"I remember that he sold his father's silver manufactory when the old man died," Nicolaa interposed. "Perhaps he is living off the profit he obtained from the sale, although he must have spent a good portion of the proceeds to purchase the manor house. It was in a bad state of repair when he bought it, I recall, and because of its condition, the Jewish moneylender who claimed the property in repayment of a debt after the owner died was willing to take a very low price. Nevertheless, it was built at least sixty years ago and must have cost a great deal to restore. It would appear Legerton has not only spent his inheritance but is living beyond his means." She made a moue of disapproval. "If that is so, he is a foolish man. Money should be used to provide the means of an income, not frittered away until it is no more."

"If the exchanger's coffers are empty, it would give him a motive for concealing a trove. But even if he has the wealth of Croesus hidden in his office, I need evidence of culpability before I can authorise a search of the building," Camville said.

"The two men hired to guard the exchange," Bascot said musingly. "I have yet to question them, since they were not on duty the day I went to the mint. If Legerton is hiding illicit monies on the premises, they may be privy to it."

The sheriff stopped in his pacing, his face resolute. "Go back and find them, de Marins, if you will; see if they know anything that will help us. Find me one small trace that Legerton has betrayed his oath to the king and I will tear the exchange apart stone by stone."

THE NEXT DAY WAS THE FIRST ONE OF THE NEW YEAR. In the morning, after everyone had attended Ma.s.s, Lady Nicolaa gave gifts of silver coin to all the household staff. Those of lowest station received one new penny, with the amount of the gift increasing accordingly up through the ranks of the servants and men-at-arms until it reached those of the highest station, such as John Blund and Eudo, who each received six shillings.

It was then Gerard Camville's turn to recognise, by the giving of a gift, his appreciation of his household knights. To each he handed a small leather bag containing a quant.i.ty of silver coins and they, in turn, extracted a coin from the bag and presented it to the squires and pages who attended them.

Once this yearly ceremony was completed, and while wine and ale were served to all the company, gifts of a more personal nature were exchanged. On the dais, Nicolaa and Gerard presented Richard with an eating knife decorated with a scrolled silver haft and gave Eustachia a cloak of deep red wool edged with squirrel fur. Gilbert Ba.s.sett's gifts to his wife and two daughters were delicate rings of gold filigree and Ralph of Turville gave Maud a small pair of scissors with ivory handles. His present to his son, Stephen, was an illuminated Psalter.

On the floor of the hall, servants also exchanged small tokens of affection as scullions from the kitchen brought in trays laden with individual cakes of mincemeat topped with marchpane and distributed them throughout the hall. In one of the cakes, the cook had placed a small piece of wood carved in the shape of a bean. The servant who had the good fortune to find the wooden bean in his or her portion of cake would be proclaimed Lord or Lady of Folly and allowed to preside over the festivities later that evening. The mock n.o.ble would be served food and wine as though they sat at the high table and have the extraordinary licence of making outrageous demands on the rest of the staff. These commands were usually frivolous in nature and had included, in years past, ordering a manservant to walk the length of the hall holding a wooden platter between his knees or standing on his head while his nostrils were tickled with a feather. Because Nicolaa de la Haye frowned on lewdness, usually only male servants were asked to engage in antics that might require a woman to lift her skirts. But the female servants did not escape taking part in the buffoonery. They could be ordered to push an inflated pig's bladder along the floor with their nose or submit to walking in circles with a bowl of greasy sc.r.a.ps on their head until the mess spilled over their clothes. All this lighthearted foolery would provoke helpless laughter in the spectators.

The wooden bean was, therefore, a much-coveted prize and each servant immediately searched his or her portion of cake in hope of finding it. Finally, a shout of triumph came from one of the varlets, a young lad responsible for cleaning the grate of the huge fireplace in the hall. As he held his trophy aloft, everyone clapped their hands loudly and two or three fellow menservants hoisted their fortunate companion up on their shoulders and carried him about the hall. The steward, Eudo, let them enjoy their merriment for a few moments before calling them to order and back to their duties. He reminded them all there were still some hours to go before the commencement of the evening's festivities and added a warning that any who did not complete their allotted tasks would be forbidden to take part.

