by Maureen Ash
Partager fell almost instantly, his eyes glazing over as he dropped to the floor. Legerton tumbled free and picked himself up, his hands clutching at the wound on his neck. Bascot quickly retrieved the knife and motioned for two of the men-at-arms to take hold of the assayer.
As they hauled the half-unconscious man to his feet, the Templar picked up the salver and handed it to Silvana.
“You may not believe you are competent to do a man’s work, mistress,” he said with a small smile, “but I think you are mistaken. You wielded that tray with the skill of a seasoned man-at-arms and with just as much courage. Your brother is a fortunate man to have a woman such as you for a sister.”
Thirty-two
IT WAS LATE IN THE EVENING BY THE TIME BASCOT and de Laxton returned to the castle with their prisoner. One of the soldiers in the escort was leading a palfrey laden with sacks containing a large quantity of coin and jewellery. When they arrived at Lincoln castle, Gerard Camville and Gilbert Bassett were waiting for them in the hall.
Once Simon Partager had been secured in a holding cell, the sheriff directed two men-at-arms to carry the sacks up to his chamber, and the barons, along with Bascot and de Laxton, followed them up the stairs. After the soldiers had completed their chore, Camville dismissed them and de Laxton opened one of the bags. It was packed with a quantity of smaller pouches, ten in all.
“We counted the coins in one of these,” he said to the sheriff, lifting out a bag and hefting it. “It contains five pounds and, judging by the weight, so do all the others. That means there is fifty pounds in each of the larger sacks, of which there are four—a sum of two hundred pounds in all—as well as a pouch containing various items of jewellery. Even if the coins do not each contain a full pennyweight of silver, this is a sizeable treasure trove, to be sure.”
As de Laxton removed the jewellery and laid it on a table, Bassett expelled his breath in amazement. There were at least five necklaces—comprised of heavy links of gold chain—and a half dozen brooches and cloak clasps of the same material, all encrusted with precious stones. Among them were also a number of silver thumb rings and a torque that looked to be of Celtic workmanship, with strands of silver woven in the interlocking design much favoured by that race.
Camville picked up the torque. “This will fetch a pretty price,” he said, “as will the rest of it.”
He and Bassett listened attentively as Bascot explained how it had not been Legerton that the mason had taken into his confidence, but the assayer, Simon Partager. After Partager had been taken prisoner, and realised there could be no escape, he revealed how the trove had been uncovered and the plans he and Cerlo had made for its disposal.
“Apparently Partager came into the chamber where Cerlo was working just as the mason had removed the tiles that covered the floor. The sacks lay just below. When the pair saw the size of the cache, it did not take long for them to come to an agreement to keep the contents. Cerlo was desperate for money to sustain himself and his wife, and Partager wanted funds to get his wife away from Lincoln and Legerton’s bed. The trove seemed like a heaven-sent answer to both men’s problems. They acted quickly, using the bag that contained Cerlo’s work tools to carry the sacks to the assayer’s room and hide them underneath some garments in his clothes chest. They had to make two or three trips over the course of the day to get it all safely stowed and be sure none of the servants noticed their comings and goings. Fortunately for them, Legerton’s sister, Silvana, was keeping all the staff busy giving the house a thorough cleansing while her brother was away and Partager’s wife, Iseult, had gone to Lincoln to visit her sister.
“After they had hidden the contents of the trove, Cerlo and Partager discussed how they could dispose of it. They knew the age of the coins would prevent them from being exchanged, so they decided to leave the silver, and the jewellery, in the chest while the assayer applied for a vacancy at a mine in Tynedale. Once there, under the guise of carrying out his duties, Partager had enough skill to use the mine’s forge to melt the coins down slowly, just a few at a time, and fashion them into ingots. His actions would not be questioned—it is common for assayers to use a crucible for testing the purity of silver ore. Partager could then sell the ingots and the rest of the jewellery slowly, one piece at a time, to different gold- and silversmiths in one or more of the larger northern towns.
