by Maureen Ash
Bascot reined in the grey. The scenario seemed a reasonable one—Fardein had killed Brand and Cerlo, in turn, had killed Fardein—and both murders had been committed because of the need to conceal the discovery of a trove. But unless he found some evidence, there was no way to prove the mason’s complicity, or discover the whereabouts of the treasure.
The Templar got down from his mount and tied the horse to an iron hitching ring near the cathedral entrance. Before he gave any credence to his theory he must find out if Cerlo had ever done any work at the mint. It might be that Alexander would have the information in his records.
The Templar found the builder in the same room as on his previous visit, poring over a list of supplies. When Bascot asked him if he had a record of the jobs Cerlo had been allowed to do outside of the cathedral, Alexander looked surprised at the question but nodded in reply.
“He used materials from the cathedral store, as well as church transport to carry them, so I kept a record in order to dock his wages for the cost.” The builder went over to the shelves where he kept his records and extracted a small piece of parchment. “Cerlo’s eyes began to fail last summer, so it was only after that time I allowed him to accept commissions for outside work,” he said. “The first, I believe, was about the beginning of September and should be detailed on this list, which is a record of outside expenses for the last six months.”
Unrolling the parchment, he scanned the contents and then said, “I was right. Cerlo fixed a loose stone in the oven of a baker on the fifth day of September.” He paused and looked up at Bascot. “Do you wish the baker’s name?”
When Bascot told him he did not, Alexander went on. “Then, in October, he repaired some steps on the guild hall. He did not do any more work until November, when he did some renovation work on a wall at the rear of the mint. Shortly after that he did a job in a suburb just south of Lincoln. . . .”
Bascot checked Alexander’s precise tones. “Did you say Cerlo repaired a wall in the mint?”
Alexander looked mildly affronted at being stopped in the midst of his recitation, but answered the question all the same. “Yes. It was the rear wall, the one that surrounds the moneyer’s forge. I do not know the precise nature of the repair, but I have a list of the materials Cerlo used, if you wish them. . . .”
Bascot cut the builder short as he began to read out the amount of sand and lime the mason had used to make mortar and the length of time it had taken for the mule and cart to haul the supplies, gave Alexander his thanks and hurriedly took his leave. As the builder watched him go with a puzzled expression on his face, Bascot sent up a prayer of thanks to God for giving Alexander the gift of meticulous record keeping. Leaving the cathedral, he untied the grey from the hitching post and got into the saddle. He now had enough evidence for the sheriff to order Cerlo’s arrest. Once he had Camville’s warrant, he would bring the mason to the castle gaol for questioning.
THE TEMPLAR FOUND GERARD CAMVILLE IN THE mews, a large building situated next to the castle herb garden. It was fitted with several shallow casements to give the birds a comfortable amount of light. Nicolaa de la Haye and Gilbert Bassett were with the sheriff, engaged in conversation with the head falconer about which birds to take on a large hawking party planned for the last day of the baron’s visit. The air in the chamber was redolent of droppings and the air slightly dusty with floating feathers. There were about twenty birds tethered to perches along a central aisle and, as the two barons and Nicolaa walked along the open space behind the falconer, the raptors stirred restlessly and swivelled their heads from side to side, regarding the humans curiously with their bright, aggressive eyes.
When Bascot entered the mews all the heads, both human and avian, turned in his direction. Gerard Camville noted the look of urgency on Bascot’s face and dismissed the falconer, telling him to take himself outside and wait there until he was recalled.
Once the falconer left, Bascot told the sheriff of the three men the young beggar child had seen, and their movements.
“I believe it was Cerlo that Peter Brand went to meet in the quarry that night and Fardein followed him there. The mason was delayed in keeping his appointment with the clerk and, while Brand was waiting, Fardein killed and robbed him. When Cerlo came, Fardein must still have been lurking behind the shed and the mason didn’t see him, or Brand’s body, which could have been on the quarry floor by that time. The beggar child said the man with the lantern just stood atop the cliff face—presumably waiting for Brand—and then left. Fardein must have seen, and recognised, the mason, from his hiding place.
