse was loaded on the wain. Then, just as they were about to set off, a woman came racing down the street, skirts fluttering and the ends of her white linen coif streaming out behind her. Following a little distance behind was a young man, perhaps eighteen years of age, his face ashen.

  The woman, seeing the body in the cart, made a dash towards it, tears streaming down her face, but Roget gently restrained her by blocking her passage with his arm before she was able to reach the corpse.