by Maureen Ash
Clapping Gianni on the shoulder and assuring him that even if his efforts had not been fruitful, they had been worthwhile, he gave the boy two silver pennies from his scrip and told him to go and purchase a couple of meat pies from the nearest bake shop and a jug of ale from an alehouse farther up Mikelgate.
“There are only the silversmith’s records left for us to go through,” he said. “I doubt whether he was foolish enough to make a record of his illegal transactions, but we must be sure. The task will take some time and it is nearly midday. Once you return and we have eaten, we will begin.”
As Gianni hurried away, Bascot returned to the upper storey of the dwelling and back into the room Tasser used as an office. A chill was beginning to creep over the building now the forge had gone out, and the Templar pulled his cloak closer around him as he looked for, and found, a tinderbox to ignite the charcoal lying in a brazier. He also touched the flame to a couple of beeswax candles standing in handsome silver holders. While he waited for Gianni to return, he pulled some of the rolled sheets of parchments from the pigeonholes of a large open-face cupboard and looked at the dates appended on the outside. The ones he had taken out were from several years before so he searched until he found those that pertained to the last few months and placed them on the table alongside some blank sheets of parchment, an inkpot and a sheaf of quill pens.
After Gianni returned and they had eaten their makeshift meal, it had not taken long to determine that Tasser was a careful record keeper, even if his literacy seemed to be limited to an odd combination of words in Anglo-Norman, French and Latin. One of the items described in the lists, a silver saltcellar, was entered as a saler, which was an Anglo-Norman word derived from the Latin sal for salt, while the word used to describe the silver gilt overlaying the cellar was a French word, argent. Spoons were listed in French as cuiller while a paten made for the nearby church of St. Peter at Arches was described by the Latin word patina. Tasser’s writing was not scholarly, but it was legible, and the figures noting monetary amounts precisely limned. Most of the sheets seemed to be a recording of pieces made in the manufactory, with a list of purchasers down the left-hand side of the page, and a description of the item and date alongside. Every entry had three amounts arranged in columns on the right-hand side. The first number appeared to denote the cost of manufacturing the item, the second the amount for which it had been sold and the third the profit gained from the transaction. Bascot and Gianni went through each one, but could find nothing untoward.
They turned next to a pile of scrolls tied in a bundle with a silk ribbon. Most of these gave the delivery date and cost of supplies but a few were lists of items bought for resale. All of the latter were purchases from local citizens, the names of some of them familiar to Bascot, and recorded the customers’ placement of an item either as a deposit on the commission of a new piece or as a sale for cash money. There was no record of the jewellery Cotty had discovered, or of the pieces of stolen silver found in the manufactory the day before, but Bascot had not dared to hope there would be.
Only one list defied an understanding of its purpose. It merely had a column of single letters down the left-hand side of the page—a half dozen altogether—each letter different except for the appearance of L twice, and beside each letter was an amount. Two of the sums were considerable, but all of them above one hundred shillings. Gianni and Bascot pored over it for a time, but it seemed to bear no relation to any of the other records or have any obvious meaning. Finally they pushed it aside in frustration.
The Templar again scrutinised the records relating to the industry of the manufactory. The silversmith’s profits from his legitimate business were considerable. Tasser was a very rich man. That being so, why did he feel the need to have dealings with thieves? Not only was he risking prosecution under the law but also the loss of membership in his guild. Was it simply greed? Was Tasser, like the fabled King Midas of Phrygia, so consumed with his love of wealth that he would risk all, and perhaps even commit murder, to slake his lust for money?
Bascot shrugged. The impulses that drew men to break God’s commandments were varied and complicated. The reason why one man committed a mortal sin could be quite different from the urge that prompted another to the same terrible act.
With resignation, and an unwarranted sense of failure, the pair rose from their chairs and doused the candles. After covering the brazier with a metal cap to extinguish the burning embers, they locked the door securely and made their way back to the castle ward.
Twenty
AS BASCOT AND GIANNI WALKED THROUGH BAILGATE, they could see a sturdy cart trundling through the castle gate, laden with small pieces of stone. The rubble was purchased from the cathedral quarry on a regular basis during the winter season, and used to fill in the shallow holes pitted in the bail by rain or snow. Just as the tail end of the cart disappeared under the archway, they heard a rumbling noise and the sound of voices raised in anger. Hastening their steps, they saw that the hinged gate at the back of the cart had come unpinned and part of the load had spilled into the castle entryway.
“Get that bloody lot cleared up, and fast! You’re blocking passage into the ward.” It was Ernulf who was shouting at the unfortunate carter, running across the bail in the direction of the gate as he did so.
The driver stepped down from his seat and Bascot was surprised to see it was Cerlo, the mason who had reported the finding of Brand’s body. Surely, the Templar thought, delivering a load of broken stone was a chore beneath the talents of a journeyman mason. Ernulf, too, pulled up short when he recognised the driver.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you, Cerlo,” Ernulf apolo gised. “I thought you were that dozy cowson who usually drives the cart. Why are you doing such a menial task?”