“Although it would have taken a long time to realise the full value of the trove, neither Partager nor Cerlo were in a hurry for their profit. Cerlo was content to receive a steady supply of small sums of money that Partager would bring to Lincoln once or twice a year, and the assayer simply wanted the wherewithal to keep his errant wife from straying. It might have taken them years to dispose of it all, but it would most certainly have provided an ample extra income for both men.”
“Why did they decide to divulge the secret to the clerk, Peter Brand?” Bassett asked. “Surely they were taking a grave risk by doing so.”
“To secure the post at Tynedale Partager had to pay a fee of five pounds to the overseer of the mine; he would also need some silver to finance his and Iseult’s journey north. He and Cerlo decided to sell a few of the smaller pieces of jewellery to cover the cost of the venture. They chose to approach Tasser because of his unsavoury reputation; even if he suspected the provenance of the items, they reckoned his greed would overcome any scruples he might have. But they were still wary—it would be best if neither of them was involved in the sale. Tasser knew Partager worked at the exchange, he would immediately wonder how the assayer had come by such sudden wealth and the same could be said of Cerlo, a lowly mason at the cathedral. If either of them attempted to carry out the transaction, they would be risking extortion by the silversmith. So they decided to use someone who was unknown to Tasser; a person who could spin the silversmith a tale about the origin of the jewellery and not be suspected of lying. Brand seemed the perfect choice—he had only lived in Lincoln for just over a year and was relatively unknown about the town. Partager had heard from other employees at the mint about the clerk’s impatience to save enough money to wed a girl in Grantham and approached him. When he asked if Brand was willing to help them for a small consideration, the clerk readily agreed.
“Partager never told Brand the extent of the horde he and Cerlo had found or where they discovered it. The assayer merely said the mason had found a few bits of jewellery and one small bag of coins in the foundations of an old house near the quarry and had come to the assayer for advice on how to dispose of it. It was Partager who fabricated the tale Brand told Tasser about inheriting the jewellery and, if Fardein had not been present when the clerk related the story, it might have worked. Tasser was suspicious, but not unduly so.”
“And the coins that Brand had in his purse on the night he was murdered?” Camville asked. “Why was he taking them to the quarry?”
“Partager told Cerlo that as soon as he heard whether or not he had been awarded the position at the mine he would come to the cathedral for early-morning Mass—a service the mason always attended—and let his accomplice know the outcome. And, on the twentieth day of December, that is what the assayer did; he went to the cathedral, found Cerlo and told him the position was secured and he was expected to commence his new employment by the middle of January. He had formerly promised Cerlo, as evidence of good faith, that he would give the mason a bag of the old coins, but because he didn’t want to give them to Cerlo in full view of the parishioners attending Mass in the cathedral, he said he would send Brand to the quarry with them the next day. They agreed that dusk would be the best time for the clerk to arrive; even though the quarry was shut down due to the winch being inoperative, there might be some of the quarrymen about the pit during the daylight hours. And that is why the clerk was there on the twenty-first day of December, and at that time.”
“And because his wife’s accident made the mason late for the appointment, Brand was killed by Fardein, who saw his chance to rob the clerk and took it,” Bassett said.
“Which led the apprentice into demanding a share in the trove from Cerlo,” Bascot confirmed, “and to Fardein’s death when the mason lured him outside the walls of Lincoln and killed him.”
They looked at the riches contained in the sacks piled on the table. “It may be a valuable find,” the Templar said, “but it has caused untold misery to many people.”
“Whether it has or not, it can now be turned over to the Exchequer,” Camville said with satisfaction. “I will leave it to one of their officials to try and discover if there is an heir that may have a legitimate claim to the trove, or whether they are all dead.”
“I think we may have found the answer to that, Gerard,” Nicolaa said from the doorway. She and Richard entered the room, the castellan holding a piece of parchment in her hand.
