“There is another matter, as well, Mistress Fleming,” Richard Camville said. Slowly Melisande looked up, eyes glazed with fear.
“What is that, my lord?” she asked in a voice hardly louder than a whisper.
“The death of my uncle’s squire, Hubert de Tournay.”
“No!” The denial shot from Melisande’s mouth with vehemence. “Of that I know nothing, I swear. Why would I have had any hand in his death? I did not even know of his existence until the townspeople began talking of his murder.”
Richard’s response was quick and harsh. “It is believed he was killed by outlaws, poachers in my father’s chase. And you, mistress, have consort with outlaws, do you not?”
Melisande’s face, through her fear, began to blaze with anger. “I know nothing of these matters. Nor do I have brigands in my household.”
“Not in your household, perhaps,” Nicolaa said, “but most certainly on the roll of those you pay to assist you in committing your crimes against the crown.”
“It is a lie,” Melisande burst out. “I tell you, I know nothing of this.”
Richard spoke quietly into the widow’s outburst. “It seems strange that you do not, when your agister most certainly does.”
He looked expectantly at Copley, who was visibly trembling. “You have an arrangement with the outlaws in Sherwood, don’t you, Copley? For a few of the king’s deer you trade with brigands for loot they gain from preying on honest travellers through the forest. And Hubert de Tournay found out about your arrangements, didn’t he? He was an unlikeable little turd, but he had a gift for ferreting out secrets. And he found out yours and threatened to report you unless you gave him what he wanted. What did he ask for-one of the village girls for his bed, perhaps, or maybe a piece of jewellery from your mistress’s wares?”
Copley was shaking his head violently from side to side in negation as Richard relentlessly continued, “But you couldn’t take the chance that the squire would betray you, so you killed him. You are often in the forest; it would be an easy matter for you to lure Hubert there by the promise of payment for his demands and then, with the help of a couple of your outlaw cohorts, take him by surprise and string him up from the oak. But you didn’t expect there would be such a hue and cry after the murderer, did you? Or that the Templar would be set on your trail. When Sir Bascot started to come too close to the truth of the matter you decided a scapegoat was needed, so you provided us with one-Fulcher.”
Richard leaned forward now, his resemblance to his father apparent as anger hardened his jaw. “You are the confidant of brigands, Copley. We have witnesses to that fact. It was a simple matter to get one of his own kind to betray Fulcher, and that is how you came to be so fortuitously on hand to capture him. And why you brought him so joyfully to my father-so that we would be led away from discovering the identity of the real murderer of Hubert de Tournay-and that murderer is you, Copley.”
The agister’s face was ashen by the time Richard Camville had finished speaking. Falling to his knees before the sheriff’s son, he sobbed as he proclaimed his innocence. “No, no, my lord, I swear by all that is holy that I had nothing to do with the death of the squire,” he said earnestly. “As God is my witness, Sir Richard, I am innocent of murder.”
Nicolaa rose from her chair, her gaze flicking with disgust over the man cowering at her son’s feet and the stricken expression on the face of Melisande. She called to Ernulf. “Take Mistress Fleming and her deputy to Lincoln. And their bowmen as well. Tostig will aid in the escort with our own woodsmen.”
On a small slope at the bottom of the hill on which Lincoln castle stood, Bascot met with the three villagers. “You are clear in what you are to do?” he asked. “Remember that your own reprieve from punishment depends on carrying this task out well.”
“Yes, my lord, we know. We will do it,” Bettina replied and looked to her uncle and cousin. They nodded in turn.
“Then follow me into the bail and we will wait there,” Bascot said.
When Nicolaa and Richard arrived at the castle gate with their prisoners firmly under guard, the bailey was crowded. The news of the arrest of the chief forester and her deputy had flown ahead like wildfire and not only were Gerard Camville and his brother on hand to meet them with their retinues, but most of the castle staff as well, while Richard de Humez and his daughter, Alinor, surveyed the scene from the steps that led up to the new keep. A little distance into the crowd was Joanna Fleming, brought to the castle ward just moments before by Roget, who, following Nicolaa de la Haye’s direction, had not only escorted her from her home, but was keeping her under close surveillance. She watched the little cavalcade enter the bail with anxious eyes, glancing up at the mercenary captain from time to time with fear on her face. Bascot, clad in mail and his Templar surcoat, waited a small distance from the gate, ensuring that he could keep Gianni, safe in the shelter of the door to the barracks, within his view.
The sky was beginning to darken as evening approached and, although the sleety rain had ceased to fall, it was still very cold, with the occasional tiny flake of snow drifting down on the waiting throng. But no one seemed to heed the discomfort of the weather, for the gaze of all gathered there was concentrated on catching sight of Melisande and her agister being brought into custody.
As Richard led his mother in through the gate, Bettina, standing just inside its arch with her relatives beside her, stepped forward and sketched a brief curtsey.
“Lady Nicolaa,” she said in a voice that was hesitant, “may I have speech with you?”
Nicolaa looked down on the milkmaid, and checked her horse. “Can it not wait, girl? As you can see, I have much to attend to.”
“It is important, my lady, and cannot be delayed.”
Nicolaa gave her a brief nod. “Get on with it then,” she said.
Bettina raised up her courage and spoke clearly. “It is said you have taken Mistress Fleming and her agister in charge for murdering Sir William’s squire, but it is not so, my lady. They did not do it.”
A stirring of voices rumbled through the crowd, ending in a sigh as they all fell silent to hear what came next.
“How do you know this, Bettina?” Nicolaa asked.
“Because all of us in the village know who it was that murdered the squire, and it was not the goldsmith’s widow or her deputy.”
Bettina’s voice had begun to weaken, but it grew stronger as she caught Lady Nicolaa’s glance. Awareness that the castellan knew what she had been primed to say gave her the temerity to continue. “The man who committed the murder told us to stay within the compound and not go out into the forest while he dealt with the squire. And he told the Chards to do the same.”
“Why did John Chard, and you, not give this evidence when asked by my husband and Sir Bascot?” Lady Nicolaa asked, her voice stern.
“We were frightened, my lady. We had been ordered not to speak of what we knew. Then, when the charcoal burner and his family were killed, all of us in the village thought it right to be fearful, and so we did not speak for dread of our own deaths.”
Nicolaa leaned down in the saddle, but her voice still carried out over the crowd. “Then why have you come forward now?”
“Because our priest, Father Samson, found out our secret and said that if we did not tell of it, we would be committing a sin, a grievous sin, by letting innocent people be charged with a crime they did not commit.”
Nicolaa looked out over the crowd. They stood with bated breath, avid for more revelations concerning the murder of Hubert de Tournay. At the back of the group of prisoners behind her she could hear a stir of feet as Ernulf positioned his men across the open gate. There was in the air a taint of apprehension, and, from Melisande Fleming, an audible gasp of hope.
Nicolaa regarded the milkmaid, admiring the girl’s courage. Behind Bettina her kinsmen stood with uncertain looks on their faces, glancing apprehensively at the soldiers around them, but they kept resolutely to their places.