“I can understand her feelings of guilt and desire for atonement,” Nicolaa said, “but surely she cannot have believed that such a deadly penance would be pleasing to God. Killing Tercel was an act inspired by the Devil, not heaven.”
Adgate looked at Petronille, his eyes directing one last unspoken plea to the mistress that had earned Margaret’s long-standing devotion. But, although she was moved by his earnestness, Petronille shook her head regretfully. “I cannot help her, Master Adgate. Murder is an evil act, no matter how well-intentioned.”
The furrier’s face fell at her words, and she added gently, “You must remember that Margaret’s crimes were not limited to the taking of her nephew’s life. She maliciously wounded my daughter’s maidservant and held a young boy hostage. I am sorry for your misery, but her crimes were cold and calculating and, much as it pains me to say of someone I previously held in high regard, I do not find her worthy of clemency.”
Adgate nodded dumbly, his face a mask of hopelessness, and Nicolaa, taking pity on the man, said reflectively, “I do think, however, that Edith Wickson deserves to be shown some charity. Throughout all of this matter, she has been the innocent party. Through no fault of her own she was viciously assaulted and now, after all of these years, the consequences of that terrible act have returned to cause further misery in her life.”
The castellan turned to her son. “As your father’s deputy, Richard, the final decision rests with you but I think, with circumspection, Edith’s name could be kept out of the proceedings at Margaret’s trial. Since it was the sempstress’ aim to shield her sister, I am sure she will agree if it is charged that she killed Tercel because of an unstated affront he had given her. If the judges wish to know more of the matter, it can be told to them in confidence.”
Richard considered the proposition for a moment, and then nodded his head. “Yes, Mother, I agree. Justice will still be served whether Mistress Wickson is mentioned or not. Father will have returned by the time the itinerant justices arrive in Lincoln for the next session of the assizes, but I do not believe he will have any objection to making it so once he has heard the details.”
Adgate was fulsome in his thanks and conveyed his gratitude both on his own behalf and that of Edith. “Nothing can alleviate the grief she feels for her son’s death and her sister’s part in it, but she has also been fearful that if her husband should discover her shameful secret, he will renounce her and thereby make their daughter, Merisel, suffer the pain of public ignominy. I am sure, when I tell her of your understanding, it will bring her some comfort.”
Thirty
Late the next morning, Nicolaa de la Haye was sitting in the solar with Petronille and Alinor when a servant entered the chamber bearing a letter from her husband, Gerard Camville. It had just arrived by messenger from London and said that the sheriff expected to return to Lincoln within a week.
“Gerard sent this before he received the despatch I wrote telling him about the murder,” she said to her sister. “But, nonetheless, it contains news that makes me relieved we discovered that your servant was not Lionheart’s bastard.”
Petronille and Alinor listened as she read out the portion of the letter to which she was referring. It had been written, at Gerard’s dictation, by a cleric, and explained in detail how reports had lately come to the capital from Falaise in Normandy, where the king had imprisoned Arthur, his legitimately born nephew, after capturing him when his young relative had made an attempt to seize Queen Eleanor. It was said that the king had ordered Arthur to be castrated and blinded, and so make it impossible for him to become a figurehead for those who would remove the crown of England from John’s head.
As her two companions listened in horrified silence, Nicolaa went on to say that the king’s instruction had been circumvented by the intervention of Hubert de Burgh, the noble into whose care John had given Arthur, but it was rumoured that the king now intended to remove his nephew from the baron’s custody and incarcerate his nephew at Rouen instead.
“Surely John does not still intend to carry out his threat,” Petronille exclaimed. “Arthur is his own blood kin; such cruelty would be unthinkable.”
The news saddened Nicolaa. She had always given John her support and, despite his mercurial temperament, knew that his motives were often misconstrued. Had the king, with his impetuous tongue, made the threat, but with no intention of carrying it out? She could imagine him, in anger, saying such a thing for, like his father before him, he was given to excessive displays of temper, and it was unlikely the remark had been more than a venting of his frustration with his nephew’s rebellious actions. If this was so, it was unfortunate he had not taken more care of those who heard him say it. John had many enemies, ones who would be only too pleased to repeat anything that would prove detrimental to his cause. She could only hope that the details of the incident had been exaggerated as they had passed from one to another but, even so, the king may have done himself more harm by voicing the threat than he would ever have gained if it had been carried out.
“Perhaps it is a blessing that Tercel died before he could make public his claim of royal kinship,” Alinor opined. “If it had remained unproven, the king might well have unleashed his anger on him in a similar manner to that with which he is threatening Arthur.”
Not wishing to dwell on the subject, Nicolaa did not reply and instead asked her niece how the injured maid, Elise, was faring. “She is still slightly feverish,” Alinor told her, “but the leech says she is out of danger, for which I am truly thankful.”
“If only I had remembered earlier who Tercel reminded me of when he first came into our service, I might have prevented some of this misery,” Petronille mused. “But it wasn’t until Simon Adgate was standing before us yesterday that I realised there was a family resemblance between Margaret and my cofferer, for it was also there in Adgate’s face. A certain cast of the cheekbones and the way the eyes are set-a subtle similarity, but there nonetheless. But I never connected it with Margaret’s feminine features; it was only when I saw the same expression on a man’s face that it came to me. If I had realised from the beginning that Margaret could be related to Tercel, especially when you were looking for his mother…”
Nicolaa reached over and patted her sister’s hand. “It was not discernment you were lacking, Petra, but knowledge; facts that were not evident until long past the time of which you are speaking. Please, do not judge yourself so harshly, but instead join me in giving thanks that Elise was not mortally wounded, and that the boy, Willi, suffered no hurt.”
Petronille was comforted by her sister’s words and asked, “What will you do with the lad now? He cannot be considered a candidate for the foundling home if he has a living parent.”
“I have sent Willi back to Riseholme with the assurance that instructions will be given to the keeper at the alehouse his father frequents that if the boy’s sire returns, he is to be given a message directing him to come to the castle to claim his son.”
She paused for a moment, recalling the boy’s white face when Bruet brought him back to the keep after the Templar had rescued him from Margaret’s clutches. He was so pale that the freckles on the bridge of his nose stood out like drops of blood. “The boy was content with my promise. I think he realises that his father has been gone too long to expect his safe return. The weather, until lately, has been so frigid that many of those who lack shelter out in the countryside have died of exposure and it could well be that his father has suffered a similar fate. But Willi was very brave and continues to hope, even though he knows his optimism is likely to prove unwarranted.”