Murder for Christ's Mass (22 page)

ON THE FOURTH DAY OF THE NEW YEAR, NICOLAA DE la Haye rose early and sent for Eudo, her steward, to discuss the arrangements for the festivities to be held after the betrothal ceremony. After speaking to Eudo, she summoned the rest of the senior household staff. One by one, the cook, butler, table clothier, head usher and chandler reported on the sufficiency of supplies and the stage of their preparations. When she was confident all were carrying out their duties in a competent manner, she called John Blund and dictated some urgent letters, including one to the king, thanking him once again for allowing a liaison between her son and Gilbert Bassett’s daughter. The letter would take some time to reach the monarch, for King John had spent the season of Christ’s Mass at Argentan in Normandy, but Nicolaa knew that however long it took to reach him, it would please John to be reminded of her gratitude and loyalty.

Before Blund left her chamber, Nicolaa asked how Stephen of Turville’s lessons were progressing. Blund’s faded blue eyes lit up with pleasure. “Very well, lady. Lambert has taken a great many notes and has already started work on the book of instruction I mentioned to you. We have great hopes of its efficacy. And Mistress Lucia told me that Stephen’s mother, Lady Maud, has now become most enthusiastic about the project and has, in turn, learned some of the movements. She is, apparently, most gratified by her new ability to communicate with her son, even if it is only in a limited fashion.”

The secretary went on to tell Nicolaa that although Lambert was preparing an abridged copy of the manual for Stephen, Lady Maud had asked that a copy of the entire book be sent to the Turville household once it was completed. “I am sure there will be others who want a copy, lady,” he said and then became embarrassed for a moment before he added, “Lambert and I had thought to call it ‘A Manual of a Silent Language for those Afflicted with Muteness and Difficulty in Speaking’ and with your permission, we would like to dedicate it to you.”

Nicolaa gave her faithful secretary a smile. “I would be honoured, John, although I fear I do not deserve such a compliment. I have had little to do with the compilation of the book.”

Blund earnestly dismissed her objection. “Without your gracious permission for Lambert to spend time away from his duties to gather the information, lady, the manual would not have been possible. It is only right that your act of compassion be recognised.”

Nicolaa thanked him and Blund left the room. Once he had gone, she poured herself a cup of hot spiced cider and sat down to enjoy a few moments of solitude. Such quietness had been rare these last few days for her time had been taken up with her guests and preparations for the betrothal. As she sipped the cider, she tried to mentally review the arrangements she had made but found that her conversation with Gerard the night before kept invading her thoughts like an unwanted guest. She had shared her husband’s frustration when Gerard told her that although the silversmith admitted he had bought the jewellery from Peter Brand, there was no evidence to link him to the clerk’s murder or discovery of a trove.

“I am not convinced Tasser is uninvolved in either of these matters,” Gerard had said, “and I have asked de Marins to question him again in a few days, after the betrothal ceremony has taken place.”

While they had not spoken of the ramifications that could devolve on Gerard if a trove was implicated in the deaths, it was on both of their minds. If King John learned that such important information had been suppressed by his sheriff, only the basest of motives would be attributed to keeping it a secret. She could only hope the Templar would, as he had done in the past, get to the truth of the matter and, in doing so, prove Gerard’s suspicions were without foundation.

 

 

 

IN THE HALL BELOW, THERE WAS A GREAT DEAL OF activity as servants ran to and fro preparing the huge chamber for yet another round of feasting. Fresh rushes were placed on the floor, musicians tuned their instruments and casks of wine were trundled up and placed in the buttery to replenish those used over the preceding days. The chandler ordered his minions to remove all the candles that had burned down low and replace them with new ones while maidservants carefully laid freshly laundered cloths on the tables.

In the midst of the hubbub, Ralph of Turville sat at a small table on one side of the hall, idly tossing a pair of dice over the chequered Quek board. He was bored—Gerard Camville had proclaimed himself too busy with the duties of the shrievality to arrange another hunt, Gilbert Bassett seemed content to keep his old friend company while he attended to these matters, and Richard Camville had gone off to ensure the betrothal ring he had ordered for Eustachia would be ready for the ceremony. Ralph’s wife, Maud, was ensconced in Nicolaa de la Haye’s solar with her female relatives and his son, Stephen, was busy practising the gestures he had been taught by the Templar’s mute servant, wanting to be well prepared for the lesson he would be given that afternoon.

As Ralph cast about in his mind for some activity that would be entertaining, one of the sheriff’s retinue, a knight named Miles de Laxton, came walking toward him across the hall. They had played a few games of Quek together on the day of Christ’s Mass and quickly discovered they shared a passion for games of chance. Although the stakes had been only hazelnuts, they had both played as earnestly as if there were a pile of silver pennies to win, and had bemoaned the fact that Lady Nicolaa had disallowed richer stakes to be risked.

Miles sat down on the other side of the Quek board, bid Ralph good morrow, and asked if he cared to spend a few hours in town. “There is a wine house near the Guildhall that serves an excellent vintage and offers patrons a variety of games of chance,” Miles said.

“There are tables for Hazard, Bac Gamen, chess and Quek, as well as plain boards with seven- or eight-sided dice.”

Ralph felt his spirits lift at the prospect, and then frowned as he remembered his promise to Maud that he would never gamble again. It had been only a few months before, and in just such a gaming house as Miles was suggesting they visit, that he had lost the whole of the money gained from the spring sheep shearing on their demesne. Since then, they had been almost in penury. Maud had sobbed uncontrollably when she found out what he had done, fearful he would lose not only their livelihood through his gambling, but also provision of any inheritance for Stephen. So far, he had kept his promise to her, but it had not been easy, and now the temptation to break his word was almost too much to resist.