At the first table below the dais, Bascot sat with the other household knights. He had again allowed Gianni to be seated and the boy had taken the same place as he had done on the feast of Christ's Ma.s.s, beside Lambert. That morning, in the privacy of their chamber, Bascot had given the boy a small pewter medal bearing the image of St. Genesius of Arles, a clerk who suffered martyrdom in the fourth century. When Bascot had given Gianni the medal, the boy had pinned it to his tunic with tears in his eyes. Now, as he watched the antics of the servants, his fingertips kept straying to the miniature pewter figure while his lips curled in a smile of happiness.

Once the morning ritual was over, the company began to disperse and Bascot and Gianni left the hall and went over to the castle barracks to spend the hours until evening. Ernulf, who had a gruff fondness for Gianni, had persuaded the castle cook to make a cake of saffron and plum conserves as a New Year's gift for the boy, parting with two silver pennies for the favour.

"Plums are Gianni's favourite fruit," Ernulf had told the Templar. "I am sure he will enjoy it."

He had not been wrong. Gianni's face broke into a wide smile and he clapped his hands together in appreciation when he saw the serjeant's gift. The serjeant ordered a keg of ale broached for the enjoyment of all of the men-at-arms who were not on duty and, as Gianni happily munched on the cake, the soldiers began to reminisce of previous New Year's Days and the splendid food they had eaten.

As the tales circulated, and the men-at-arms' memories grew more fanciful in recalling details of the quant.i.ty and quality of the dishes that had been served, Bascot let his mind drift back to the day before and his questioning of the two guards who worked in the exchange.

After his meeting with Gerard Camville, he had ridden immediately to the exchange and, finding it closed, gone next door to the mint. He arrived just as de Stow's employees were finishing work for the day. When he asked if any knew the whereabouts of Legerton's guards, one of the hammermen told him they lodged in rooms above a nearby alehouse.

Bascot found the alehouse in a street called Walker-gate, where the patrons were mostly dyers who plied their trade close to the river Witham. The wattle and daub walls of the building were badly in need of a fresh coat of lime and the inside was just as ill-kept, with rough tables and benches scattered about and filthy rushes on the floor. The ale keeper, a shrivelled individual with a hook fitted to the stump of his left arm in place of a hand, answered Bascot's enquiry for the whereabouts of the guards with an anxious look, pointing his hook at a table in the corner where two men were sitting. Both were of a similar type to those employed by de Stow, former soldiers who had fallen on hard times and depended on their military skills to earn a living. They were dressed in boiled leather jerkins and plain dark hose and each carried a cudgel and short sword on their belts.

Respectful of Bascot's rank, neither guard gave any sign of apprehension when he told them he was investigating the death of Peter Brand and asked them the same questions he had put to de Stow's employees. They answered in a similar manner as the workers at the mint had done-both denied keeping company with the clerk outside of working hours and claimed he had not made any mention of going to the quarry on the day of his death.

As they made their replies, the older of the two, a hirsute man with a thick wiry beard named Jed, pulled at his lower lip thoughtfully and added that the clerk had seemed a little excited in the two or three days before he disappeared.

"How so?" Bascot asked.

"He were merry, like," Jed replied. "Not that he were ever glum. Mostly he seemed a friendly enough fellow-mayhap a bit too garrulous at times-and always gave a greeting in pa.s.sing, but for those days 'twas like he was burstin' with happiness. We all knew he was lookin' forward to going home to see his sweetheart, and reckoned he was in high spirits at the prospect of bein' with her again. But mebbe we wus wrong; mebbe 'twas somethin' else that had nowt to do with the girl." The guard looked at Bascot with sorrow in his dark eyes. "Mebbe 'twas that somethin' else that got him killed."

When Bascot added a question about money stored in the exchange, both men were adamant that the only time coinage was brought onto the premises was during transactions with customers.

"And then it's only there for as long as it takes to exchange it," Jed a.s.sured him. "All t'other times the money is kept in the mint, else we'd be on guard every day and all night too, just like the men that work for Master de Stow. 'Twould suit our purpose right enough if it was, then we'd get our lodgings free and wouldn't have to share a room in this hovel."

The Templar did not detect guile in either of the men. They had answered his questions readily and without evasion; if they had been privy to any criminal activity in the exchange, Bascot was sure they would not have been so candid. Disappointed, he bought the men a pint of ale each and returned to the castle.

