Murder for Christ's Mass tk-4 Page 3

  “The quarry is a strange place for a clerk to have been in such weather,” he said reflectively. “Did you find any hint as to why he was there?”

  “No, lord, I did not,” Bascot replied. “The men who found the body told me the quarry was shut down for two days before the storm began, and so the pit was deserted, most of the men having gone into Lincoln, and the two who remained stayed inside their lodgings. Whatever his purpose, there was nothing on the clerk’s person to give any indication of what it might have been. His purse was missing, and the only evidence I could find that he had been wearing one was this, which was caught in the folds of his cloak.” Bascot laid the piece of leather thong on the table.

  Camville picked it up. “Looks as though it might be part of a fastener for a scrip,” he said. “Robbery must have been the reason for his death. Someone lured him there and murdered him for whatever his purse contained. A common enough crime.”

  “There was also this coin, lord, at the top of the cliff face, but it may not have been part of whatever money Brand had on him. It looks to be from a very old minting.” Bascot placed the coin on the table beside the piece of leather thong Camville had inspected.

  The sheriff’s interest, which had been dismissive at first, now became more alert. He picked up the coin and examined it. “Have you cleaned this, de Marins?”

  Bascot shook his head. “I rubbed off some of the surface dirt, that is all.”

  Bassett rose from his seat and came to where Camville stood, approaching the sheriff with an easy familiarity that spoke of the close nature of their mutual regard. He was a smaller man than the sheriff, but his compact body was solid with muscle and his face, with its prominent nose and hazel eyes, had a hawkish look. Camville handed the coin to his friend and the baron examined it carefully.

  “This is from Stephen’s time on the throne,” Bassett remarked, “and must have been kept securely stored since it was made. It is so pristine it could have been struck from a die only yesterday.”

  “Did you say this coin was found near the spot where you believe the clerk to have been killed?” Camville asked Bascot.

  When the Templar nodded, the sheriff glanced at Bassett with a look that held some significance.

  “What is it, Father?” Richard asked. “Why is the coin of so much interest to both of you?”

  “It is the state of its preservation,” Camville said slowly. “Random coins of this age do turn up from time to time, but they are usually in halves or quarters or else very worn, with clipped edges.” He held the coin up to the light of the candle on the table. “But this one is in excellent condition. I am wondering if it could have been part of a trove. There were many people in Lincoln town who felt it prudent during Stephen’s reign to secrete any valuables they possessed.”

  All of them were aware that in 1141, during the years when King Stephen had a less than tenacious hold on the throne, he engaged in a significant battle at Lincoln with the supporters of his rival, Matilda, daughter of the recently deceased King Henry I. Quite a few of the more affluent townspeople, fearing for the security of their wealth, hid their money to keep it safe until the danger was past.

  “But that was over sixty years ago, Father,” Richard protested. “Surely any troves from that time would have been discovered by now.”

  Bassett was quick to refute Richard’s supposition. “That may not be so, Richard. During my father’s lifetime, and while he was sheriff of Oxford, there were perhaps a half dozen caches unearthed in the district. Two of them contained coins of Saxon minting and dated from before King William’s conquest of England in 1066. They had lain undiscovered for more than a hundred years.”

  Camville carefully laid the coin back on the table. “I do not like the appearance of this coin near the place where the clerk was murdered. If we assume it was on his person, then why was he carrying it about with him? Brand worked in the mint, which is adjacent to the office of the exchanger. It would have been a simple task for him to turn it in.”

  The office of exchanger was a relatively new institution, formed by order of the late King Henry II in 1180. The effect of the new office had been to separate the minting of coins from their distribution and so lessen the opportunities for corruption. The exchanger’s office was also the place where old or foreign coins could be exchanged for new. If a treasure trove had been found, or even a single coin from one, it should have been taken to the exchanger with an explanation of how it had come into the possession of the person who surrendered it. Not to follow this directive was an offence against the crown, for if the heirs of the original owner of the coins could not be found, or there were none living, the proceeds of such a find became the property of the king. Concealment was considered treasonable and the penalties were dire.

