A Holy Vengeance Read online

  “Bishop William has sent me to enquire into the progress that is being made in the search for the murderer of the young woman at St. Dunstan’s shrine.”

  Bishop William’s full name was William of Blois, and he had just been elected to his post the previous year. The see had been vacant for over two years after the death of the saintly Hugh of Avalon, and William had finally been appointed. So far, he had proved himself very capable in his new office.

  “We are not much further forward than when her body was found,” Nicolaa replied. “Why is the bishop concerned about the matter?”

  Dean Roger took a sip from his cup before speaking. “Even though the murder took place only yesterday, lady, there is a burgeoning panic in the town. Rumour is rife and they are fearful.”

  “How so?” Nicolaa asked.

  “Because it is being said that Satan is responsible, either by taking on the shape of a man and committing the evil deed Himself, or by sending a demon to possess some hapless individual and forcing him to kill on hallowed ground. The whole populace is now afraid that this devilish assailant will seek out another holy place to commit murder and, as a result, are reluctant to attend Mass lest they, too, be struck down.”

  The dean placed his cup down beside him and raised troubled eyes to Nicolaa. “Mass at the cathedral this morning was attended by only a faithful few, and even they were full of anxiety, not giving full attention to the service but looking around them continuously, each one at his neighbour, wondering if the killer was amongst them. I have been told this also happened in most of the other churches in Lincoln today.”

  Nicolaa was horror-stricken. “But this panic is unwarranted. There is no proof that the Devil was involved; the simple facts are that a young woman was stabbed to death by an unknown assailant, and that is all.”

  Dean Roger shook his head sadly. “Logic will not prevail here, lady, I regret to say. The only way to quell their fear is for the murderer to be caught and his motive proved to be an earthly one. If this does not happen soon, I fear our houses of worship will be empty and, whether or not Satan is responsible, He will surely rejoice at the outcome.”

  Nicolaa stirred uneasily in her chair. There were many references in the Bible to men and women being possessed by demons and, as much as she did not want to believe that such was the case in this death, she could not, with any surety, deny that it was a possibility.

  “Bishop William has promised to reconsecrate St. Dunstan’s shrine in the hope it will allay alarm,” the dean continued, “but it would, of course, greatly assist our purpose if the murderer was captured and the people’s fear put to rest. That is why I am come, to enquire if you are hopeful of an early arrest.”

  “I cannot answer your question with any certainty,” Nicolaa replied. “I shall do my utmost to discover the murderer’s identity with all speed but, as I am sure you will agree, the outcome is in God’s hands, not mine.”

  “Just so, lady,” the dean replied. Thanking her politely for her time, he drained his cup and rose from his seat. “The bishop would be obliged if you would keep him apprised of the situation and has asked me to relay to you his assurance that if he can be of any assistance in the search for the assailant, you have only to ask and his help will be given.”

  Nicolaa felt a great weight descend on her as the dean left the chamber. This was a situation that could not be allowed to continue, and one that she, as castellan of Lincoln castle, and deputy in his absence for her husband, Gerard, sheriff of Lincoln, bore the responsibility of resolving. The murderer must be apprehended with all haste if the disquietude of the townspeople was to be mollified. Setting her cup down on the table, she left the solar with an air of determination and made her way to the scriptorium.

  The chamber where Nicolaa’s clerks carried out their duties was set at the top of one of the corner turrets of the keep, and had larger casements than those on the lower floors to allow a good proportion of daylight to enter. There were three lecterns in the room; Gianni was working at one of them while Lambert, a clerk of more mature years, was transcribing documents at the desk next to him. John Blund was seated at a table, making notes from the information recorded on the sheets of parchment in front of him. The air was filled with the pungent odour of ink and an atmosphere of serenity.

  When the castellan entered, they were all surprised, for she almost never came to the chamber unannounced. Quickly scrambling up from their seats, they all gave her a nod of deference, but she made a signal for them to be reseated, while she herself remained standing.

