Murder for Christ's Mass - By Maureen Ash Page 0,50

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 God’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.”

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