When both Nicolaa and her son were seated and had full cups of wine in their hands, Bascot repeated, at the castellan’s request, the circumstances of how it had been discovered that it had not been Walter Legerton who had conspired with Cerlo but his assayer, Simon Partager. When he finished, the sheriff asked his wife what she had meant by her earlier statement that she knew who had secreted the cache.
“After de Marins and de Laxton left to arrest Legerton, Richard and I searched the castle archives—with John Blund’s help—for records of who had owned the property at Canwick in the days of King Stephen. I remembered my father saying that my grandsire had granted the fee of a Haye property there in perpetuity to the church of St. Clement as a gesture of thanks-giving for the birth of his son. I thought that if I consulted the record of his gift, it might also give the name of the people who held other properties in the area.”
This was a distinct possibility. Land was often delineated by naming those adjoining it and usually included the information of whether it was held in fee from a lord or the crown, and by whom.
Nicolaa took up the piece of parchment she had been holding. “John Blund found this. It is the record of my grandsire’s donation to the abbey and mentions a property—one arpent in size—on the northern border of the Haye land. It was a small property and is recorded to have been held in fee from the see of Lincoln by one Otto, minter to the crown.”
She looked up. “There were six mints in Lincoln in the days of King Stephen and Otto must have operated one of them. At that time the office of exchanger had not been instituted and moneyers not only produced the monarch’s coins, they also fulfilled the office of exchanging them for new. Because of Stephen’s tenuous hold on the throne and the unsettled state of the kingdom, the Exchequer was often unable to enforce the king’s edicts and there was much scope for reaping illegal profits. Silver was debased with other, less precious metals and many of the coins were of short weight. Barring the few that were caught and punished for these criminal acts—and not many were charged during Stephen’s reign—the rest became wealthy, mostly through embezzling royal funds. I think Otto must have been one of them. If he has any relatives still living, they would have a hard time proving he came by the contents of the trove legally.”
She pointed at the sacks of silver coins. “It is quite likely all of this money should have originally been paid into the royal coffers. It seems only just that now, after so many years, it will find its way to its true destination.” She glanced at her husband. “I think King John will be appreciative of your services in returning it, Gerard.”
Camville gave a snort of disbelief. “It is more likely he will want proof I did not remove any of it before I despatched it to the Exchequer.”
A flicker of annoyance for her husband’s disparagement of the king crossed Nicolaa’s face, but she did not voice her irritation, saying instead, “I cannot imagine that Legerton’s part in all this will be lightly glossed over by the royal officials. Even if he is innocent of keeping the discovery of the horde secret, Simon Partager was his employee and as such, Legerton must bear some of the responsibility for his dishonesty. I have no doubt that, at the very least, he will be dismissed from his post as exchanger and ordered to pay a heavy fine.”
Miles de Laxton gave a chuckle of amusement. “Legerton is deeply in debt already, lady. If he loses his post at the exchange and is fined as well, he will have no choice but to sell his manor house to settle his outstanding debts. That will force him to live in circumstances to which he is not accustomed.”
“I cannot feel any empathy for him,” Richard said. “He is an insufferably arrogant man. Perhaps this misfortune is God’s way of punishing him for his pride.”
“And for his infidelity,” Nicolaa added. “If Legerton had not been bedding Partager’s wife, the assayer would not have succumbed to the temptation of stealing the cache. I do not think either Partager or Cerlo were dishonest men at heart; it was desperation rather then avarice that drove them to commit their crimes.”
Thirty-three
THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED COLD BUT CLEAR. IT WAS the last day Gilbert Bassett and his family—including Ralph of Turville, his wife and son—would spend as guests in Lincoln castle and the clement weather enabled Gerard Camville to hold the planned hawking party before their leave-taking.
As soon as the morning meal had been served, the hosts and their guests assembled in the bail and made ready to depart. Even young Stephen of Turville had been given leave to accompany the others, the only proviso his mother attached to her reluctant permission being that he kept his ears well covered. Horses were brought from the stables and a pack of rache and bercelet hounds, much smaller than the large dogs used to hunt boar or deer, came yapping and barking from the kennels. Finally the falconer entered the ward, his three assistants behind him, carrying the hooded raptors on portable leather-covered perches slung from their shoulders. The birds of prey were hooded and sat quietly, only one or two ruffling their feathers as they were carried forward and transferred to the gauntleted wrists of the nobles.
