by Maureen Ash
Bascot kept silent. Cerlo’s use of the plural “we” was puzzling. It implied that yet another person was involved in discovering the trove apart from Brand.
The mason was almost sobbing with anger as he went on. “I didn’t know Brand was dead until I found his body on the morning of Christ’s Mass. Young Peter didn’t deserve to die. He was nobbut a lad wantin’ to earn a few pennies so he could wed the girl he loved. He had nothin’ to do with any of the other, nothin’ at all.”
“Do you mean Brand didn’t know anything about the trove you found at the mint?”
Bascot’s question jolted the mason and his face took on a look of surprise, which was quickly replaced by an expression of grim humour.
“At the mint?” he said disbelievingly. “Mebbe you ain’t as clever as I reckoned, Sir Bascot. ’Twasn’t at the mint we found all that silver and gold.”
“Then where was it? And who was with you if it wasn’t Brand?” Bascot asked.
Cerlo shook his head, almost sadly. “I’ll not tell you,” he said. “If the only ones you knows about is me and the clerk, then I’ll not betray someone as has never done me any harm. And I’ll not see him, nor me, swing from the sheriff’s noose, neither.”
The mason rose from his crouching position and, dropping the hammer onto the slope of the roof, stepped up onto the low curb in front of him. Bascot drew in his breath sharply as he realised Cerlo’s intent.
Pushing aside the questions burning in his mind, the Templar attempted to dissuade the mason from his deadly purpose. “Cerlo, to kill yourself is a mortal sin. You will burn in the flames of hell.”
“Reckon I’m already bound there, Sir Bascot, for killing Fardein.”
“You can confess to a priest, obtain absolution,” Bascot said desperately.
Cerlo laughed. “God might pardon me, but the sheriff won’t. I’ll still hang.”
“What about your wife, your daughter and grandchildren?” Bascot said harshly, gauging his chances of preventing the mason from jumping. He knew it was hopeless; he was too far away to grab hold of the man and, even if he were closer, his precarious position on top of ladder would most likely send him to his death as well if he made the attempt. “You will deny yourself the right to a life in heaven. Is it fair to refuse your family the hope of joining you there?”
“I reckon as how they’d a been better off without me in this earthly life,” Cerlo replied. “’Twill most like be the same in the hereafter.”
So saying, and with one final look at the gargoyle, he stepped off the roof and out into open space. He did not scream, and the only noise that could be heard was a collective gasp from the spectators below and the dull thud of his body hitting the ground.
By the time Bascot descended the ladder, a crowd had gathered around Cerlo’s corpse. Most were standing a little back from the body, looking in horror at the blood trickling from the mason’s nose and the terrible way his legs were crumpled beneath him. Cerlo’s eyes were open, but a canon dropped to his knees beside the dead man and gently closed them as Bascot pushed his way through the crowd. The priest looked up at the Templar with a sorrowful face and said, “We are all witness that he died of his own volition. I wish I could give his soul ease, but I cannot.”
Bascot nodded. Absolution and Extreme Unction could not be administered to a suicide. The mason would go to meet his Maker unshriven and be buried in unconsecrated ground. The Templar felt a deep sorrow for the unfortunate man.
As Alexander ordered two of his workmen to bring some means of conveying Cerlo’s body to the death house at the Priory of All Saints, and the canon ordered a secondary to disperse the crowd, Bascot considered what the mason had said in the moments before he stepped off the roof. It was not likely that Cerlo, about to take his own life, had lied. From the few words he had spoken it would appear that Bascot’s conjecture about the murders had been correct—Fardein had killed Brand and Cerlo had subsequently murdered Fardein—but his supposition that the trove had been buried in the mint was completely erroneous. The mason had also said that another person was involved, someone he would not name. The Templar again went through the steps that had led him to conclude that Cerlo had been involved in the murders—his questioning of the mason and his uneasy answers, how the beggar child told of seeing three men in the quarry, how Alexander had said Cerlo had done some renovation work on a wall in the mint. . . . There he stopped. He had not let Alexander name all the places where Cerlo had carried out his extraneous work. Once Bascot heard mention of the mint, he had not waited to hear the other sites on the list. Castigating himself for being precipitous, he walked over to where the master builder was sombrely watching Cerlo’s body being laid on a makeshift bier.
