Bascot, mindful that he must try to extract information about the coin Gianni had found without making de Stow aware he was doing so, asked the moneyer about the responsibilities of Brand's post and if the delivery of coins was involved.

"We found no scrip on Brand's body, Master de Stow, and so it may be that the reason for his death was robbery and he lost his life in a struggle with the thief. Did he, in the course of his duties, ever carry sums of money on his person?"

De Stow shook his head. "All the pennies we produce are given into the care of the exchanger. The mint is not involved in the transfer of coins."

"Was Brand paid well? Is it likely he would have been carrying enough money to make it worthwhile to rob him?"

"I doubt it, Sir Bascot," de Stow replied with a wry smile. "Peter was paid only a clerk's wage of one and a half pence a day plus an additional halfpenny that I offered him as an inducement to accompany me here. I allowed him to take his meals with my family and gave him lodging in a room over the stables in my yard for a minimal sum, but he left the rest of his salary in my keeping. Every two months or so, he would withdraw what he had saved and take the money to Grantham for his mother. She is a widow and Peter's father, who was a tanner, did not leave any provision for her after he died. Because of his mother's reliance on him, Peter was forced to be parsimonious; he rarely even visited an alehouse because he was reluctant to part with the cost of a pint of ale. His leisure time was usually spent in his room or in the company of myself, and my family. It is hardly likely he would have been carrying enough money to tempt a thief."

De Stow's dark eyes grew moist. "He was a good lad. We shall all miss him."

With a widowed mother to support, it was possible Brand had been driven to find desperate measures to provide for her, Bascot thought. Had the clerk been involved in a theft from the mint, and had that theft involved, as Camville suspected, the contents of an unreported trove?

"Do you know if Brand had any close friends in Lincoln, one of the men who work in the mint perhaps, someone he knew well enough to confide his reason for going to the quarry?" Bascot asked.

De Stow leaned forward and refilled their wine cups. "Not that I am aware of. As I said, he rarely went out and, although Peter was amiable enough, I do not think he formed a particular fellowship with any of my other employees, which is not particularly surprising. The three hammermen are all older than he, and married with children. They would not have much in common with an unattached young man. And the converse applies to my two apprentices. They are both some years younger than Peter; one is sixteen and the other nineteen. They would be more comfortable consorting with lads their own age."

"What about those on Legerton's staff?"

"Master Legerton has only one employee, an a.s.sayer named Simon Partager, who also fulfills the duties of clerk. Partager was recently married and, outside of the three days in the week that the exchange is open, spends the rest of his time at Legerton's house in Canwick, where he and his new wife lodge. A man in the hazy throes of newlywed bliss does not seek out the company of an unmarried clerk.

"Apart from those I have mentioned, the only other people that Peter would have met in the course of his duties are the guards that keep the mint secure," de Stow went on, "but all of them are, by the nature of their calling, men of rough disposition, former men-at-arms and the like. There are six altogether, four in my hire and two in Legerton's. I doubt whether Peter would have formed more than a nodding acquaintance with any of them."

"What about women?" Bascot asked. "Did Brand have a liaison with any?"

"Not in Lincoln, no," de Stow replied, "but there is a young woman who lives in Grantham that he hoped to make his wife. They were not betrothed, but I know Peter was anxious to secure her promise to wed. But he had not seen her since his last visit home and that was over six weeks ago. Unless his visit to the quarry was something he had planned well in advance, it is unlikely he would have mentioned it to her."

Bascot nodded. On the surface, it seemed de Stow did not have any information that might be helpful, but the Templar had one last question. "You said Brand was a competent clerk and a dutiful son, but what about his faults? All men possess one or two; it is not likely he was an exception. It may be that a facet of his personality-a tendency to be argumentative, perhaps-was offensive to someone and gave cause to wish his death."

