Murder for Christ's Mass

Eighteen

The evening meal was being served as Bascot and Roget arrived back at the castle. When they entered the hall the sheriff, having been informed of the silversmith’s arrest, rose from his seat on the dais and motioned for them to follow him up the stairs of the north tower to his private chamber. Once inside, he asked the captain for his report.

Camville listened in silence as Roget related how, after their interrogation of Cotty, they found stolen items of silver on Tasser’s premises and subsequently discovered the silversmith’s hiding place.

“It is also possible Tasser is involved in the murder of his apprentice,” Bascot added. “If Fardein colluded with Tasser in his illicit trade of buying stolen silver, they may have had a disagreement connected with the thievery-how the profits should be shared once it had been resold, for example-and so the silversmith felt his apprentice was a threat which needed removing. It may not have been Tasser who dealt the deathblow, but the silversmith is a man of wealth; he could have hired an assassin. If he is questioned harshly enough, we may learn whether or not he is responsible.”

Camville gave him a nod of understanding. For the moment, it was best if Roget was not made aware of their attempt to discover whether an unreported trove was implicated in the crime. They both knew the captain could be trusted implicitly with any confidential information he was given but, until it was made certain a cache existed, it was best as few people as possible knew of their suspicions.

Camville ruminated on what he had been told for a few moments, pacing the length of the room once or twice while he did so. Finally, he commended Roget on his quick action with regard to the fire and also to the apprehension of Cotty.

“You may return to the gaol now, Roget,” he told the captain, “and get some well-deserved rest.” As Roget turned to leave the room, Camville called after him.

“On your way through the hall, tell the butler to give you a keg of wine from my personal store. You have earned it.”

Roget’s eyes, bloodshot from the effects of the fire and lack of sleep, lit with appreciation as he thanked the sheriff and left the room. Gerard Camville may be despotic, but the men under his command were well aware that while his punishments could be brutal, his largesse was just as unstinting. This equitability was one of the reasons they gave him their unswerving loyalty.

Once the former mercenary had left the room, Camville motioned for Bascot to be seated and poured them both a cup of wine.

“I am certain the coin found in the quarry and the jewellery are part of a hidden cache,” the sheriff said as he resumed his pacing up and down the room, eschew ing the comfort of a sturdy chair covered with padded lamb skin. “The silversmith must know its whereabouts. Are you certain there are no more valuables hidden on his premises?”

“Not completely, lord,” Bascot replied. “The first time we went there, we only searched the rooms, and today, with the failing daylight, we could not examine the fabric of the building in any detail. I would like to return tomorrow morning with my servant. He has sharp eyes and, in previous investigations, has noticed details I have missed. It was he who found the coin.”

“Do so, Templar,” Gerard said. “Pinchbeck, the coroner, has not yet returned to Lincoln but if he does, and learns of my suspicion that an unreported trove is involved in these crimes, he will take the matter out of my hands and leap to the chase like one of my deer-hounds. I would prefer he remain in ignorance until I am certain of all the facts. Report to me after you have searched the silversmith’s dwelling. His interrogation can wait until you have done so. Perhaps a few hours of confinement will loosen his tongue.”

“Even if Tasser has knowledge of a cache, I am not certain he is guilty of Fardein’s murder. His surprise when I charged him with the crime seemed genuine.”

“Nonetheless, he knows where that jewellery came from. Get him to reveal the provenance of it, de Marins, and the identity of the murderer may also be unmasked.”

The next morning Bascot was up and had pulled on his boots by the time the cathedral bells rang out the hour of Matins at daybreak. Rousing Gianni, the pair went down to St. Clement to attend Mass and then back to the keep and up the stairs to the scriptorium. Gianni, still slightly bemused from having spent an hour in close proximity to Lucia the evening before, tried to focus his attention on the errand his master had told him they were to perform today. The night before, the Templar had told Gianni he was to accompany his master to the silversmith’s manufactory the next morning and conduct a thorough search of the premises. He also related the purpose of the scrutiny. Well aware of the importance of the errand, and the privilege of being in the confidence of his master and the sheriff, Gianni knew it was important to show diligence. Resolutely he pushed his reveries of Lucia aside as they went to tell John Blund that Gianni would be absent from his duties for the day.

The chamber that housed the scriptorium was a large one, with high casements along the outside wall to admit the morning light. When Bascot and Gianni entered the room, Blund and Lambert were poring over some pages laid on a lectern.

They both looked up at Bascot’s entrance and a welcoming smile spread over the secretary’s genial features. “Sir Bascot! You are well come. I am just inspecting the work Lambert has done on the book I told you about, the one describing Gianni’s gestures. Lambert has done a fine job. Perhaps you would like to see it.”

He passed the sheets of medium-grade vellum to the Templar, and Bascot saw that Blund’s praise was well merited. On each page there was a drawing of one or both hands, the fingers curved to depict the motion to be used. Underneath was a notation in Latin of how the hands should be held-whether palm outward, upward or in conjunction with each other-and the meaning of the signal. The drawings had been outlined with a quill sharpened to a fine point and the inscriptions were in clear and careful script. Bascot added his praise of the work to Blund’s, and Lambert flushed with pleasure.

“Since Master Stephen will only be here until after the betrothal ceremony, I have asked permission from Lady Nicolaa to give him another lesson tonight,” Blund said, “and one again tomorrow, perhaps in the daytime. Milady is most impressed with the book and asked Lambert to make an abridged copy of the work so the youngster can take it with him when he returns home.” A frown creased the secretary’s brow as he looked worriedly at the Templar. “I should also have asked your permission, Sir Bascot, for Gianni to attend the extra lessons. Please forgive my negligence, I beg of you.”

Bascot smiled and quickly allayed Blund’s fear of giving offence. “I am more than willing for Gianni to assist in the task. If his efforts, and yours, can benefit others such as Stephen, it is my Christian duty to aid you in the enterprise. You may avail yourself of Gianni’s help as often as you like.”

As Blund began to express his gratitude for the Templar’s offer, Bascot interrupted him. “I fear, having given my assent, I must make one exception to the use of Gianni’s time. I have need of his services this morning but will ensure he is available for this evening’s lesson.”

“Of course, Sir Bascot,” Blund replied. “You have my thanks for your generosity.”

Noting the broad smile that lit Gianni’s face at mention of a few more hours in Lucia’s company, the Templar and the boy left the scriptorium and went down into Lincoln town.