A Holy Vengeance (16 page)

When Bascot and Gianni left the solar, Roget came with them and waited while the Templar spoke to Ernulf and told him that, on Lady Nicolaa’s orders, he was to accompany them to Newark.

“I think it will be best, Roget,” Bascot said while Ernulf went to get provisions for their journey, “if you do not go to Dern’s alehouse until after we have spoken to Ferroner’s maidservant so you can report the result of the interview to Lady Nicolaa before we return.”

Roget agreed and a few minutes later they all rode out of the ward, stopping at the town gaol for a few moments while the captain selected two guards to accompany him to the alehouse.

The day was, again, a fine one, although there was a little lessening in temperature. A cool breeze wafted over the small contingent as they made their way down Mikelgate and through Stonebow gate.

Roget and his men waited with Ernulf a little way from the armoury while Bascot and Gianni went around the perimeter of the workshop and onto the path that led to Ferroner’s house. His employees were all visible through the open shutters on the side of the building but none took any notice of their passing.

“I did not see the armourer in the workshop, so he must not yet have returned to work,” Bascot remarked to Gianni after scanning all of the men that were inside. “If he is in his house, we shall have to ask his permission to interview his maidservant alone. She may not be so forthcoming in his presence.”

When they knocked on the door, it was answered by a dour-faced woman in her middle years. Bascot asked her if she was Thea, the woman who held the post of Ferroner’s housekeeper.

“I am,” she told him. “My niece told me of your earlier visit. But if you wish to see the master again today, he is not here. He is at St. Thomas’ church making funeral arrangements for his daughter. She is to be buried tomorrow morning.”

“It is you I have come to see, mistress. You were absent when we were here before and so your statement was not taken along with the rest of your master’s employees. We are here to do that now.”

With a downturned movement of her lips, which Bascot took to be her agreement, she led them into the hall and remained standing as Bascot seated himself at the table and Gianni readied his tablet and stylus to take notes. At Bascot’s instruction to take a seat across from him, Thea seemed a little uncomfortable at not remaining upright in the presence of a man of his rank, and it was with reluctance that she did as she was bid.

“I fear you have had a wasted journey, lord,” she said brusquely once she was seated. “I have been told of the questions you asked the others and have nothing to add to the answers they gave. I am not aware of anyone who bore Master Ferroner’s daughter any enmity, nor had any reason to wish her dead. I believe what the people in the town are saying is true; she was killed by the Devil or a man possessed of a demon—may God protect the rest of us from such evil—for she had no enemies at all.”

“Her murder must still be investigated, mistress, and every witness to her daily routine questioned,” Bascot said to her carefully. “Since you were absent on the previous occasion, I have come to take your testimony now.”

With another downward turn of her mouth, she accepted his explanation and said, “What is it you wish to ask me, lord?”

“You were in close company to your mistress here in the house, and also to her husband,” Bascot said, “and, because of that, had ample opportunity to witness the relationship between them. I have already been told they were not complaisant with each other. Did you ever hear them argue?”

Thea shook her head. “The mistress was beguiled by her husband. Even if she had cause for anger, she would never have voiced it.”

“And did she have cause, in your opinion?”

The housekeeper hesitated for a moment and then, in a low voice, said, “Will Master Ferroner be told of what I say, lord? I ask this not because I fear his censure, but because I do not wish to cause him more sorrow.”

“If your information proves to have no connection with Mistress Ferroner’s death, her father will not be apprised of it,” Bascot promised her.

With a curt nod, Thea spoke. “When the master was not present, Wiger treated Mistress Emma uncharitably. Often I would hear her sobbing in their bedchamber in the morning after he and Master Ferroner had left for work and, more than once, when Wiger did not think I could overhear him, I heard him berate her for not conceiving a child. He played the lickspittle to both her and the master until he and Mistress Emma were wed, and even for a few months afterwards, thinking himself assured of reaping the rewards of the master’s fortune once a child was born. Then, when it seemed she might be barren, he took his disappointment out on her.”

The Templar was disgusted at Wiger’s cruelty, but carefully kept his countenance smoothed of emotion. “Do you think he took a lover?” he asked.

Thea shrugged. “He may have done, for he was often out in the evenings, but I have no proof that would attest to it. I did see him once in the company of another woman, down near the salt market, with whom he seemed to have an easy familiarity, but that does not mean she was his lover. “

“The woman you saw him with, did you recognize her?”

“No, lord, I did not.”

“Can you describe her for me?”

“As far as I can remember, she was handsome, and about Mistress Emma’s age, I would judge, or maybe a year or two older. Tall, I recall, and with a flamboyant air about her.”

“What about the colour of her hair or eyes, did you notice?”

“Not really, lord,” Thea replied, and then frowned in concentration. “It was a cold day and her hair was covered with a hood, but her eyebrows were dark, I think, so I suppose her hair must have been of the same hue—brown or maybe auburn. And I was too far away to see the colour of her eyes.”

Bascot stood up. The description could fit any one of a number of women in Lincoln, but the Templar was glad to have it all the same. “You have been very helpful,” he said to her. “If you recall anything more that might be relevant, send a message to Lady Nicolaa at the castle and she will arrange for it to be taken down as witness.”