“I must ask you to consult your records once again, Master Alexander,” he said. “And urgently.”
Twenty-nine
WELL OVER AN HOUR HAD PASSED BY THE TIME Bascot returned to the castle. During that time, he had sent the two men-at-arms to report the mason’s death to Gerard Camville and reviewed the list of additional work Cerlo had carried out with Alexander. Once he finished speaking to the builder, he went to see the mason’s widow.
Afterwards, as he left Cerlo’s house in Masons Row and rode back through the Minster to the castle ward, the sky fulfilled its promise of threatened rain and large drops of moisture began to fall. Hastening into the keep, he went immediately to the sheriff’s chamber and found Camville impatiently awaiting his arrival. With the sheriff were Nicolaa and their son, Richard.
Camville greeted Bascot testily, but his choler was mollified when the Templar dropped a large leather purse onto the sheriff’s wine table. Loosening the neck of the scrip, Bascot spilled out the contents. A stream of silver pennies burst forth, all newly bright and stamped with the image of King Stephen. In the glow from the fire and the candles set around the room, they had an almost lascivious gleam.
“So there was a trove,” Camville said with satisfaction, picking up one of the coins. “And you were correct, de Marins, about the mason being the one who found it.”
“Yes, lord, but I was in error about where it was discovered. And also in thinking that the clerk was closely involved,” Bascot replied. He paused and then added, “I have just been speaking to Cerlo’s wife. From what she told me I believe these coins and the jewellery comprise only a small part of the cache. I am certain there is more.”
Camville swore and let out a grunt of dismay. Nicolaa and her son exchanged a worried glance as Bascot went on to relate what Cerlo had said to him before he leapt to his death.
“It was Fardein who killed Brand and was in turn murdered by Cerlo,” Bascot said, “but from what the mason said to me, it is clear that it was someone other than the clerk who was party to the trove’s discovery. And the cache was not, as I thought, secreted in the mint.”
“Are you sure the mason was telling the truth?” Camville asked sceptically.
“He was about to take his own life, lord. I do not think he would lie,” Bascot replied.
The sheriff nodded and Bascot continued. “After Cerlo killed himself, I realised I had not waited for Alexander to give me a complete list of places where the mason had done extra work. I asked Alexander to again consult his list and tell me the sites I had not given him a chance to mention. There were six in all, four of which were only minor repairs to outside steps or the like and so not pertinent. One of the other two was the mint, but the sixth place is where I now believe Cerlo must have uncovered the treasure.”
“And where was it?” Nicolaa asked.
“The exchanger’s manor house at Canwick,” Bascot replied. There was surprise on the faces of all who were listening as he continued. “Cerlo repaired the floor in one of the smaller rooms of the house. The stone flags in one corner were sinking and needed removing so the ground could be shored up and the flags relaid. Considering the age of the manor house, it is quite conceivable this portion of floor was part of the original building and, if I remember correct
ly, lady, I believe you said it was erected in the early part of King Stephen’s reign, about sixty years ago.”
As Nicolaa nodded her confirmation, Bascot went on. “So it is conceivable that the coins and jewellery could have been buried by whoever was in the possession of the manor house at that time. If that person died without revealing the secret of his hiding place, the valuables would have lain undiscovered until the mason found them when he repaired the floor.”
“Why do you think there is more treasure?” Richard Camville asked.
“Because of what Cerlo’s wife told me,” Bascot explained. “It was she who gave me the sack. She claimed—and I believe her—that the mason never revealed to her where they came from, only that they were token of a larger fortune to come. She gave them to me willingly and told me the little she knew without hesitation.”
