Murder For Christ's Mass Part 8

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 Ba.s.sett 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 Ma.s.s and quickly discovered they shared a pa.s.sion 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 a.s.sure 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 n.o.bility 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 prost.i.tutes. "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 a.s.sist, 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 partic.i.p.ate 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 sanct.i.ty 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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 pa.s.sed a night on his own in the barracks before, the arrival of the New Year had made him disturbingly aware of the pa.s.sage 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 succ.u.mbed to his preoccupation with Lucia Ba.s.sett. Twice yesterday morning Lambert had given him a mild reproof for mistakes he had made in copying doc.u.ments 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 pa.s.sage 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 m.u.f.fler 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 prost.i.tutes 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.

Play had been desultory at first as the regular patrons took the measure of the unknown knight de Laxton had brought into their company. After a few rounds of Hazard with three other players, Ralph had not gained any substantial winnings, but everyone was more relaxed in his company. The wine flowed freely and the conversation was genial.

It had been about an hour later that a man he surmised to be one of the wealthier merchants of the town invited him to play Bac Gamen. This game was a particular favourite of Ralph's and one at which he excelled. It had not taken long for him to realise that his opponent was not a strategist and far too eager to bear his men off the board without taking advantage of the positions of the pieces. Ralph let him win one or two games, and a small amount of silver, and then, when he felt the moment was right, suggested they use the doubling counter. The merchant, flushed with his small victories, readily agreed. It was only a short time before Ralph won all but one lone silver penny from the pile in front of his opponent.

Noting the merchant had become increasingly distressed by his losses, Ralph decided to call a halt to the game.

"That was my last throw," he said and laid down the leather cup that contained the dice.

"d.a.m.n your soul," his opponent muttered in a threatening fas.h.i.+on. "You had scant more when you sat down and I staked against it."

"And you lost," Ralph replied flatly, "more than once."

"I will give you a note of promise for another stake," the merchant said eagerly, his fingers trembling slightly. "Just one more game," he pleaded. "If I lose again, you will be that much the richer."

Ralph stood up; the man's overt display of desperation was distasteful. "I think not. The hour grows late and I am tired. I bid you good evening and wish you better fortune the next time you play."

Turville felt a fleeting twinge of guilt for winning so much money from his richly dressed opponent, having often been in the position of losing more silver than he could afford himself, but his conscience was quickly a.s.suaged by thought of the amount of money he had won. It would alleviate a large part of the financial distress he and his family were suffering. He had returned to the castle in exceedingly high spirits. Now, sitting at the table with his family and listening to his son describe his new accomplishments, his contentment was unbounded.

IN THE TOWN, A SCANT HOUR LATER, ISEULT LEFT THE lodgings above the mint and, the maidservant in tow, went to visit her sister. Although she had been intending to visit Lisette for a good gossip about the silversmith's arrest, all thoughts of Ta.s.ser's incarceration had been chased from her mind by news that her husband, Simon, had given her that morning. She needed to discuss it with someone and hoped that her elder sister would prove a sympathetic listener.

Lisette was married to a harness maker and, with their four children and her husband, lived above his shop in a house on a side street just off Danesgate. Although she loved Iseult she, like their father, was shocked by her sister's licentiousness and thankful to see her safely married to an upstanding man of good repute. Lisette's relief had not lasted long, however, for a spiteful neighbour had been quick to repeat gossip about Iseult's wayward behaviour with Simon's employer. When Iseult knocked at her sister's door that morning, she was greeted with a scathing glance, for Lisette was quite ready to take her younger sibling to task for her outrageous behaviour, but her anger was quickly dispelled when she saw the downcast look on Iseult's face.

"Oh, Lisette," Iseult said when they were ensconced in the tiny hall of the harness maker's house, "Simon has just told me he has accepted the post of a.s.sayer at a mine in Tynedale. I do not want to go to some village in the wilds of Northumbria where there are only brutish miners and their bedraggled wives for company."

"Has your husband said why he has taken such a drastic step?" Lisette asked, confident she already knew the answer to her question. When Iseult had taken off her cloak, Lisette could not help but note the handsome girdle her sister was wearing. It was made of exquisite embroidery decorated with tiny gems and had fine silk ta.s.sels with which to fasten it. Simon could never have afforded such a costly gift, so it must have been a present from Iseult's lover. Was it any wonder her sister's husband was seeking a way to remove his beautiful young wife from the close proximity of her paramour?

Iseult shook her head in her response to Lisette's question. "No. Simon only said the position is a good one and he has a fancy to live farther north."

Lisette regarded her sister thoughtfully for a moment. "Perhaps he is not telling you the true reason, Iseult. It may be he has learned of your adulterous liaison with Master Legerton and wants to escape the shame you have brought on him."

