For a moment the girl faltered, then she glanced once more at Brunner and, curling her arm so that it crossed her stomach, murmured, “I thank you, sir, for your offer. But there’s no need. I’ll stay where I am.”
“Are you free born?” Bascot asked. If she was a villein and tied to the land, she was committing a crime against her family’s lord by running away.
“I am, sir. That I promise you. I ran away because my mam died and my father married again. His new wife don’t like me and she beats me all the time. A week ago when she took a rod to me, I struck back at her and when my father came home he gave me the brunt of his fist for giving her an injury. So I left and joined up with a party of travellers coming to Lincoln for the fair.”
The girl’s attitude throughout had been one of extreme nervousness, but this last sounded like the truth and Bascot let it go. “This girl you met on the way here, was she with the other travellers?” The girl nodded. “Did she tell you her name or say where she was from?”
“No, sir, she did not. She said she was coming to meet her husband, that he was a mason and had sent for her to come and enjoy the fair with him. But I didn’t believe her. She didn’t look like a goodwife.”
“Why?” Bascot asked.
The girl looked down. “It were her clothes, sir,” she said, her voice so low Bascot had to ask her to repeat herself. “It were her gown, sir. That one you’ve got there. She had a light summer cloak over it, but I seen it plain and clear. No decent man would want his wife dressed in colours like those. It looks like a harlot’s gown and I reckon that’s what she was. Like I am now.” She lifted her shoulders and dropped them as though she had been defeated.
“When was the last time you saw her?” Bascot asked.
“The day we got to Lincoln, sir. About a week ago now. We all came through Stonebow gate, then each of us that were in the party went their own ways. The last I saw of her she was going up Mikelgate towards the upper part of the city.”
“Did she mention to you the name of anyone she knew? What her husband was called, perhaps, or on what building he was working?” The story could be true. Masonry was an itinerant trade and those who plied it had to travel to whatever town had need of them.
“No, sir. Like I said, I didn’t believe her anyway, so if she did say his name I didn’t hear it for I wasn’t paying much attention. I didn’t talk to her much. I fell into company with another girl who was more to my liking.”
“And you’re sure she didn’t say where she was from?” Bascot asked again.
Gillie shook her head. “I’m sure, sir.”
Bascot looked at the other girls, who had been listening to Gillie’s story with curiosity and awe. Even though she didn’t look very happy as she had spun her tale, this new girl in their midst would now enjoy the fame that went with having actually spoken to the young woman who had been found murdered. It might even earn her a few extra pennies from customers who had a grisly interest in her tale.
The Templar nodded to Ernulf, and they started to leave. Before they went through the door, however, the serjeant turned and spoke to the girl again. “If you find yourself ill-treated here or”-he paused to gaze at each of the harlots in turn-“if any of you others have cause to complain, send for me at the castle. My name is Ernulf.”
Turning towards Brunner he said, “And I’ll be telling the bailiff to have an extra sharp inspection here next week, so there better not be anything amiss, either with your premises, or your wenches.”
Brunner made no reply but once the Templar and Ernulf had disappeared through the door, he sank onto a stool and called to one of the women to bring him a full measure of wine.
Thirteen
The people of Lincoln town were enjoying the entertainments of the fair to the full, and trade was brisk in the cloth markets, on the stalls and outside the walls where sheep and cattle were being sold. Pedlars of pies, bread rolls and savoury jellied meats were everywhere, their boards balanced on top of their heads or held in front of them by means of a strap around their necks. Women sold trinkets and ribbons from baskets held on their hip, tinkers offered cheap pots and mended spoons from the selections dangled about their bodies on lengths of twine, and beggars covered with sores or having some disability such as a withered arm or a crippled leg-some real, some faked-importuned passersby for alms. Among the throng walked the sheriff’s guards, while town officials bustled to-and-fro, checking that every stallholder had paid the fee for keeping it and watching to see that no unwary customer was cheated by short weight or measure. There were bearbaitings and dog fights, wrestling matches and strolling players, each contending with the others to win a fourthing or half-part of the silver penny pieces thrown by the spectators. Near the end of the afternoon, the prostitutes joined the crowd; green sleeves attached to their gowns and dyed horsehair wigs on their heads.
As day drew into evening, the selling halls and vendor’s stalls closed, but still the fair went on, the entertainment now of a different nature. Mugs of ale purchased at the packed alehouses were carried into the streets and young men and women danced to the music of wandering troubadours, the girls’ skirts twirling in gay abandon and hair tumbling unheeded from discarded coifs. Their partners lifted them high and swung them about, faces sweating from exertion and excitement. Tonight, and for all the next ten nights of the fair, there would be no curfew, and torches would be kept burning all night along the main thoroughfares so that the revellers could enjoy themselves in safety.
In the keep of Lincoln castle, there were far fewer to sit down to the evening meal than there had been the night before. Only those members of the castle garrison who would be on duty that evening were eating the cold viands and cheeses that had been laid out by a depleted staff of servants and, at the high table, the company was diminished to the relatives and personal guests of the sheriff and his wife.
Bascot sat at a lower table, alone except for an older knight who was attacking his trencher with vigour. Below the salt sat a few clerics and a couple of squires. Gianni, after serving his master, had retired with his own food to his favourite spot in a corner of the hall with the dogs, and Ernulf had gone to ensure that the castle had been made secure for the night.
As he ate, Bascot ruminated on his visit to Brunner’s establishment and the tour he had made of the cloth halls afterwards. What he had learned had not aided him much and, as to the young harlot’s protestation that she had seen the dead girl on the way to Lincoln, he was uncertain as to how truthful she had been. The elderly knight beside him kept up a steady flow of conversation, mostly about previous fairs that had been held in Lincoln and of the various troublesome incidents that had plagued them. Bascot listened with only half his attention.
At the table on the dais he could see that Philip de Kyme was seated next to Lady Nicolaa, on his other side Hugh Bardolf’s daughter, Matilda. Both of the women were engaging him in conversation and he seemed both flattered and animated. At the far end, beside Nicolaa’s sister Petronille, sat de Kyme’s wife, quietly eating her food and nodding occasionally as her companion sought to draw her into speech. A judicious arrangement, Bascot decided. Distract the husband and placate the wife and perhaps there will be no more arguments. He could not see Conal anywhere, or Richard Camville either. Perhaps the two had not returned from their headlong flight out of the west gate that morning.
“And there’s more trouble at this fair, too, so I understand. Murder done-four of ’em killed in one night-and a priest attacked.” Bascot’s companion was still talking and the Templar brought himself back to the conversation with an effort. “Always trouble at these fairs. Common people get too excited and don’t know how to behave, that’s the trouble.”