“I think it more than likely that Brand’s purse contained money from King Stephen’s reign and when Fardein—knowledgeable about coins from his work in Tasser’s manufactory—later examined the contents of the purse he realised, just as you did, Sir Gerard, that they must have come from a treasure trove. This notion would have been reinforced by the age of the jewellery Brand took to Tasser to sell. Since Fardein had already killed for profit, it indicates he was a greedy and unscrupulous man. I think he surmised there might be more coins or valuables to be had and approached Cerlo and demanded a share, perhaps threatening to reveal what he knew if Cerlo refused to comply.
“That was a fatal mistake. The mason not only seems to have been truly outraged by Brand’s death, he also had to ensure his complicity in not reporting the trove was protected. After Fardein approached the mason, Cerlo killed him.”
“The mason was foolish to kill the apprentice in the same manner as the clerk,” Bassett said. “It made it obvious there was a link between the two crimes.”
“I think Cerlo saw it as fair reprisal for Brand’s death. The mason is not, I believe, dishonest by nature, nor the type that would willingly take another man’s life. I think it is his desperate circumstances—his failing eyesight and the imminent loss of his livelihood—that led him to conspire with Brand. He could not foresee their actions would lead to murder.”
“But all this is conjecture, de Marins,” Nicolaa said. “What makes you believe the mason and the clerk were even acquainted with each other, let alone had common knowledge of a treasure trove?”
“That puzzled me, too, lady,” Bascot replied, “until I remembered that de Stow told me he had arranged for remedial work to be done on the mint and that Alexander, the master builder at the cathedral, mentioned he had given Cerlo leave to do private work around the town. I have just spoken to Alexander. One of the jobs that Cerlo did was a repair on the wall surrounding the moneyer’s forge.”
“And the mint is the very place where Brand was employed,” Gerard growled. “It all fits, just as you say, de Marins. The mason discovers a cache of coin and jewellery, hidden there perhaps by a moneyer during the battle between King Stephen and Matilda’s forces here in Lincoln. Either the mason tells the clerk, or the clerk is present when the treasure is uncovered, and they decide to keep it for themselves. Brand would know it would not be an easy task to exchange such old coins for new, but the jewellery would not be so closely scrutinised, so he takes it to Tasser, spinning him some tale about it being part of an inheritance. Then he and the mason split the proceeds.”
Gerard began to pace up and down the aisle between the perches. His sudden movement disturbed the hawks and they grew restless, flapping their wings and bobbing up and down in agitation. “Because the coins could not be so easily disposed of, the pair must have decided to wait until they could find a way to do so safely. Peter Brand was going to Grantham, to visit his mother. It is possible he was taking the coins to Cerlo, so the mason could keep them safe while the clerk was away from his lodgings in de Stow’s house.” The sheriff’s brow furrowed in concentration as he thought the probable sequence of events through.
Finally, he came to a standstill, hands clenched together in a fist behind his back. “But where are the coins now? They were not among Fardein’s belongings; he must have hidden them elsewhere. May Christ’s angels weep,” Camville swore angrily, “they could be any
where. This coil has more twists and turns than the course of a startled hare.”
“It could be that Cerlo retrieved the coins when he killed Fardein,” Bascot said. “If you will give me your warrant, I will arrest the mason and search his house. It is a small dwelling; there are not many places he could hide them.”
“You shall gladly have my warrant, de Marins,” Camville replied. “And let us hope your search will finally reveal the truth of this matter.”
Twenty-eight
WHILE BASCOT WAITED FOR A GROOM TO SADDLE mounts for the two men-at-arms that were to accompany him to arrest Cerlo, the bells of the cathedral tolled the hour of Sext and the Templar realised it was time for the midday meal. As outside servants began to make their way towards the hall, Gianni descended the steps of the forebuilding and ran across the bail towards him.
