Murder for Christ's Mass - By Maureen Ash Page 0,58
unreported trove was implicated in the crime. They both knew the captain could be trusted implicitly with any confidential information he was given but, until it was made certain a cache existed, it was best as few people as possible knew of their suspicions.
Camville ruminated on what he had been told for a few moments, pacing the length of the room once or twice while he did so. Finally, he commended Roget on his quick action with regard to the fire and also to the apprehension of Cotty.
“You may return to the gaol now, Roget,” he told the captain, “and get some well-deserved rest.” As Roget turned to leave the room, Camville called after him.
“On your way through the hall, tell the butler to give you a keg of wine from my personal store. You have earned it.”
Roget’s eyes, bloodshot from the effects of the fire and lack of sleep, lit with appreciation as he thanked the sheriff and left the room. Gerard Camville may be despotic, but the men under his command were well aware that while his punishments could be brutal, his largesse was just as unstinting. This equitability was one of the reasons they gave him their unswerving loyalty.
Once the former mercenary had left the room, Camville motioned for Bascot to be seated and poured them both a cup of wine.
“I am certain the coin found in the quarry and the jewellery are part of a hidden cache,” the sheriff said as he resumed his pacing up and down the room, eschew ing the comfort of a sturdy chair covered with padded lamb skin. “The silversmith must know its whereabouts. Are you certain there are no more valuables hidden on his premises?”
“Not completely, lord,” Bascot replied. “The first time we went there, we only searched the rooms, and today, with the failing daylight, we could not examine the fabric of the building in any detail. I would like to return tomorrow morning with my servant. He has sharp eyes and, in previous investigations, has noticed details I have missed. It was he who found the coin.”
“Do so, Templar,” Gerard said. “Pinchbeck, the coroner, has not yet returned to Lincoln but if he does, and learns of my suspicion that an unreported trove is involved in these crimes, he will take the matter out of my hands and leap to the chase like one of my deer-hounds. I would prefer he remain in ignorance until I am certain of all the facts. Report to me after you have searched the silversmith’s dwelling. His interrogation can wait until you have done so. Perhaps a few hours of confinement will loosen his tongue.”
“Even if Tasser has knowledge of a cache, I am not certain he is guilty of Fardein’s murder. His surprise when I charged him with the crime seemed genuine.”
“Nonetheless, he knows where that jewellery came from. Get him to reveal the provenance of it, de Marins, and the identity of the murderer may also be unmasked.”
THE NEXT MORNING BASCOT WAS UP AND HAD PULLED on his boots by the time the cathedral bells rang out the hour of Matins at daybreak. Rousing Gianni, the pair went down to St. Clement to attend Mass and then back to the keep and up the stairs to the scriptorium. Gianni, still slightly bemused from having spent an hour in close proximity to Lucia the evening before, tried to focus his attention on the errand his master had told him they were to perform today. The night before, the Templar had told Gianni he was to accompany his master to the silversmith’s manufactory the next morning and conduct a thorough search of the premises. He also related the purpose of the scrutiny. Well aware of the importance of the errand, and the privilege of being in the confidence of his master and the sheriff, Gianni knew it was important to show diligence. Resolutely he pushed his reveries of Lucia aside as they went to tell John Blund that Gianni would be absent from his duties for the day.
The chamber that housed the scriptorium was a large one, with high casements along the outside wall to admit the morning light. When Bascot and Gianni entered the room, Blund and Lambert were poring over some pages laid on a lectern.
They both looked up at Bascot’s entrance and a welcoming smile spread over the secretary’s genial features. “Sir Bascot! You are well come. I am just inspecting the work Lambert has done on the book