  “It could be that the provenance of the coin is genuine, lord,” Bascot said. “If someone found it recently-in a crack between the stones of a wall or in the bottom of an old chest, for instance-and gave it to Brand with a request he exchange it for one of current issue, the clerk may not have had time to carry out the transaction before he was killed.”

  Camville considered the Templar’s suggestion. “Yes, you could be right,” he admitted. “But still, I would like to be sure. Brand was murdered and, considering the place he worked, this coin may be connected to his death. If this penny was part of an unreported trove and Brand was privy to its discovery, the safekeeping of such a secret could have been the motive for his killing.”

  “You will need to be very careful, Father, in how you handle any questions you pose about the coin. The exchanger, Walter Legerton, is not a man to be trifled with. If he realises you suspect the existence of a trove, he will surely report the matter to the Exchequer in London. And if the king hears of it…”

  “I know what you are warning me of, Richard,” Camville growled. “I am well aware that King John holds me in scant regard-as I do him-and, whether there is a trove or not, he will be quick to accuse me of conspiring to keep its contents from his grasping fingers.”

  He spoke to Bascot. “Are any others beside yourself and your servant aware you found this coin?”

  “No, lord,” the Templar replied. “The mason and quarryman were not with us when we searched the top of the cliff.”

  “Good,” Camville exclaimed. “Then, for now, we will keep it between ourselves.”

  The sheriff resumed his pacing for a few moments before he spoke again. “De Marins, as a Templar, your probity is beyond question. If you are my representative in this matter, it will allay any suspicions about the intent of the investigation. Now that you know what is involved, are you willing to make an enquiry into the clerk’s murder on my behalf?”

  Although Gerard Camville was nominal lord over the estates Nicolaa de la Haye held through her inheritance from her father, including the castellanship of the castle, it suited the sheriff’s indolent nature to leave the management of the vast demesne in his wife’s hands. Camville’s attitude to the responsibilities of the shrievality, however, was completely different. The office of sheriff was a lucrative one and Gerard guarded his rights jealously; an accusation of wrongdoing, even if not proved, might indeed bring reprisals from the king and could result in Camville’s removal from office. The sheriff and the king had no liking for each other, although they had once joined forces in rebellion against King Richard during a time when John, then a prince, had attempted to wrest the throne of England from his elder brother’s grasp. Now that John was king, he was suspicious of the nobles who had supported him, fearing they would once again show a willingness to change their allegiance and conspire against him. He was therefore wary of Camville, deeming him factious. Only the king’s longstanding friendship with Nicolaa de la Haye and his confidence in her loyalty kept John from depriving her husband of the sheriff’s post, but Camville was well aware that John would not hesitate to do so if he felt he had just cause.

  When Bascot and Gianni had first arrived in Lincoln, Gerard Camville and
his wife had willingly given the weary pair shelter and treated them with courtesy. For that kindness alone, the Templar owed them both a debt of gratitude. But he also had a genuine liking for Lady Nicolaa and a great deal of respect for her husband. He was more than willing to make every effort he could to keep the sheriff’s reputation free of odium.

  The Templar gave his reply without hesitation. “I will be pleased to assist you in whatever way I can, lord.”

  The sheriff gave a grunt of satisfaction and Bascot asked if he knew whether anyone had reported Brand’s absence over the days the clerk had been missing.

  “No,” Camville replied, “the town bailiff always tells me immediately of such cases and there has been no recent report of any missing persons. The last one was some months ago when a draper came to the bailiff claiming his daughter had been abducted. And even that was a false alarm, for the girl had run off with her lover. It is not often people disappear in Lincoln without someone being aware of their whereabouts.”

  “Do you know if the clerk had any family, Father?” Richard asked. “If he did, I would have thought one of them would have been distressed by his disappearance.”

  The sheriff thought for a moment. “As far as I recall, Brand came to Lincoln with Helias de Stow and his family when the moneyer took up his post a little over a year ago. Both of them lived in Grantham before that. But even if the clerk did not have any kin in town, I would have thought de Stow would have wondered why his clerk was not at his place of work. It is curious he did not mention it to someone in authority.”