The maidservant gave another of her curt nods, and the Templar and Gianni left the house and went back to where Roget and Ernulf were waiting.

After a brief conversation with Bascot, Roget stood and watched as the Templar and his companions rode off in the direction of the Fosse Way, the road that led to Newark. Then, with an evil grin, he turned to the two men he had brought with him. Lady Nicolaa had said not only to arrest the alekeep, but to press him hard, and he intended to do just that. All of the town guards under the captain’s direction were rough and intimidating, but he had chosen the two most fearsome to accompany him today. One was a burly individual named Ivo, a bull-necked, bald-headed individual who closely resembled a mastiff; the other was a tall hulking youth of Saxon heritage with a long blonde moustache called Cerlo. The latter’s ability with the double-headed Saxon axe that he wore at his belt was legendary.

“When we go inside this
chien
’s premises,” he said to them, “bar the door and let no one leave. After that, wait for my direction.”

His two henchmen nodded and followed their captain the short distance along the path to Dern’s alehouse. When they went inside, there were only a few patrons seated at the tables, for the day was early yet. Those that were there, by their appearance, seemed to be mainly barge owners from the riverbank, while a couple of men whose clothes were dusted with a light sprinkling of flour appeared to be bakers taking a brief respite after their early morning labours of tending ovens. In one corner, a young man sat all on his own, his clothing lightly dusted with ash, signifying he must work at the nearby soap manufactory. Roget thought he might be one of those who had been there on his previous visit with the Templar, but he could not be certain. All of them looked up in alarm when Roget and his men’s walked in, especially after Ivo slammed the door shut and placed a locking bar across it. Many of the patrons had started to rise as though to leave when the captain and his guards had first appeared, but when they saw that escape was impossible, they sank nervously back down onto their seats.

Roget, taking his time, strolled up to the counter where Dern stood, and the alekeep backed up a few paces, his eyes wary. Beside him a woman was standing but, unlike Dern, she regarded the captain with a defiant expression. She was a few years younger than the alekeep—the sister, perhaps, that Dern had deflowered at a very young age? Roget wondered—and was tall and handsome in a seductive way. She was obviously a prostitute, for her hair, long and bright auburn in colour, was uncovered—a manner in which no respectable woman would wear it—and fell in soft waves to her waist. The gown she wore was green, tight-fitting across her ample bosom, and cinched at the waist with a girdle of silver. Her face was painted; her lips were stained with carmine and a ring of kohl enhanced her dark brown eyes, but cosmetics could not hide the ruthless aspect of her visage.

The captain turned his attention to Dern. “I am here with an order for your arrest sanctioned by Lady Nicolaa de la Haye. The charge against you will be that of pandering children. I am to search your premises, Dern, for proof that you have been forcing young females to work as prostitutes and, if you have, I swear before
le Bon Dieu
, your punishment will be a heavy one.”

With a swiftly barked order to Cerlo, Roget directed the guard to ascend the set of stairs at the back of the premises and bring down whomever he found in the rooms above.

The woman beside Dern began to protest vociferously, although the alekeep stayed silent. “You cannot do this,” she spat at the captain. “All of the girls that my brother hires out as bawds are willing to be here, whatever their age may be.”

As Cerlo had, by now, drawn his axe and was speeding up the stairs, Dern had already realised that any protest was useless. His demeanour was far different from the way it had been on Roget’s previous visit to the alehouse; his urbane manner all but gone and his shoulders slumped in a dejected manner. “Leave it, Aliz,” he said to her wearily. “There is no use protesting; it will be in vain.”

Aliz rounded on her brother. “I will not leave it, you coward. Do you want our customers gone, our business ruined . . .”

Her recriminations were drowned out by a series of loud thumps and bangs from upstairs, mingled with the outcries of male voices. A few moments later, Cerlo reappeared, shepherding in front of him four people. The first to descend the stairs was a young harlot of about eighteen years of age wearing only a thin wrapper whom Roget recognised as the maid that had been serving ale to the customers when he and the Templar had come to the alehouse before. She had a bush of blonde hair tied back in a rough braid and weary eyes. Behind her was a man of about fifty, with grizzled hair and a thick jaw. He was naked from the waist down and his fine velvet tunic barely covered his nether regions. Following them was another man, fat, bare to the waist and struggling to hold up his untied hose. His pasty face was white with terror as he stumbled down the stairs. Last of all was a young girl of about nine or ten, her flat-chested frame barely concealed by a thin coverlet. Her long dark hair hung lank on her shoulders, and her lips were stained red with beet juice. On one of her cheeks could be seen the yellowing remains of an old bruise. With every step she took, Cerlo gently guiding her, she let out a great sob of terror.

A few of the patrons sitting in the chairs gasped at the sight of the little maiden. It was obvious such dubious pleasures were not known of, or available to, all, but only to a select few of the alekeep’s more debauched customers.