As Bascot related what Cerlo’s widow had said to him, her face came into his mind’s eye. She had already known of her husband’s death by the time he had ridden to Masons Row and stopped in front of the small house she and Cerlo had shared for so many years. One of the quarrymen had been in the Minster grounds when the mason leapt to his death and hastened to tell her. When Bascot arrived, she was resigned rather than distraught, almost as though Cerlo’s demise had not been a surprise. She immediately handed the sack of coins to Bascot.
“Cerlo told me I was to keep these by me if aught should happen to him,” she said. “And that I was to rub them with sand to age them and change them slowly, just one at a time so it would not be noticed how old they were. But I do not want them, lord. They are cursed. Because of them three men are dead, and one of them my husband.” Her face, although unstained by tears, showed a deep weariness.
Bascot told Camville and the others what Cerlo’s wife had then related. “She said that Cerlo had been morose about his failing eyesight up until a few weeks ago which, according to Alexander’s records, was when the mason worked on the floor at Legerton’s manor house. About that time, he came home one night and told her they no longer had to worry about their future because he would soon have enough money to buy a little house of their own. There would also be enough silver, he said, to see them through the years they had left and to give their daughter assistance as well. She pressed him to tell her how this could be so, but Cerlo would not, telling her it was not safe for her to know where the funds were coming from.
“She then told me that on the night Brand died, she had burned herself with hot pottage, just as Cerlo claimed, but the mason had lied when he assured me he had not gone to the quarry after tending her injury. His wife said that as soon as she was resting comfortably, Cerlo grabbed a lantern and rushed outside. He did not return until more than an hour had passed. When he finally came back, he was shaking his head with anxiety and continued in that worrisome state until the morning of Christ’s Mass when he found the clerk’s body.
“After that, according to his widow, Cerlo’s mood changed. His former attitude of hopeful expectancy became one of anger and despair. Only a day or two later he gave his wife the coins and told her they were to be used for her security if he should no longer be able to provide for her.”
Bascot looked at his listeners. “I think that must have been about the time when Fardein, having realised from the contents of Brand’s scrip that a trove had been discovered, approached Cerlo and demanded a share. Cerlo, driven by the desperate need to keep the horde a secret and enraged by Brand’s death, killed Fardein. When the mason was told I had been seen speaking to the beggar girl, and Alexander subsequently mentioned that I had been asking about the places he had worked, Cerlo realised his involvement in the murders and the hiding of the trove was uncovered. Rather than be hung for his crimes, he decided to end his life in a manner of his own choosing. But before he died, he unintentionally let slip that it was not Brand who was his accomplice, but some other person he refused to name.”
Bascot pointed to the pile of silver coins. “There is five pounds there, all but one penny. The missing coin is the one my servant found on the cliff face. Cerlo’s wife did not know why the clerk intended to give them to her husband on the night Brand was killed, but now we know another person is involved, I would guess the coins were security against a forthcoming share of the profits. There were no other coins or valuables in Cerlo’s house, so the rest of the cache must have been retained by his accomplice.”
Richard Camville looked at the coins with distaste. “Five pounds would be a fortune to a mason, whose wage is only three pence a day. It would constitute more than one year’s pay. Yet it is a paltry sum when balanced against the lives of three men.”
“If the trove was found at the Canwick manor house, then it must be Legerton who conspired with the mason,” Camville said.
As Bascot nodded in agreement, Nicolaa made an objection to their surmise. “But surely, no matter how large the cache, Legerton would not take such a risk,” she said. “The betrayal of his oath of office will carry a heavy punishment, perhaps castration or blinding. No amount of treasure is worth such a gamble.”
“I think it is his nature to take risks, lady,” Bascot countered. “I have recently learned that Legerton is an inveterate chance-taker, although he is, unfortunately, an unsuccessful one. His passion for the gaming tables has led him deeply into debt. If the value of the horde is considerable, I am sure he would have been unable to resist making use of it as a way to solve his financial difficulties.”
