bothersome.
He examined the mark again. It would have passed unnoticed when the sheriff and his brother had stripped him and looked for some sign of a wound, missed as being part of the deeper mark left by the hanging. Hubert had certainly gone to his death without protest, but only because someone had slipped up behind him and reduced him to a state that made him unable to fight for his life.
It was this thought that kept Bascot awake that night, bringing with it an outrage at the stealth of the crime, the cowardice of it. He had spent long years in captivity, knew the helplessness that came with being a slave, unable to defend oneself from physical harm or mental torture, and he felt a strange empathy with the dead squire, losing his life without being able to put up the least resistance.
He lay awake for the rest of the night, listening to the slow tramp of the men-at-arms on night duty as they passed along the wall connected to the tower he was in, and the quiet murmur of their conversation as they stopped for a few moments’ rest and a little gossip. From the bailey came only silence, broken intermittently by the lowing of a restless cow or the squawk of a goose. As he lay he wondered if he had missed anything else when he had examined Hubert’s body and belongings. He would not get another opportunity to view the corpse, for soon it would be gone to its final resting place.
Sleep was just beginning to invade his restless mind when, towards dawn, the noise of men and horses stirring in the bailey awoke him. Bascot remembered that Gerard Camville had arranged for a hunt that morning. Meat was always needed for the table but, even with the annual late autumn slaughter of cattle that were too old or infirm to be fed through the winter, and the killing of deer trapped in the sheriff’s buckstalls, feeding King John and all the attendant guests would demand an additional supply.
Just as dawn was about to break, Bascot heard the yelping of hounds and the strident tones of the kennel master as he called his charges to order. The Templar got up from his pallet and pushed his eyepatch back into place. Soon the horn would blow to signal for the gate to be opened and the sheriff and his hunting party would leave. Quietly Bascot slipped on an extra padded tunic over the one he was wearing, then threw his cloak around his shoulders before bending down to place a hand on Gianni’s shoulder. The boy was fast in slumber, only his nose peeping out from beneath the mound of covers in which he was ensconced. Bascot hated to wake him but Gianni became alarmed if he found his master absent and did not know where he was. A fear of vulnerability left over, no doubt, from the time Bascot had found him begging for food on a wharf in Palermo.
Gianni came awake instantly at Bascot’s touch, his eyes looking the question his tongue could not ask.
“It’s alright, Gianni. I am going to follow the hunt. You may go back to sleep or break your fast, if you wish. I will be back by midday.”
It was a measure of the boy’s growing confidence that he nodded quickly in agreement and did not show any distress at being left alone. A few months before he had dogged Bascot’s footsteps like a shadow and was only comfortable out of his master’s presence when he was in the protective company of Ernulf or in the midst of the pack of hounds in the castle hall.
Bascot slipped out of the room and made a slow passage down the stairs, being careful of his ankle which, despite the support of his new boots, seemed more fractious in cold weather. At the stables he ordered one of the grooms to saddle the even-tempered grey gelding he had used the day before and then he left the bailey, slowly following the hunting party as it made its way in the direction of the sheriff’s chase.
Nine
The morning air was frosty and the breath from Bascot’s mouth, and that of his mount, streamed in the cold air like ragged plumes of smoke as they headed for the forest. The Templar ruminated on Hubert as he rode; thought how he had only the opinions of others for the squire’s character, his personality. He had been painted blackly, as a disagreeable young man, a braggart and a lecher. Had he truly been such? Was there not a trace of good, even in the most evil of men, some redeeming trait not immediately apparent? Bascot thought of the infidel lord in whose household he had been held captive in the Holy Land, and at whose direction the hot iron had been thrust into his eye. Bascot had hated him with all his might, not only for being the enemy and his tormentor, but for the contempt with which the Saracen had regarded any of the Christian faith. Had the opportunity presented itself, Bascot would have willingly-nay, eagerly-taken the infidel’s life, even if it had been at the cost of his own. But on reflection, and with the benefit of hindsight, Bascot had to admit he had seen his captor show kindness to those of his own heathen faith, and had seemed genuinely fond of the many children he had sired on the numerous women of his harem. No doubt he had been viewed as a generous and loving benefactor by those receiving his favour.