The mason mumbled something Bascot could not hear and Ernulf sent the gateward running for a couple of shovels and gave him instructions to help clear up the mess. The Templar waited until all the pieces of stone had been shovelled up and then he and Gianni walked through the entryway. As he passed the cart, the mason saw him and raised a hand to his brow respectfully, his eyes downcast. The leather apron with capacious pockets at the hem that Cerlo wore was covered in stone dust, and the mason mopped his brow wearily as he clambered back onto the wagon.
Sending Gianni to wash his grimy face and hands at the well in the castle bathhouse, Bascot walked across the bail with Ernulf.
“Sad to see a man brought so low,” the serjeant remarked.
“Are you speaking of Cerlo?” Bascot asked.
Ernulf nodded. “Aye. Alexander, the master builder at the cathedral, told him today he’d be out of a job come spring. ’Tis Cerlo’s eyes that are the cause. They’re failing, and he can no longer see well enough to use his chisel. He’s been overseeing the quarry for the last few weeks while the quarry master was laid up in town with a broken leg, but the master is now fit enough to return to work and Cerlo is no longer needed. That’s why he was drivin’ the cart. Alexander promised he’d try to keep him busy throughout the rest of the winter if he could, but not beyond that.”
Bascot remembered the odd way the mason held his head. The reason for it was now explained. “Can nothing be done to heal his eyes?”
Ernulf shook his head. “He went to see Brother Jehan at the infirmary but the monk told him there wasn’t any remedy and warned he’d soon be blind.” The serjeant’s face was grim.
“Surely the mason’s guild will help him?” Bascot said.
“They’ll give him a bit of money to see he doesn’t starve—that’s what the guild members pay their dues for, after all—but it won’t be enough to keep him and his wife indefinitely,” Ernulf replied. “He’ll lose the house they live in, too. It’s on cathedral property and is only for the use of those employed by the Minster.” Ernulf shook his grizzled head. “’Tis a hard thing to grow old and lose your abilities.”
Bascot nodded in agreement, his own impaired vision inspiring commiseration for Cerlo. The Templ
ar thanked God the sight in his one remaining eye was still sharp and prayed it would remain so.
Bascot waited with Ernulf in the barracks until Gianni returned from the bathhouse, and then told the boy he was going to report to the sheriff that, unfortunately, they had not found anything in the manufactory to provide evidence of Tasser’s involvement in an unreported treasure trove.
IT WAS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON BY THE TIME BASCOT went to interrogate the silversmith. The winter day was already darkening and spatters of rain were beginning to fall, driven on their course by a rising wind. Tasser was in a distraught condition when the Templar entered the cell. His squat body was curled up on a straw pallet in the corner and the posture enhanced his unfortunate resemblance to a toad. The fine tunic the silversmith had been wearing when arrested was soiled and his embroidered silk hat lay on the floor.
When the guard opened the door and Bascot came in, Tasser struggled to his knees, his bulbous eyes fearful. “Sir Bascot,” he pleaded, hands clutched together in supplication, “please, for the love of God, tell me you have come to release me from this hellhole.”
“No, silversmith, I have not,” Bascot replied. “You are to be charged with the murder of your apprentice, Roger Fardein, and will remain here until Sheriff Camville convenes his court and tries you for the crime.”
“But I did not kill Roger, I swear to you,” Tasser said, his fleshy lips quivering. “Why would I do such a thing?”
Bascot shrugged. “We have proof you are a criminal. Perhaps your apprentice threatened to report you to the authorities.”
Tasser shook his head dolefully. “Since you found stolen items in my possession, I have no choice but to admit I have consorted with thieves, but that is all I have done. I have murdered no one.”
“Fardein knew of your illegal dealings, did he not?” Bascot asked.
The silversmith gave a forlorn nod. “But Roger was not a threat to me. He was a willing partner in the transactions. It was through him that contact with the thieves was made. Whenever one of them had something to sell, they would come to the alehouse where Roger drank and tell him what they had to offer. If a piece seemed valuable enough to interest me, Roger would bring the item to the manufactory and we would decide together how much we would offer for it.”
Tasser turned his sorrowful gaze on his inquisitor. “I paid Fardein a commission for each item I bought and I have no doubt the thieves paid for his services as well. He also took some of the stolen items to silversmiths in other towns, men who, if the price was low enough, were not overnice of how he had come by them. I paid Roger a further commission for that service. He was more than content with the arrangement and had no reason to threaten me with exposure.” Tasser gave a great sigh. “I am sorry to say that Roger drank and whored away most of the money he earned, but he was a man with powerful urges and the extra income provided him with the means to satisfy them.”
He paused for a moment, and then added, “It was Roger who persuaded me to have commerce with thieves in the first instance,” he said. “Why would he wish to lose what was, to him, a lucrative source of income by reporting me to the sheriff?”
“Perhaps because he wanted more than just a small commission for selling the jewellery found in your hiding place,” Bascot replied. “They are costly items; worth far more than the other pieces you had stored there. Perhaps he wanted a larger cut and you murdered him in order to keep it all for yourself.”
“That jewellery was not stolen,” Tasser burst out. “I bought it in good faith.”