De Stow was shaking his head even as Bascot spoke. "He was a mild-mannered lad and would not have had the temerity to exchange angry words with anyone, even in strong disagreement. He could be a little irritating at times over his obsession with the maid in Grantham. There was another suitor for her hand, apparently, and he was worried she would accept the other lad. Peter thought she might run out of patience while he saved up the money they needed to wed, which was difficult for him to do since nearly all of his salary went to support his mother. He often spoke about her, even during a working day and to any of my other employees who would listen, extolling the girl's virtues and her comeliness, saying his heart would be broken if he lost her. As you can imagine, they all thought his fixation with the maid was amusing, and I had to reprimand him more than once for distracting them from their work. Apart from that, there was little to discommend him. His work was exemplary; he kept the room he rented from me in good order and was courteous to my wife and two young daughters. I would not have offered him a post as my clerk had he been otherwise."

Deciding no further information was likely to be forthcoming, Bascot told de Stow he would like to speak to the men who had worked with Brand. Despite what the moneyer had said about the clerk not being on familiar terms with any of them, it was still possible he might have mentioned his reason for going to the quarry, if only in casual conversation.

De Stow rose from his seat. "Of course. You may do so today, if you wish, for all my men are at work. I usually give them leave to be absent on St. Stephen's day, but we have a large order to fill for the exchanger and I promised them a small bonus if they reported for duty."

"Then, Master de Stow, perhaps you would be good enough to take me to the mint."

Seven.

THE MONEYER LED BASCOT, WITH GIANNI KEEPING pace behind, out of his home and to the door of the mint. A guard was on duty outside, a burly individual with watchful eyes and a short sword slung from his belt. He nodded to de Stow as the moneyer, the Templar and Gianni went inside and into a small square entrance hall where another guard was stationed. This sentry was, in appearance, similar to the guard that had been on the outside door; a little taller and rangier in build perhaps, but also armed and clad in a leather gambeson. He, too, gave a nod of respect as de Stow, using a key on a chain attached to his belt, unlocked yet another door and led his visitors through the portal, turning the key behind them. The security on the premises was vigilant.

On the other side of the inner door was a huge chamber, the far wall of which was fitted with a forge surrounded by a double layer of stone. The atmosphere was filled with heat generated by the furnace and the acrid tang of metal. It was also noisy, the roar of the fire and the clang of tools making a clamorous din. In front of the furnace, two men were operating a bellows and another overseeing the contents of a crucible that sat in the depths of the red-hot embers. On the floor beside them was a large tray filled with sand containing moulds of hardened clay in the shape of long, thin cylinders. Into these, the man in charge of the crucible was carefully pouring a stream of molten silver from a scoop attached to the end of a long pole. De Stow explained to Bascot that not only was refined silver ore used to produce coins, but worn pennies brought in to be exchanged for new were also melted down for the same purpose.

"That is what they are doing now," the moneyer said. "Legerton had a large amount of silver paid in by a merchant who trades abroad and there were quite a number of foreign coins included. The coins are, of course, melted down separately from the ore, and must be a.s.sayed to test for impurities. Once they, or the ore, have been melted down, the molten metal is poured into those cylinders. When the cylinders are cool, they are sliced into thin rounds that are the approximate weight of a silver penny."

Gianni's eyes grew large at the sight of so much wealth and he listened intently as de Stow went on to name his employees and describe the various tasks in which they were engaged. There were a number of st.u.r.dy rough-hewn tables placed in rows in the middle of the room, and at two of them workers were using small hammers and tiny anvils to beat the newly annealed discs into a desired thickness and recheck the weight on a set of scales. The discs were then pa.s.sed to another table where hammermen worked alongside one another, striking the blank rounds of silver between two dies provided by the Exchequer in London. The moneyer explained that the bottom die, mounted in a small block of solid iron, bore the imprint of the king and his name, while the upper die, a long, thin rod of the same metal, had one end fashioned in the design of a short cross in a circle. As they watched, one of the hammermen fixed a blank disc onto the surface of the bottom die and, grasping the upper die firmly in his hand, positioned the imprinted end over it. Once he was satisfied the disc and dies were correctly aligned, he brought his hammer down sharply on top of the upper die to produce a coin that was imprinted with both the obverse and reverse images at the same time. The newly minted penny was then given to a worker at an adjoining table to polish with a buffing rag. The whole procedure was slow and tedious, requiring studied concentration.

