by Maureen Ash
“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.
His gaze wandered over the people gathered in the hall. All the guests he had entertained at the season of Christ’s Mass had gone home, thank God, but there was still a sizeable number of servants in attendance, far more than necessary for a manor house the size of this one. He would be forced to dismiss many of them if his schemes came to naught.
He saw Simon Partager enter the hall, a sheaf of documents in his hand, and the sour bile of anger rose in his throat. Yesterday the assayer had come to him and given notice of his intent to leave Legerton’s employ, saying he had been offered a position as assayer in a silver mine in the far north of England and had accepted it. Since the salary for the new post would be far less than Simon earned at the exchange, Legerton supposed his affair with Iseult might have influenced the assayer’s decision to leave Lincoln. If so, the resentment was misplaced. If he had not bedded the beautiful, but empty-headed, wife of his assayer, she would not have been slow to find another paramour. She was as lascivious as she was greedy, and would bed any man who took her fancy, especially if a prospective lover promised to shower her with gifts. Partager would be hard pressed to keep Iseult satisfied on the pittance he would receive at the mine. Walter had no doubt she would soon find a new lover wherever her husband took her, even if it was to the desolation of the Northumbria moors.
His recollection of the incident prompted him to remember another event of the previous day, when Helias de Stow had come to his office to discuss the arrest of Tasser. De Stow was full of worry about the money he, at Legerton’s urging, had borrowed from the silversmith, fearing his indebtedness would be revealed during the course of the sheriff’s investigation into the recent murders. If it became known that he had dealings with such an unscrupulous man as Tasser, Helias said fearfully, he would be in jeopardy of losing his post, since it would not be considered appropriate for a man who had charge of money belonging to the king’s treasury to have traffic with a person of such ill repute. Legerton forced from his mind the guilty knowledge that de Stow would not have needed to borrow money if he had been given the funds the Exchange in London had sent to cover the cost of replacing equipment in the mint. He had not really meant to appropriate it, only borrow it for a few days, but he had lost it all in one night at the gaming tables and did not have the funds to replace it.
Legerton had tried to reassure de Stow, telling the moneyer it was unlikely his indebtedness to Tasser would be revealed, but he had done it halfheartedly. De Stow’s concerns seemed small in comparison with his own.
The exchanger banged his cup on the table as a signal for it to be refilled. As a manservant hurried forward with a jug of wine, Partager approached the dais, the parcel of papers still clutched in his hand and a look of self-righteous determination on his face. Legerton groaned. Was he about to be given more distressing news?
Iseult Partager also watched her husband advance up the hall with a flicker of unease. Simon had told her earlier that day to pack up her clothing and any other possessions she wished to take with her and be ready to leave for Northumbria in the morning. Iseult had made a determined protest, but it had fallen on deaf ears. Simon had been adamant they were leaving; she had even tried to detract him from his plan with a bold invitation to lovemaking, but he had roughly thrust her aside, saying he had no time for such games. Never before had she seen Simon in such an inflexible mood, and it frightened her.
Although her husband had not mentioned Legerton’s name, she thought it must be something to do with the exchanger that was at the root of Simon’s purpose in leaving. Since he had never given any sign that he knew of her liaison with his employer, she doubted it could be that, but something he said had struck a chord of disquietude within her. It had been when he was telling her to pack up her clothing and had noticed, laying on a table in their chamber, the tawdry cloak clasp that Legerton had given her on the first day of the New Year.
Picking the brooch up, Simon had thrown it on the floor and ground it under the heel of his boot, saying Legerton would have been better advised to have kept the money he spent on the gift in his scrip for, when it became known he fraternized with people of unsavoury reputation, he would lose his post and need every penny he could find.
Iseult was not sure what he meant, but she knew Legerton loved to gamble and often lost money at the gaming tables. Simon was the exchanger’s clerk as well as his assayer and therefore privy to Legerton’s personal accounts. Had her lover become indebted to men of bad character, ones who had no qualms about making his losses publically known, thereby damaging his reputation so badly the officials in London would deem him untrustworthy? Or was it something to do with Tasser, the silversmith who had been arrested and, it was said, would soon be charged with murdering his apprentice? Surely Legerton could not be involved in that affair? Or could he?
