Murder for Christ's Mass tk-4

by Maureen Ash

  The main door to the house was made of thick planks of oak, but swung easily open at the steward’s command to the doorward and, as it did so, strains of music could be heard coming from inside. Across a narrow entryway a door led into the hall, a large chamber with a high ceiling of crisscrossed oak beams where, in an open space in the middle of the room, about a dozen people were engaged in a lively dance called an estampie. At the far end, on a shallow dais, was a table at which five people-two of them young boys-were sitting. Other, smaller, tables all laid with food, and at which a number of people were seated, were scattered around the perimeter of the room.

  “If you will wait here, Sir Bascot, I shall tell Master Legerton of your arrival,” the steward said and threaded his way past the dancers to the table on the dais.

  Leaning down, the steward spoke in a respectful manner to the man seated in the central position. He had a full head of thick dark hair and a florid, well fleshed face. His attire was sumptuous; an expensive scarlet wool tunic enclosed his muscular frame and atop his head he wore a matching soft cap adorned with a brooch of silver filigree. As he listened to the steward, he turned his gaze in the Templar’s direction. Finally he nodded and rose from his seat. There was a look of irritation on his face as he came down the length of the room, but it was smoothed over by the time he reached Bascot.

  “I am Walter Legerton,” he said. “My steward tells me you wish to speak to me privily.”

  “That is correct,” Bascot told him, “and to your assayer, Simon Partager.”

  “May I ask what this is about?” Legerton enquired. “As you can see, we have a number of guests-family and friends-who have come to celebrate the holy days. They will not look kindly on my deserting them.”

  The exchanger’s tone was tinged with impatience and Bascot felt his choler rise. He tried to curtail it, however, and answered in a polite, if chilly, manner. “Master de Stow’s clerk, Peter Brand, was found dead yesterday in the cathedral quarry. He was murdered. Sheriff Camville has asked me to investigate the matter. I have come to ask you, and your assayer, if you have any knowledge that may assist us in apprehending his killer.”

  Legerton’s face paled a little, but his response contained a hint of peevishness. “I am sorry to hear of Brand’s death, but he was a clerk. Apart from seeing him about the mint in de Stow’s company, I have barely spoken to the man. How could I be expected to know anything that would be pertinent to his murder?”

  “I have been instructed to ask for information from everyone who came into contact with Brand,” Bascot replied brusquely, wondering if the exchanger was as heartless as he seemed or if his manner was a screen to hide a deeper emotion. “If you have a chamber where I may speak to you and your assayer apart from your guests, the matter should not require you to be absent from your company for more than a few minutes.”

  Bascot’s tone left Legerton in no doubt that he found the exchanger’s attitude annoying. Legerton also recalled that while de Marins had said he had come on behalf of Sheriff Camville, the knight was in the temporary service of Nicolaa de la Haye, who was reputed to be on terms of great friendship with the king. In the exchanger’s position as a royal official, it would not do to jeopardize his continuance in the post by leaving himself open to complaint from anyone who had King John’s ear. He gave Bascot an assurance of his cooperation and, directing his steward to ask Partager to attend him, led the Templar to a small chamber just off the entryway. Gianni unobtrusively followed his master through the door. Although there was a brazier burning in a corner, there was little else in the room aside from a small table set with two wine cups and a large chest bound with iron bands and sealed with a stout lock.

  “This is where my household accounts and duplicate records of transactions at the exchange are kept,” Legerton explained. “The room is not used for any other purpose, so we will not be disturbed.”

  As Bascot nodded in response, there was a light tap at the door and the assayer, Simon Partager, entered the room. He was a man of about Bascot’s own age, mid-thirties, with a thin, sensitive face and weary eyes. His hair was light brown in colour, as was his neatly trimmed beard, and his clothing was of practical design and quality. Bascot recalled catching a glimpse of him in the exchanger’s hall a few moments before. Partager had been in the company of a fair-haired woman who was pretty of face and coy in demeanour. Although seated beside the assayer, she had been engaged in animated conversation with the man across the table from her, giving him admiring glances as they spoke together.

