MAureen Ash - A Deadly Penance

Bascot arrived at the castle just after Terce. He had spoken at length with Richard Camville and Lady Nicolaa the afternoon before, relating the little he had learned from the barber-surgeons and the chandler before revealing his suspicions about Simon Adgate and telling them that he had commanded the furrier and his wife to come to the castle for further questioning at mid-morning. Nicolaa had requested that Bascot be present at the interview and the Templar had willingly consented. Now, as he left his horse in the castle stable and made his way into the hall, the Haye steward, Eudo, came forward and told him that the castellan and her son were in the solar and had asked that, when he arrived, he joined them there.

As Bascot went up the stairs in the western tower, Gianni came from the landing that led off to the scriptorium, his wax tablet in his hand. Together they ascended to the top storey, where the solar was located. When they entered the chamber they found Alinor seated alongside her aunt and cousin. From the purposeful set of her mouth, Bascot could see that she had been told of his suspicions about Clarice Adgate and agreed with them.

She gave him a smile as he took a seat beside her. “Well done, de Marins,” she said. “It would seem you have already discovered the murderer. Adgate’s wife must have been having an affair with Tercel and somehow the furrier managed to kill him for his trespass.”

Bascot shook his head. “I am not certain of that, lady, only that Adgate and his wife are hiding something. It may be,” he added, remembering the momentary look of revulsion on the furrier’s face as he touched his wife’s body, “that Clarice Adgate is the woman your maid supposed Tercel was involved with but, beyond that, it does not necessarily follow that her husband is the one who killed him. Adgate was overlooked for all the hours during which the murder was committed.”

“It could be that the furrier hired an assassin to do the deed for him,” Alinor opined.

“He certainly has enough wealth to do so,” Bascot agreed. “But surely such an act would be more easily accomplished within the confines of the town. And it would be a haphazard assassin that would not come armed with his own weapon and instead have need to take one from the castle armoury.”

As everyone nodded their agreement, Bascot leaned forward and spoke to Nicolaa. “Lady, I think it would be more profitable if we spoke to Adgate and his wife separately. When I spoke to her, she continually looked to the furrier for guidance. If it is her intimate connection with Tercel that the pair is hiding, she may be more forthcoming if he is not on hand to protect her from any reckless admission.”

Nicolaa nodded and, at that moment, a servant came into the solar and told the castellan that the furrier and his wife had arrived and were downstairs in the hall. “Send the woman up first,” she instructed the servant. “And tell the husband he is to wait below until he is called.”

A few minutes later Clarice Adgate came hesitantly into the room. She was dressed in a sober gown of dark grey and her coif was of plain white linen. The only ornamentation on her person was a simple gold chain about her neck bearing a small pendant etched with the image of the Virgin Mary. She fingered this nervously as she gave a small curtsey of deference to Lady Nicolaa and the other nobles. Her eyes flicked from one to the other in apprehension.

By unspoken agreement, the castellan began the questioning. The management of her huge demesne had given her years of experience in dealing with situations similar to this one, when it often became necessary to ferret out the truth between the conflicting claims of tenants and villeins.

“Mistress Adgate,” she said in a deceptively kind tone, “you have come here to answer further questions about the night my sister’s retainer was killed. Previously you stated that you retired early because you were feeling unwell. What was the nature of your indisposition?”

“My head was aching dreadfully, lady,” Clarice replied, relieved at the innocuous nature of the question. “It was the excitement of the day, I think, that brought it on.”

“And you went to the room you had been assigned, got into bed and immediately fell asleep?” Nicolaa went on.

“I did,” Clarice replied.

The castellan leaned slightly forward as she posed her next question. “I am surprised that slumber came so quickly when you were suffering such pain. Did you take a medicament to ease it?”

The question took Clarice by surprise and she stumbled over the answer. “A medicament? I… I… yes, I did. I had a potion with me, a draught of poppy juice.”

Nicolaa leaned back in her chair, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “I thought you must have done; that is what made you sleep so soundly. If you will give us the name of the apothecary from which you obtained it, we will have no further questions for you.”

Clarice’s face went white as she realised the trap into which she had been led. She was, as Nicolaa had said previously, a rather foolish woman. It had not taken a great deal of expertise on the castellan’s part to lead her in the direction they wanted her to go. “I do not know which apothecary it was, lady,” she replied, her lower lip beginning to tremble. “My… my husband got it for me.”

“Then I will send for your husband and ask him where he bought it. I am sure he will be able to provide us with the answer,” Nicolaa replied, raising her hand to motion to the servant standing at the door.

“No, lady, please!” Clarice burst out, her agitation increasing. “Simon will not know… I was mistaken… It was my maidservant that got it, not my husband…”

“I do not understand your confusion, mistress,” Nicolaa said sternly. “Juice of poppy is a powerful sedative; surely you can remember how you came by it. Or is it, perhaps, that you did not have any? That you did not go to the bedchamber because you were ill and needed to rest, but for some other purpose?”

Clarice burst into tears and the castellan pressed her advantage. “Aubrey Tercel was your lover, was he not?” Nicolaa charged ruthlessly. When the furrier’s wife nodded her head in a forlorn fashion, Nicolaa sought to confirm the details of their suspicions. “And the reason you left the hall early was not because you were ill, but to engage in dalliance in the very bed you were later to share with your husband?”

Clarice’s answer took them by surprise. “No, we did not meet in the guest chamber,” she said miserably. “Aubrey told me to come to another room, one at the top of the tower. He said it was safer there and that if my husband should decide to retire beforetime, he would not discover us together.”

Gianni and Bascot glanced at each other. There was only one chamber large enough to be used for such a purpose and it was one that the Templar and the boy had shared while Bascot had been staying in the castle before his return to the Order. And it was located just a few steps below the walkway that led to the ramparts.

Richard now took charge of the interrogation and spoke in harsh tones to the furrier’s wife. “You have lied to us, mistress, and I do not take it kindly. If you value your freedom, and your life, you had best tell us the truth.”

Clarice nodded and slowly the whole story came out. She had, she said, formed a friendship with Tercel shortly after Christ’s Mass when he had come to her husband’s shop to purchase furs on Lady Petronille’s behalf. Simon Adgate was often away from his premises while he went to the tanning pit he owned in the lower part of the town and it was at those times that Tercel had come to the shop and engaged her in conversation and, finally, enticed her to meet him in a room he had rented above an alehouse in the town. When the feast was proposed, her paramour had suggested Clarice take advantage of her husband’s preoccupation with the celebrations to join him in the old tower and she had agreed.