as a reward for service, even if the recipient was a commoner. Perhaps Tercel came by it as a gift of inheritance from some family member.”
“You could be right,” Richard agreed. “I shall ask my aunt about it.”
“Was his scrip on him when he was found?” Bascot asked.
Richard nodded. “Alinor has taken charge of it. The money that was given into his care was all accounted for, with the expenditures that had been made on my aunt’s behalf since she arrived in Lincoln listed on a piece of parchment and kept with the coins that remained-a sum of just over two pounds.”
“Then, since the money was not taken, robbery could not have been the motive for the murder,” Bascot said and pulled the cloak back up to the dead man’s chin. “We must seek elsewhere for the reason.”
They left the chapel and went back up to the hall where the serving of the midday meal was just about to begin. Making their way to the table set on the dais, Richard took a seat alongside his mother, and Bascot a place between Petronille and her daughter farther along the large oaken board.
The castellan’s sister welcomed him warmly. The Templar had been of great assistance to her family in the past and she expressed her relief that he had come to their aid once again. “I cannot fathom why anyone would wish my servant dead, Sir Bascot,” she said. “But I hope you will be just as successful in seeking out this murderer as you have in catching similar villains in times past.”
“So do I, lady,” Bascot said with heartfelt sincerity. “To take another’s life without just cause is an abomination.”
As the first course, wooden platters of sliced venison set round about with a selection of boiled vegetables, was placed in front of them, the Templar let his eye roam over the company at the tables below. He saw Gianni seated among the upper servants of the household alongside John Blund and Lambert, the latter a senior clerk who was Blund’s assistant. The boy gave the Templar a shy smile which Bascot returned. At the table reserved for the household knights, he saw an unfamiliar face and asked Petronille if the stranger was attached to her retinue.
“Yes,” she replied. “That is Hugh Bruet. My husband gave him charge of leading our escort to Lincoln and staying here with us until it was time for our return to Stamford.”
“And the rest of your entourage, lady,” Bascot asked, “how many are they?”
“We came with four men-at-arms under Bruet’s direction, and I brought with me a maidservant who is also my sempstress, along with another young maid that is attendant to Alinor. Originally there was also, of course, my dead cofferer.”
“Richard says he will use his father’s private chamber for interviewing our servants,” Alinor said to Bascot from her seat beside him. “I have told them to go to the back of the hall after the meal is over and wait until they are summoned.
“I shall sit in with you and my cousin while you speak to them, Sir Bascot,” Alinor added determinedly. “As Tercel was a member of our household, his murder is an affront to my father’s good name and, since my mother has given her permission, I intend to stand in his place in the matter.”
Bascot smiled inwardly. Although his young son’s death had deprived Richard de Humez of a male heir, Alinor, like her aunt, had more than enough courage to step into his place.
The first in Petronille’s retinue to be interviewed was Hugh Bruet, the knight that Bascot had noticed at table in the hall. Gianni had been summoned to take notes of any relevant details and was perched on a stool in the corner with his wax tablet on his knee. The chamber they were in was a large one, containing a bed covered with wolfskins, spare tack for horses and, on a table to one side of the room, a magnificent chessboard set with playing pieces. When Bruet came into the room, he glanced around him and gave a nod of appreciation for the masculine accoutrements.
He was a man of middle years with a stocky build that swelled with hard muscle and it was easy to see why de Humez had chosen him for the task of escorting his wife and daughter on their journey. Bruet had a battle- hardened look about his person that would quickly deter any outlaws foolish enough to attack the cavalcade he led. He stood easily in front of Bascot, Richard and Alinor and, when asked about his knowledge of Tercel’s activities during the time the de Humez party had been in Lincoln, admitted that he had little.
“The only times I had occasion to be in the cofferer’s company was on our journey here and, after our arrival, when we all attended services in the cathedral during Christ’s Mass,” he said gruffly. “If he went into town I would not be aware of it; my duties lie in overseeing the safety of Lady Petronille and Lady Alinor; all else is without my province and beyond my interest.”
“And you never heard report of any friends, or enemies, that Tercel may have made while he was here?” Richard pressed.
“No, lord, I have not,” Hugh replied shortly. “As I said, our paths did not often cross.”
Richard dismissed the knight and, as they waited for the first of the men-at-arms to come up to the chamber, discussed what the knight had said.
“I am sure that Bruet, like myself, did not approve of Tercel,” Alinor told her cousin and the Templar. “I think that Hugh, too, sensed that there was something about him that was false, a slyness that was a mixture of diffidence and conceit.”
“But your father must have trusted him, lady,” Bascot objected, “else he would not have given him the appointment to act as cofferer during your visit.”
“I do not say he was dishonest, Sir Bascot,” Alinor replied, “only that he seemed to wear a mask over his inner thoughts. He reminded me of a mummer in a play, acting the role of a person that was not truly himself. I mentioned it to my father once, just after Tercel arrived, and he told me that I was imagining it and not to be foolish.”
The Templar, unlike her father, took heed of Alinor’s words and, as he glanced towards Gianni, saw that the boy was making a notation on his tablet using the curious shortened form of words that Lambert had taught him to employ when taking dictation. Someone had killed Aubrey Tercel and there had to be a reason. Alinor’s suggestion gave him pause for thought. It was not uncommon for people to display alternate facets of their personality according to the requirements of different situations. Perhaps it had not been the man with which his companions had all been familiar who had engendered enough hatred to cause his murder, but the disparate character who lurked beneath the cofferer’s mask.
Eight
Next in Petronille’s retinue to be interviewed were the men-at-arms. Each was questioned individually but although all of them had seen Tercel leave the ward on quite a few occasions, none knew where he was bound or the identity of any people he may have become acquainted with. As the most senior of the four soldiers had said to Richard, “We’ve bunked in with the garrison since we came and mostly spend our time there, helping out with the regular duties in the ward. We had no cause to speak to the cofferer, and so we didn’t.”
Once the last of the men-at-arms had been questioned, only the two female servants remained. The first of these was a sempstress, Margaret, a senior household servant who had been with her mistress since before the time of Petronille’s marriage and her removal to Stamford, and who had, over the years, risen to the status of companion. Now approaching middle age, she was soberly dressed in dark grey and had a staid manner. When asked about her knowledge of the victim’s movements during the time they had been in Lincoln, she replied that, except for one occasion, she had none.
“Aubrey and I sat together at mealtimes,” she said, “and sometimes exchanged a few pleasantries, but beyond that the only contact I had with him was when he brought me some pelts of vair he had chosen as being suitable for Epiphany gifts from my mistress to her sister and daughter. Lady Petronille had sent him into town to obtain some samples and told him to bring those he had selected for my approval before the final purchase was made. Later, I stitched those that I chose for Lady Alinor onto the sleeves of the bliaut she is now wearing.”
She nodded in the direction of Petronille’s daughter who, over her gown of moss green, wore an overgarment of heavy red wool with sleeves that fitted close to the elbow and then flared out to fall in a gracious drape to her knees. The cuffs were trimmed with the bluish grey squirrel fur called vair. “Lady Nicolaa’s sempstress did the same with those milady gave to her sister,” Margaret added.