LATER THAT EVENING, AFTER HE AND GIANNI HAD returned to the hall and were watching the Lord of Folly command six of his fellow servants to spin around in a circle until they could no longer stand, the Templar felt as though his own senses were reeling. The more he investigated the murder of the two men, the more he felt as though he was caught in a maelstrom that was tossing him first one way, and then another. Again, he wondered whether the sheriff was correct in his a.s.sumption that the deaths of Brand and Fardein were connected. And, if he was, did the murders have a further link with a cache of silver coins, as Camville also surmised? If either of these suppositions was in error, he was following a false trail by giving them credence. In the case of Ta.s.ser's apprentice, and given the silversmith's penchant for larceny, the motive for Fardein's death could be a.s.sociated with his employer's illegal acts. As for Brand, the exchange guard had said the clerk seemed excited during the few days before he was murdered. l.u.s.t was often a stimulant, especially in a young man thwarted by distance from the object of his affections-had Brand found a new love in closer proximity than Grantham, one that lived in Lincoln but whose affections were engaged elsewhere? Even though the quarry did not seem a likely place for a tryst, was it possible the clerk had been lured there by an irate husband, or even a jealous paramour, and subsequently murdered for his s.e.xual trespa.s.s? But if that was so, and his love for the girl in Grantham had waned, why had a betrothal ring seemingly intended for her been among his belongings?

The Templar shook his head to clear it of his swirling thoughts. There could be many reasons for the slaying of either man, as there always were in instances of secret murder. He must be patient. Tomorrow, if the weather held fine, he would ride to Grantham and speak to Brand's mother and the girl. Perhaps one of them would have information that would help him.

Chapter 13.

AT WALTER LEGERTON'S MANOR HOUSE IN CANWICK, celebration of the New Year's arrival was in full spate. There were about twenty guests in all; most of them acquaintances who lived in Lincoln, invited to stay for the duration of the holy days with their wives and children, along with a pair of elderly sisters, both spinsters, who were distant cousins of Walter and Silvana.

As at the castle, after the exchanger and his guests had broken their fast, Legerton distributed the customary small gifts of silver coins to his staff and then presented his two young sons with belts of chased leather. To each of his cousins he gave silver thimbles inscribed with their names and then instructed his steward to distribute inexpensive items of jewellery to the women guests-small brooches or cloak clasps of silver gilt. All of the recipients thanked him and praised his thoughtfulness-all except Iseult, the wife of Simon Partager.

Iseult's pretty mouth pouted with disappointment as she, like a few of the other women, received a brooch shaped in the likeness of a flower. The brooch was no more remarkable than the rest and Iseult threw her lover a barely veiled look of resentment as she cast it carelessly on the table in front of her.

Silvana, seated beside her brother at the table on the dais, noticed Iseult's glare of dissatisfaction and, leaning over to Walter, said in a whisper, "Your mistress is not pleased with your gift, Brother. What happened to the jewelled comb you showed me, the one you said was intended for her?"

"It is locked away in my chamber," Walter replied, "and will stay there until I can return it to the merchant from whom I bought it. I told you I was tiring of Iseult and I did not lie."

Silvana gave a small smile of satisfaction. Her brother was finally learning to curb his excesses and she was glad Iseult was among the first to be restrained.

Walter noticed his sister's gratification and felt guilty. If Silvana should find out he had far more to worry about than the resentment of a jilted leman, or even the small amount of money he had borrowed from the Jew, she would be horrified. He hoped he could find a way to solve his most pressing problem without his devoted sister ever being aware it existed.

Silvana Legerton was not the only one who noticed Iseult's displeasure. Her husband also saw her look of disappointment and, like Silvana, knew the cause. Iseult had taken barely any notice of Simon's own gift to her, an intricately embroidered girdle that had cost him almost half a year's wages. Anger surged up in Partager's breast as his wife thanked him distractedly, her eyes hot with indignation as she glanced up at Legerton. She then turned away from Simon and began to talk to the man seated on her other side, a young fellow who was the son of a Lincoln draper and had accompanied his parents to Canwick in response to the exchanger's invitation. He was a handsome youth with curly red hair, knowing blue eyes and an infectious grin. As Iseult laughed up at him, flirting outrageously, Simon knew she was doing so in an attempt to make Legerton jealous, but the exchanger took no notice, more interested in his conversation with his sister and two sons than in a woman that had briefly captured his fancy.

