“I will be glad to see him back, de Marins,” Roget said. “It is a little quieter in the town now that the potter has been arrested, but the citizens are anxious for him to be punished and are becoming unruly in their impatience.”
The captain rubbed his hand across his thick beard, causing the copper rings threaded in its strands to tinkle with a musical sound as they pushed together. “I must admit I would like to gut that batard myself. Even if it is my duty to keep him safe from those who would punish him, I have more than a little sympathy with them.”
Bascot understood the captain’s acrimony, especially after seeing the little body of Juliette le Breve and hearing Nantie’s witness of how the child had died. He felt the same way himself.
It occurred to the Templar that Roget might be able to help him discover whether Ivor Severtsson had been guilty of assaulting Rosamunde, and he asked the captain if he knew the bailiff.
Roget shook his head. “I have seen him about the town once or twice, but I have never spoken to him,” he replied.
“I would like to find out if there is any truth to the potter’s charge that Severtsson raped his daughter,” Bascot said. “Whether he did or not has no bearing on Wilkin’s guilt, for the potter believed it was so whether it is true or not, but I promised the preceptor I would look into the matter.”
Roget nodded his head in agreement. The captain was an unabashed lecher, but Bascot knew that, like himself and d’Arderon, he had little regard for any man who would sexually assault a woman.
“I would be interested to know if any women of the town are acquainted with him and have an opinion of his… proclivities,” Bascot said.
The captain gave him a straight look. “You mean you want me to ask the bawds in Butwerk if he is capable of rape, do you not?”
“Or any other women of the town who are known to give their favours lightly,” Bascot replied. “I am sure you are acquainted with more than one or two of that sort.”
Roget gave a wry grin. “That is true,” he admitted. “I will do as you ask, de Marins. Any man who would force a woman to his will needs to be revealed as the cochon he is.”
Bascot thanked Roget and resumed his walk back to the castle. The Templar knew it was a sin to harbour a desire to bring discredit to another, but if Ivor Severtsson was guilty of rape, it would give him great satisfaction to prove it.
Nineteen
Nicolaa’s hope that her husband would return soon was granted the next morning when, just before the hour of Sext, Gerard Camville, at the head of his retinue, rode into the bail. All of the horses were covered in a coating of dust, as were the cloaks the riders wore. The sheriff was a massive man, with muscles swelling at neck and thigh, and the stallion he rode was of the same large proportions. On his face was a bellicose scowl, and he glared about him as he rode up to the steps of the forebuilding and dismounted. Behind him was his son, the hood of his mail coat pushed back in the warmth of the morning air to display the flaming red hair that he had inherited from his mother.
The rest of the entourage rode to the stables and wearily got down from their steeds and gave them into the care of the grooms. The messenger Nicolaa had sent with news of Wilkin’s incarceration was with them, having met his lord as the sheriff was on his return journey.
All of them followed Gerard Camville into the hall, and servants were sent in haste to bring food and drink for the returning travellers.
Barely an hour later, a page came to summon Bascot to the sheriff’s chamber, and when Bascot mounted the stairs and knocked on the door of the room, he was surprised to find that it was not Gerard who awaited him, but his son, Richard.
The room he entered was slightly larger than Lady Nicolaa’s and strewn with belts, boots and tack for horses. Against one of the walls was a substantial bed, laid with a coverlet of wolf skin. Here there was no sign of parchment or the implements of writing; Camville was numerate, but his literacy was minimal, and he depended on his wife to attend to the many details that were involved in managing their vast demesne. Although, as her husband, he was lord over all of the possessions she had inherited from her father, he was an indolent man and was content to leave the administration of their lands to her, preferring to devote his time to the pleasures of the hunt. Included in the inheritance she had received from her father was the constableship of the castle, and despite the fact that Gerard nominally held the office, it was Nicolaa who was viewed as castellan throughout all of Lincoln. Both she and her husband were content that it should be so.
But the office of sheriff was viewed by Gerard in a different light. The post was a lucrative one, and he took his duties seriously and guarded his rights jealously. Any person who was misguided enough to break the laws that he upheld and foolish enough to get caught would reap his punishment quickly and without any show of mercy. The fate of Wilkin now resided in his hands.
Richard was sitting at a table that was laid with a chessboard and chessmen, a magnificent set that had been given to his father by the Henry II, sire of both King Richard and King John. Gerard was an avid player and valued the set highly; he had been a familiare, or close companion, to King Henry, and still mourned his loss even after the passage of so many years. The chess pieces were of carved oak; half of them were stained and polished until they were almost black, and the other half had been left in the natural colour of the wood and covered with only a protective coating of oil. Each of the pieces had been set into a base of precious metal, the squat men-at-arms in pewter, the bishops, knights and castles in silver and the monarchs in gold. The board on which the pieces were set was a thick slab of oak, the surface inlaid with alternating squares of light and dark wood and the edges carved with a motif of scrolled leaves. The arrangement of the pieces indicated that a game was in progress, with a couple of men lying to one side after having been captured and the others in various positions on the board. It seemed as though the white side was losing; the black men-at-arms were fast encroaching on the king, and one of the two white knights had been taken.
The sheriff’s son looked up from his study of the pieces and greeted Bascot civilly before offering him a cup of wine. “Do you play chess, de Marins?” he asked.
“I used to play with my father many years ago,” Bascot replied, accepting the proffered cup, “but not since then.”
“Ah yes,” Richard said. “It is frowned upon by the church for its warlike aspects, I know, and because many are foolish enough to lose large sums wagering upon the outcome. I assume the Order does not allow it to be played within their ranks?”
Bascot shook his head. “It is not banned, lord, but it is not often that any of the brothers have time to enjoy a game.”
Richard picked up a white rook and fingered it thoughtfully. “My father and I began this match before we left for London.” He gave a regretful smile. “I have never beaten him yet, and it looks as though I will lose again this time.”
The Templar knew that Camville had rarely been bested at the game. Rumour had it that on one occasion he had lost a match to his wife, which had cost him the price of a gilded statue to St. Monica, the patron saint of mothers, for the castle chapel. Bascot did not know if the rumour held any truth, but there was a statue of the saint in the chapel.
Richard replaced the chess piece on the board and moved to take a seat in front of the small fire that had been lit in the huge grate on one side of the chamber, motioning Bascot to a stool nearby. The sheriff’s son then went straight to the heart of the matter he wished to discuss.
“My father is aware of all of the details concerning the recent deaths in Lincoln, de Marins, including the arrest of the potter, through the messages my mother sent. When the second missive reached us we were almost home, and after learning its contents, he decided that the matter must be dealt with swiftly in order that the townspeople will feel that justice has been served.”