Murder for Christ's Mass - By Maureen Ash Page 0,66
up with her guests and preparations for the betrothal. As she sipped the cider, she tried to mentally review the arrangements she had made but found that her conversation with Gerard the night before kept invading her thoughts like an unwanted guest. She had shared her husband’s frustration when Gerard told her that although the silversmith admitted he had bought the jewellery from Peter Brand, there was no evidence to link him to the clerk’s murder or discovery of a trove.
“I am not convinced Tasser is uninvolved in either of these matters,” Gerard had said, “and I have asked de Marins to question him again in a few days, after the betrothal ceremony has taken place.”
While they had not spoken of the ramifications that could devolve on Gerard if a trove was implicated in the deaths, it was on both of their minds. If King John learned that such important information had been suppressed by his sheriff, only the basest of motives would be attributed to keeping it a secret. She could only hope the Templar would, as he had done in the past, get to the truth of the matter and, in doing so, prove Gerard’s suspicions were without foundation.
IN THE HALL BELOW, THERE WAS A GREAT DEAL OF activity as servants ran to and fro preparing the huge chamber for yet another round of feasting. Fresh rushes were placed on the floor, musicians tuned their instruments and casks of wine were trundled up and placed in the buttery to replenish those used over the preceding days. The chandler ordered his minions to remove all the candles that had burned down low and replace them with new ones while maidservants carefully laid freshly laundered cloths on the tables.
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 Bassett 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 Mass and quickly discovered they shared a passion 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.