defilement of the chapel had shaken him badly, as did the depressed morale of the men. D’Arderon took his responsibilities with great seriousness. Even though it was impossible for him to have prevented Elfreda’s murder from taking place, Bascot knew the preceptor nonetheless felt a share of the responsibility, if only for the fact that it was one of the men under his command-the guard on the gate-that had admitted the bawd and her killer into the enclave. During the time a poisoner had been loose in Lincoln a year before, when one of the bailiffs employed by the Order to supervise a Templar property had been found to be of a loose moral standard, d’Arderon had blamed himself for not having been more scrupulous in checking the man’s credentials.
Bascot was certain that, at this moment, as d’Arderon gazed towards the south coast of England, the preceptor wished to be a part of the contingent due to leave the next day. D’Arderon had been stationed in the Holy Land for many years and, during that time, had pitted his considerable strength and military expertise against the Saracens. It was probable that Emilius felt the same. Although the draper was two decades younger than the preceptor, he had, until his injury deprived him of the use of his arm, spent ten years fighting the Moors in Portugal. Neither man made complaint of their present situation, both content to serve Christ to the best of their abilities in any way they could, but now, contending with the murder of a woman in the preceptory’s chapel, and the resultant accusation that a Templar brother might be the cause of her death, both officers must long for the uncomplicated life of active duty.
Roget came riding down the hill just as the two knights were preparing to return to the enclave. The captain’s expression was grim and, when he came up to d’Arderon, he saluted the preceptor and told in a blunt fashion the grisly news of Adele Delorme’s death.
“Another harlot’s been murdered,” he said. “In the town. She was found last night, but it looks as though she has been dead for at least twelve hours. The sheriff went to his hunting lodge yesterday and Lady Nicolaa has despatched a servant to inform him of the death. It was she who sent me here.”
The former mercenary hesitated for a moment before he continued. “This bawd was also garrotted, Preceptor, but there were other injuries inflicted on this latest victim that Lady Nicolaa thought you should be told of immediately.”
D’Arderon’s face blanched as Roget related the grisly details of the butchery that had been done to Adele’s body.
After a moment of complete silence, the preceptor rammed his spurs into the flanks of his destrier and the startled animal leapt forward. D’Arderon kept the horse at full gallop up the hillside, heading for the enclave. Taken off guard by the suddenness of the preceptor’s reaction, it was a few moments before Bascot and Roget followed in his wake.
When d’Arderon reached the preceptory gate, he charged through and came to a sliding halt in the middle of the compound. Dismounting in one fluid motion, he tossed the reins of his horse to a groom, and strode off in the direction of his office.
“Emilius! De Marins! Attend me,” he barked, never once turning his head.
The draper, who had just begun his inspection of the men-at-arm’s equipment and clothing, looked up in surprise at d’Arderon’s abrupt entrance into the commandery, and hastily told the brothers standing in line to await his return before hurrying after the preceptor. When Bascot caught up with him, he told the draper in a few succinct words of the murder of a second harlot and that a Templar cross had been carved on her chest. Emilius’s gaze grew cloudy with dismay as he assimilated the blasphemous nature of the wanton cruelty.
When they entered the preceptor’s office, d’Arderon was standing by the one small window the room possessed, gazing out of the narrow aperture at the men under his command, now standing in puzzled groups looking towards his office.
The preceptor turned and spoke as Bascot and Emilius entered the room. “This murdering bastard must be caught,” he rasped. “Not only has he killed two women, he has placed the Order, and this enclave, under attack.”
D’Arderon moved to the desk, the expression on his face rigid with suppressed wrath. “Until I order differently, no one is to leave the commandery without my express permission.”
“But, Preceptor,” Emilius protested, “the contingent going to Portugal is due to leave tomorrow…”
“Their departure must be delayed,” d’Arderon replied abruptly. “Someone in the preceptory is the cause of this devil’s hatred. I would stake my life that it is not one of the brothers that are based here in Lincoln, nor any of our lay brothers or servants. The two murders must be connected, so the men of the cohort that just left can be exonerated. Therefore it must be one of the men in the contingent that is still in the enclave. Until I discover which of them has committed the sin that is enraging this madman, they will stay.”
Emilius said no more, but his expression mirrored his disappointment of the preceptor’s decision. The morale of the men was already low; to be told they would not leave as planned would deflate it further.
“The only information we have on these brothers was contained in the missive sent from London to warn us of their arrival,” d’Arderon continued. “It states only their name, rank and length of service.” He barked an order at Emilius. “You will write immediately, Draper, to the preceptories from which they came and ask for more information about each man, especially whether any have been subjected to punishment and, if so, the reason for it.”
“Many of them have only recently joined the Order,” Emilius replied repressively. “It is hardly likely they would have transgressed in such a short space of time.”
At the implied criticism in the draper’s voice, the anger that d’Arderon had been holding in check finally exploded.
“You will follow my orders, Draper, and without question, as you are sworn to do.” The preceptor had not raised his voice, but there was no mistaking the depth of his emotion.
Emilius, whose steadfast commitment to his vow of obedience had wavered for a moment, flinched at the reprimand and nodded his acceptance of the rebuke.
D’Arderon walked over towards the window and stood looking out the grilled opening for a few long moments in silence before turning once again towards the two knights. When he spoke, his words were milder in tone. “If this devil’s objective is to cause dissension among us, we must take care that he does not succeed. There is another reason for my keeping the contingent back, Emilius, and it is that we cannot be certain that the man committing these outrages is not a Templar.”
The draper reacted to d’Arderon’s words with a shocked countenance and the preceptor looked at Bascot. “My charge comes as no surprise to you, does it, de Marins?”
When Bascot gave a brief nod in response to the question, the draper looked at him in puzzlement. For all his battle experience, Emilius’s forthright nature still contained a touch of innocence. His devotion to Christ and the Order had blinded him to the fact that it was not only infidels who were capable of evil acts, and had certainly never led him to envision that the murderer might be a fellow Templar.
“I have considered the whereabouts of all of the men on the night the harlot was smuggled into the chapel,” d’Arderon said to the draper. “At that time, the men of both contingents were here. With the press of bodies it would not have been difficult for one of them to steal out before Vespers or Compline and go into the town.”
The preceptor began to pace as he went on. “The same is true of this latest murder. Captain Roget said she was killed sometime yesterday morning. There was a lot of movement about the enclave yesterday-the men were preparing themselves for today’s inspection, grooms were exercising the horses out on the hillside, and others were helping to unload a supply of grain. It would not have been impossible for a lone man to slip out and go into Lincoln; the track down the hillside gives easy access to a gate into the city. And he need not have been gone long enough to be missed. I do not imagine it would take a great space of time for a man to murder a helpless woman and desecrate her body.” These last words were uttered in tones of disgust.
“But surely the man who did this must have local knowledge?” Emilius said. “These men have only been here for a few days-how would they know where to find prostitutes within a town that is strange to them?”
“That is why I want to know more about each one,” d’Arderon said. “It is quite possible that one of them has been in Lincoln before, or even lived here. May God prevent my suspicion proving true, but we must be certain.”
Dismally, Emilius nodded his reluctant acceptance of his superior’s opinion and his disciplined nature reasserted itself. “Do you wish me to also write a letter to Master Berard in London, Preceptor,” he asked, “to give warning that the contingent will not leave tomorrow as planned? It will be necessary to inform the captain of the ship on which they are to travel that their arrival will be delayed.”