The same could be true of Hubert, Bascot thought. He may have been a dutiful and loving son to his mother or have given a few of the women he boasted of bedding some pleasure for being in his company. Or had he been one of those individuals who loves self above all else? To whom consideration for others is never even contemplated, let alone attempted? It was possible, but there could be many other reasons why the boy had formed the character he had seemed to display, and it was difficult to make any kind of judgement of a person who was no longer alive. Perhaps the uncle that was coming to claim the body could enlighten Bascot about the nephew’s nature. If just one person could be found who had liked Hubert, or whom he had perhaps confided in, it might be that the motive for this murder would become clearer.
His pondering had passed most of the journey to the sheriff’s chase and Bascot entered the wood in the wake of the hunting party, broken branches and hoof prints in the mud of the track marking its passage plainly. It was the Templar’s intention to visit the hunting lodge where Bettina had said she had arranged to meet Hubert. It was unlikely that the squire had been there for he had been found some distance away, but Bascot remembered that earlier that year, when he had been asked by Nicolaa de la Haye to investigate the murder of four people in an alehouse, it had been a tiny scrap of cloth found at a place far removed from where they had been killed that had led him in the right direction. It might be he would find such a guide again.
Tostig, the forester, had told him the general direction in which the ruin of the old lodge could be found, near to where the charcoal burner kept the huge mounds in which he burned his wood. A thin stream of smoke, rising almost straight up on the still air, told of the way he must go, away from the path followed by the hunting party, which could be heard farther to the south, the horns blowing almost constantly and the deep belling of the dogs signalling that a quarry had been sighted. Gerard Camville was after wild boar today, a dangerous animal to hunt, with razor-sharp tusks and lightning speed. The lair of one had been discovered by the sheriff’s huntsmen and Camville was eager to test his skill against it, as well as have some of the tasty meat for the castle table. Bascot envied him his pleasure. As a Templar, he was forbidden to engage on a hunt, either with hawk or bow, but he had enjoyed those on which he had accompanied his father in the days of his youth, and the remembrance brought a smile to his lips.
Bascot came upon the old lodge almost by accident, finding the ruin in his path as he nudged his horse in the direction of the smoke. Two of the lodge’s thick wooden walls were still standing, with a part of the roof clinging precariously above the join at which they met. Remnants of the foundations poked above the ground beside them, showing that it had once been a good-sized building, easily housing a large hunting party intent on celebrating their kill, or to give shelter if an overnight stay was planned. Bascot dismounted and tied the reins of the grey to the lower branches of a nearby tree, giving the animal enough slack to allow him to graze on the meagre slivers of grass at its base before he walked over to inspect the ruin.
The wood of the two remaining walls was almost sound. It had some slight infestation of insects but for the main part it stood firm to his touch and the ragged beams of the remaining portion of the roof above seemed solid. There was enough of a covered area to keep out any but the heaviest of rain or snow for a space of perhaps ten feet square. It must have been here that Hubert had intended to have his tryst with Bettina, if the girl had been telling the truth. Bascot carefully inspected the ground, but it seemed undisturbed. There was a pile of desiccated leaves blown haphazardly by the wind into a corner and underneath the moss was soft and unmarked. An old tree branch, whitened and smoothed from exposure to the weather, lay almost in the center of the sheltered space. When Bascot lifted it, the depression beneath looked to have been there for some time, with insects scuttling for cover as light and air penetrated their hiding place. If Hubert had been in this spot, he had left no trace.
As Bascot started to walk around the remains of the other walls, the sounds of the hunt increased, seeming to come nearer. His horse lifted its head and whickered softly, and Bascot went to it and rubbed a hand over its
