“Now,” Nicolaa continued, looking directly at Mark, “if any of you know why Willi left, or where he intended to go, I want you to tell me. Even though the weather is warmer, it is still too cold to be out in the woods alone. And if he should meet with a wild animal in the woods, he may be in danger of serious injury.”
A silence followed her words. Mark stood with his lips pressed together and Emma shook her head. Annie, because of her tender years, was confused and looked at her sister in puzzlement, while Joan began to fiddle with the hem of her kirtle.
“Very well,” Nicolaa said. “If none of you can help me, you may go with cook and break your fast. Since you missed Mass this morning, you will say two paternosters before you eat…”
“He went to find his da,” Joan suddenly burst out. “And he’s going to be killed by the murderer.”
Stoddard, who was standing by Nicolaa’s chair, was the first to react to the astonishing statement. “What nonsense is this, Joan? Willi doesn’t have a father; he’s an orphan like the rest of you. And as for being killed…”
“He does so have a da,” Joan burst out, her torrent of words startling after she had been almost silent for so long. “ And he saw the murderer, too, the one who killed that man in the castle.”
“Joan, you must not tell lies…” Stoddard began impatiently, but Nicolaa held up her hand.
“How do you know this Joan?” she said quietly.
“I heard him tell Mark,” the girl said triumphantly.
Twenty
Another silence fell as everyone looked at Mark. The boy was glaring at Joan, his small fists clenched at his sides. It was obvious the girl was telling the truth. Nicolaa, raising her hand, motioned to the bailiff.
“Stoddard, take all of the children except Mark to the kitchen and have the cook attend their needs.”
As the bailiff and the other orphans left the room, young Mark stood forlorn in front of the two women, his hands now clasped in front of him and near to tears.
Nicolaa spoke gently. “Mark, what do you know of Willi’s disappearance and this tale that he saw the man who committed the murder?”
The boy raised his head, his mouth trembling. “I gave my promise that I would not tell,” he said, with an attempt at bravery.
“And you did not,” Nicolaa assured him. “Joan did. But now that the secret is out, for Willi’s own safety, you must tell us all you know.”
“Willi does have a da,” Mark said quietly, despair in his voice, “but he’s been gone for a long time and Willi was hungry. When he went to get alms at St. Peter’s, and the priest asked him if he had anyone to look after him, he lied, but it was only so’s he could get some food. But when we was sent here, he was worried that when his da came back, he wouldn’t be able to find him, so Willi decided to go back into town and look for him.” The boy raised his fearful face to Nicolaa. “He only lied ’cause he was starvin’, lady, he didn’t mean no harm.”
“Very well, Mark,” Nicolaa said, “we shall let that pass for now. What of this claim that he made about seeing the murderer?”
The boy hesitated and the tears he had so far managed to stem spilled down his face. Petronille, her kind heart full of sympathy, recalled her own dead son. Baldwin had not been much older than this boy when he had died and, due to his illness, was almost as thin. She reached out a hand and said to Mark, “Come here, child, and stand beside me.”
With stumbling steps Mark went to the chair where she was seated. She took his hand in hers and pressed it gently. Her skin was soft and a faint perfume of spring flowers rose from her clothes. “Do not be fearful,” she said to him softly. “Neither you nor Willi are going to be punished. But you must tell my sister exactly what Willi said, for that is the only way we can protect him.”
Reassured by her compassionate manner, Mark haltingly told Nicolaa what Willi had claimed. “It was the night we wus all taken to the castle, just after we’d been in that big room where all the townsfolk was sittin’, and we wus being taken to the stables to sleep,” he explained. “As we wus goin’ across the ward, Willi said he saw someone lurkin’ around that big old tower near the gate. The next day, after we heard that a man had been shot by a crossbow up at the top of the tower, Willi said he had seen the man what done it.”
“He said it was a man and not a woman?” Nicolaa interrupted.
Mark screwed up his face in concentration as he thought back over what Willi had told him. He couldn’t remember if Willi had said it was a man; Mark might have just assumed that it was. “I think so, but I’m not sure,” he said honestly.
“Did he see the man’s face?” Nicolaa asked.
“I don’t know, lady,” Mark replied earnestly. “He wouldn’t tell me much ’cause he thought I might tell on him, even though I swore I wouldn’t. But I warned him that if the killer had seen Willi lookin’ at him, he might find him out if he went back to Lincoln and murder him, too.” Mark looked at Nicolaa fearfully. “And I’se right, isn’t I, lady? Will you be able to save him?”
“I shall do my best, Mark,” Nicolaa assured him. She rose from her chair and spoke to Petronille, her expression grave. “If Ernulf and the men-at-arms do not find the boy in the greenwood, we must return to Lincoln at once and organise a search for him.”
As Bruet, Ernulf and the men-at-arms were returning to the Riseholme manor house after a fruitless search in the woods, Bascot and Gianni were entering the shop of the barber-surgeon, Gildas. The rotund little barber came forward with a beaming countenance when he saw them and, as before, greeted the Templar warmly.
“Sir Bascot,” he said in jovial tones. “I did not expect to see you again so soon. Have you found the murderer yet?”
“No, unfortunately, we have not,” Bascot replied. “It is on a different matter that I have come and one that I would like to discuss with you in confidence. Do you have a private room where we can speak without your customers overhearing?”
The little barber’s chest swelled out with importance as he replied, “Of course, Sir Bascot. If it please you, there is a room in the back where we may speak privily.”
Gildas led Bascot and Gianni to a small chamber lined with shelves laden with pliers, razors and piles of clean cloths. There was only one chair in the room, and Gildas bowed the Templar to it and perched on a small stool nearby. Gianni stood at the door, blocking the passage of any who should inadvertently try to enter.
Bascot phrased his next words carefully. He did not want to alert Gildas to the true nature of his enquiry but, at the same time, it was most important that he extract the information he sought. With a tinge of guilt for deceiving the cheerful little man in front of him, he said, “I wish to speak to you about Simon Adgate, Gildas. Have you ever made his acquaintance?”
“Yes, I have,” the barber confirmed. “I have attended him as his barber-surgeon for many years.”
The Templar had not expected such good fortune, but had merely hoped that since Adgate and Gildas were near to each other in age, the barber might recall the furrier from the days of their youth, and remember the details of his first marriage. His hope rising, Bascot continued the conversation carefully. “I am sure you are aware that Adgate’s young wife was most distressed at being in the castle on the night of the murder.”
Gildas gave a nod of agreement, the jowls on his fat face wobbling slightly as he did so. “Yes, we all heard of how upset she was,” he said, and then added disapprovingly, “And there were some who claimed she was more friendly with the dead man than she should have been. Such malicious gossip should not be given any credence, and so I have told all those who have repeated it to me.”
The Templar believed him. Although Gildas, with his gregarious nature, liked to prattle of the mundane events that occurred from day to day, he was not a spiteful man and Bascot knew he would frown on those who repeated any rumour that cast unfounded aspersions on the reputation of another.
“Just so,” Bascot agreed. “And it is because of these tales that I do not wish to go to Master Adgate and ask him my questions directly. This murder has already given him enough upset and I do not wish to discommode him further.”
The Templar paused for a moment to ensure Gildas was amenable to respecting the implied confidentiality
