Shroud of Dishonour Read Online Free

blood-red cross pattee of the Order. The third was filled with the lambskin girdles that all Templars wore under their outer clothing as a reminder of their vow of chastity. This chest also contained a selection of hose and undershirts. It was to this last coffer that the flies seemed attracted.
    “Shall I pull the chest away from the wall?” Bascot asked.
    “Let me check the contents first,” Emilius said. “I do not believe the smell can be coming from inside; the covers are made to fit tightly to prevent the invasion of insects or rodents. But, even so, it might be that one got in while I left the lid open for a short time.”
    The draper lifted the lid and let it fall back against the wall. As he did so, a nauseating odour arose and both men fell back, placing their hands across their noses. The flies began to swirl in a sudden buzzing frenzy.
    “Sweet Jesu, all the raiment will be tainted,” Emilius exclaimed.
    “The carcass must be underneath the clothing,” Bascot replied and, brushing at the flies with one hand, he reached inside the chest with the other, grasping the girdles lying in an untidy bundle on the top.
    “I did not leave the garments like that,” Emilius exclaimed. “They were all neatly folded the last time I …”
    His words trailed off as Bascot pulled the heap of woolly circlets clear of the coffer. As he did so, a dead body was revealed, but it was not that of a rat. It was human. Crammed tightly into the chest, the corpse lay in a foetal position on its side, legs folded up tight against the stomach and the arms pushed down into the folds of a pale blue skirt. Bright blond hair spilled over the shoulders and, around the neck was an indentation that cut deeply into the flesh. It was the type of mark left by a strangling cord.
    “God have mercy,” Emilius breathed. “It is a woman. And she has been murdered.”

Three

    J UST OVER AN HOUR LATER, G ERARD C AMVILLE, SHERIFF OF Lincoln, rode into the preceptory. With him was Roget, the former mercenary who was captain of Camville’s town guard. The two men dismounted and walked towards Bascot, who was waiting for them at the entrance to the chapel.
    Camville was a man of bull-like proportions and irascible temperament. Now his broad features, usually fixed into a scowl, were solemn with disquietude. Beside him, Roget, a fearsome looking man with the scar of an old sword slash bisecting the flesh on one side of his face, had a similar expression. As they paced across the enclave, the Templar knights and men-at-arms of the commandery stood in small silent groups around the perimeter of the central training ground, watching with apprehensive eyes.
    Bascot nodded to both men when they reached the chapel. The Templar knight, from his time in the temporary service of Camville’s wife, Nicolaa de la Haye, knew the sheriff well. The same was true of Roget. During his stay in Lincoln castle, Bascot had assisted the castellan in seeking out the perpetrator of four previous cases of secret murder and the captain had been involved in most of the investigations. They had formed a liking for each other and become fast friends.
    “The preceptor is waiting for you inside the chapel, lord,” Bascot said to Camville. “The body of the murdered girl is in there.”
    The sheriff grunted a response. “D’Arderon’s message said the victim’s identity was unknown,” Camville said as they went into the small church. “I have had no report of a missing female within the town, so have brought Roget along to see if he recognises her.”
    As captain of the sheriff’s guard, Roget was familiar with most of the town’s inhabitants. If the dead girl was from Lincoln, it was likely he would know her identity.
    Bascot led the two men into the vestry. Additional incense had been set burning and it had, in part, masked the rank smell of death. D’Arderon and Emilius were both inside the chamber, kneeling alongside the preceptory’s priest, Brother John, as he