Cas.e.m.e.nts fitted with protective iron grills were set in the walls on either side of the forge and, despite the cold winter temperature outside, the shutters had been thrown open in an attempt to lessen the stifling heat. In one corner, a bell with a pull rope hung from the ceiling. Lined up on the floor nearby were a half dozen stout wooden chests banded with iron and fitted with triple locks. Standing beside them was another guard who, like the men on duty at the doors, was clad in a leather tunic studded with iron rings and had a short sword in a scabbard depending from his belt.

De Stow motioned to a door near where the guard stood. "That leads through to the exchanger's office," he said. He then gestured towards a shelf where a set of scales and a pile of empty leather sacks were laid. "And that is where his a.s.sayer keeps his equipment. Usually it is stored in Legerton's office but when they are both away, Partager brings it in here for safekeeping."

The Templar looked around the room. "You said you had four guards in your hire. I see only three; is the other off duty?"

"He is," de Stow said. "All the guards live in quarters in the yard at the back. I also keep two mastiffs there and the dogs patrol the grounds at night. The guards rotate their shifts, so that after working hours there is one on duty in here and one asleep in their quarters, while the other two are at liberty to spend some time in the town if they choose. If anything untoward should occur after the mint is closed, the inside guard would ring the bell to sound the alarm and bring the other man, and the dogs, to his a.s.sistance."

"You keep a secure mint, moneyer," the Templar said. "Your precautions are admirable."

De Stow gave a smile of pleasure; it was obvious he was gratified by the compliment.

Bascot nodded at the iron chests. "The coins you produce-are they kept in those chests?"

"Yes, as are those brought in for changing. Two of them contain blocks of refined silver from the mine. As I said, the a.s.sayer tests all the old coins before they are melted down. He usually uses only a touchstone and his scales, but there are some occasions when he feels it necessary to a.s.say the silver by melting it with lead in a crucible. When he wishes to do that, he uses my forge."

Bascot nodded. If any coins from the reign of King Stephen had been brought in to be exchanged, Peter Brand would have had access to the place where they were kept, but so would all the rest of de Stow and Legerton's employees, including the guards. "I a.s.sume only you and the exchanger are in possession of keys to the coffers?" he asked de Stow.

The moneyer nodded, patting the pouch he wore on his belt. "Each of them has three separate locks and a different key is required to open each one. I hold the master keys to all of them and Legerton has duplicates. We keep them on our persons at all times. Even when I lie down for my night's rest, I place the keys in a strongbox beside my bed and keep the key to the box on a chain about my neck. I imagine Master Legerton takes the same precautions. I also check the contents of each chest every morning before work is begun and again at the end of every working day, to ensure that no discrepancy has occurred in the interim."

The security here would be difficult to infiltrate, Bascot thought, but if either de Stow or Legerton allowed himself a moment of carelessness with his keys, it would not be impossible for anyone with enough daring to steal them and gain access to the contents of the chests.

"What about the silver ore you use-how is the security of that controlled?"

De Stow gave Bascot a searching look accompanied by a cynical smile. His shrewd dark eyes took on a hard alertness as he said, "I a.s.sume you are asking these questions because you believe my clerk may have stolen coins or silver blocks from here and had them on his person when he was killed. Is that not so, Sir Bascot?"

"It would provide a motive, moneyer, especially if the person who murdered him was aware they were in his possession."

De Stow shook his head. "My clerk was an honest man, Sir Bascot, but even if he had not been, he would not have had the opportunity to steal from the mint. Besides, Peter has been gone some days and I have been doing his job since he left. If there was a shortage, I would have discovered it by now, and there is not."