  He paused, and then said decisively, “That is the best place to start your investigation, de Marins, with the moneyer. There is not much that can be done today while the celebrations for Christ’s Mass are being held. Most of the town will be either at the cathedral or feasting with family and friends, the moneyer amongst them. But tomorrow morning de Stow is likely to be at home; his house is the one that stands next to the mint on the other side to the exchange. Go there and ask him if Brand was due to be at work over the days the clerk has been missing and, if he was, why de Stow did not mention his absence to the bailiff. Even if his answer satisfies you, try also to determine, in a discreet fashion, if the clerk had a legitimate reason for carrying such an old coin on his person.”

  “It might also be profitable to ask Cerlo if he or any of the quarrymen have been atop the cliff face in the last week or two,” Bascot suggested. “It could be that one of them, or a visitor to the quarry, dropped the coin. If so, their possession of it may prove legitimate. It could be a keepsake handed down by a relative or simply a token kept for good luck. If it was, it will have no connection with a trove.”

  “Let us hope that is what happened,” Camville said curtly. “I would much prefer to find that Brand’s killing is a simple case of murder committed during the course of a robbery than because of some conspiracy involving hidden treasure. But all the same, de Marins, make no mention of finding the coin to anyone you question. As I said, I want its existence kept privily for the nonce.”

  “And if Coroner Pinchbeck should return to Lincoln before you are satisfied about the provenance of the penny, Father, will you tell him about it?” Richard asked dubiously. “The investigation of a trove is as much within his writ as yours and it would greatly enhance his standing with the king if he can claim the credit for finding one. He will be very irate if you do not tell him.”

  Camville scowled in disgust. “No, I will say nothing to him until I know whether my suspicions are valid or not. The man is a lazy bastard and takes advantage of my help whenever he has the opportunity to do so. Let him remain in ignorance until I am ready to enlighten him.”

  Five

  Later that afternoon, after the mass of the Divine Word, the task of decorating the hall had been completed, and, as the company assembled, they looked about them appreciatively. On the walls hung circlets of holly depicting the crown of thorns that Jesus wore, the bright red berries nestling amongst the dark green leaves symbolising drops of His precious blood. Ropes of ivy and sprigs of bay festooned the tables and the room flared with light from a multitude of torches and beeswax candles. In the hearth, the trunk of an oak tree burned and the heady scent of cloves wafted from mounds of spiced winter apples heaped in bowls on the tables. The ambience was warm and welcoming.

  As the cathedral bells rang out the hour of Vespers, flagons of wine and ale were brought in and cups filled. At the high table on the dais, Gerard Camville sat with his wife and guests. On his left were Gilbert Bassett and his wife, Egelina; their daughter Eustachia was keeping company with Richard farther down the board. The young couple made a handsome pair, Richard’s bright red hair and fair complexion a startling contrast to the dark tresses and deep brown eyes of the woman he would soon pledge to make his wife.

  On the sheriff’s right hand, beside Lady Nicolaa, sat Ralph of Turville and his wife, Maud, with Eustachia’s younger sister, Lucia, watching protectively over Turville’s young son, Stephen. Gesticulating with her hands towards the musicians that had begun to play quietly at the back of the hall, Lucia talked volubly to Stephen while the boy, silent behind his silken muffler, nodded in response.

  Just below the dais, where the household knights sat, Bascot took his customary seat above the ornately worked silver saltcellar that marked the dividing line between those of high rank and low. He gave a friendly nod to John Blund, secretarius to Nicolaa de la Haye, who was seated on his left in the space reserved for those who were foremost among the upper servants of the household.