Partager toyed with a piece of manchet bread on the table in front of him, bile rising in his throat as he forced himself not to allow his anger to show on his face. He had been in Legerton's employ for a few years now and happily so until he had married Iseult on a bright day in the middle of last summer. He had met his future bride at Eastertide of that same year, just as the congregation attending the service was leaving the cathedral. Iseult's beauty had immediately captivated him. She had dropped her glove as she and her sister walked past him and, when he picked it up and returned it to her, he thought he would drown in the blueness of her eyes. She, with a tinkling laugh, had thanked him prettily for his courtesy and told him she was from Nottingham and was visiting a married sister, who lived in Lincoln. For days afterwards he had dreamed of Iseult's beautiful hair, like twin ropes of corn silk, and the lush fullness of her mouth. He had pursued her avidly until, a few weeks later, she consented to be his wife.

The joyous day of their wedding celebration was the last happy time that Simon remembered. As he recalled how eagerly he had brought his new wife to Legerton's house and installed her in the comfortable chamber he was allotted as part payment of his salary, bitterness engulfed him. That first night, as he led Iseult out to sit by his side at the evening meal, he thought his heart would burst with pride as he saw the admiring glances sent in her direction by all of the household, servants and Legerton's family alike. How foolish he had been, he reflected. Within just a few short weeks, the beautiful girl he had married was sharing his employer's bed at the manor house while he, her husband, was sent by Legerton to the exchange office in Lincoln for days-and nights-at a time.

The moment of revelation was struck into his memory just as surely as the image of the king was hammered into the surface of a new silver penny. One morning he returned to the manor house earlier than expected, prompted to do so by the sudden appearance of a gold bracelet on Iseult's wrist a couple of days before. She said it had been a gift from her mother on the occasion of their marriage but Simon did not believe her. Iseult would surely have shown him such a costly present as soon as she received it and she had not done so. Alone in the exchange office in Lincoln, his suspicions grew so large he could not concentrate on his work. Legerton's insistence that he remain overnight in the exchange when there was not enough work to require the extra hours fuelled his mistrust. Deciding to make an attempt to lay his disquietude to rest, he returned to Canwick well before dawn, tying his horse up outside the manor door so as not to disturb the stable servants. Stealing quietly into the house, he hoped to find his wife sleeping chastely alone in their marriage bed. As he made his way down the dark pa.s.sageway to their chamber, Iseult was coming from the direction of Legerton's room. In her hand was a candle, and its light revealed that she wore only a thin summer cloak over her naked body. Her features were flushed with the aftermath of lovemaking. Partager had not revealed his presence, nor spoken of what he knew, either to her or to Legerton. Despite his wife's betrayal, the a.s.sayer was still desperately in love with her. The knowledge that his beloved young bride was nothing more than a wanton burned in his gut like a canker, but he knew that if he accused her, the pretense of harmony between them would be destroyed. However little was the happiness they shared, he did not want to lose even the smallest jot.

He glanced at Iseult as she gave the draper's son a suggestive glance from her entrancing blue eyes. Looking around, he saw the knowing looks the household servants were casting in her direction. Not only he, her husband, but all those in the hall were aware of Iseult's proclivities, knew that now that Legerton's interest in her had waned she would look for a new lover. Simon had to get her away from Canwick, and Lincoln town, somewhere where her reputation was unknown and they could start afresh. Once he had accomplished that, he would tackle her licentiousness, warn her that if she strayed again, he would disown her and leave her to whatever fate awaited a woman scorned by her husband for unfaithfulness. Iseult, for all her lechery, was not a stupid woman. He was sure she would obey him if he threatened to cast her aside. Although he had made plans that would enable him to realise this goal, the completion of a few minor details still remained before he could bring them to fruition.IN LINCOLN TOWN, HELIAS DE STOW AND HIS WIFE were walking back to their home after attending Ma.s.s at the cathedral. Even though the temperature had risen, there were still treacherous puddles of slush scattered on the cobbles, and the moneyer's wife had a secure grip on her husband's arm to aid her unsteady steps. Behind them trailed their two daughters, girls of ten and eleven, in the company of the young maidservant de Stow employed to tend to the needs of the females in his household. The family was looking forward to getting back to their house and a warm fire-side, but although they tried to step along Mikelgate with a quick pace, the ground was too slippery to do more than trudge slowly.