After pausing for a moment, he continued. "But, to answer your question. The blocks of solid silver from the royal mine are delivered to these premises by armed guards. I then weigh them to ensure they tally with the figures I have been given by the overseer of the mine and make separate checks all through the stages of production until they are turned into coinage. That is why I have need of a clerk, for there are many figures to be recorded, but I can a.s.sure you that I double-check all of them. There is no margin for error-or pilfering."

"I will take you at your word, Master de Stow," Bascot replied. "Now I would like to speak to your employees. From what you tell me, Brand must have gone to the quarry late in the afternoon of the day he was killed. I want to ask if any of your workers know the reason he did so."

The moneyer called each of the men up in turn, the hammermen first, then the apprentices, and Bascot explained to each of them that he was conducting an investigation into Brand's death on Gerard Camville's behalf and wanted to know if the clerk had told any of them about his intention of going to the pit. The Templar also told Gianni, who was standing beside him, to take out his wax tablet and write down the names of each of those he interviewed and make a brief note of their responses. Most of de Stow's employees looked apprehensive while this was being done, which was what the Templar intended. They were far less likely to lie if they knew their names were included in a report for the sheriff. Each of them denied having seen Brand after he left the mint on the day of his death or any knowledge of why he would have gone to the quarry. The three guards on duty were subjected to the same questions and gave the same answers, as did the one that was sleeping in the guardroom in the yard behind the mint when de Stow sent one of his employees to rouse him.

Once Bascot had finished his questioning, he told de Stow he would also like to speak to Master Legerton and his a.s.sayer and asked if they were on the exchange premises.

"Not today," the moneyer replied. "The exchange was closed on the eve of Christ's Ma.s.s and Legerton went to his manor in Canwick for the holy days. Partager will have gone with him, I expect. The men hired to guard the exchange would not remain here during that time, for they are only needed when Legerton is in his office. All of them should return tomorrow, when the exchange is due to open for custom."

Bascot told de Stow he would come back in the morning to speak to Legerton and his staff. The Templar then casually asked, as though in pa.s.sing, about the condition of the coins brought in for exchange. "I suppose most of them are fourthings or halfpennies that need to be made into whole coin, are they not?"

"Yes," de Stow replied. "And there are always a few that have edges badly worn from usage. Sometimes there are a few coins from other countries included, but not often. The large number of foreign coins we are melting down today is an exception, rather than otherwise."

"When I was in my childhood," Bascot added in an offhand manner, "I remember my grandsire complaining about coins from King Stephen's reign being clipped, but I suppose the new design of a short cross brought in by King Henry twenty years ago stopped that illegal practice."

"It did, Sir Bascot. And when King Henry gave an order that all old coins, especially those from King Stephen's reign, should be exchanged for ones of new issue, everyone was only too pleased to submit to his decree, for some of the parings were so deftly done it was difficult to tell whether a coin was short weighted or not. I do not believe there are many left from before King Henry's time now, except for the odd single coin or two. I have hardly seen any these last ten years."

Reluctant to press the subject of coins from Stephen's reign any further lest de Stow become suspicious of the reason for his interest, Bascot asked the moneyer to show him the room where Peter Brand had lodged. De Stow led him outside the mint and back into his own house, then through a door into the yard.

"His room is up there, over the horse stall," the moneyer said, pointing to a wooden building of two storeys with double doors at the bottom. A staircase wound up the outside wall. The top of the building was completely enclosed except for a small cas.e.m.e.nt window and a narrow door at the top of the stairway.

Bascot followed de Stow up the stairs and into the room where Peter Brand had lodged. It was neat and tidy, with a pallia.s.se covered by a pair of thick blankets. There were few of the clerk's possessions in the room; some blank pieces of parchment and some scribing tools lay on a small table, and a spare pair of hose and a lightweight summer cloak hung from a peg behind the door. On the floor near the bed was a smallish bag of heavy linen that Bascot told Gianni to open and search. When the boy did so, he extracted a tunic of good wool, another pair of hose and a small package carefully wrapped in a piece of soft cloth. Looking to his master for permission, he unrolled the parcel and found a tiny ring of silver gilt inside, which he handed to the Templar.