Miles, seeing his hesitation, thought it due to concern that the wine house might be a rough type of establishment and not seemly for a knight to patronise.

“I can assure you those who frequent this wine house are not of low station,” he said. “The customers are mainly wealthy burgesses from Lincoln, but members of the local nobility also go there.” Miles gave a wide grin and added, “There are toothsome harlots available in the rooms above, if such should be your fancy.”

Ralph returned his smile, and his resolution wavered, but not because of the mention of prostitutes. “Bawds may be had anywhere,” he said, “but it is not often one can find a place where such a variety of games are offered.”

“You will come, then?” Miles asked. “Sir Gerard has no need of my services at the moment and none of the other household knights take such pleasure in a game as you do.”

Ralph thought of the meagre amount of silver coins he had in his scrip. They were all he had left after his disastrous losses of the previous summer. But, he reasoned, if fortune was with him, he might double, or perhaps even treble, their number, and if he did, Maud need never know he had not kept his word to her. He stood up and called for a page to bring his cloak.

“Your suggestion is most welcome, Miles. I gladly accept your offer.”

 

 

 

THAT AFTERNOON, WHILE BASCOT WAS WATCHING SOME of the squires at practise in the bail, a Templar man-at-arms came to the castle with a message from d’Arderon, requesting Bascot’s presence at the enclave. The son of a local knight had arrived at the preceptory requesting admission to the Order, and d’Arderon would appreciate it if Bascot would come today to meet the young knight and assist, the next morning, in testing the supplicant’s dedication.

The ritual for initiation into the Templars dictated that the postulant be judged as to the sincerity of his desire by brothers of equal rank. This enquiry was held during a chapter meeting and it was preferable there were as many brothers present as possible. At present, there were only two men of knight’s rank in the commandery, d’Arderon and Emilius, a brother who fulfilled the function of draper. The preceptor wished Bascot to attend and add to their number.

Bascot felt a strong desire to participate in such an important conclave. He remembered his own initiation in London; the stern faces of the Templar knights as they asked him questions concerning the constancy of his faith and readiness to take up his sword to protect pilgrims. It had been a rare moment, with an aura of sanctity surrounding it, and that feeling had never completely left him, even during those terrible moments when he had returned to England from the Holy Land and learned that his family had all perished while he had been a prisoner of the Saracens. Every supplicant knight deserved to have the full support of as many brothers as possible on such an important occasion.

He was certain his presence would not be required in the castle for the next twenty-four hours. The investigation into the murders had come to a standstill and Lady Nicolaa was busy with preparations for Richard’s betrothal. Gianni would be busy giving Stephen of Turville his lesson that afternoon and the boy could spend the night in the barracks under Ernulf’s protection as had done once or twice before. Tucking the message from d’Arderon in the front of his tunic, he went to the keep to speak to the castellan.

Twenty-two

OVERNIGHT THE TEMPERATURE ROSE AND LARGE drops of hail fell, each globule as big as a pea, followed swiftly by a downpour of drenching rain. By daybreak the cloudburst had ceased, replaced by a stiff wind that pushed the black clouds away to the east and allowed a few pale rays of sunshine to brighten the sky.

Gianni, asleep on his pallet in the barracks, was roused from his slumbers by the return of the guards who had been on night duty. Hastily relieving himself in a bucket in the corner of the huge room, he pushed a hand through his tangled curls and ran out into the bail, heading for the scriptorium to report for his morning duties. He was late, the bells for Matins having tolled some half hour before. As he skipped across the shallow pools left on the ground by the rain, he rubbed his eyes and tried to clear his fuzzy consciousness of the last vestiges of sleep. His night’s rest had been uneasy, punctuated by disturbing dreams. Not even an attempt to concentrate on memories of the previous afternoon and Lucia’s company enabled him to prevent the nightmares from returning.

He knew the source of his terrible dreams was the absence of his master. Although he had passed a night on his own in the barracks before, the arrival of the New Year had made him disturbingly aware of the passage of time. In only a scant four months’ time, his protector would be gone from his life forever, sent to join other Templar knights in some far and distant land.

Well aware he must prove his worthiness to be a clerk before it was time for his master to leave, he was riddled with guilt for his slackness over the last few days while he had succumbed to his preoccupation with Lucia Bassett. Twice yesterday morning Lambert had given him a mild reproof for mistakes he had made in copying documents and now, to compound those errors, he was late in reporting to the scriptorium. He raced up the steps of the forebuilding and darted through the servants dismantling the maze of trestle tables used for the morning meal. Slipping through the door of the north tower and up the stairs to the scriptorium, he hoped Master Blund would not be too angry at his tardiness.

Gianni’s passage was so hasty he did not notice Lucia was one of the people seated on the dais, or the enthusiastic manner in which she was describing to Stephen’s parents, Ralph and Maud, the new movements she and her young cousin had learned the day before. Stephen was sitting beside her, his silken muffler drawn across his mouth and chin as usual, nodding at her explanations and making the sign for each gesture as she told of them. Nor did Gianni observe that Stephen’s father was listening to Lucia with only an abstracted interest, a smile of self-satisfaction spreading across his face as his hand intermittently strayed to the full purse at his belt.

Fortune had smiled on Ralph when he had gone to the wine shop the day before with de Laxton. The place had been all that Miles had promised; the patrons, from the richness of their dress and distinguished air, had been men of means and the wine of superior vintage. There had been a variety of tables and games, and all the boards were of good quality and the dice unweighted—this last having been one of the first things Ralph checked. Even the prostitutes had the look of gentlewomen as they sat at tables near the back of the large room gracefully sipping wine from pewter goblets. Ralph had been very glad he had taken Miles up on his suggestion.