  Blund was an elderly man, a sparse figure with eyes of faded blue and thinning hair. His demeanour was gentle, but his face had an intelligent cast and there was a hint of fastidiousness in his erect bearing. Across the board from Blund was Lambert, the secretary’s assistant, a man of about thirty years of age and unprepossessing appearance, his lantern-jawed visage wearing its habitual introspective expression. His aspect lightened, however, when he saw Gianni and he gave the boy a companionable smile. It was Lambert’s responsibility, under Blund’s direction, to instruct the Templar’s servant in the rules of grammar and logic, and he seemed to have formed a comradely liking for the lad, even taking the time to learn the hand signals Gianni used to communicate with his master in the hope it would facilitate the lessons he gave the boy. When Lambert nodded respectfully in the Templar’s direction, Bascot returned the greeting with warmth.

  Once everyone was seated, the steward, Eudo, gave a signal to the musicians and they struck up a lively air, the strings of rebec and citole providing a harmonious background to the sweet piping of flutes. As the opening strains commenced, a procession of servants came through the door that led to the kitchen, the foremost carrying wide-mouthed bowls of wassail-a costly brew of mulled ale, ginger, nutmeg and cinnamon topped with sops, or slices, of toasted stale bread. One of these bowls was laid on every table, even those at the back of the hall where the servants of lowest rank were seated, and as each of them were set down, everyone shouted the old Saxon cry of waes hael, to wish one another “good health.” Following the bowls of wassail was a huge board carried by a half dozen servants, on which was laid a whole roasted pig, including the head, its mouth stuffed with an apple. This was placed on a small table near the dais so Eudo could carve it before it was served to those seated at the high table. In the wake of the roast pig came trays laid with slices of venison and goose-for the delectation of the knights and upper household servants-and, at the end of the train, umble pies-minced offal baked in coffins of pastry filled with thick gravy. These were for those of menial rank. There were also platters of boiled turnip, parsnip, onions and carrots, and loaves of bread piled high in wicker baskets.

  After all these delicacies had been devoured, bowls of frumenty, a thick porridge made of boiled wheat, eggs and dried fruit, would be served along with creamy slices of cheese and a plenitude of winter apples and plum conserve. It was a time of rare feasting and one that everyone-those of high station as well
as low-looked forward to all the year long.

  As Gianni heaped Bascot’s trencher with chunks of venison, the Templar gave the boy permission, once he finished his task, to take a seat alongside Lambert. Normally Gianni would wait until Bascot had eaten his meal before he was allowed to get his own food, but the day of Christ’s Mass was one of leniency and goodwill, and the Templar felt that the boy, whose eyes were shining with expectation as he dished up his master’s food, could be allowed the laxity. The rest of the household knights seated alongside Bascot were allowing their servants the same liberty and, on the dais, Nicolaa de la Haye gave the pages serving the high table leave to join in the feast. Even the cook and kitchen scullions sat down at a table near the door and helped themselves to the food they had spent so many hours preparing.

  The air of merriment increased as tumblers entered the hall and began to cavort among the throng, playing silly tricks as they did so. Some snatched apples from the very mouths of those who were eating them and made them disappear, while others surprised the serving maids by pretending to pull bright ribbons from the necks of their gowns. As the acrobats amused the company, the musicians strolled around the perimeter of the room, playing merry tunes.

  As Bascot looked across at Gianni, who was hungrily tucking into the leg of a goose, the Templar once again felt a pang of sadness that he would be leaving Lincoln in a few months’ time. It had not been so very long since he had decided it would be necessary for him to leave the Templar Order to ensure the safety of Gianni’s welfare. It had only been through the intervention of Amery St. Maur, master of the Templar Order in England, that Bascot’s sacrifice had not been necessary. St. Maur had given Bascot sanction to remain in Lincoln until next Eastertide while Gianni completed his training as a clerk and, at the end of that time, if the boy showed competence, Nicolaa de la Haye had promised Gianni a post in her retinue. Since then, Gianni had applied himself to his studies with an industry that gave no doubt he would win the castellan’s approval and realise his dream of becoming a clerk. Pride in the boy’s accomplishments warred with regret in Bascot’s heart. He longed to rejoin his Templar brothers in their battle against the infidel but, at the same time, he knew he would sorely miss the young lad.