Iseult waved her hand in dismissal. She was not surprised at her sister's knowledge of her lover; she had never been overcareful of concealing her attraction to handsome men and, as far as her husband was concerned, she had no care that he suffered dishonour through her actions. "I have finished with Legerton," she said airily. "He no longer interests me."

Lisette, remembering how their father's neighbour had lost affection for Iseult once he had tired of her body, gestured towards the belt Iseult wore and said caustically, "Is that expensive girdle his parting gift to you, then?"

Iseult looked puzzled for a moment and then, fingering one of the bright ta.s.sels lying in her lap, said, "Oh, no. This was Simon's New Year present to me. Legerton only gave me a paltry brooch. It was not even solid silver, merely gilt."

Her answer took Lisette by surprise. She had not thought Simon able to afford such an expensive piece of frippery. Despite Iseult's unfaithfulness, the a.s.sayer must still love his wife a great deal if he was willing to spend a good portion of his income on such a costly present. She regarded her sister and thought how self-centred Iseult was, how she did not realise there was many a husband who would have denounced such a flagrantly unfaithful wife and meted out the punishment proscribed by law. How would Iseult react, she wondered, if Simon were to order her beautiful hair shaved off and then drag her through the streets of the town for all to see?

At these thoughts, Lisette's patience finally snapped. "You should give thanks to G.o.d that Simon is such a caring husband, Iseult. Much as it pains me to say it, you behave like a harlot. I am ashamed to admit we share the same blood."

Never before had her sister spoken so harshly, and Iseult stared at Lisette in dismay. Her discomfiture lasted only a moment, however, before her innate self-absorption resurrected itself. Rising from the stool on which she had been sitting and tossing back her head arrogantly, she said, "You have always been jealous of me, Lisette, and I see you have not changed. Since you are embarra.s.sed to have me for a sister, I will not trouble you with my company any longer."

So saying, she called for her maidservant and left the house.

IN THE MINT, DE STOW'S WORKMEN HAD ALMOST completed the manufacture of silver coins for the consignment ordered by Legerton. Helias had promised his employees that if the order was finished today, they could have a paid day of rest on Epiphany.

The air rang with sounds of industry as the hammermen struck the king's image on the last few coins. The furnace had been allowed to go out, but the odour of molten metal still lingered. De Stow was busy inspecting the work his men had done, stacking the coins in neat piles of twelve ready for inspection by Simon Partager, who would reweigh them and use his touchstone to ensure the silver content was as required by the king's ordinance.

As he worked, de Stow's brows were drawn down into a frown and his manner impatient. Usually of equable temperament, his men had noticed his foul humour for the last two or three days and been surprised when he railed at them for the slightest laxity.

One of the hammermen had opined that the moneyer's testiness was due to their employer having to cope with extra duties since the death of his clerk, and the other workers had agreed. Only de Stow's wife, Blanche, noticed that her husband's ill humour had not evidenced itself in the busy days just after Brand's murder but had, instead, coincided with the arrest of Ta.s.ser. With great effort, she kept her misgivings to herself and fervently prayed her husband was not involved in the silversmith's illegal dealings.

Twenty-three.

ON EPIPHANY, THE DAY CELEBRATING THE MAGI'S adoration of the infant Christ child, the sky above Lincoln dawned clear and diamond bright. Long before the hour of Matins rang, the castle servants were astir and setting up tables in the hall for the morning meal, laying extra places with trenchers and wine goblets. Additional guests had arrived in Lincoln the day before, local knights of Gerard and Nicolaa's acquaintance invited, along with their wives, to witness Richard and Eustachia pledge their intention to wed. Most of the guests had taken lodgings within the town, for quite a few maintained homes of their own in Lincoln, but those who did not have such amenities had been invited to spend the eve and day of the betrothal in the castle.

Neither Richard nor Eustachia appeared in the hall, food having been taken to their chambers for them to eat while they dressed for the momentous occasion. Lucia was also absent, joyfully helping her sister's maid arrange Eustachia's hair and gown.

On the dais, both Nicolaa and Gerard, neither of whom was usually given to ostentation in their dress, were sumptuously attired, as were Gilbert and Egelina Ba.s.sett. Both barons were wearing tunics emblazoned with their respective emblems; Camville's that of two silver lions pa.s.sant, and Ba.s.set his insignia of three gold chevrons. They chatted amicably with the guests seated alongside them as slices of cold viands and cups of small ale were served.

Once the meal was over, and the trestle tables and platters cleared away, Camville gave a signal to Eudo, and the steward motioned for a group of musicians waiting at the back of the hall to commence playing. As the strains of a popular hymn swelled above the heads of the company, Eustachia came through the door of the western tower of the keep. There was an appreciative gasp as she appeared. Her dark hair and pale olive skin glowed in contrast to the ivory silk of her kirtle and the creamy lace that covered her hair. Behind her came Lucia, dressed in a gown the colour of harebells.