Bascot glanced at the clothing and then examined the ring. "It would appear your clerk intended to return for this bag before he left on his journey to Grantham," he said. "Not only would he have needed the change of clothing, I doubt whether he would have left without taking this." He held up the ring so the moneyer could see it more clearly. It was fashioned in a design of clasping hands popular for betrothal rings. "A hopeful gift for your clerk's sweetheart, I would think."

De Stow nodded sadly. "You are right, Sir Bascot. Its presence here also indicates that Peter lied to me."

"How so?" Bascot asked.

The moneyer gave a regretful sigh. "When Peter asked to leave early on his last day of work, he told me he needed to do so because he had to pick up his good tunic from a fuller who was cleansing it. The fuller's premises are on the way to the river where the boat Peter was to take lay at anchor. It would not make sense for him to go and collect his tunic and then come all the way back here just to get his extra hose and the ring. He would have taken the bag with him and collected his tunic on the way to the quay."

"Then he must have picked up his tunic on a previous day, for it is here and looks newly cleansed." At de Stow's disappointed nod of confirmation, Bascot added, "And the reason he asked to leave early must have been so he could go to the quarry for some purpose he did not wish to reveal to you."

"I suppose it must," de Stow remarked glumly.

A SHORT TIME LATER, BASCOT AND GIANNI LEFT DE Stow's house and retrieved the Templar's horse. As they rode past St. Mary Crackpole church towards Mikelgate, Bascot looked up at the sky. The pale blue above them was unmarred except for a few grey clouds and even though there was a bank of darkness in the east, he thought it unlikely that any rain or snow would fall during the next few hours. He turned his mount down Mikelgate towards Stonebow, the princ.i.p.al gate out of the lower part of the town and, once they had pa.s.sed through it, went along Briggate towards the bridge that crossed the Witham River. The village of Canwick, where Walter Legerton had his manor house, was only about two miles' distance from the river.

While de Stow had seemed genuinely disturbed by the death of Peter Brand, and anxious for the sorrow it would cause his mother, Bascot had learned from his dealing with those involved in previous cases of secret murder that a perpetrator was often skilled at concealing his true thoughts behind a mask of innocence. If de Stow had been honest when he claimed he had only learned of Brand's death through his chance meeting with Cerlo the day before, then Legerton, who had been absent from Lincoln for the last two days, might not yet have heard of the clerk's murder. If that was the case, it might be profitable to witness the exchanger's reaction when he heard news of the stabbing. If he was not involved in the clerk's murder, or in the concealment of a treasure trove, his surprise would be genuine. But if he had some knowledge of the circ.u.mstances surrounding Brand's death, he might not have sufficient cunning to conceal it.

AFTER THE TEMPLAR AND HIS SERVANT HAD GONE, Helias de Stow went back to his chamber, reseated himself at his desk and stared blankly at the piece of parchment lying on its surface. Although he picked up his quill and dipped it in the inkpot, he still could not bring himself to write the words that would tell Peter's mother her son was dead.

De Stow sighed heavily, laid his pen down and rested his head in his hands, his fingers digging into the top of his bald pate as he did so. Peter's death and the subsequent visit of the Templar had unnerved him. The moneyer had always taken pride in presenting a confident image to his family and employees but now he felt as though that facade was cracking. It had been a mistake to move to Lincoln, but it was an error he could not have foreseen. When Legerton had offered to recommend him for the post of king's moneyer in Lincoln, it had seemed an attractive proposition. There were two royal mints in Grantham and the one in which de Stow worked had been the smaller of the two and of less consequence. The stipend for the Lincoln post was much higher than he had been earning in Grantham, as was the commission he, and Legerton, received on the amount of coinage that pa.s.sed through their hands.