As her foot slid once again in the miry mess, Blanche looked up at her husband. "We should have gone to the service at St. Mary Crackpole, as you suggested, Helias. I am sorry for my insistence on going to the cathedral."

Helias patted his wife's arm. "Do not be concerned about it, Wife," he said. "The service was uplifting and most welcome, especially as a consolation for the sadness brought on us by Peter's death."

"Do you know if the sheriff has any suspects for the crime yet?" Blanche asked.

"I do not believe so," Helias replied. "The Templar knight came back again to ask if we knew the lodging place of the two men who guard the exchange, but he said nothing to indicate he knew who was responsible for Peter's murder."

Blanche did not attempt any more conversation until her husband had manoeuvred her around a particularly dirty patch of melting snow. "You will have to engage a new clerk, Helias. Have you thought of anyone suitable?"

The moneyer shook his head. "I think I will have to carry on alone for a bit, even though it makes a lot of extra work. Once the feast of Epiphany is over, I will call on the head of the silversmith's guild and see if he can recommend someone."

As he said this, they were not far from the door of Warner Ta.s.ser's manufactory and, as their steps drew level with the entrance, the silversmith emerged, carrying a bundle in his hands. When he saw Helias and his family, his plump jowls creased into a smile and he made a low bow.

"Good morrow, Master de Stow," he said in a congenial manner, bestowing a friendly look on Blanche as well as the moneyer. "I hope this day finds you and your family in good spirits."

Helias nodded to the silversmith and made a civil reply but did not pause for further conversation. He could feel his wife's shocked gaze on him as they continued their trek down Mikelgate but she constrained herself from speaking until they were out of Ta.s.ser's earshot.

"How dare that man address you?" she demanded in outrage. "He is a thief and an embarra.s.sment to his guild." When her husband made no response, Blanche's voice hardened. "I hope he has not forced his acquaintance on you, Helias. If he has, it will do your reputation no good, no good at all."

Helias again patted his wife's arm in a comforting manner. "Do not fret, my dear. It is only polite to respond to his greeting. We have just celebrated the season of Christ's birth, after all. At such a time, you would not have me disobey Our Lord's commandment to show goodwill to all men, would you?"

Blanche made no reply to her husband's mild reprimand, but the ambiguity of his response made her uneasy.

Fourteen.

IN THE EARLY HOURS OF THE NEXT MORNING, JUST AFTER Nocturn, the fire bell hanging from a pole on Mikelgate began to ring. Its insistent pealing soon had people running from their homes and out into the street. Captain Roget and the off-duty guards sleeping in the town gaol leapt from their beds and pulled on their boots. As Roget and his men ran towards the sound of the tocsin, one of the men who had been on night patrol met them just as they rounded the corner of Brancegate.

"The fire's in the casket maker's shop, just down there," he said, pointing to the end of the road.

His men at his heels, Roget ran towards the glow of flames flickering around the shutters of a cas.e.m.e.nt on the ground floor. "The alarm was sounded by a sempstress who lodges above the shop," the guard told Roget as they ran. "She's a widow and got herself and her two children out safely, but she said she hasn't seen the casket maker since early yesterday afternoon. He must still be in there."

Shouting to two of his men to bring ladders and hatchets, Roget directed others to gather some of the emergency water barrels placed about the town and roll them to the site of the fire. A crowd of neighbouring householders were hauling buckets of water from a well in the middle of the street and Roget pushed past them to take stock of the situation. The cas.e.m.e.nt was burning fiercely, flames licking up the walls of stout timber beams set in a crosswise fashion atop a low foundation wall of stone. The preservative tar painted on the beams was beginning to blister and pop with an ominous sound, as was the wattle and daub used as infill. Although there was only a slight danger of the tiled roof catching fire, it was imperative to prevent the wooden framework of the dwelling, and that of the adjoining houses, from igniting. Roget hoped the recent snow and rain had dampened the wood thoroughly enough to make it difficult for the flames to easily catch hold.

