protect us.”
“There will be no need, if we are circumspect.” Isaac leaned forward towards his brother. “Tell me again of the errand that Samuel was on when he was killed.”
Nathan shrugged. “As you know, I did not trust Samuel with any matter of importance. He was not of the greatest intelligence. Small tasks he could carry out, and did so for me. But in anything involving greater sums, he became uneasy and invariably offended the client, or miscalculated the figures. Yesterday, I sent him to the manor of Alan de Kyme…”
“Is he the de Kyme that is nephew to Philip?” Isaac interrupted.
“No, this is a cousin of the baron’s. They are a large brood, the de Kymes, and this is one from a lesser branch of the family. He and his wife have only a small manor house along with a few acres and a mill.”
Isaac thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I know him now. Go on…”
“De Kyme wanted to borrow a few pounds only. His mill is in need of repair, and he was to give Samuel his note of debt in return, promising to repay the debt, with interest, after harvest in the autumn. It was a simple enough task for Samuel to carry out. He left in the morning with the silver and the note for signing. That is the last I heard of him. I did not worry when he did not return last night, thinking that he may have travelled slowly in consideration of the heat of the day and not arrived home until late. It was not until this morning when I called at his house and his wife told me that he had not returned that I began to be concerned. But then, with Samuel, as I said, anything could have delayed him. His mule had thrown a shoe; he had fallen asleep under a tree. You know what he was like.”
Isaac nodded, and waited for his brother to continue. “But I was worried. There are many outlaws outside the walls of Lincoln and although Samuel had only a little money on him, those robbers will cut a man’s throat for half a penny, and I did not think the sheriff’s men would be overconscientious about reporting the death of a Jew. Then, just as I was calling for a groom to saddle a horse so I could go in search of him, one of the men-at-arms from the castle came to tell me that Samuel had been found dead in the alehouse.” Nathan shook his head. “What would he have been doing in an alehouse, in the company of Christians?” The thought of such an unlikely happening made him shake his head again in disbelief.
“And you found neither silver nor note of debt on his person?” Isaac asked.
“Apart from the clothes he was wearing, he had nothing on him, not even the purse that would have held the money. I could understand that there might have been an attempt to rob him, either going to de Kyme’s or returning, but then he would have been found somewhere on the road, not in a Lincoln taproom.”
“It is a mystery,” Isaac agreed. “But we must be careful what we tell anyone who comes to enquire into his death. First, a rider must be sent to see if he reached de Kyme’s.”
“I have already done that,” Nathan replied, then gave a wry grimace. “Of course, if de Kyme did receive the silver and now knows that Samuel is dead, and no trace of the debt on him, then he may deny that he ever saw Samuel, and keep the silver for his own, free of repayment and of interest.”
Isaac leaned back and smoothed the curls in his beard thoughtfully. “Samuel may have been seen along the road. We must make enquiries, but carefully, Nathan, very carefully. Of the most importance, even more than finding Samuel’s murderer, is that no blame be attached to any Jew. For the safety of our people it must be shown, without doubt, that Samuel was as much a victim as were the three Christians murdered along with him.”
Six
Bascot and Gianni arrived at the alehouse to find the guard that Ernulf had posted at the door still keeping to his duty. He nodded to Bascot as the Templar lifted the bar and went inside, Gianni close behind. They came first into the taproom which now, in the light and heat of the day streaming through the open shutters, had lost most of its smell of death and ale and stood empty, and somehow forlorn.
Bascot had told Gianni what they had found earlier that day on these premises and what he now hoped to discover. The boy, although mute, had sharp ears and even sharper eyes. It was as though his lack of speech had made his other senses more vibrant, a necessary aid to survival when he had been a wharf-urchin in Palermo. With his own sight diminished by the loss of his eye, Bascot had come to rely on the youngster’s quickness in taking in the details of his surroundings.
After first making a cursory search of the taproom, Bascot went into the passage that connected the front of the alehouse to the back. To one side were the stairs leading upward, in front the passage that went out into the brewing yard. First they climbed the steep stairway to the bedchamber above. Aside from one room which appeared to be used for sleeping, there was only a small cubbyhole with an old wooden pail and some sacks of dried herbs.
Bascot went into the bedchamber. First he examined the bed. There was nothing secreted either within the mattress or among the folds of the thin woollen blanket that served as a covering. Beside the bed was a sturdy wooden chest, well made but plain, with a candle and holder sitting atop its lid. Removing the candle Bascot looked inside the chest. He could hear Gianni behind him, searching with small fingers among the rushes in the corners of the room and under the bed. Inside the wooden coffer there were some clothes, obviously belonging to the alekeeper and his wife, but nothing else. Sprigs of dried lavender had been placed among the folds of the clothes and Bascot thought once again that the alewife was a woman who kept her premises remarkably clean. There were no vermin in the mattress on the bed, nor among the clothing in the chest.
Bascot looked at Gianni and the boy shook his head. They descended the staircase and went out into the yard. There was an open-fronted large shed with a quantity of ale kegs stacked within, as well as a number of other vessels of varying sizes, all for the filling and transport of ale. Most of the smaller ones were made of leather and coated with pitch-blackjacks and piggins. There were some wooden communal drinking mugs, fitted with pegs to mark the space where a man could draw his share and remove the peg before passing it on to his neighbour, and a couple of large tankards fitted with a lid and spigot for purchasing ale to take away from the premises.
At the end of the yard, away from the alehouse walls, was a stone hearth on which rested a huge cauldron and nearby were small drying sheds for the grain of the malt. Behind this, set on a slight slope so that it drained away from the yard itself, was a privy, with loose planking forming a lean-to for privacy, and the midden behind.
On wooden trestles laid across two blocks of wood were the large smooth stones that were used for crushing the grain once it had been soaked and dried. Underneath, pinned by the weight of the stones, was a stack of clean linen cloths necessary for straining the malt after it had been brewed.
On one side, under the shelter of a shake roof, was an open wooden cart and a set of casks containing a little of the old brew for adding to and starting a new batch. Bascot motioned to Gianni and the boy clambered up into the cart. There were some empty barrels sitting on the floor of the cart, the lids removed. Gianni, reminding Bascot of a ferret after a rabbit, dived into each of the barrels, his dark curly-topped head reappearing after a few moments, each time shaking his head.
They next tackled the barrels that were stored in the shed. Few were full, for any good alewife does not keep her brew too long, but makes fresh batches almost continuously so that it would keep its flavour and be passed as drinkable by the official taster of the town. Between them, they inspected every barrel, working smoothly as a team, with Bascot, his weight set firmly on his sound leg, doing the heavy work of lifting the barrels down and removing their lids while Gianni, with his lithe and agile frame, crawled inside and felt around the murky interiors. It wasn’t long before the boy’s clothing reeked of old ale much as the corpses’ had, and there were no barrels left that had not been examined.
Bascot was disappointed. He was sure he was right in his surmise that the two strangers and the Jew had been murdered somewhere else and then secretly brought to the alehouse in empty ale kegs, but they had not found anything to confirm his suspicions. He had been hoping for some sign-a missing purse belonging to the Jew or the young man, perhaps a belt buckle or a thong from a shoe, a few strands of hair-any item that would have given his premise credence. He shook his head. Even if they had found such a thing, it would not have proved who the two strangers were, or where they had been murdered, or by whom. But it would have helped him, in his mind, to know that he was beginning to unravel the slightest part of the mystery that surrounded the deaths.
As he stood musing, Gianni had been clambering around amongst the barrels, looking at the planks and