The problems that plagued him had begun to arise during the move from one town to the other. He and Blanche had sent their furniture to Lincoln by river barge and, during the journey, the barge had capsized. All their belongings, except for some clothing and personal possessions they had taken with them on their journey by road, had been lost and required a considerable sum to replace. Then Helias had arrived at the Lincoln mint and found some minor equipment was in need of replacement-the bellows for the forge were starting to rot and two of the hammermen's tables were full of woodworm. He had also been dismayed to discover that a few stones in the outer wall were loose and in need of repair. Although the latter was not extremely urgent, it could not be delayed too long lest the security of the mint be compromised. Legerton had a.s.sured the moneyer he would be reimbursed by the crown for these necessities, but the promised payment had not arrived. When the cost of bringing the mint up to a reasonable standard was added to the sum needed to replace most of the household furniture, de Stow's savings had not been enough to cover the total outlay. He had been forced to take desperate measures to try to extricate himself from his predicament and was worried they would prove disastrous. And now there was Peter's untimely death to exacerbate the whole sorry situation.

De Stow took a sip of wine and tried to compose his thoughts. He must continue with the arrangements he had made and trust all would eventually be resolved in a satisfactory manner. Resolutely he picked up the quill and returned his attention to the composition of his letter to Peter's mother, choosing his words carefully. He must try, as much as possible, to minimise the gor- ier details of her son's death.

Eight.

IN FRONT OF A BLAZING FIRE IN THE SOLAR, NICOLAA de la Haye sat with her female guests, all of whom, once Richard was wed to Eustachia, would be related to her by marriage. She was having difficulty in giving her full attention to the conversation of the other women, for her mind kept drifting to the conversation she had had with her husband the previous evening. Gerard's concern that an unreported trove could be involved in the murder of the clerk was, in her opinion, well-founded.

Tales of corruption among those who manufactured and distributed coins of the realm were not uncommon and, because it was now the season of Christ's Ma.s.s, Nicolaa recalled the story she had been told of an event that had taken place seventy-five years before at this very same time of year. The first King Henry had been on the throne then and, having discovered that a number of his moneyers were guilty of abasing the silver pennies issued in his name, had summoned them to Winchester and confronted them with their crimes. One by one, and despite the fact that he and his court were celebrating the holy days of Christ's birth, the king had sentenced them all to be emasculated and their right hands cut off.

Nicolaa shivered, her diminutive, slightly plump frame overcome with a tremor of fear. If John believed that Gerard was part of any scheme that involved embezzling monies rightfully due to the crown, not even her friendship with the king, and the trust he had always placed in her, would deter him from subjecting her husband to the same harsh punishment.

Her attention was caught by a remark directed to her by Egelina Ba.s.sett, Eustachia's mother, who was voicing her concern that the weather would not hold fine for the day of her daughter's betrothal. Egelina and Nicolaa had been friends for many years through the acquaintanceship of their husbands, and although Egelina was not an overly intelligent woman, Nicolaa was very fond of her and admired the loving firmness with which she had raised both of her girls.

Eustachia was of a more serious mien than her younger sister, but had inherited her father's ac.u.men and would, Nicolaa thought, make a suitable wife for Richard. Her son had spent the years of his training for knighthood in Gilbert Ba.s.sett's household and had always spoken of his admiration for the baron's elder daughter, claiming she combined good sense with womanly grace. Although her son did not realise it, Nicolaa was sure Richard's favourable impression of Eustachia was mainly due to the fact that the girl had the wit to discern that most men preferred a woman who listened rather than chattered. Eustachia was also sensible in the matter of her appearance; her colouring was dark, almost Italianate, and today she was wearing a gown of muted blue set with tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs of dark green that contrasted subtly with her skin and gave it a rosy glow. While her features were not completely handsome-her eyes were set a little too close together and her teeth were crooked-her expression was pleasing, and she possessed an even temper. There was no doubt in Nicolaa's mind that Eustachia was very fond of Richard; the castellan had seen the tender expression that came over the girl's face whenever she looked his way. All in all, the castellan thought, the match was pleasing to both young people. Since marriages among the n.o.bility were usually arranged for the purpose of forging a favourable alliance, it was not often the two people concerned embarked on a marriage based on love, or even mutual regard. That Richard and Eustachia would be an exception to this generality was a rarity for which Nicolaa was thankful.