  “Sir Bascot has just told me that Helias’s clerk, Peter Brand, has been murdered,” Legerton said to the assayer. “His body was found in the cathedral quarry yesterday and Sir Bascot has come to ask if either of us know anything that may indicate why he was killed.”

  Partager’s face registered an expression of shock, but it was difficult to tell if it was genuine or feigned. The muscles in his jaw tightened for a moment and then he said, “That is terrible news. He was a likeable young man. Are you… are you sure he was murdered?”

  “Since he was stabbed through the heart,” Bascot said dryly, “I think the assumption he was murdered can be taken as a true one.”

  The Templar paused slightly to watch both men’s reaction to the gory detail and then said, “It would appear that Brand was murdered four days before Christ’s Mass, the day the snowstorm began, since he was last seen at work earlier that day. I am trying to find out why Brand was in the quarry that afternoon. Do either of you know the reason?”

  Legerton did not even deign to answer. He had already said he had hardly spoken to the clerk and his impatient manner indicated he had consented to the interview with the Templar only on sufferance. Partager, however, gave a reply.

  “I have no knowledge of Peter’s movements outside the mint, Sir Bascot, and know nothing of his personal affairs,” he said in a stiff manner. “He certainly never made mention, in my hearing, that he had any intention of going to the quarry on that day or at any other time.”

  Bascot turned to the exchanger. “I am told you attend your office on three days of the week, Master Legerton. I presume you use the quarters above for your night’s rest at those times. Is that correct?”

  The exchanger bridled a bit at the question, but answered all the same. “Yes, I do.”

  “And you, Master Partager, do you stay there as well when you are at work?”

  The assayer replied that he did, since there was more than one bedchamber in the lodgings. “I often stay there alone,” he added, “on those occasions when my duties require that I remain at the exchange after Master Legerton has gone home.” There was a hint of bitterness in his tone.

  Bascot had noted Legerton’s unspoken objection to the query and explained his reason for asking it. “I am trying to ascertain the security of the exchange. There is reason to believe Brand was robbed at the time of his murder and since de Stow tells me the clerk did not possess a great deal of money, I am wondering if he had perhaps stolen from his place of work and was attacked for the contents of his scrip. De Stow explained the precautions that are taken to keep all the silver safe but, as you are probably aware, any determined and clever thief can find a way through even the most stringent safeguards.”

  “Impossible,” Legerton expostulated. “De Stow and I have the only keys and there are guards on the premises at all times. Besides, if any was missing, it would be noticed as soon as the twice-daily inventory is done by de Stow and his clerk…”

  He trailed off as he realised that since the murdered man had been in a position of trust, it was possible he had, as Bascot suggested, taken advantage of the privilege to steal. “I must return immediately to Lincoln and ensure there is no shortage in the coinage I store in the mint,” he said in distraction. “Simon, find my steward and tell him to order a groom to saddle my horse…”

  “There is no need,” Bascot said bluntly. “I spoke with de Stow before I came here and he assures me he has taken a tally of the coinag
e and all is correct and accounted for. I am satisfied that nothing has been stolen from the mint; it is the exchange I am concerned with. Do you keep any money there that Brand may have had access to, but which is not within the moneyer’s control?”

  “No, no, I do not keep any silver there,” Legerton said distractedly, still half in motion to leave the room. His face full of worry, he sought further assurance. “And you are certain that de Stow found nothing missing from the coffers?”

  “Brand was killed some days ago,” Bascot told him, “and, since the moneyer has been carrying out the clerk’s duties during that time, he would quickly have discovered any shortage.”

  Legerton relaxed as he heard the certainty in the Templar’s response and his former impatience returned. “Are there any other questions you wish to ask?” he said abruptly.

  “Not at the moment,” Bascot replied, his words just as blunt. “If any should arise, you will be informed of the need to make yourself available, either by myself or Sheriff Camville.”

