MAureen Ash: A Deadly Penance

With this final pronouncement, he swept out the door, his long-suffering clerk at his heels. Richard gave a mirthless chuckle. “His suggestion that I call on him is worthless. The only help Pinchbeck will give me is to sit by the warmth of his fire while he pontificates on the need for evidence, after which he will bid me go out and find some.”

Receiving no response from his mother, who was standing still and silent at his side, Richard glanced at her. “Are you alright, Mother, or is the cold too much for you?”

Nicolaa shook her head from within the depths of her fur-lined hood. “No, I am warm enough,” she answered. “I was just pondering on what Pinchbeck said about the Templar. His help in this would be most advantageous, Richard. As our lackadaisical coroner has just opined, Bascot de Marins has proved himself, in the past, to be unusually capable in solving crimes. I am wondering if he would be willing to lend us his assistance this time.”

“But the previous cases occurred while the Templar was in your service, Mother. Now that he has rejoined the Order, his allegiance lies elsewhere. It is most unlikely that Preceptor d’Arderon would give his consent for de Marins to become engaged in such an enterprise.”

Nicolaa gave her son a look that was filled with a glint of the inherent determination that had also passed down to her niece. “It will not hurt to ask, Richard. If one does not make any venture to gain an advantage, it will never be realised.”

At that moment, the templar knight of whom they were speaking was tallying columns of figures on a sheet of parchment in a small chamber in the Lincoln Templar enclave. He was of medium height and build and wore a leather eye patch over the socket of his missing right eye. Although not yet forty years of age, grey strands were already mingled with the dark hair on his head and in his beard, a legacy of the torture he had undergone while incarcerated for eight long years as a prisoner of the Saracens in the Holy Land. After escaping from his captors, he had returned to England and been sent to Lincoln castle to regain his bodily strength and his devotion to Christ, both of which had greatly diminished during his imprisonment and from the shock of learning that all of his family-mother, father and elder brother-had perished during his absence. Over the two years he had spent in the retinue of Nicolaa de la Haye, he had slowly recovered not only his health but also his faith and it had been at Eastertide of the year before that he had returned to the Templar ranks and been awarded the post of draper. It was a demanding position, and entailed assisting the preceptor, Everard d’Arderon, in overseeing the many properties that had been donated to the Order in the Lincoln area and helping train new initiates into the Templar ranks. Part of his duties included ensuring that all of the brothers were outfitted in a manner that conformed with the Order’s Rule and keeping an inventory of the clothing and equipment with which they were provided. During the summer months there was much activity within the enclave as supplies were sent to commanderies overseas and new entrants to the Order were trained for active duty, but now, in the depths of a cold spell that had descended on the middle and north of England for the last three weeks, there was little work to be done and Bascot was using the time to bring the enclave’s records up to date.

Despite the brazier burning in a corner of the small room, the air was cold and the Templar felt his fingers grow numb as he added up monies received for some of the commodities the Order traded in-precious spices that had been imported from Outremer and boiled sugar lumps called Al Kandiq, or candi, that were made from sweet canes in the Holy Land and had proved immensely popular with the English populace. As he totalled the column, he was gratified by the amount. The funds would be used to supply much needed arms and equipment to brothers in commanderies in Outremer and the Iberian Peninsula and assist them in forming the first line of defence against the persistent attempts of the infidel to encroach on Christian lands.

As he prepared to enter the sum into a ledger where the final totals were recorded, his thoughts drifted to Gianni, the mute Italian boy he had persuaded to become his servant as he had travelled back to England after his escape from the Saracens in 1199. Bascot had first come across the boy on a wharf in Palermo, in Sicily, while waiting for a boat that would take him and his mount on the final stages of the journey back to his homeland. The boy had been starving and near death from malnutrition. His pitiful state had tugged at Bascot’s heart and, after overcoming Gianni’s suspicions of his intent, he had convinced the lad to accompany him to England as his servant. They had arrived in Lincoln just over three years ago, in the depth of a winter that had been just as cold as the present one. Over time, Bascot had taught the lad to read and write and the boy’s quick intelligence had come to the notice of Nicolaa de la Haye. When the Templar had rejoined the ranks of the Order, she had taken Gianni under her protection and given him a place in her retinue, working as a clerk under the direction of her secretary, John Blund. Leaving Gianni behind when he rejoined the Order had been a wrench for Bascot, for he had come to love the lad almost as much as if he were his own son.

Bascot looked again at the profit that had been made from trade in the imported candi. Again his thoughts drifted to Gianni, for the boy loved the sweets. Although Bascot would have preferred to be overseas on active duty rather than stationed in Lincoln, it was some solace to him that his present posting meant he remained in close proximity to the boy. Although he did not often see the lad, the knowledge that he was nearby was a comfort.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden gust of cold air as the door was opened and Preceptor d’Arderon came in. D’Arderon was an older knight, now past his sixtieth year, who had spent many years on active duty in Outremer. His broad face was pinched with cold above his short greying beard.

“There is a message come from the castle,” the preceptor said as he walked over to the brazier and held out his hands to its warmth. “Lady Nicolaa has sent a request for your assistance in a murder investigation.”

“Someone in the town?” Bascot asked, laying down the quill he had been using.

“No,” the preceptor replied. “In the castle.”

Bascot’s face tensed and d’Arderon castigated himself for his clumsy speech. The preceptor knew how fond his fellow Templar was of young Gianni, and that his first concern at the news would be that the boy was in danger. Hastily, he reassured him that his fear was unwarranted.

“Gianni was not involved in the death. The man who was murdered was a servant in the retinue of Lady Petronille, the sister of the castellan. She and her daughter have been on a visit to Lincoln since just before Christ’s Mass. Apparently someone shot the servant with a crossbow up on the ramparts. Richard Camville has undertaken an investigation into the killing and, if you are willing, asks my permission for your assistance.”

It was late in the morning by the time Bascot left the preceptory outside the eastern wall of Lincoln town and rode through the Minster grounds in the direction of the castle. His duties were minimal at this time of year and d’Arderon had given his consent for Bascot to aid Richard Camville in the search for the person who had killed Aubrey Tercel.

“I can manage here while you are gone,” d’Arderon had said. “Although I will leave the rest of the accounting for your return,” he added with a wry chuckle. “That shall be your penance for being absent from your duties.”