“There’s been another murder,” the guard said in a strangled tone. “I just found a man’s body, near a midden just off Danesgate. His throat’s been cut from ear to ear. I’ve come to tell Captain Roget.”
“Do you know who the victim is?” Bascot asked.
The guard, a rough and burly individual with a nose that was so flat it must have been broken more than once, nodded his head.
“I don’t know his name, but I know who he is,” the guard replied. “He worked for one of the fishmongers in the market near Bailgate.” He looked at the Templar and grimaced. “He’s a right bloody mess, Sir Bascot. Not only was his throat cut, his belly ’ud been ripped open from neck to navel. Whoever killed him must be a vicious whoreson.”
Twenty-three
It wasn’t until late that evening, when Roget came into the barracks with a flagon of wine under his arm, that Bascot and Ernulf heard more about the murder of the fishmonger’s assistant. The Templar and the serjeant were sipping cups of ale in the cubicle Ernulf used for his sleeping place and Gianni was dozing on a stack of blankets in the corner when the captain arrived. The air was heavy with heat from the small fire that Ernulf had lit in a brazier to take the chill out of the air, and it had made the lad drowsy. When Roget pulled aside the leather curtain that screened the serjeant’s quarters from the rest of the barracks, Gianni stirred, rubbed his eyes and sat up.
“Faugh! My nose and mouth are full of the stench of death,” Roget exclaimed as he hooked a stool from a corner with his foot and sat down heavily. He poured himself a full measure of wine from the flagon and drank it down thirstily, then he wiped his mouth and beard on the sleeve of his tunic before he spoke again. “First we have that batard of a potter poisoning people all over the town, and now that he is finally penned up in a cell, there is a crazed butcher on the loose with a knife.”
“The guard told me that the stabbing was a brutal one,” Bascot said.
“Brutal is not the word for it,” Roget replied. “The body had been gutted like one of the fish the man sold in the market.” He raised eyes that were bleak. “There was not much blood around the wound on his neck, but the ground was awash with it. From the heavy bruises on his mouth and jaw I would think he was disembowelled first and then held down for a space before his throat was slit. He must have been in great agony before he breathed his last. He was only about twenty years of age. It is a terrible way for anyone to die, but especially for one too young to have yet tasted all the joys of life.”
Both Bascot and Ernulf were taken aback by the captain’s description of the injuries. They were all inured to the wounds that were inflicted in battle, but what Roget was describing went beyond the deathblows that were a necessary part of war; the extent of them spoke of a sadistic desire to give pain. All three were silent for a moment, and then Ernulf asked, “Any idea who did it?”
Roget shook his head. “His body had begun to stiffen by the time I got to where it was lying, so he must have been killed sometime last night after curfew. The guard who found him told me he had seen the dead man before, working for one of the mongers in the fish market, so I went over there and spoke to the man who had employed him. The monger told me the victim’s name was Fland Cooper and that Cooper lodged with a cousin who lives in Clachislide. The monger also said he hadn’t seen Cooper since he left work just after Vespers on the day he was killed.”
Roget took a mouthful of wine before he continued. “When I asked the monger if he knew of any enemies the lad might have had, he told me that Cooper had been dallying with one of the customers, a goodwife who lives in Spring Hill, and that maybe her husband had found out and taken his revenge for being made a cuckold.”
Ernulf nodded his head sagely. “He could be right. No man likes to have horns put on his head.”
Roget sighed. “So I thought, too, mon ami, until the fishmonger told me who the husband was.” At the look of confusion on the faces of his companions, he explained. “The goodwife is young, married to a prominent draper in the town who is old enough to be her grandfather. I have seen him walking with his wife when they go to attend Mass. He is small and shrivelled with age. Cooper was young and sturdy. The cuckolded husband would never have had the strength to overpower him.”
“Maybe he crept up on him and gave him a crack on the head first to knock him out, and then did the deed,” Ernulf suggested.
Roget shook his head. “No, mon ami, there were no marks on Cooper’s head. Not one lump or bruise. And, even if there were, it would have required great force to inflict the wound to the stomach and hold him down while he bled. The old man is too frail to have done such a thing.”
“What about Cooper’s relative, the cousin? Did he know anything?” Ernulf asked.
“The cousin is a woman. Name of Mary Gant,” Roget said.
“Is she married to a glove maker?” Ernulf asked, and when Roget nodded, he added, “I know the man, he has a good business.” Bascot was not surprised at the serjeant’s knowledge. He had an extraordinary memory for the names and faces of everyone who lived in Lincoln. “Did she know anything about Cooper that might help you find his killer?”
Roget gave a snort of disgust. “If she did, I doubt that she would care. Ah, she’s a hard woman, that one. She didn’t shed a tear when I told her about Cooper’s death, or how he had died. Said he had only lived with her for a few months and she only took him in because he had been without a home since his parents died in a terrible fire the summer before last. I think she was glad he would not be coming back.”
“I remember talk of that fire,” Ernulf said. “It happened at an alehouse out on the Wragby road. The ale keeper’s name was Cooper. The dead man must have been his son.”
“So the cousin told me,” Roget confirmed. “She said it was only because her husband took pity on Cooper that she had given him lodging. I think she would have left him to starve in the street but for that.”
The captain took another mouthful of wine before he went on. “Anyway, I asked her if she had seen Cooper last night. She said he came home after he had finished his work for the day, had something to eat and went out again. When I asked her if she knew of any enemies he might have had, she looked at me as though I was a piece of merde and said she had taken no interest in the company her cousin kept other than to make sure he did not bring any of them to her home.”
“As you say, Roget, a hard woman,” Ernulf opined.
“What does the sheriff intend to do about the murder now?” Bascot asked.
The former mercenary’s face grew morose. “I am to go to all of the alehouses along Danesgate tomorrow and find out if Cooper had been in any of them on the night he was killed and, if he had, the names of anyone he was seen drinking with. The sheriff thinks he was killed because of a drunken argument. He is probably right, but I do not have your talent, de Marins, for seeking out secret murderers. It will be an arduous task.”
Roget stood and wearily rubbed a hand across the scar that ran down one side of his face. “Well, mes amis, I must seek my bed. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
After Roget had left, Bascot called to Gianni and told Ernulf that he and the boy were going to retire as well. As the pair left the barracks and began to cross the bail, the Templar felt relieved that it was Roget and not himself who would be investigating the murder of the fishmonger’s assistant. Like the captain, he was weary of death.
Twenty-four
The next morning Bascot went to the scriptorium and spoke to John Blund about furthering Gianni’s education, asking the secretarius for his advice as to whether it would be best for the boy to attend a schola in Lincoln town or hire a tutor for private lessons. Blund asked about the level of Gianni’s accomplishments and then suggested that Bascot give him a few days to look into the matter, saying he would see what places were available in the schools run by the some of the churches within the town or, alternatively, if there were any suitable clerks seeking pupils.