When Gianni reached his master, the boy quickly made the sign they used to communicate a desire for private speech—Gianni pointed at Bascot, then at his own mouth, and meshed the fingers of both his hands together. The Templar glanced towards the stable door and saw the grooms were still inside; it would be a few minutes yet before they appeared with mounts for the waiting soldiers. He asked Gianni if his message was urgent and the boy seesawed one of his hands back and forth—it might be. Bascot motioned for him to move a little to one side and asked what he had to tell.
Gianni pulled his wax tablet and stylus loose of the strap that held them to his belt and, with a combination of gestures and written words, conveyed the essence of the conversation he had overheard between Miles de Laxton and Ralph of Turville and how they had spoken of the exchanger, Walter Legerton, being in debt due to gaming losses. The boy then added a supposition of his own, recalling the list that he and his master had found among Tasser’s records, the page where the silversmith had appended four single letters with substantial sums written beside each one. One of these, Gianni recalled, had been the letter L. Could it be that the exchanger was in debt to the silversmith?
Bascot considered the question. Usury was considered a grave sin if the person who loaned the money was a Christian; most moneylenders were of the Jewish faith. But that did not mean wealthy members of the Christian populace did not engage in the practice; they merely increased the actual sum of money loaned to include an amount of interest and any agreements that were drawn up, whether verbal or written, stipulated the higher sum as the amount that had been borrowed. Still, such practise was frowned upon and most men of means would not be tempted to engage in it. Tasser, however, had no such scruples. It was quite likely he indulged in usury and Bascot imagined his rate of interest would be a high one.
“You are probably correct, Gianni,” Bascot said to the boy. “But even if you are, I do not think it has any bearing on the murders. I am on my way now to arrest Cerlo, the mason. It was he, I think, who found the hidden cache of valuables and was involved in the slay ings of both men.”
Bascot looked up and saw the soldiers were waiting for him, standing beside the saddled horses. Gianni nodded his understanding with a dejected look as he wiped the surface of the wax tablet clean and replaced it on his belt.
“Your information will still be of interest to Sheriff Camville,” Bascot said consolingly. “If Tasser is practicing usury, the evidence you have uncovered will strengthen the charges against him. Sir Gerard will be pleased with your information.”
Somewhat comforted, Gianni watched the Templar mount his horse and then, as he had been told to do, went to the barracks to await his master’s return.
When Bascot and the two men-at-arms entered the Minster grounds, it was just as crowded as it had been earlier that morning. As they approached the front of the cathedral, Bascot saw Cerlo standing just outside the entrance in conversation with Alexander. The mason was facing the route along which the Templar and two men-at-arms were riding and, as they neared, Bascot saw him screw up his eyes and stare over Alexander’s shoulder in their direction. The builder turned to see what had attracted his companion’s attention and, as he did so, Cerlo turned away and broke into a run, heading for the corner of the church. Bascot knew that if he disappeared out of sight around the side of the building, he would have a good chance of being lost in the crowd. He called to one of the men-at-arms to head Cerlo off.
The soldier dug his heels into his mount and quickly barred the mason’s path. Cerlo turned, saw any other escape route was blocked, and began to scramble up one of the ladders the workmen had been using earlier to investigate the cause of the leaking gutter. The Templar slid his horse to a halt.
The mason climbed like a monkey, his long years of working atop ladders giving him an agility most men did not possess. On the ground, passersby stopped to stare at the knight and two soldiers, and then gazed upwards at the climbing figure. Alexander also watched, mouth agape, as did a couple of canons who had been on the point of entering the cathedral.
“I can get an archer from the castle, Sir Bascot,” one of the men-at-arms offered. “He can try to bring the mason down with an arrow shot.”
“No,” Bascot said as one of the clerics overheard the soldier’s suggestion and began to protest vociferously, saying they were in the precincts of a house of God and it would be sacrilege to commit such violence. “Wait here. I’ll go up.”
“You can’t.” The words burst from the other man-at-arms, the soldier forgetting Bascot’s rank at the danger in the Templar’s proposal. Belatedly he remembered himself and, a dark flush rising on his cheeks, added, “Sir Bascot, all the mason has to do is wait until you’re halfway up and push the ladder away. It will be certain injury or death to try.”
