Lady Hilde spoke, as she had in the hall, in a blunt fashion. Bascot considered her offer. She had a sharp mind, of that Bascot was sure, and she also had what he did not, knowledge of the background and character of each of the people involved. He was also confident that, apart from her conviction that Conal was innocent, she would give him what information she possessed in an unbiased manner, a pleasant prospect after the frustrating attempts at extracting details from the alewife and Isaac, the Jew. He signalled for his wine cup to be refilled and ruminated for a few moments before making a decision.
“I think your opinions might be useful, lady,” he said at last. “And a recounting of the facts that have been discovered thus far may assist me in marshalling my own thoughts into a more coherent order.” Taking a deep draught from his wine cup he then told her all that had happened since that morning just a scant few days before when he and Ernulf had gone to examine the bodies on the alehouse floor.
Lady Hilde heard him through without interruption as he told of his difficulties with Agnes, of Gianni finding the scrap of material in the alehouse yard and how he had become convinced that the bodies had been taken there in empty ale barrels and how, through Philip de Kyme’s secretarius, William Scothern, the identity of the two strangers had been determined. He also told her of his visit to Isaac and how he was convinced that all three of the victims had been somehow abducted while travelling along the Torksey road. Finally he told her of the attack on Father Anselm and his rather tenuous suspicion that it might somehow be linked to the alehouse murders and of the lies that had been told by the prostitute Gillie and of her subsequent disappearance along with Brunner, the stewe-holder.
As Bascot’s words came to a halt, Hilde picked up her cane and rose from her chair, waving away his offer of assistance and motioning for her maid, who had jumped up to help, to remain where she was. “I think better on my feet, poor creatures that they are. A few paces will suffice to order my mind.”
She trod slowly the short distance to the far end of the room and back, then stopped in front of Bascot. “You have met the nephew, Roger de Kyme?”
“This morning, lady. He had his son, Arthur, with him. There was also a cousin, Alan de Kyme, in the company.”
“A poxy crew, all of them,” Hilde said. “Roger more than most, along with that whey-faced son of his. Alan is little better. They all of them fawn on Philip to gain his favour and he, self-pitying wretch that he is, responds in kind, lapping up their commiserations for his sorrows as though they were sincere. I am sure either Roger or Alan would be more than capable of murder if they foresaw future benefits.”
She thought for a moment, standing motionless. “I believe that Roger is in debt to the Jews. And Alan could be also. They both have good reason for not wishing the promise of a wealthy inheritance to pass to another.”
“And if de Kyme should proclaim one of them his heir-it would be a collateral of enough strength to enable more to be borrowed,” Bascot said, agreeing with her reasoning. He had formed similar opinions himself that morning in de Kyme’s manor house. “Their whereabouts that day must be looked into.”
“Yes,” Hilde agreed, “but it could be they used hired minions. There are many such about Lincoln these days, just as there are in the rest of England.” She shook her head. “The lawful days of King Henry are long past. Since his death first Richard, and now John, have not kept the order that their father did.”
“I do not think underlings were used to commit these murders,” Bascot said thoughtfully. “If I am correct and the victims were taken-either with willingness or by coercion-on the Torksey road, then it must have been by someone who would not arouse the suspicions of the sheriff’s guard. Patrols are carried out regularly, and often. Anyone seeming to be on unlawful business would have been noticed by them and challenged.”
“Unless it was one of their servants, claiming to be on a legitimate errand for their master.”
Bascot shook his head. “Possibly, but secret murder is a dangerous undertaking to entrust to a servant. If caught they could implicate their master and, if successful, such knowledge could be used as a threat to gain preferential treatment.”
He paused for a moment. “There is also one aspect of this murder that has bothered me from the beginning. Why were the bodies taken into Lincoln and left in the alehouse? Surely it would have been far better to have left them in the greenwood. They may or may not have been discovered eventually, but the purpose of eliminating Sir Philip’s heir would have been accomplished. It speaks of a need for them to be found, and found quickly. But, if that is so, then why remove all identification from the corpses?”
Lady Hilde sat down, obviously tired from the long day and her few brief moments of pacing. After ruminating a space she said, “Your questions are the very same ones to which I gave much thought while I was waiting for you. There are two other persons besides Roger and Alan de Kyme who may hope to gain by these deaths. One is obvious, the other not.” She gave Bascot a challenging stare. “The first is Philip de Kyme himself,” she said.
“But it is he who has laid the charge against Conal and Lady Sybil,” Bascot protested.
“Yes. And what better way to rid yourself of an unwanted wife and stepson? Much quicker than trying to dissolve the marriage through a weak claim of consanguinity. Such a process can take years. If he has the prospect of another wife in mind, he might be in haste to formalize the marriage. Lust is a powerful goad, especially to a man who is past his prime.”
“But to kill his own son, illegitimate or not-well, at the very least, is it not a rather drastic method of obtaining freedom from a wife?”
“If the boy actually was his son,” Hilde replied shrewdly. “We have only his word for that, and it was a nebulous identification at best. That may, or may not, be the answer to your second question. From what you tell me, he claimed the boy to be his own through the recognition of a cheap silver brooch. And you yourself helped to confirm it by identifying the origin of the clothing worn by the dead young man and his companion. Is it not an easy matter to obtain some garments made in La Lune, then lure to Lincoln a simple peasant and his wife from some village well away from these parts, promising work or perhaps a small quantity of silver as an inducement? They are then abducted, poisoned and left to be found in a public place. And also stabbed after death. Poison is a woman’s weapon, the sword a man’s. The use of both points to both genders having a hand in the murders. De Kyme conveniently pretends grief, followed by rage, charging his wife and stepson with the slaying. He has accomplished his aim-to free himself of a barren wife and wed another on whom he may beget a son of his own loins.”
Bascot had to admit there was an element of possibility in her conjectures. “The secretarius, Scothern, would have to be privy to the matter, if that is what was done.”
“Not necessarily, Templar. You told me the letters were said to have been despatched with a retainer of de Kyme’s, then by ship, entrusted to the captain. The usual way for any missive not of great import. But the letters may never have been sent at all, and the secretarius could simply have been told that an answer had been received without actually seeing it arrive. Scothern may have done no more than pen the letters and read the ones that came in answer. He need have known nothing.”