Bascot interjected with question of a different nature. “How did it come about that you felt a desire to join our Order? Was it at your father’s urging, or that of some other relative?”
Alan’s face relaxed. He was still filled with the zeal that had prompted him to make an application to be accepted into the Templar ranks and it showed on his youthful countenance. “ ’Twas our village priest who encouraged me and wrote the letter I took to the preceptor at Temple Hirst. Father William saw me practising at the butts in our village and said I was a fine archer and should use the talent God gave me to protect Christian pilgrims from the infidel. He prayed with me for some weeks, wanting to be sure I truly felt a calling. But as soon as Father William made the suggestion to me, I knew it was right for me to do so. I saw Our Blessed Lord in my dreams that very same night, beckoning me to come forth and do battle against His enemies.”
There could be no doubt of the young man’s sincerity. It radiated from him like a beacon. Emilius next posed a question of a more blunt nature.
“Do you find it difficult to keep your vow of chastity?”
Alan’s florid face turned an even brighter red and he stumbled over his answer. “I’ve never lain with a woman, sir,” he replied.
“That does not answer my question,” Emilius pressed. “It would be understandable if you did. Sometimes a man’s natural urges are overwhelming.”
This time Alan’s answer was more forthright, and he squared his shoulders before he replied. “My father is a pious man and explained to me, when I was a young boy, that it is sinful to lie with a woman outside of marriage. I will admit there were occasions when I had unclean thoughts about one of the girls in my village, but I went to our priest and confessed, and he gave me absolution. Once I decided to see if the Order would accept me, our Lord purged my soul of desire.”
He turned and spoke directly to d’Arderon. “If I am suspected of causing the murder of those women, Preceptor, I swear to you by Christ’s holy name that I am innocent.”
So earnest was his reply that d’Arderon nodded his head and dismissed him. Once the young man-at-arms had left, the preceptor asked Bascot and Emilius if they thought he was telling the truth, not only about the harlots, but about knowing Robert Scallion.
“I would think so,” Bascot said slowly. “He could easily have denied all knowledge of the trader. The fact that he didn’t implies he is not lying. As for the murders, I think he is too ingenuous to have practised the deception required to kill them.”
“And you, Emilius?” d’Arderon said. “What is your impression of him?”
“I agree with de Marins. And I must admit that the boy has restored my faith in the integrity of our brothers. He is young yet, and artless, but his devotion to our Lord is genuine. His faith will not be weakened by maturity, but strengthened, as it should be.”
Hoping the draper’s conviction proved to be a true one, d’Arderon sent for the other man-at-arms, Thomas of Penhill. This soldier was a seasoned Templar. Although he had never been posted to active duty in foreign lands, he had been in the Order for ten years and, besides his skill with horses, had shown on the training ground that he had more than a passing ability with a short sword. He was of average height, well-muscled in shoulder and arm, with hair of bright red that contrasted with the darkness of the neatly trimmed beard that covered his chin. He stood easily in front of the preceptor, his back erect and manner deferential.
His father had been a farrier who had sometimes been called upon to help with shoeing the horses in the Penhill preceptory. Thomas had joined the Order in the year that King Richard had mounted his Crusade in the Holy Land, caught up in the fervour that had swept through Christendom at that time.
“I was five years at Penhill preceptory and was then ordered to join the enclave at Temple Hirst,” he said. “When I first joined the Order I had hoped to be sent to Outremer, but it did not happen. But even though I have never been on active duty,” he told them, “not a day has gone by when I regretted my decision to become a Templar. While I care for the mounts that go to our brethren in Outremer and Portugal, I know that Lord Jesus has blessed me with my skill so that I may ensure only those animals with the best of strength go to aid our men. When I was told that I was to be sent to Portugal, I rejoiced, for it seems a sign that God is pleased with my efforts and is rewarding me by sending me to a post where I can take an active part in defending our faith.”