  “I regret the need to disturb your working day, John, and interrupt the duties of your clerks,” she said to Blund hurriedly, “but a matter of some urgency has arisen about which I must speak to you all.”

  Blund nodded respectfully, and waited for her to continue. “It is concerning the murder that took place yesterday. The killer must be found with all despatch, and I have need of someone to lead the investigation on my behalf.” She paused for a moment and then said, “I have in mind for Gianni to assist me in this matter, John, but I am loath, in view of your ill health, to burden you with the extra work that will be laid on your and Lambert’s shoulders by his absence. Can you manage without him for a few days?

  “Of course, lady,” Blund replied, noting Gianni’s look of surprise and gratification at their mistress’s request, and Lambert’s quick nod of acquiescence. “The midsummer rolls will not be submitted for a week or two yet, and those from Lady Day have all been checked and filed away. There are only the daily accounts to contend with at the moment, and Lambert and I can easily cope with those on our own.”

  “Very well,” the castellan said gratefully. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

  She turned to Gianni. “You will attend me immediately,” she instructed. “We have much to discuss and time is of the essence.”

  * * *

  Once seated in her private chamber, the castellan quickly related to Gianni how alarm had spread through the town because of the murder and why, and that it was crucial to learn the killer’s identity as soon as possible.

  “This investigation must be undertaken swiftly,” she said, “and that is why I have taken you away from your duties.”

  Gianni nodded obediently, and tried to conceal his apprehension. He, like all of Christendom, was fearful of the Devil and His minions. To hunt down a human murderer was physically dangerous, it was true, but his heart quailed at the thought of confronting a satanic killer. Dark memories from his early childhood of witnessing the power of evil surged unbidden into his mind, and it was with great difficulty that he forced them aside so he could listen attentively as Lady Nicolaa went on.

  “While I know that you are fully capable of conducting this investigation on your own, Gianni, you are as aware as I that your inability to speak makes it difficult for you to question witnesses or potential suspects.”

  Again Gianni nodded. In the initial stages of the investigation of the king’s murdered servant in Canterbury, Miles de Laxton, a literate household knight who had accompanied them on the journey south, had assisted Gianni in gathering relevant information by reading the questions that the lad had written down on his wax tablet, and the ensuing interrogations had proved a simple task. But now Miles was away, included in the escort Gerard Camville had taken with him on his few days’ sojourn outside Lincoln, and so was not available.

  “Neither Roget nor Ernulf, unfortunately,” Nicolaa continued, “can read or write, and cannot aid you in this aspect. Apart from Lambert—who cannot be spared from the scriptorium—there is no other person among my servants that is suitable, so I have it in mind to ask Preceptor d’Arderon if he will allow Bascot de Marins to come to our aid.”

  This time Gianni’s nod was a thankful one. The Templar was a soldier of Christ, and his strong faith would be a protective shield against the wiles of the Devil. Quite apart from that, Bascot was a man the
lad loved above all others; not only had the Templar rescued him from starvation in his native Palermo by taking him on as his servant and bringing him to England, but he also had taught Gianni to read and write and was responsible for the fulfilment of the lad’s heartfelt aspiration to become a clerk. His company was welcome at any time, but most especially now.

  “If de Marins cannot be spared,” Nicolaa added, “then we must rethink our tactics, but I hope it will not come to that, and we will not concern ourselves with the problem until after I have received Preceptor d’Arderon’s reply.”

  As the castellan began to dictate the message that was to be sent to the Templar enclave, Gianni sent up a prayer of his own that his former master would be allowed to come to the aid of his mistress—and himself.

  Chapter 10

  The temporary preceptor, Feradac MacHeth, had arrived earlier that morning and was with d’Arderon when Lady Nicolaa’s request arrived. The Scot was a tall, rangily built knight, with wiry sandy-coloured hair and freckled skin. To d’Arderon’s relief, he appeared full of energy, even though he had recently been sent back to England from Portugal after a prolonged bout of dysentery had left him too debilitated to carry out his duties.

