MAureen Ash - A Deadly Penance

As Bascot and Gianni came through the door, Hacher rose from his seat, and, with a hopeful raising of his sparse eyebrows, enquired how he could be of assistance. When the Templar related why he had come, gloom once again settled over the barber-surgeon’s features, but he confirmed that Aubrey Tercel had come to him twice over the weeks since Christ’s Mass, and had his hair trimmed both times.

“He was a fussy customer,” Hacher added dolefully. “Complained I hadn’t cut his hair short enough the first time and declared he wasn’t prepared to pay the cost of a second trimming. But he did buy some scented oil to keep his locks smooth, so I suppose I gained some profit from his patronage.”

“While you were attending to his needs, did he make any mention of acquaintances he had made in the town?” Bascot asked. “Perhaps a lady whom he wished to impress?”

Hacher thought for a moment. “He didn’t say much, just told me he was only in Lincoln until Eastertide and was in the retinue of Lady Nicolaa’s sister. The next time he came, he said he was in a hurry, and we spoke little.”

“Are you sure he said nothing else-where he was going after he left your shop, for instance?” Bascot pressed.

When the barber gave a woeful shake of his head, the Templar and Gianni, disappointed, left the shop. But once they were again out in the street, Bascot paused for a moment. “Hacher’s information does not help us much,” he said to Gianni, “but it does give us some indication of Tercel’s personality. It appears he was a vain man, and parsimonious with it. You must have seen him while he was staying at the castle, Gianni. What was your impression of him?”

Gianni immediately struck a pose, arms akimbo, feet wide apart and head thrown back. The implication was obvious and confirmed Bascot’s judgement of Tercel’s conceit.

The Templar smiled at the boy’s mimicry, but it quickly faded as he thought that the man the boy was parodying was now dead. A coxcomb he may have been, but he did not deserve to have his life taken by another.

He looked at the other name on the piece of parchment Gianni had given him. “The chandler’s shop is on Mikelgate, between here and Adgate’s premises. We will go there first and then to the furrier’s.”

As Bascot and Gianni were on their way to the candle makers, the five young foundlings destined to be taken to Riseholme were being shepherded into a capacious wain. The day before, after spending the previous night sleeping on straw in the stables, they had all been thoroughly washed by the castle laundress in the room where she kept a large vat of water boiling to wash the napery used in the hall. The washer-woman was a raw-boned female with arms that swelled with muscle. For all her frightening appearance, she had been gentle with the children, lathering them with soap made from wood ash and tallow and sluicing them down with warm water before she removed the lice from their undernourished bodies. She had then clad them in warm clothes-remnants of old servants’ tunics cut down to smaller sizes by the castle sempstresses-and given them a bowl of warm broth to eat. Now, their pitifully thin frames wrapped up against the cold and their shrunken bellies filled, they were to be taken to their new abode.

They were all frightened. The youngest, a girl of about five years of age, was weeping and clinging to the hand of her sister, a girl only a couple of years older than she. The pair had recently lost their only protector, an elder brother who had succumbed to a fever, and both were frightened at being sent to live among strangers. The older sibling was valiantly trying to present a brave face for the sake of her little sister, but her lower lip began to tremble as a castle maidservant instructed them to get up into the back of the cart that was to take them to Riseholme.

As the five-year-old was lifted up, she began to wail. “We’s not bein’ taken to be murdered, are we, like that man that was killed?” she cried out in terror. All of the children cringed as she gave voice to her fear. The third girl in the group, a child of about seven who answered every question put to her with only a shake of her head and a muttered “Dunno,” abandoned her resolute silence and let out a small moan.

It was oldest of the boys that brought calm to the situation. He was a ten-year-old named Willi with a thatch of hair the colour of carrots and freckles sprinkled liberally over the bridge of his nose. As the maidservant fussed and tried to comfort the girls, he took the smallest one by the hand and said stoutly, “Don’t be daft, little ’un, ’course they ain’t going to kill us. Now, stop your grizzlin’ and do as you’re told.” Mollified, the child took his hand and allowed herself to be lifted up onto the bed of the cart.

The maidservant gave him an approving smile and guided the other children up into the wain before climbing up beside them. Willi and the only other lad in the group, a blond-haired boy named Mark, a couple of years younger than Willi, moved a little apart from the girls and the maidservant, sitting on the floor of the cart with their backs to the driver.

As the equipage trundled out of the castle gate and headed north on the two-and-a-half-mile journey to Riseholme, Mark spoke to Willi in a whisper.

“You don’t reckon that girl is right do you, and that we’re all going to be murdered once we get to wherever we’s goin’?”

“ ’Course not,” Willi replied firmly. “D’you think it likely they’d have given us food if they wus going to kill us? Be a waste of good grub, that would.”

Mark saw the wisdom in his words, but remained unconvinced, the intelligent blue eyes in his bony little face screwed up in concentration as he did so. “Still,” he said finally, “there wus a murder in the castle t’other night and it must’ve been someone in the ward that done it.” Keeping his voice low so the girls would not hear, he added in a whisper, “How do we know the murderer ain’t the groom that’s drivin’ this cart? Or that maidservant they sent along with us?”

“ ’Cos I saw the murderer, that’s why, and it wasn’t either of these two,” Willi replied, keeping his voice low so that neither the maidservant nor the groom would hear what he said.

Mark’s eyes grew round. “You saw him? When was that then?”

“When they wus takin’ us across to the stables. I saw someone comin’ out of that old tower on the other side of the bail. All wrapped up in a cloak and skulkin’ along in the shadows. Can’t think of any reason for a person to be actin’ like that if they wasn’t doin’ anythin’ wrong. Must of been the murderer.”

“Are you goin’ to tell anyone about it?” Mark asked fearfully.

“Why should I? It’s nuffink to do with me.”

“You might get some extra food if you wus helpful,” Mark suggested. “They’d be right pleased if you told them what you knows.”

“Nah,” Willi replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “They’d only start askin’ me all kinda questions and I wants to keep my head down low ’cause I’se not staying long at this place they’re takin’ us. I only come with the priest that brought me to the castle ’cause I was hungry. Me da said I wus to wait where he left me and if he comes back and finds me gone, he’ll give me a right good thrashin’ for not doin’ what I wus told.”

“How comes you’re here if you’ve got a da?” Mark asked in puzzlement. “All the rest of us is orphans. The priest where I went to get alms asked me that partiklar like. Said I couldn’t go to the home if I had someone to look arter me.”

“I lied, didn’t I?” Willi replied breezily. “My da went lookin’ for work and told me to stay where I wus and get alms from the priest at St. Peter’s church. He said he’d only be gone a day or two, but he was gone longer than that and I wus starvin’ so bad my stomach hurt. So when the priest asked me if I had a ma or da, I told him I didn’t so’s I’d get somethin’ to eat. But I didn’t ’spect I’d be sent to the castle, nor that I’d be taken outside the town, so I’m not gonna stay at this place they’re takin’ us for long. Soon as I gets a chance, I’m goin’ back to Lincoln so’s I can find my da.”