As the two men he had sent for ladders and hatchets came running with the equipment, the clatter of horses' hoofs could be heard as Ernulf and a half dozen men-at-arms from the castle raced down Mikelgate to give their a.s.sistance. Propping the ladders up against the walls of the adjacent houses, the soldiers clambered up and tossed buckets of water onto the beams at the top of the house's facade, while the men of the town guard tried to douse the flames at ground level. Roget ripped off his cloak and, soaking it with water from one of the emergency barrels, wrapped the dripping fabric around his arm and lifted it to shield his face as he took an axe to the burning cas.e.m.e.nt. The wood of the shutter was almost burned through and fell quickly, but as soon as it lay smouldering on the ground, fierce flames from the inside of the window leapt greedily through the opening.

As townspeople ran forward with more buckets, Roget called to the sempstress, who was standing with her arms around her crying children at the edge of a crowd of frightened women. "The casket maker-where does he sleep?"

"In a room at the back," she replied. "But 'tis in that room"-she pointed to the burning chamber beyond the cas.e.m.e.nt-"that he keeps cloths for lining the coffins. It must be those that are burning. Our room is just above and the smell of smoke woke me up."

"We can't get through the cas.e.m.e.nt, the flames are too fierce," Roget shouted to Ernulf. "We'll have to go through the door."

The serjeant nodded and, as Roget had done, removed his cloak and dunked it into a water barrel. As the two men went towards the front door, which had been left slightly ajar by the fleeing sempstress and her children, the captain yelled to one of his guards. "Take two men and go down the lane behind the building. Make sure the fire has not spread to the back of the house."

As the men ran to do his bidding, he and Ernulf, their upper torsos and heads swathed in the dampened cloaks, kicked open the door. Inside, the pa.s.sageway was filled with dense black smoke, but thankfully there were, as yet, no flames. Calling for his men to bring more water, Roget used it to soak the wood of the door that led into the burning room before cautiously pushing it open. There was a slight whoosh of hot air as he did so but, once they were inside, it was apparent the core of the fire was, as the sempstress had suggested, in a pile of burning cloth. The material lay directly underneath the open window and was fiercely ablaze. A coffin on a stand on the opposite side of the room had begun to char from the heat but, apart from that, the rest of the room was intact. There was no sign of the casket maker.

"Thanks be to le Bon Dieu le Bon Dieu," Roget breathed as his men extinguished the blazing material, sending up a cloud of smoke tinged with an acrid smell that caught in the throat and set them all to coughing. "Bring some sand and cover all the embers," he instructed the guards, "and make sure both the inside and outside of the walls are well damped down."

He and Ernulf, still coughing from the effects of the smoke, went out into the street. As he began to a.s.sure the crowd the danger was past, the guards he had sent to check on the rear of the house came around the corner. With them were two men, one stumbling along as though bemused while the other was being hauled along reluctantly.

"Found the casket maker asleep in his bed," one of the guards said with a grin. "Had to wake him up to tell him he was near to needing one of his own coffins."

Roget looked at the coffin maker. There was a strong smell of ale about his person and his gaze was uncomprehending as he stared at the charred wood on the front of his shop and the people gathered round. It was clear he must have been drunk when he went to bed and the effects of the alcohol had not yet worn off.

"Were you drinking in your shop tonight?" Roget asked him.

The man nodded, his eyes bleary. "Only a cup or two," he replied. "Helps me sleep."

The sempstress came forward, her eyes ablaze with anger. "'Tis more like you had a dozen," she yelled at him. "You're always drinking in there and it's not the first time you've left a candle alight. 'Tis only by G.o.d's grace that I and my children were not burned to death."

"No, no, mistress," the casket maker slurred. "I only had a few cups, I promise you. No more." His words ended in a prodigious belch, the smell of which sent them all reeling away from him.

Disgusted, Roget told one of the guards to take him to the gaol and keep him in one of the cells until he slept off the effect of the ale. The captain then spoke to the sempstress. "I shall report his drunkenness to the town bailiff," he told her. "If any of your property is damaged, he will ensure you are paid reparation."