  The Templar left the manor house with a feeling of unease. As the steward shut the door behind him and Gianni, he thought over his conversation with Legerton and the assayer. There had seemed to be a trace of tension underlying the exchanger’s supercilious attitude and Partager’s stilted responses. Was it due to the shock of learning the brutal manner of Brand’s death or had it been spawned by another, more ominous reason, such as a guilty conscience?

  Nine

  As Bascot and Gianni were on their way back to Lincoln, snow began to fall, not as fiercely as it had done on the fourth day before Christ’s Mass, but with a steadiness that told of more to come. By the time they reached the castle ward, the ground was covered in a layer of white more than an inch thick.

  After stabling their mount, they crossed the ward and went into the keep in search of Gerard Camville. On being told by Eudo that the sheriff had gone to the kennels, the Templar told Gianni to wait inside and went back out into the falling snow.

  The building where the hounds were kept was a low ceilinged wooden structure attached to a fenced compound on the north side of the bail. As the Templar ducked his head and went in under the shallow lintel of the doorway, the rank odour of dog filled his nostrils, even though fresh straw lay over the entire floor. One side of the building, partitioned off by a screen of wood, was filled with dogs of every description-mastiffs, lymer and gaze hounds, harriers and the mongrels called velters. Except for a few favoured dogs that were allowed to roam freely in the hall, all the castle canines were kept within the walls of the kennel and compound except when being exercised or accompanying a hunting party. At the moment, they were being fed a meal of raw offal by two kennel servants and were relatively quiet.

  On the other side of the partition were a few stalls used for whelping or to house a dog that was ailing. It was in one of these that Bascot found Camville, down on his knees beside a sick lymer hound, a bitch, that was lying on her side and panting. Her dark eyes were dull and filled with pain. With the sheriff was the kennel master, a sturdily built man with straggly dark hair and a pugnacious jaw, and he was explaining to the sheriff what had happened to the dog as Bascot approached.

  “The wound in her paw turned corrupt a few days ago, lord,” the kennel master said. “She sliced it open during a scuffle with a male. He kept trying to mount her when she wasn’t ready and they fought. When it first swelled, I cut it open to release the poison and then washed the wound with water and wine, but to no avail. I fear she will not recover.”

  Camville nodded his agreement. “She is a courageous hound and has borne me many fine pups. I will be sorry to lose her.”

  As though the dog understood his words, she raised her head slightly and tried to lick the sheriff’s hand. Camville ran a hand gently over her muzzle and stood up. “Do what is necessary,” he said to the kennel master. “But make sure she does not suffer. And despatch the male that attacked her as well. He does not deserve to live when he was the cause of her death.”

  As the sheriff rose to his feet, he saw Bascot. Camville’s compassion for the sick dog did not surprise the Templar. The sheriff was a hard taskmaster, but to those who proved steadfast in his service-human or animal-he gave a full measure of loyalty in return.

  Camville joined Bascot and they left the kennels. As they walked back across the ward to the keep, the Templar related the results of his interviews with de Stow and his employees, and the reactions of Legerton and the assayer. The sheriff grunted in dissatisfaction.

  “Mealy-mouthed whoresons, all of them,” he exclaimed. “If any of them is involved in the clerk’s murder, we’ll have a hard time proving it. And if a trove is at the root of this killing, whoever it was that conspired with the clerk will have it well hidden by now.”

  “It may be Brand confided something pertinent to his mother or the girl he wished to marry during his visits to Grantham,” Bascot suggested. “It might be worthwhile to speak to them.”

  Camville looked up at the louring sky, which was already as dark as evening even though it was only the middle of the afternoon. Snow was still falling, lightly, but relentlessly. “This snow does not look as though it will abate and, if it does not, all roads will be impassable by morning. It is more than twenty miles to Grantham. We will have to wait for the weather to clear before the journey can be made, much as it galls me to do so.”