  “I’m almost recovered now, Brother Everard,” he assured the preceptor in an accent that held barely a trace of his Scottish origins. “I was expecting to soon be able to return to my post when your request arrived, and so Master Berard thought it would be worthwhile to complete my convalescence here, and fulfil your duties until a permanent preceptor is found to take your place.”

  “I am grateful to both you and Master Berard,” d’Arderon replied. “I must admit that I have left my retirement past time, but I was loath to leave.”

  “Do not be downhearted, Brother, and take comfort in the knowledge that you have served Christ and the Order well for many a year. Our Lord willing, you will have a long and comfortable rest.”

  At that moment one of the castle men-at-arms arrived with the message from Lady Nicolaa. D’Arderon scanned it; his literacy was not of a high standard but he managed to comprehend the drift of it, and told MacHeth what it contained and that he intended to comply with the request.

  “I have heard of Brother Bascot,” MacHeth replied, “and his talent for rooting out secret murderers. It is a gift from God and, you are right, it should be used whenever there is need.”

  * * *

  A short time later Bascot went to the castle. As he rode through the Minster grounds after leaving the preceptory, he was surprised to see that the huge open space around the cathedral was devoid of human presence, with only one or two stray dogs in sight. There were no parishioners, nor even any of the stall-holders that sold hot pies and other pastries to those that came to attend the services. It was an eerie sight, and one that sent an uneasy chill through him.

  When he arrived at the keep, the steward, Eudo, came hurriedly to greet him, and told him that Lady Nicolaa had left word he was to be granted immediate access to her presence.

  “She is in the herb garden, Sir Bascot,” Eudo said, “and will, I know, be very pleased to receive you.”

  The Templar knew the environs of the castle well from the time when he and Gianni had lived there when they first came to Lincoln, and made his way to the sheltered space in a corner of the bail where herbs for cooking, cleansing and medicinal purposes were grown. At this time of year the aroma from the growing plants was delightful. Scents of mint, marjoram, rosemary and thyme co-mingled in heady profusion, bringing pleasure to the senses.

  When he went through the gate into the garden, he saw Lady Nicolaa seated on a stone bench, her serving maid, Clare, standing beside her holding a small parcel of wrapped linen. Gianni was also there and his face lit up with pleasure when he saw his former master. The Templar responded with a heartfelt smile of his own. He and the lad had not seen each other since they had been in Canterbury some months before, but the bond between them was strong and parting could never diminish it.

  The castellan also gave him a warm greeting. “I take it by your presence here, de Marins, that Preceptor d’Arderon has given permission for you to investigate this latest murder?”

  “He has, lady, and was more than willing to do so,” Bascot replied.

  “Then you are well come indeed, de Marins. I trust that with your aid this villain will be found without delay. Come, sit by me and I will give you the details.”

  When Bascot was seated, Nicolaa hesitated for a moment and then said, “Before I begin, I must first warn you that the townspeople have become very alarmed by this killing because the crime was perpetrated in a place of holiness. They are, I have been told, convinced that the Devil took on the guise of a mortal and committed the crime Himself, or else He sent an evil entity to possess the man who did it, even though there is, so far, no evidence to indicate the truth of either conception. As a result, they are fearful the murderer may strike again in another sacred precinct and so are reluctant to attend Mass, or any other service. The town’s churches are almost empty.”

  The deserted appearance of the cathedral grounds was now explained and Bascot nodded. “It is not surprising they should think thus. Secret murder in a holy place is a crime of great sacrilege, and it is difficult to comprehend that anyone other than Satan would be responsible for such a deed. Let us pray that we will soon be able to resolve the truth of the matter.”

