should not be too great a risk,” Bascot assured them. “And I am certain Captain Roget will assign one of the town guards to keep a constant watch over your house, just in case the man you saw should return.”
“Certainement,” Roget assured the perfumer. Despite the gravity of the situation, Bascot noticed that the former mercenary was favourably impressed with the appearance of Constance Turner. She was not the type of woman who usually attracted Roget; those that Bascot had seen him with during the time the Templar had spent in Lincoln castle had been more buxom and openly lusty in demeanour. But from the smile that lit the captain’s face when he spoke to Constance, it was certain that he found her calm manner and soft brown eyes more than lightly appealing.
“There is just one more question I would like to ask you, mistress,” Bascot said. “I am sure you will have heard that another prostitute was murdered before your neighbour and that her body was found in the Templar chapel of the Lincoln commandery. It has been said that her death was due to one of my Templar brethren having congress with a harlot. Since you said that you, along with others who live on this street, knew the identities of all the men that visited your neighbour, I must ask if, to your knowledge, any of them was a member of our Order.”
Constance and Agnes both shook their heads. “All of Adele’s patrons were men who live in the town,” the perfumer replied. “As far as I am aware, you are the first Templar that has ever been seen at Adele’s door.”
Eleven
It was late in the afternoon by the time Roget returned to the castle bail. He and Bascot had spoken to all of Adele Delorme’s patrons from a list Mistress Turner supplied and questioned them as to their whereabouts on the previous morning about the time that Agnes had seen a cloaked and hooded man enter the prostitute’s house. Every one of them had witnesses to their presence elsewhere, most having been at home with family members or household servants near at hand. A couple had already been at work-one in the chandlery shop he owned, the other in his premises in Parchmingate where he stocked a selection of writing implements and supplies. The assistants of both men vouched for their presence.
The captain knew that Camville would not be pleased with their failure to discover any trace of the man and dreaded giving the sheriff his report. Apart from knowledge of the time the cloaked figure had entered the prostitute’s house, there was nothing else. When Roget left Bascot to make his way back to the enclave, he saw the same look of frustration on the Templar’s face. There seemed to be nowhere else to search.
Gianni was in the ward when Roget came in through the castle gate and saw the dispiritedness in the captain’s eyes. The time for the evening meal was over and the boy had been on his way to the barracks to sit down in a quiet corner and complete some mathematical exercises that Lambert had given him. Gianni was now in the final stages of completing the Quadrivium, lessons in arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and music. Since a clerk would have little use for knowledge of the stars and their movements or be involved in entertaining a patron with his skill on a musical instrument, Lambert, who was tutoring Gianni under John Blund’s direction, had skimmed over both of these subjects and was concentrating instead on mathematics, for a good command of arithmetic was extremely important if the boy was to become a competent clerk.
Now, as Gianni watched Roget trudge up the steps of the forebuilding and into the keep, the lad felt a fleeting pang of nostalgia for the time before his master had left to rejoin the Order. In all of the previous investigations the Templar had carried out, it had been Gianni who had been by his side, often helping his master to find some important scrap of information that led to a successful outcome. He touched the pieces of much-scraped vellum on which Lambert had written the questions Gianni was to study. The lad knew that after Roget had made his report to Sir Gerard, he would, as was his habit, come and share a cup of ale or wine with Ernulf. It was also probable that the captain would tell the serjeant of the people they had spoken to that afternoon about the most recent murder and what results, if any, had been gained. Gianni decided that he would take his papers into Ernulf’s cubicle and, as he had done earlier, listen to their conversation. He might not be able to accompany his former master and help him seek out the evil person who had killed those poor women, but hearing about the places the Templar had been and the information he had gleaned would go a little way to assuaging the exclusion Gianni felt.
In the preceptory, Bascot told d’Arderon of the paucity of evidence he and Roget had uncovered. The preceptor was a little heartened by the fact that the cloak clasp Agnes had seen was expensive.
“Even if it does not exonerate one of our brothers from having congress with these women, it does make it unlikely that it was a Templar who committed the crimes,” d’Arderon said. “No brother is allowed to retain any of his personal wealth once he has joined the Order, although…” The preceptor gritted his teeth and did not finish what he had been about to say.
Bascot knew what d’Arderon’s unspoken thought had been. It had been over eighty years since the Templar Order had been founded and, since that time, the number of brothers had grown from a sparse few to many hundreds scattered over all the lands of Christendom. With such an influx of initiates, and despite the Order’s attempt to ensure that all applicants were free from the taint of worldly desires, it was impossible to ensure that every brother took his oath with complete sincerity. If an initiate found himself to be apprehensive of the abject state of poverty the Order required of its brethren, it would not be difficult to secrete some coins or small items of jewellery in a scrip or saddlebag as security against a time of need. And to any man with enough evil in his heart to commit secret murder, the retention of a few valuables would seem a paltry sin by comparison.
D’Arderon gave a heavy sigh. “I do not see what more we can do until the answers arrive from the northern preceptories,” he said. “And, if the replies contain no report of any of the newly arrived men having been punished for consorting with prostitutes, we are at a standstill.”
“Not necessarily, Preceptor,” Bascot replied and gave voice to the thought that had occurred to him after he left Roget and was on his way back to the enclave. “It may be that we have been misled, deliberately or otherwise, away from the true provocation for these crimes.”
“What do you mean?” d’Arderon asked in surprise.
“The occupation of both of the murdered women has led us to believe that the betrayal signified by the silver coins and the cross carved on Adele Delorme’s torso is concerned with harlotry. But perhaps the victims were prostitutes because, by the very nature of the trade they ply, they are easy targets for violence. Harlots are accustomed to entertaining men who are strangers and would not be wary of being alone in the company of a man they do not know. If that is so, it might be that the murderer is not accusing the Templar brethren of lechery, but of a falsity of an entirely different nature.”
Bascot paused for a moment before expanding on the notion that had come to him. “Have you, in recent months, had any disagreement with someone who is dependent on the Order for their livelihood? A supplier perhaps, whose goods have proved to be shoddy? Or someone who has protested the loss of part of an inheritance because a piece of property, or a sum of money, has been donated to the Order?”
The preceptor gave his full consideration to the question but, in the end, shook his head. “None that I can recall. There are always minor complaints from time to time-the cook declares that some of the vegetables lack freshness, or the wheelwright grouches that some of the wood we purchase from a timber yard in the town has not been properly seasoned. But these are all minor matters and usually resolved amicably.”
“Has anyone recently deposited monies with you in exchange for a note of credit?” Bascot asked.
It was not uncommon for travellers, fearful of robbery while on their journey, to leave funds in the care of the Order in exchange for a receipt which, when they reached their destination, could be presented to a preceptory in the area for the stipulated sum. To cover the cost of handling the money, and to avoid the sin of usury, the amount declared was always lessened by a small percentage. It was just possible that someone who had undertaken one of these transactions now felt he had been betrayed, perhaps through loss of the receipt to provide authorization for release of the funds.
“There have only been one or two such requests in the two years I have been in Lincoln,” d’Arderon replied. “And, as far as I am aware, neither gave cause for concern. If you wish, you may go through our records. It might be that something has escaped my memory but I am sure, if there was something that caused a heavy grievance, I would remember it.”