As the two young women moved farther into the hall, the a.s.sembly noticed that Richard Camville had un.o.btrusively entered the huge room from the opposite side of the hall and was waiting for Eustachia in front of the dais. He wore a tunic and surcoat of vibrant green, and his flaming red hair, the colour of copper, shone beneath a silken cap of the same colour. His eyes were alight with pleasure as Eustachia moved forward to join him and, as he draped a magnificent cloak trimmed with vair around her shoulders, it was obvious he was well content to give his promise to wed the woman standing by his side.

The couple walked the length of the hall and out onto the steps of the forebuilding, followed by their parents, Lucia and guests. After descending the steep flight of stairs down into the bail, Richard a.s.sisted Eustachia onto the saddle of a gentle white mare caparisoned in the Ba.s.sett colours of red and gold and then mounted his own steed, a handsome roan whose tossing head set the bells attached to its harness jingling.

Once their parents and the other guests were mounted, Richard slowly led the entourage out of the eastern gate of the ward, across Ermine Street and into the grounds of the Minster. Behind them came the knights and upper servants of the Haye and Camville retinues, walking at a measured pace, followed by the rest of the household servants.

In the Minster, there was a great crowd of people. While the ill-tempered sheriff was not popular with most of the citizens in Lincoln, Nicolaa was held in high esteem and the townspeople had gathered as a mark of respect for her and her son.

At the main entrance to the cathedral, the archdeacon was waiting to add his official witness to the solemn vows Richard and Eustachia would exchange underneath the lintel of the ma.s.sive doors. After they had given their pledges, the priest would give his blessing on their future union. The couple were to make the vow of verba de futuro verba de futuro-a promise to marry at some time in the future-but it was considered to be as binding as the pledge of verba de praesenti verba de praesenti-a consent to be wed at that moment.

Once the vows were said and the blessing over, the archdeacon preceded the pair inside the cathedral and conducted Ma.s.s before the high altar. Richard and Eustachia knelt at the door to the chancel during the service and the witnesses stood in the nave behind the huge carved screen that separated them from the inner sanctum. As the service progressed, the church filled with the sweet smell of incense and at the end, when the choir lifted up their voices in praise of the Lord of heaven, a feeling of exultation descended on the a.s.sembly.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, A MEAL FULLY AS SUMPTUOUS as the one served on the day of Christ's Ma.s.s was placed before the company. Bascot sat at his customary seat among the household knights while Gianni stood behind him in attendance.

As on similar occasions over the holy days, tumblers were cavorting among the tables, spinning coloured b.a.l.l.s as they turned somersaults, and musicians were playing softly at the back of the hall while a troubadour stood in front of the dais and sang a romantic ballad to the newly betrothed couple.

The Templar tried to enter into the happy spirit of the occasion and, while he was pleased that Richard and Eustachia seemed truly happy with each other, he could not keep his thoughts from the night he had just spent at the preceptory and his conversation with Emilius, the Order's draper.

On his arrival at the enclave the day before, Bascot had met the supplicant knight, a young man named Hugh of Sturton, and spent some time in conversation with him before going to join the rest of the brothers in the refectory for the evening meal. The Templar had been favourably impressed with Sturton; the young knight's desire to serve Christ seemed earnest and he comported himself in a seemly manner. As they ate in the silence demanded by the Order's Rule, Sturton had listened attentively as a Templar priest read a pa.s.sage from the Bible.

Afterwards, in the hour allowed for a period of recreation, the situation in Tomar was discussed and how it was vital that the attempted encroachment of the Mus lims into Portuguese Christian territory be stemmed. Emilius, who had spent some years in Portugal before being sent to Lincoln to fill the office of draper-a post which made him second-in-command to the preceptor and involved the important duty of ensuring all brothers in the enclave conformed to strict rules of dress and appearance-told the others a little of the history of the region.

The castle at Tomar had been built about thirty years before, on a grant of land given to the Templar Order by a member of the monarchy of Portugal, together with another stronghold twelve miles south at Almourol. The two fortresses formed the first line of defence against repeated infidel attacks from the south. Emilius related some of the atrocities the heathens had inflicted on Christian villagers in the area-babies impaled on the point of a sword, women raped, and men disembowelled and left to die a lingering and agonising death. As Bascot listened to the draper's report, his heart flooded with anger.

His blood had cooled somewhat by the following morning when he attended the chapter meeting and listened to Sturton's quiet but resolute responses to the questions put to him by d'Arderon, Emilius and himself, but the sentiment that fostered it had not dimmed. Senseless killing, whether perpetrated by an enemy on helpless villagers or by means of secret murder, always inflamed outrage in Bascot's soul. It was G.o.d's right, and His only, to take the life of another without just cause. By the time he returned to the castle, he decided he would not wait until the morrow to question Ta.s.ser again, but do so as soon as the betrothal celebration was over.