Silvana, too, was in a state of worry. As she shepherded her two young nephews-boys of eight and ten years-into the hall to take their seats for the evening meal, she looked to where her brother sat and saw the deep worry lines creasing his face. Even though he thought her unaware of his penchant for games of chance, she knew of it, and that he sadly lacked the skill to win. He had always been impulsive and far too optimistic for his own good. She loved him dearly, but her affection did not make her blind to his faults. Recently she had come to suspect he was in far deeper debt than he admitted and had taken drastic measures to try to remedy the situation, such as borrowing money to stake at the gaming tables in a desperate bid to recoup his losses. If this was what he had done, and it became known, it was more than likely he would be dismissed from his post. If that happened, Walter would be forced to sell the manor house and buy a home of much humbler proportions; perhaps even go to work for an employer in a gold or silver manufactory.
For herself, Silvana had no fear of poverty; her requirements were small and she would stand by her brother and his sons however low in station they became. But she worried about the effect of such an outcome on her brother. The loss of the manor house would be a devastating blow to his pride and she could well imagine that many of those who had curried his favour while he appeared to be rich would quickly turn aside when it became known he was not. The verse in the Bible, in Proverbs, warning of pride coming before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall would most certainly prove to be true in her brother’s case. She hoped he would not have to learn such a lesson but, if he did, perhaps it might teach him a modicum of humility.
While Bascot waited for de Laxton and the castle men-at-arms to assemble, he paid a short visit to the cell where Warner Tasser was incarcerated. The silversmith, weary of his confinement, willingly confirmed Gianni’s suspicion that the list he and his master had found was a list of debtors, and that the L identified Legerton. When asked about the other cryptically notated initials, the Templar was surprised to learn one of them was Helias de Stow. Bascot was sure King John would not be pleased to learn that the integrity of two men entrusted to oversee the purity of his coinage was fallible. Gerard Camville, on the other hand, would derive great pleasure from the information.
By the time the Templar had finished questioning Tasser, Miles de Laxton had assembled a half dozen men-at-arms in front of the stables, and the small cavalcade set off for Canwick. The short winter day had begun to darken with the approach of evening by the time they reached the bridge that spanned the river Witham and they called a halt while one of the soldiers used flint and tinder to light a torch. As the man-at-arms held the flaming brand aloft, the rain that had been spattering all day began to fall in earnest. Their cloaks were soon soaked with moisture.
As they rode towards Canwick, Bascot explained to de Laxton the purpose of their journey. Now the sheriff had decided to charge Legerton with concealment of hidden treasure, it would be only a short time before the whole of Lincoln knew of it and Miles needed to be aware of the nature of their duty.
De Laxton had listened openmouthed as Bascot explained how the coin found on the cliff top had led the sheriff to suspect a hidden cache of valuables from King Stephen’s reign was involved in the murder of Peter Brand. He then briefly recounted the torturous route that led to knowledge of the involvement of Cerlo and eventually to Legerton’s manor house.
“I wonder the exchanger did not use some of the treasure to pay off his debts. There are a couple of men of my acquaintance that would be more than pleased to receive the sum he owes them,” de Laxton said when Bascot finished.
“Legerton could not pay them in old coin without it being remarked upon. Only the jewellery could be turned into current coinage by selling it to someone such as Tasser. Legerton could not take it to the silversmith himself without Tasser becoming suspicious as to why the exchanger needed to borrow money when he had such valuables to sell, and if Cerlo, a lowly mason, had taken it, the silversmith would have immediately become suspicious of the jewellery’s provenance. I think the pair, knowing how desperate Brand was to save enough money to wed a girl in Grantham, paid the clerk to take it to Tasser. He was an educated lad and not from Lincoln, his story of the jewellery being part of an inheritance would seem plausible.”