Bascot felt his pulse race a little. “It is not listed in the records you keep of such transactions,” he said harshly. “I have been through them all. There is no mention of the chain and pendant, rings or cloak clasp.”
Tasser clamped his fleshy lips shut tight and looked away.
“Well, silversmith, what do you have to say?” Bascot demanded. “If you bought them, as you say, in good faith, there should be a record of the purchase. I think they, like the other items, were stolen and you killed your apprentice in order to keep all the profit for yourself.”
“No, no, I . . .” The silversmith swallowed hastily, and then said, “I purchased those pieces of jewellery recently, just before Christ’s Mass. I had not yet had time to enter them in my records.”
“Then tell me from whom you bought them. I will go to the original owner and verify your claim.”
Tasser shook his head in agitation. “Even if I tell you, it will not help clear me. The man who sold me the jewellery is dead.”
“What is, or was, his name?”
“Peter Brand,” the silversmith replied.
“APPARENTLY, BRAND CAME TO TASSER WITH THE jewellery and claimed it was part of an inheritance left by his father,” Bascot told the sheriff, Richard Camville and Gilbert Bassett later that evening.
“Brand also told the silversmith that while he was reluctant to sell the pieces, he needed money to enable him to get married and set up a home for him and his bride,” the Templar added. “Tasser admitted he thought the story had a false ring to it but because Brand was a respectable clerk in the mint, he had no basis to doubt it. Tasser also said he did not have any means of checking whether Brand’s claim was true since the clerk was from Grantham and not a local man whose family, and possible wealth, were known in Lincoln. The silversmith said he agreed to the purchase and had been intending to record the items in his inventory, but when Brand was found dead in the quarry, he became alarmed, worrying the jewellery was connected in some way to the clerk’s death. Tasser claims he then decided to hide it away with the other stolen items until he could be sure it was safe to dispose of it.”
“Do you think the clerk’s claim of inheriting the jewellery is genuine?” Gerard Camville asked.
“I doubt it, lord,” Bascot replied wryly. “De Stow told me Brand’s father was a tanner and left his widow destitute. It is not likely he would have owned such costly adornments.”
“And Tasser’s tale—do you think he is telling the truth?” Bassett asked, scepticism written on his face.
“I believe so,” Bascot replied slowly. “But only for the fact that if Tasser had come by the jewellery in some other way—especially if it was part of a trove—he would not have mentioned Brand at all. It would not have been hard for him to make up some tale that sounded plausible, such as buying them, through Fardein, from a thief whose identity he didn’t know.”
Camville’s face was dark with anger. “Or he killed the moneyer’s clerk and, by saying it was Brand who sold him the jewellery, he is providing an explanation for his link to the dead man. If Fardein found out what his employer had done and was trying to extort payment for keeping silent, it would explain Tasser’s need to kill his apprentice.”
“It is possible, I suppose, lord,” Bascot admitted reluctantly but, as he recalled the soft body of the silversmith, added, “but somehow I cannot see Tasser having the physical strength to creep up on two much younger, and stronger, men and kill them. Cunning he may be, but that type of bravado requires stealth and courage. I do not think Tasser possesses either.”
Gerard snorted in derision but, well aware of Tasser’s physical weakness, accepted Bascot’s opinion could be valid.
“You will either have to charge the silversmith with Fardein’s murder or let him go, Father,” Richard said. “Despite having been found in possession of stolen goods, he is a prominent citizen of Lincoln, not some wolf’s head captured in the greenwood. Even if he is not popular with other members of his guild, it is their duty to enquire after his welfare and ensure he is fairly treated. They will ask why he is being kept in the castle gaol and has not been allowed to stand surety for his appearance in your court.”
“Richard is right, Gerard,” Bassett agreed. “If there is no evidence to prove that Tasser killed Fardein or Brand, you cannot keep him penned up indefinitely. It would be best to release him and let the possibility of a trove lie fallow for the moment. From what you have told me of Co
roner Pinchbeck, he will be satisfied with a resolution of ‘by a person or persons unknown’ as a result of your investigation into the murders, and consider that an end to the matter. If further information comes to light about a cache of valuables, you can pursue it later, and at your own discretion.”
Camville reluctantly accepted the wisdom of his friend’s advice, but added, “I will keep Tasser confined for a few days longer, at least until Epiphany. After that, de Marins, I would have you question him again before I order his release. A few more days in the discomfort of the castle gaol may prompt him to reveal something he has so far kept hidden.”
“As you wish, lord,” Bascot replied and then, since the road to Grantham was now reasonably clear, asked the sheriff if he wished him to go there and speak to the clerk’s mother and the girl Brand had hoped to marry.
Camville shook his head. “No. I received a message from the town bailiff this morning. As soon as de Stow learned of Brand’s death, he sent a messenger to Grantham with a letter for the clerk’s mother. The courier was prevented from immediate return by the recent snowfall and just arrived back in Lincoln yesterday, but he told the moneyer—who passed the information along to the bailiff—that the mother and girl had made arrangements to travel to Lincoln and will arrive shortly. It is the mother’s intention, apparently, to take her son’s body back to Grantham for burial. You can speak to them both when they arrive.”