When asked about his trips to Faxfleet, Thomas answered readily, saying he had often gone there, not only with horses but sometimes with bales of wool that had been sheared from sheep on Templar properties in Yorkshire. The name of Robert Scallion meant nothing to him, he said, for the mounts were, without exception, put aboard galleys belonging to the Order and the wool was always taken by the same vessel, one belonging to a trader that had a contract with the Templars to deliver it to Flanders. That trader had not been Scallion.
The two officers and Bascot accepted his explanation and then asked if he had ever been to Lincoln in the days before he had joined the Order and, if so, had he visited any prostitutes within the town.
Thomas, a mature man, was not embarrassed by the nature of the second part of the question as the guileless young Alan had been. He told them he had never been to Lincoln before in his life and that his village, like the Penhill preceptory, was far from any town that was large enough to have a brothel.
“There was a girl in my village that I tumbled a couple of times when I was a young lad,” he replied frankly, “but I’ve kept the vow I made on my initiation. I’ll admit that at first I didn’t find it easy, but ’tis like any other temptation-if you don’t give in to it, the urge goes away in time.”
After d’Arderon dismissed him, he looked questioningly at the draper and Bascot.
“I think that Thomas, like Alan, is also telling the truth,” Emilius said. “I am sure that neither of these men is involved in the murders, either through an act of lechery, or a desire for revenge because of Scallion’s death.”
The preceptor and Bascot agreed, although privately Bascot knew that those responsible for the commission of secret murder usually possessed great deviousness and would find it easy to mislead others. He was not completely sure that both of the men-at-arms were innocent, especially Alan, who had admitted to being away from his pallet during the hours Elfreda was murdered. He could be masking his guilt behind a naive demeanour. Bascot was, therefore, relieved when d’Arderon did not change his decision to delay the departure of the contingent for another few days.
In the town, Roget began his enquiry about a possible sighting of Askil or Dunny within the confines of Lincoln. First he went to the brothel where Elfie had worked and asked Verlain and the other prostitutes if any of them had ever had a customer, or if Elfreda had ever mentioned meeting a man, that had eyes of different colours, one blue and the other brown. He also gave them a physical description of Dunny, describing his slim frame and manner of speaking. The stewe-keeper and all the prostitutes had shaken their heads, assuring the captain they would have remembered such a peculiarity as Askil’s if they had ever seen or heard of such a rarity and, as far as they knew, none of their customers were seamen. From the bawdy house, Roget went to visit the childminder Terese and asked her the same. She, too, shook her head in negation.
Discouraged, Roget went to Danesgate and knocked at the door of the home belonging to the perfumer, Constance Turner.
Constance answered the door herself and seemed relieved by his appearance. “I am glad you are here, Captain,” she said, inviting him inside. “I hope you have come to tell me the man who murdered my neighbour has been apprehended.”
Reluctantly, Roget told her he had not. The perfumer’s smile was as lovely as he remembered, and so was the warmth in her soft brown eyes. He knew that Constance was not a woman who would be interested in a casual dalliance and, for the first time in his lecherous life, found himself longing for the company of a female without considering whether or not she was beddable.
“No, mistress, I am afraid the villain who murdered Adele has not yet been found,” Roget said. “But you must not be fearful; one of my guards has been on constant watch near your house, both during the day and at night. It would be impossible for him to get into your home.”
“I know you have kept your promise, Captain,” Constance replied. “I have seen your men outside, but it is not for myself that I am concerned, it is my maid Agnes. She will not leave the house, not at all, not even if I go with her. At night, and during the day, she bars the front door and the back entrance for fear the man she saw outside Adele’s door will come in and kill her, just as he did my neighbour. I have been forced to go and get our bread and other food myself and, by the time I return, she is in a terrible state, shaking with fear and crying lest I have been murdered while I was gone. Not only am I concerned for her sanity, she is upsetting my customers with her weeping and wailing and, since you instructed me not to speak of what Agnes saw, it is most difficult to convince