The castellan's gaze went to Lucia, the younger of Egelina and Gilbert's two daughters. The sisters were a contrast in opposites. Lucia had a pretty face that was always animated, hair of rich auburn and an entrancing smile that showed off her small even teeth to advantage. Even though she was only sixteen years of age, her figure was already lush, with a swelling bosom and lissom hips. At the moment, Lucia was speaking volubly to her cousin Maud of Turville about Maud's son, Stephen, telling the boy's mother that Stephen had been most interested in the gestures the Templar's mute servant had been using to convey his thoughts to the clerk that sat beside him at the banquet last night. She was also expressing her opinion that she thought Stephen should be taught some of them.

"I think he would benefit greatly from the knowledge, Maud," Lucia said earnestly. "I know that because of Stephen's disfigurement Ralph decided to keep him at home rather than send him to another lord for training in knighthood, but that decision has made him withdrawn in the company of others. If Stephen could use gestures to convey his wishes to your servants, and to converse with you and his father, I am sure it would swell his confidence."

Maud's response to the suggestion was one of agitation. Although she doted on her son, she was a timid and indecisive woman whose self-confidence had been sorely strained by the fact that the only heir she had given her husband had been marked in such a terrible manner.

"I will have to ask Ralph about your suggestion, Lucia," Maud said, her hands fluttering ineffectually over the embroidery in her lap. "Our physician at home said I must have startled a hare while Stephen was in my womb and the malicious creature took its revenge by causing my son's disfigurement. The doctor has made up an ointment he is sure will heal the cleft and I have been applying it every morning without fail for the last ten days."

She looked around at the other women, her eyes full of hope. "The physician said it would take some weeks before any difference would be noticed, but I am sure the fissure in his lip is already beginning to close. If it does, then he will not need to learn any other means of communication, for he will be able to speak clearly."

Her companions smiled at her in an attempt at rea.s.surance but Nicolaa saw the doubt in Egelina's face, and felt the same herself. She had heard there were occasions when a split in a newborn child's lip could be corrected by sewing the cleft together with catgut and leaving the st.i.tches in place until the flesh had grown together, but this was only effective if the gap was very slight and the repair done immediately after birth. Nicolaa had seen Stephen when he was just a few months old and the malformation had been a deep one; it started at the base of his nose and exposed nearly all his front teeth. And even if this rift should be improved by the physician's ointment, the cleft in his palate would still remain. It was very doubtful he would be able to speak without distortion unless both of these deformities were corrected.

"And even if the ointment doesn't heal his lip," Maud said to Lucia with an unusual flash of temerity, "there would be little point in Stephen learning the gestures, for once we return home, no one except he would know what they meant."

"But many of the movements are simple and easily comprehended, Maud," Lucia protested, "even by those not familiar with the meaning of them. I have seen the Templar's servant use them with many people-to say 'please' and 'thank you' for example, or to ask that a particular dish be pa.s.sed to him when he is serving his master. Besides," she added defiantly, "I am willing to learn them even if you are not. Then, when I am in Stephen's company, he can convey his thoughts to me and we can have speech together."

Lucia gave her cousin a disdainful glance as she added, "I would have thought that you, as his mother, would be anxious to do likewise."

Egelina gave her younger daughter a reproving look for her impertinence and changed the direction of the conversation by asking Eustachia if she had made a choice of material for her wedding gown, even though a date had not yet been set for her daughter and Richard's marriage. It was a question to which her elder daughter responded with alacrity, conscious of her mother's purpose. The awkward moment pa.s.sed but it was nonetheless obvious that Lucia's disapproval, and the reason for it, had impressed Maud. She, in common with most people, even those of the n.o.bility, was not literate and although Stephen had been taught to read and write by a private tutor, she could not communicate with him through the written word because of her inability to read. But if, like Lucia, she learned the gestures the Templar's mute servant used, she would be able to hold a conversation with the son she loved so dearly. Hesitantly, in a whispered aside, Maud promised her young cousin that she would speak to her husband about the matter.