Bascot related the conversation Gianni had overheard about Legerton’s gambling debts and of the list of initials among Tasser’s records. “I have yet to ask the silversmith if the initials are his cryptic way of recording the names of those that borrow money from him, but I think it is likely, and if so, then it is also probable Legerton is one of them. The sum was quite substantial—almost one hundred pounds.”
Camville nodded. “Add that debt to the money he owes for his gambling losses and the amount is more than enough to tempt a man to betray his oath of office, and his king.”
“But how did he intend to realise any wealth from the cache?” Richard wondered. “Even though he was able—by sending Brand to Tasser—to gain a few pounds for the jewellery, the coins would be much harder to dispose of.”
“It is possible he intended to take the coins to London or some other large town outside of Lincoln and exchange or sell them to a man of Tasser’s ilk,” Bascot suggested. “If the horde is large enough, it might even be worthwhile to take them abroad—to Brittany or Ireland. Their provenance and age would be of no concern in a foreign country. If he did that, he would gain the full value of the silver.”
“If he was devious enough to hide the discovery of the trove, he is cunning enough to formulate a scheme to benefit from it,” Camville said. “I am convinced Legerton is the one we seek. It only remains to snare the bastard.”
The sheriff placed his wine cup on the table, his brow furrowed in concentration. “These coins and the jewellery constitute solid evidence that a trove had been found and not reported. The testimony of Alexander’s records and the mason’s wife point to it having been secreted on Legerton’s property. Whether or not the exchanger was actively involved in the trove’s discovery is immaterial. Legerton still bears responsibility for crimes that take place on his land.”
“Are you going to issue a warrant for his arrest, Father?” Richard asked.
“I am,” Camville said. “It is time this matter was brought out into the open. It is the only way I can ensure the taint of complicity does not sully my reputation.” He addressed the Templar. “Are you willing to serve the warrant, de Marins?”
“I am, lord,” Bascot replied.
“Then do so, and with all haste. It is likely the cache is still at Canwick; it would be difficult to transport it elsewhere in complete secrecy. Nevertheless, once news of Cerlo’s suicide spreads, Legerton may fear the mason named his accomplice before he died and try to move the rest of the trove to a more secure hiding place. His manor house
must be searched before he has a chance to do that.”
“Unless Legerton is gaming, he will be at Canwick, since the exchange is not open today,” Nicolaa said.
“Are you sure, Wife?” Camville asked her.
Nicolaa nodded. “He is not due into his office until tomorrow,” she said. “And, unlike de Stow, Legerton is not an industrious man. Even when he is abroad in Lincoln, he never goes into the exchange unless it is one of the scheduled opening days, insisting any who wish to see him make an appointment.”
“Then go to Canwick now, de Marins, before he is forewarned by the mason’s suicide. Take de Laxton with you and an escort of men-at-arms from the barracks. Search Legerton’s manor house and, if he is there, arrest him. If fortune is with us, you will find the trove.”
Thirty
AS BASCOT AND THE MEN OF THE ESCORT LEFT THE bail, Walter Legerton was sitting on the dais in the hall of his manor house. He was in a foul temper and roundly cursed a servant who brought him a cup of wine for spilling some as it was placed on the table.
Morosely the exchanger surveyed the trappings of his hall—the exquisitely stitched tapestries on the walls, the fine pewter candlestick holders and the expensive silver cup out of which he was drinking—and realised that none of these acquisitions had made him a happy man. The manor house had cost far more to renovate than he had calculated and the wealth he had acquired from the sale of his father’s silver manufactory had been gone almost before he had time to count it. He should have listened to his sister when she cautioned him against buying it; Silvana had inherited their father’s canniness with money and her advice had been sound. He prayed she would never discover how deeply in debt he truly was, nor the means by which he had tried to recoup his losses.
