William offered Bascot the wine jug as Nicolaa invited him to be seated. “I gave orders for Melisande and Copley to be detained at her home under guard until I should know the king’s pleasure in the matter,” she said. “You have left Joanna under lock and key?”
Bascot nodded. “Ernulf has her secured.”
Nicolaa stood up from her seat but motioned for Bascot to keep to his when he would have risen. “I need to move,” she said with a small smile. “My limbs are so weary that if I do not stir them, my feet will take root in the floorboards.”
She took a few steps to the end of the room, then paced back. “What did the girl Joanna tell you, de Marins? Did she confirm the dairymaid’s tale?”
“For the most part. Hubert did proposition Bettina and threaten her with ravishment if she did not comply…”
“So the little maker of buttermilk was telling the truth?” William said.
“Yes, she was,” Bascot replied, “except she, and the other villagers, omitted to tell us that it was two nights before Hubert was killed that he first demanded she meet him.”
At William’s look of confusion, Nicolaa interrupted. “I have not told William all of the tangle, de Marins. I thought it best to wait until it was confirmed by Tostig’s paramour. He does not yet know how all of this began.”
Bascot took a sip of his wine and spoke directly to the sheriff’s brother. “According to Joanna, she and the forester took advantage of any occasion that Melisande was absent from her home or early abed to spend the night together in the hunting lodge. On the night that Hubert waited in vain for the dairymaid, he saw them together in the forest. The next day he got Bettina alone in one of the castle cowsheds and berated her for not coming to meet him, demanding that she turn up the next night or he would take her then and there on the bare boards of the floor. Frightened, she promised she would do as he asked. Then Hubert asked her the identity of the girl he had seen with Tostig the night before and Bettina told him she was the daughter of a wealthy widow in Lincoln. Hubert laughed and said she was a toothsome piece and he had a fancy to have a turn with her himself. He told Bettina to tell Tostig of his desire and, if the forester proved unwilling to share his bawd, then he, Hubert, would apprise the sheriff of the use to which his servant was putting the hunting lodge.”
Bascot shrugged. “Whether the squire was serious about carrying out his threat we will never know, but both Bettina and Tostig had no cause to doubt it, if only because Hubert had shown himself relentless in his pursuit of the dairymaid.”
“I knew he was a singularly unpleasant boy, but I never suspected he was capable of such villainy,” William said.
Bascot nodded. “He was sly enough not to reveal his true nature to his elders, but your other squires and pages knew of it and had good reason to hate him. He seems to have been a boy who had never learned to keep his appetites under control. And he had become so accustomed to exploiting any weakness he found in others, or in gaining an advantage by threatening to reveal a secret they nurtured, that he had come to believe that he would never come to any harm by doing so. And that is why he failed to recognize the danger of trying to use Tostig in such a manner.”
“What happened when Bettina gave the forester Hubert’s message?” William asked. “Did Tostig and the dairymaid devise the plan to kill him?”
The Templar shook his head. “No. When Bettina told the forester of her conversation with the squire, Tostig was understandably furious. He told Bettina that she was, on the following night, to do as she had done before, stay in the village and tell her uncle to again close the gates and guard them against intrusion. If asked, they were to deny any knowledge of the matter. And they did as they were told. But they did not realise that Tostig was going to kill Hubert; they thought he meant only to give him a beating or perhaps threaten to expose the squire to his lord. When they learned what the forester had done, they feared to be punished for their own involvement.
“Joanna told me that she waited with Tostig for Hubert to arrive at the old hunting lodge where he expected to find a thoroughly cowed Bettina. The squire knew the area well, apparently, from previous visits to Lincoln and accompanying you, Sir William, on numerous hunts. It is possible he may have used the old lodge for dalliance before. When Hubert arrived, he found Joanna in the dairymaid’s stead. While she pretended acquiescence to his lust, Tostig came up behind and rendered him speechless-and senseless-by half-strangling him with a thin cord.”
Bascot took a swallow of wine before he continued. “Although it was their intent to kill him, they did not want to leave his body there; it was too close to the new hunting lodge where Tostig had his bed and belongings. So they trussed Hubert’s hands and took him away from the area, to the oak where they hanged him, because it grew by one of the main tracks through the forest. Tostig wanted it to appear that the murder had been carried out by someone from the town, not anyone associated with the forest and its inhabitants. It was common knowledge among the castle servants that Hubert was held in extreme dislike by his peers, and even with hatred by some of them. Tostig wanted the hunt for the murderer to be behind the city walls, not in the woodland where he lived and worked.”
“That was why the boy’s body was left clothed, and his dagger in his belt,” Nicolaa interjected. “To make it appear that Hubert had been killed over some private quarrel with a person of his acquaintance, and not for profit by someone in the forest.”
“In retrospect,” Bascot added, “it was a simple plan and should have worked. But things began to go wrong for Tostig almost from the start.”
“The poachers, you mean?” said William.
“That was the first problem to plague him, yes, but it was not an insurmountable one,” said Bascot. “When he came to ‘discover’ the body the following morning and found the slaughtered deer, Joanna said he considered cutting Hubert down and stripping him to make it look as though the poachers had killed the squire, but he feared that to do so would bring the very thing he didn’t want, an active search throughout the woodland, so the forester left the squire’s body as it was in the hope that his original plan would still work. And it might have, for it seemed unlikely that outlaws would have left such valuables as his clothes and dagger behind if they had killed the boy. But it was after he had dealt with the matter of the poachers that a much greater difficulty arose.”
“Something to do with Bettina, I presume?” William said.
“Yes. Tostig had neglected to tell the villagers-including Bettina-that he had moved the boy and hanged him near the track, not at the old hunting lodge. And when you and your brother went to question the villagers about Hubert’s death, you did not mention where it was that he had been found, did you?”
William thought for a moment. “No, we did not.”
“So, when I went to the village the following morning they believed that the boy had been hanged at the place where he had ordered the dairymaid to meet him. When Gianni found Bettina hiding-and she had concealed herself for fear of being recognised and perhaps remembered as seen in conversation with Hubert-she blurted out the tale that she told to protect herself and the villagers. But it led me to search where Tostig did not want me to go-the grounds of the old hunting lodge.”
“So it was he that fired the arrow at you on the day of the hunt?”
“It was. He had heard Alain and Renault speak of seeing me ahead of them that morning and he tracked me. When he saw me kneel to look at the marks Hubert’s boots had made on the ground he was worried about what implications I might draw from them, and so he fired the shaft. He didn’t mean to miss. If I had been killed it would have been assumed that a stray arrow meant for the deer had caused it. I was too close to where he had apprehended the boy, you see. And I kept on asking questions. He was worried that, in the end, I might get answers.”