  Nicolaa heaved a sigh of relief. De Marins, as a Templar knight and a soldier for Christ, was one of those of whom St. Bernard of Clairvaux, the main supporter of the Order, had written, “are secure on every side, for their souls are protected by the armour of faith, just as their bodies are protected by the armour of steel. They are thus doubly armed, and need fear neither demons nor men.” To have Bascot’s help would greatly facilitate the investigation if a demonic entity was involved.

  The castellan then apprised Bascot of the information that had been gleaned so far—that the woman who had been murdered was Emma Ferroner, the daughter of a prominent armourer, how the death was reported to the reeve of Burton village by Constance Turner, that the reeve had then transported the corpse back to Lincoln bringing Mistress Turner with him, of the perfumer’s subsequent arrest, and that Roget had advised the victim’s father and husband of her death. She also told him that Gianni would be excused from his clerical work to aid in the investigation.

  “I am not fully certain of Mistress Turner’s guilt, de Marins,” she added, relating how the perfumer had claimed to have been saved from death herself by a pair of ravens that guarded the shrine and of her own doubts about whether this was true or not. “If she is telling the truth, then we must look further afield for the person responsible.”

  She paused for a moment and then said, “In accord with your premise that a victim’s corpse should always be examined for traces of the murderer’s identity, and since, for propriety’s sake, it was appropriate that a woman carry out the chore, I sent Clare earlier this morning to inspect the body, just as she did with the king’s slain female servant in Canterbury. Unless you wish a further examination to be made after you have heard her report, I shall arrange for Mistress Ferroner’s remains to be taken to the chapel of St. Thomas, the parish church where she is to be buried.”

  Bascot looked at Clare in anticipation. She was a fresh-faced and comely young woman who was a sempstress in the castle household but also acted, on occasion, as Lady Nicolaa’s tirewoman. It had been in the latter capacity that she had been included in the castellan’s entourage when Nicolaa had travelled to Canterbury a few months ago and had, as just mentioned, assisted in the subsequent murder investigation by scrutinising the murdered woman’s body for traces of her killer. On that occasion, although she had been dismayed by the gruesome nature of the chore, she had been very competent; he expected she would prove to be the same this time.

  “As stated by Constance Turner, and now confirmed by Clare, Mistress Ferr
oner’s life was taken by two stab wounds in the back. The perfumer said that she expired almost immediately,” Nicolaa continued, “and also told us that the knife used to murder her friend was dropped by the assailant at the scene of the crime when the ravens attacked him, and she retrieved it later. To confirm that it truly is the weapon that was used, Clare has compared the width of the blade with the wounds on the body and tells me it matches.”

  She turned to the sempstress and directed her to show the knife to Bascot.

  Clare unwrapped the bundle she was holding and handed him the weapon with a shudder of distaste. “I inserted the knife into both of the wounds, lord. It fits them exactly, right up to the hilt.”

  Bascot looked carefully at the weapon. It was an ordinary knife, with a blade of moderate width and a length of about seven inches, of a type that would be used for trimming leather, cutting reeds or similar tasks, and long enough to have pierced the heart and brought about the quick death that Mistress Turner had described. He looked up at Clare.

  “What is the position of the wounds?” he asked.

  “They are both on the left side of the back, high up, between the spine and the shoulder blade,” she replied, “and betwixt two pair of ribs, one above the other.”

  The Templar looked at Nicolaa and raised his eyebrows, and the castellan, in turn, nodded. “The work of a hired assassin, do you think?” she asked.

  Bascot gave her query some thought before he answered. Both of them were aware, Bascot by his military expertise and the castellan through her involvement with the training of the garrison soldiers, that it is not always an easy task to kill by striking at the back of an enemy or victim. The upper part of the torso is well protected by the bones of the skeleton, both front and back, and it often requires numerous thrusts to effect injury serious enough to cause death. To find the vulnerable spot between the upper ribs with just two blows, as had happened in this case, requires the fine hand of an experienced killer.