“Found this lot in two of the chambers upstairs, Captain,” Cerlo said to Roget, “and this filthy
nithing
,” he added, using the old Anglo-Saxon word for a wretch of the vilest sort, while giving the fat man a great shove so that he stumbled and fell to the floor, “was holding the little ’un down with his hand over her mouth while he took his pleasure of her. She was stark naked so I put a cover over her,” he added, his voice dripping with contempt.

Roget’s face darkened and an immense anger surged through him. He spoke first to the older prostitute. “Are you here willingly,
chérie
?” he asked.

With a shamefaced nod, she confirmed that she was and Roget told her to take the younger girl back upstairs and find proper clothing for them both. When they had gone, he looked at Cerlo. The huge Saxon had an unspoken question in his eyes, and Roget gave him a brief nod. With a quick movement, Cerlo grabbed the man that had been with the child and hauled him to his feet. When he was standing upright, the Saxon raised his arm and administered a backhanded slap that sent the man reeling. As he fell to the floor, Cerlo lifted his heavily booted foot and brought it down sharply on the man’s genital area. Ignoring the screams of pain that ensued, Cerlo administered another vicious kick to his private parts, and then did it once more for good measure.

“Don’t reckon he’ll be tempted to pleasure babbies again, Captain,” Cerlo said to Roget with satisfaction as the man writhed in agony and began to vomit. “Or ever be able to, God willing.”

Roget turned to the crowd of shocked customers. “All of you can leave now. Be warned by what you have just seen. The sheriff does not countenance child molesters in his bailiwick, and neither do I; the same punishment will be meted out to any who are discovered.”

There was a massive scramble among the patrons as they all leapt to their feet and made for the door. When Ivo unbarred the portal and threw it open, they nearly knocked each other over in their haste to depart.

By this time, the two harlots had come back downstairs. The older girl had donned the gown she had been wearing when serving ale, while the little one had on a kirtle that was far too big, but covered her decently.

“Do you know of anyplace where you can find a bed for the night?” Roget asked the older jade.

She shook her head miserably. “I ran away from my home—I used to live in a village near Canwick, south of the river—when my ma died and my da took another wife who was always thrashing me. I cannot go back there.”

Roget spoke to Dern, who was standing quietly beside Aliz, his face resigned. “Give me your purse, alekeep,” he ordered.

Dern removed the scrip at his belt and handed it to the captain. Roget loosened the drawstring and tipped the contents into his hand. There was a goodly quantity of silver coins, almost a pound in total. He put the money back in the purse and gave it to the harlot. “That will keep you in lodgings until you decide where you wish to go. If you want to continue being a doxy, there are far better stewes in Lincoln than this one.”

The prostitute’s eyes lit up as she took the money and she thanked Roget profusely before she hurried to the door and left. Her customer, his face as white as newly fallen snow, glanced nervously from the captain to the customer writhing in agony on the floor. His visage cheered considerably when Roget addressed him and said, “You seem to be a man of normal appetites, so I will release you. Take more care in the future as to which brothels you patronise.”

The man waited to hear no more. Gabbling his thanks, he ran to the door and went through it. Even half-garbed as he was, he was overjoyed to be free.

Roget now turned and beckoned to the little girl who was standing wide-eyed by Cerlo, her sobbing reduced to frightened hiccups. “How did you come to be here,
ma pauvre
?” he asked her gently.

“She brought me here,” she said, pointing to Aliz. “She came to my village and told my da she would pay him money to take me and train me to be her maidservant. But it was a lie; when I got here she made me go upstairs with an old man and lie with him. I kicked and screamed, but she held me down while he bedded me and, after he was done, she sent up another man. I tried to get away, but she always kept the door locked when I was alone, so I couldn’t.”

With a murderous glance at Dern and his sister, Roget told the little girl he would arrange for her to go back home, and to go and wait beside Ivo until he and his men were ready to leave. With a visible lightening of her features, she ran to the burly guard and stood close beside him.

Roget now turned to Dern and his sister. “So all of your young harlots are willing, are they?” he said to Aliz in a tone of barely controlled fury. “It would seem that you are a liar, mistress, just like your brother. And I have little patience with those who tell me falsehoods, and even less with those who are panderers of children.”

He spoke to Cerlo. “This place is a villainous lair. Smash it into firewood.”

The Saxon guard went to work with great pleasure, taking his axe first to the ale barrels and wine kegs that stood behind the counter, and then to the fine tables and chairs standing about the room. As splinters of wood flew through the air, and the mess of spilled wine and ale pooled into a huge puddle on the floor, Roget spoke to Dern and his sister.

“You are both under arrest, and will be taken to the castle gaol to await the sheriff’s justice. When the castle men-at-arms learn what you have done to that child, I doubt your stay there will be a pleasant one.”

Cerlo, finished with his task, and leaving the room a mess of destruction, ran up the stairs to perform a similar havoc on the chambers upstairs. When he was done, he and Ivo, with rough hands, escorted Dern and his sister outside, leaving the now unconscious paedophile on the floor. With a big smile on her face, the little girl who had been forced into prostitution trotted happily alongside Roget, her hand in his, comforted by his presence.