THE SILVERSMITH BORE THE FULL BRUNT OF THE Templar's pent-up anger when Bascot went into the holding cell. Ta.s.ser was in an abject state; his cheeks were dark with days-old stubble and his fine clothes stained beyond cleansing. Confronted by the ice-cold gaze of the knight's eye, he quailed in Bascot's presence before the Templar spoke even one word.

"Sheriff Camville is out of patience with you, silversmith, and so am I," Bascot said menacingly. "If you did not, as you claim, kill Brand and your apprentice, then you know who did. If you do not give me his name, you will stand in judgment of the murders in his place."

"As G.o.d is my witness, lord, I do not know who it was. If I did, I would tell." The silversmith was almost crying.

"You lie," Bascot said and, stepping forward, grabbed Ta.s.ser by the front of his tunic and slammed him into the wall. The back of the silversmith's head struck the hard stones with a sickening crunch and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"I am telling the truth, lord, I swear it," he screamed as Bascot raised his arm and gave the prisoner the full force of a backhanded slap across the mouth. Blood gushed from Ta.s.ser's mouth and he screamed with pain as Bascot released his grip and let the silversmith fall to the floor.

Bascot stepped back a pace, appalled by his own brutality. He had let the deadly sin of anger lead him into the very behaviour he decried in the infidel Moors. Never before had he struck an unarmed foe, nor used force on a man who, even if he had not been manacled, would be no match for Bascot's youth and strength.

He was about to step forward and a.s.sist Ta.s.ser to his feet when the silversmith spoke, his words barely audible through the blood that welled from the split in his lower lip.

"I think . . . I think . . . Roger knew who killed Brand," he mumbled.

Bascot willed himself to stillness. "How so?" he asked.

Ta.s.ser lifted eyes full of resignation. "Roger was following the clerk, at least . . . I think he was." Raising the arm that was not manacled, Ta.s.ser dabbed at the blood on his chin with the filthy sleeve of his tunic. "It was the day after I bought the jewellery from Brand. The clerk was pa.s.sing my shop and Roger . . . he made an excuse to leave his work. I saw him go after Brand, keeping a little distance behind him." Ta.s.ser dabbed again at his mouth. "There were other times, too. Over the next couple of days, Roger disappeared for an hour or two and, in the evenings, he would return to his room sober instead of cupshotten. He was up to something . . . and I think it involved the clerk."

"Did you ask him whether he was following Brand?"

The silversmith nodded. "He wouldn't tell me if he was or not, just laid his finger aside of his nose in a knowing fas.h.i.+on and would say no more."

"What about after Brand was killed? What made you think he had witnessed the murder?"

Ta.s.ser gave a sigh. "Because even before the clerk's body was found, Roger knew he was dead. He told me I had better lock up the jewellery I had bought from Brand lest I be implicated in a serious crime. When I asked him what he was talking about, he said only that I had better pay heed to his warning. But even though I did as he said, it doesn't look as though it was enough to save me, or him, from danger."

THE TEMPLAR WAITED UNTIL LATER THAT EVENING, when the festivities were almost at an end, before he approached Gerard Camville and asked if he could have a few moments of private speech with him. The sheriff raised his eyebrows at the request, but excused himself from his guests and took Bascot upstairs to his chamber. He gave his undivided attention to Bascot's words and, when the Templar finished speaking, began to pace.

"So it appears that Fardein saw the murder of Brand and was then murdered to ensure his silence."

"I believe so, lord," Bascot replied. "I think the apprentice, just like Ta.s.ser, was suspicious of the provenance of the jewellery the clerk brought to sell and wanted to find out if Brand had any more and, if so, where he had it stored. So he followed Brand hoping to confirm his supposition. What Fardein intended to do once he had uncovered the clerk's secret, we shall never know. It may be he planned to make an offer to buy the additional valuables without involving Ta.s.ser or he could have simply intended to rob Brand. Whatever his purpose, since he knew the clerk was dead before his body was found, it seems certain Fardein must have seen the murder."

"So you believe that whoever killed Brand also despatched the apprentice."

"It seems logical."

Camville paced the length of the room once or twice. "I agree," he finally said. "But even though it gives us proof the two murders are linked, we still do not have the name of the perpetrator, so are no further forward."

"We are now reasonably certain that at least three men were in the quarry on the night Brand was killed-the clerk, Fardein and the murderer," Bascot said. "It seems inconceivable that no one saw at least one of them either entering the quarry or leaving it, and earlier today I recalled I may have missed a possible witness."

"Go on," Camville directed.