As the cavalcade started off through the western gate, Bascot and Gianni came through the small postern door in the northern wall of the bail. They had just been attending the service of Prime in the church of St. Clement. As they crossed the empty expanse of the ward, Roget came in through the eastern gate of the castle and hailed them.
“Hola, de Marins,” the captain called. “I have come to take Tasser back to the town gaol but, if you are agreeable, I have a wine of good vintage that I am willing to share before I do so.” The former mercenary patted the wineskin that hung from his belt.
“The silversmith is to be released today?” Bascot asked.
Roget nodded. “Sir Gerard sent word to me last night that I should collect him this morning, but he is to stay in custody in the town gaol until he has paid a surety. He is to be charged with profiting from the commission of robberies.”
Bascot agreed to drinking a cup of Roget’s wine—the captain had an uncanny knack of being in possession of fine vintages, which, the Templar knew, were often given him by merchants about the town in gratitude for his vigilance—but first sent Gianni to report for duty in the scriptorium.
The boy raced off with the speed of an arrow shot and as Roget watched him go, amazed at the hastiness of his departure, the Templar explained the reason for Gianni’s eagerness.
“He is anxious to help Lambert put the finishing touches on a manual of the gestures they have been teaching Ralph of Turville’s son, Stephen. The book is to be presented to Master Stephen tonight, after the evening meal, and both Gianni and Blund’s clerk are keen to have it as near to perfect as possible.”
Roget gave a chuckle of amusement. “Only clerks can be that much in love with their duties,” he said wryly. “If my men showed such devotion, I would think they were ailing with a sickness.”
The pair walked over to the barracks; neither of them had yet broken their fast and Ernulf would have some food to accompany Roget’s wine in his emergency rations.
They found the serjeant inside the long, low room that served as living quarters for the castle men-at-arms issuing orders to the soldier
s that would be on guard duty on the castle walls that day. He welcomed Roget’s offer to share his wine and the three men went into the cubicle. Chunks of smoked bacon and slices of cheese from Ernulf’s store were laid out on a rough wooden trencher and Roget poured them all a cup of the wine he had brought. His boast of it being a good vintage had been a true one; it was full-bodied and smooth and, combined with the meat and cheese, made a good meal.
“That assayer’s in a sorry state,” Ernulf said to Bascot as Roget poured them each another cup of wine. “Hasn’t spoken a word since de Laxton brought him in, just lies curled up in a ball in the corner of his cell. Won’t even take any food or drink.” He gave Bascot a speculative look. “The men that went with you to Canwick last night told me all about the treasure he stole.” As Ernulf said this, Roget nodded his head. Apparently the story of Partager’s arrest had spread not only through the castle, but also reached as far as the town gaol. “You going to tell us what made him steal it, or do we have to wait until we hear it at his trial? It’ll be some time before the judges arrive, maybe not until after Eastertide. And the trial might not even be held in Lincoln; the king may decide to have the assayer sent to London.”
Even though Partager’s crime had not been one of murder, his offence of defrauding the crown was far too serious to be heard in the sheriff’s court. Gerard Camville would advise the Exchequer of the crime when he despatched the contents of the trove to London, and then wait to see if the case was to be tried in Lincoln by the royal judges of the itinerant court or if he was to send Partager to London to stand trial there. The Templar was well aware of Ernulf and Roget’s curiosity and felt he owed it to them both to satisfy it. In all the previous cases of murder the Templar had solved, both men had been involved in his investigations and had, in more than one instance, given their willing assistance to track down the culprits. Neither of them seemed to bear any resentment for being kept apart from the circumstances surrounding these latest murders, but the Templar felt that, because of their previous support, the request was a reasonable one.