As the women fell to suggesting materials that might be suitable for Eustachia's gown, and offering advice on tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, shoes and jewels, Nicolaa returned to her consideration of the motive behind the murder of the clerk. She was glad Gerard had asked Bascot de Marins to investigate the death. The Templar had a forte for uncovering the truth behind men's actions, and if the murder was connected to embezzlement in the mint, she was sure he would discover it.

If the worst happened and de Marins found that a treasure trove was also involved in the crime, the king would need to be quickly apprised of the situation. In such an explosive situation, she decided, it would be best if she took upon herself the responsibility for doing so. She had enjoyed a long friendship with the king and, unlike Gerard and many other n.o.bles, had a fondness for John. His suspicious nature was the result of being used as a p.a.w.n by the squabbling members of his family throughout the whole of his life; in truth he was intelligent, witty and, when the occasion demanded it, a more than competent military commander. Even though the king and Gerard were not complaisant with each other, she knew that John held her own person in high esteem and would not question her honesty. For her husband's well-being, it was fortunate this was so.

THE WITHAM RIVER HAD FLOODED ITS BANKS WHEN the heavy rains had fallen on Lincoln two days before, and the water was just now beginning to recede as Bascot and Gianni crossed the bridge below Briggate. The ground on both sides of the river was marshy, and it was not until they took a lane that led eastward towards Canwick and the ground began to rise that their mount could step out freely, its hooves finally unhindered by the sucking mud. As they rode, the Templar spoke to Gianni over his shoulder and instructed the boy to keep his wax tablet tucked in his scrip while they were at the manor house.

"Sir Richard told me that Legerton is very conscious of his rights as an officer of the crown and can sometimes be supercilious because of it," Bascot said to the boy. "I do not wish to make it seem we have come to interrogate him. I shall merely say I have come to ask if he has any knowledge of the reason Peter Brand was at the quarry on the night he was killed. That does not mean, Gianni, that you are not to keep your ears stretched wide, and your eyes also. If you see anything you think might be of import, store it away in your mind and write it down when we have returned to the castle."

Bascot felt Gianni give his shoulder two gentle taps, a signal that meant he understood. Two were for yes, three for no. It was fortuitous that, because of the celebration of the feast day, Gianni had not been required to a.s.sist John Blund and Lambert in the scriptorium. The boy had a sharp intelligence that had been invaluable during the previous cases of secret murder the Templar investigated; he hoped it would prove so again.

Walter Legerton's manor house was small in size but impressive nonetheless. Encircled by a protective wall of stone, it was set in the middle of a large yard surrounded by outbuildings that comprised stables, storehouses and a blacksmith's forge. The house itself was a solid rectangle in shape, half-timbered and three storeys high, with the lower floor partially submerged below ground level to serve as a cellar for the storage of provisions or as a place of safety during times of unrest. The topmost floor, which was of wood, was set with wider windows than the second storey, and the eaves on the tiled roof were decorated with carvings at each corner. There were two chimneys of turret design, one at the end of each outside wall. It appeared to be either a recently erected structure or an old one that had been completely refurbished. Whichever it was, Bascot thought, it gave the impression that its owner was a man of some wealth.

The Templar was hailed by the guard on the gate and asked his name and the purpose of his visit. Once Bascot told him, the guard sent a servant running to the house and, after a few moments, Legerton's steward appeared. Bowing low, the steward said he would be pleased to take the Templar to his master and, calling for a groom to take charge of Bascot's horse, led his two visitors across the yard.

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 s.p.a.ce in the middle of the room, about a dozen people were engaged in a lively dance called an estampie 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 a.s.sayer, Simon Partager."