  The sheriff’s forecast of more snow proved true. Over the next two days, it drifted down in a sporadic fashion and was soon deep enough to reach a tall man’s knees. By the third day, when it finally ceased to fall and the air was crisp and cold, it underwent another mercurial change as the temperature suddenly rose and a downpour of rain began. Although not such a deluge as previously, it was still heavy enough to turn the snow once again into a morass of dirty slush. During this time, a roaring fire was kept going in the hall, and the troupe of minstrels, acrobats and mummers that Nicolaa de la Haye had hired continued to weave their way amongst the throng in the hall, playing music on their instruments, performing tumbling feats and acting out plays with a religious theme in an effort to keep everyone amused. In the evenings, the trestle tables were pushed against the walls and ring dances-commonly called carols-were held. Each of these rings was comprised of equal ranks, with those from the high table who wished to dance forming a circle just below the dais, upper servants in the next and, at the back of the hall, maidservants and varlets. While the musicians played and sang songs of good cheer, the dancers joined hands and twirled in a circle, joining in the words of the song as they did so.

  All the younger people were enthusiastic about participating in the dancing, with Richard leading Eustachia out for every set, their carol completed by Lucia and one of the household knights or squires. Although it was a time of jollity, the enforced confinement caused by the dismal weather slowly began to take its toll and everyone grew restless.

  The tension was broken when Camville’s hunt master came into the hall just as the midday meal was ending and told his lord a boar had been sighted in the sheriff’s chase. “It is a large male and in its prime,” the huntsman said. “The snow that fell in the chase was not as deep as within the town and, with the rain, has melted to only a thin covering among the trees. Providing the weather holds clear tomorrow, the ground will not be too treacherous for horses. If you wish to hold a hunt, lord, the boar will prove a worthy adversary.”

  Gilbert Bassett, sitting next to Camville, heard the huntsman’s words and a slow smile spread over his face. “I have a fancy for some wild pig, Gerard,” he said. “And the pleasure of snaring one will surely increase my appetite.”

  Camville shared his friend’s anticipation and gave orders that a hunt be arranged for the next morning. As the news spread around the hall, the spirits of the men rose perceptibly.

  Nicolaa de la Haye’s female guests also felt a modicum of relief. The temper of their menfolk had grown increasingly testy from the enforced inactivity, and the men’s absence from the keep
meant the women would be able to retire to the solar and spend the day in leisurely conversation. It was traditional for gifts to be exchanged on the first day of the New Year, and the women were eager to compare the presents they intended to bestow and to speculate about what they hoped to receive.

  Only Stephen, Ralph of Turville’s young son, was disconsolate. Even though a couple of older pages about the same age as the lad were to accompany the hunting party, Stephen’s mother, Maud, begged her husband to deny their son permission, insisting the boy should stay in the shelter of the keep lest the coldness of the weather bring on one of the ear aches that plagued him at this time of year.

  When Ralph reluctantly concurred with his wife and told the boy he must remain behind, Lucia resurrected her notion of teaching Stephen some of the gestures Gianni used to communicate, begging Maud to reconsider her earlier refusal to allow the lesson. Conscious of the pleading look in her son’s eyes, Maud relented and gave her permission. Lucia did not give her cousin any time to change her mind. She immediately got up from her seat at the end of the table on the dais and made her way to where Nicolaa de la Haye sat.

  The next morning, the eve of the first day of the New Year, Bascot stood in the bail and watched Gianni race across the ward to the keep. The Templar had readily acceded to Lucia’s request, which had been put to him by Lady Nicolaa on the girl’s behalf. Bascot suspected Gianni’s eagerness to participate in tutelage of the young Turville heir was not completely due to the honour of having the castellan make a personal request for his services, but primarily because he had been told that Lucia Bassett intended to be present during the lesson. The boy had been giving the young noblewoman admiring glances ever since she arrived and, although Lucia was a few years older than Gianni, Bascot guessed the lad had arrived at the age when young males start to become painfully aware of the attractions of female pulchritude. Neither age nor rank had ever been a barrier to the onset of love’s awakening desires, and the crimson blush that spread over Gianni’s face when Bascot told him about the arrangements was a good indication the boy was smitten with the fair Lucia.