The Templar gave the man-at-arms a wry smile. “I am well aware of that, but I do not think he will try to cause me harm. Wait here and keep the crowd back.”
The two soldiers nodded, their faces plainly showing their doubt of Bascot’s opinion, but they did as he ordered and cleared the area around the base of the ladder as the Templar put his foot on the bottom rung.
Bascot went up slowly. Having taken part in many assaults on the walls of enemy castles during his youth, and later in the Holy Land, he had no fear of heights, but the loss of half his vision always caused a momentary dizziness whenever he was up high. He took the first dozen rungs at an easy pace until his eye adjusted to the changed perspective and then began to climb more rapidly.
Looking up, he could see Cerlo above him, kneeling behind the low stone curb that ran along the edge of the roof and perhaps twenty feet from the top of the ladder at the corner of the building. Behind the mason the roof rose steeply, culminating in one of the bell towers. The sky above was as murkily grey as the sheets of lead that covered the roof. As Bascot ascended, the breeze that had been blowing gently at ground level increased in intensity and stung his eye, making it water for a moment. Above him, Cerlo’s head was turned slightly to one side as he peered at the Templar through his distorted vision, but he made no move towards the top of the ladder and Bascot began to breathe more easily. He had been right in his assumption that violence did not come naturally to Cerlo. The mason had no wish to attack the men who had come to arrest him, just to escape them.
The distance from the ground to the edge of the roof was perhaps sixty-five feet and, as the Templar climbed, he passed the top of a smaller door set beside the main entrance, then a frieze supporting a row of decorative pillars, and finally a ledge on which rested larger columns topped with small curved arches of stone. When he reached the lip of the roof he came to a halt alongside the stone gargoyle that Alexander suspected of being damaged. The gargoyle was a hideous creature, half man and half bat, with distended wings and a face of extreme ugliness. It leered at Bascot with its bulbous eyes, the contemptuous curl of its overlarge mouth set in a mocking grimace. From between the gargoyle’s lips a tongue protruded. It was almost the length of a man’s arm and formed the spout over which water from the eaves would gush. For all its grotesque-ness, the stone face was wonderfully carved, with a delicacy that
made it seem as though it would spring to life at any moment.
“Don’t come any nearer, Sir Bascot,” Cerlo shouted, pulling a lump hammer from a loop on his belt and raising it threateningly.
Bascot spoke to the mason in even tones. “Come down, Cerlo. You cannot escape.”
“What, come down so’s the sheriff can hang me from a noose?” Cerlo retorted. “I’d rather die here where I spent most of my life working.” He pointed to the gargoyle. “See that, I made that, I did, for Bishop Hugh. He said I was one of the finest masons he’d ever seen. And I’d still be one if this accursed blight had not struck my eyes.”
The mason peered down at Bascot. “I knew you’d figure it out, right from that first day in the quarry. All the folk in town say how clever you are, and they’re right. I thought that little beggar girl at the gate might have seen me on the night Brand was killed and when one of the stonecutters said he’d seen you talkin’ to her, I knew it wouldn’t be long before you come after me. And then Master Alexander said you’d been askin’ about where I worked. . . .”
“I know you didn’t kill Peter Brand—”
The mason cut Bascot words short. “No, but you knows I killed that murderin’ bastard of an apprentice. And you knows about the treasure we found, don’t you?”
Bascot made no reply and the mason nodded his head as he saw his conjecture was correct. “Fardein figured it out about the cache, too,” Cerlo said, “and he was so greedy to get more that he swallowed my promise to change the money he’d taken from Peter into new coin and give him another full pouch besides. He thought I was just a thick-witted dolt. Followed right willingly outside the city walls, he did, and gave me the silver without a qualm, then held out his hand for his bloodstained booty.” The mason gave a short bark of bitter laughter. “The rotten sod never dreamed for one moment as how he’d soon be just as dead as the lad. I took no pleasure in killin’ him, but it was a just reward for his murdering Brand. We wouldn’t have involved the boy if we’d known he’d come to harm.”