Mollified, the sempstress turned away and a kindly neighbour offered to give her and her children lodgings for the night, which she gratefully accepted. Roget now turned his attention to the other man the guards had brought with them, and who was still held firmly in their grasp.

The captain stroked his beard and a smile curved his lips as he looked at the cringing figure. The guards returned his smirk. Their captive cowered under Roget's gaze as one of the guards held aloft a rough sack. It swung heavily from his raised fist.

"Found him with this, Captain," the guard said. "He was climbing over one of the fences in the lane."

"So, Cotty," Roget said, addressing the prisoner, "you are back in Lincoln and are once again trying my patience with your thieving ways."

"I found the sack on the ground, Captain Roget," the man whined. "I was just on my way to turn it in to you."

Roget regarded the thief. He was dressed in rags and was extremely dirty. Looped around his neck was a pair of old rope sandals tied together with string. Both sides of his nose had been slit and his left hand was still red and sore on the stumps of two missing fingers.

"I thought I told you never to come back to Lincoln," Roget said, gesturing to the thief's mutilated hand. "Did that punishment not teach you a lesson?"

"'Twas hard out on the road in this weather," the man snivelled. "I only come to town to get some alms from the church and then I was going to be on my way. I didn't steal anything, I promise you. I found that sack. It was just lying on the ground where someone must have dropped it."

Roget pointed to Cotty's bare feet; his toes, curling on the cobbles amid the churned-up mess of slush and ashes from the fire, were nearly as long as his fingers and almost as prehensile. "If you are lying, it will be your toes I take this time. Without them, you will no longer be able to climb through windows like a thieving squirrel." Roget thrust his hand into the sack. "Let's see what it is that Cotty claims he has found found."

Ernulf and the guards gasped as Roget pulled out a leather pouch and upended it into his open hand. From inside slithered a heavy gold chain adorned with a ruby pendant and two men's silver thumb rings set with precious stones. As the captain gave the pouch a final shake, a cloak clasp of beaten gold tumbled out to join the rest. "Ma foi," Roget exclaimed, "you have struck on a pretty nest of treasure this time, Cotty." The captain glowered at the thief. "Which house did you steal this from?"

Cotty fell awkwardly to his knees, his arm still in the grasp of one of the guards. "I didn't steal it, Captain, I swear."

Roget looked up Mikelgate. The back of all the houses adjoining the casket maker's faced into the lane where Cotty had been apprehended. Among them was Warner Ta.s.ser's silver manufactory.

"I don't believe you, Cotty, and I have no doubt report of this theft will soon prove your lie." He motioned to the guard who held the unfortunate thief. "Take him to the gaol and lock him up. And give him some water to wash his feet. I have no wish to soil my sword on the filth that encrusts his toes."

With an evil grin, the guard dragged his captive away, Cotty still protesting his innocence. Roget turned to Ernulf. "Will you tell Sheriff Camville there is no longer any danger from the fire, mon ami, mon ami, and also that I will be delayed in making my report until after I have found out who this jewellery belongs to?" and also that I will be delayed in making my report until after I have found out who this jewellery belongs to?"

Ernulf nodded his compliance and, calling to his men, mounted his horse and rode back to the castle.

Fifteen.

IT WAS WELL PAST THE MIDDAY HOUR BY THE TIME Roget trudged up to the castle, the leather bag of jewellery firmly tied to his belt. He was tired and hungry and his clothes and hair stank of smoke. Before he went to make his report to the sheriff, he went over to the barracks, hoping to get a pot of ale and something to eat from the store Ernulf kept in the guardroom.

Once inside the building, he went to the room the serjeant used as his own, a small cubicle separated by a leather curtain from the large open s.p.a.ce shared by the men-at-arms. Pushing the curtain aside, he went in and found Bascot and Gianni in company with the serjeant, the Templar having delayed his journey to Grantham in case the fire in the town spread and every able-bodied man in Lincoln was called out to fight it.

"I have come for a pot of that malodorous brew you call ale, Ernulf," Roget said to the serjeant, hooking a stool from the corner and sitting down heavily. "My throat is as dry as the sands of Outremer." The air in the tiny chamber was warm from the heat of a brazier burning in the corner and the captain began to relax as he took a pot of ale from the serjeant and downed it in one gulp.