Twenty-seven
Late that night, Ernulf, Roget and Bascot were sitting in Ernulf’s quarters in the barracks, sharing a jug of wine and the warmth of a glowing brazier. At intervals, as they replenished their cups, Ernulf took a short poker from where it rested amidst the red-hot embers of the brazier and plunged its tip into the wine. The sizzling sound and smell enhanced the taste.
Outside it was cold, with an icy rain falling that was mixed with snow. In a corner Gianni sat, alongside another, smaller, brazier, wrapped in an old blanket and with Ernulf’s cap pulled firmly down around his ears. He was dozing lightly.
Bascot regarded him with affection and felt a renewal of the relief he had felt when he had hauled the boy up onto his horse in the middle of the river. He was now reluctant to let the lad out of his sight, even if it was only to a pallet outside Ernulf’s chamber in the larger common room of the barracks.
“So, mon ami,” Roget said, the brass rings that were threaded through his beard throwing off sparks of light as the movement of his lips set them dancing, “are you going to tell us what you have discovered?”
“It was what Gianni discovered, really, Roget,” Bascot replied. “If he had come to me about what he had overheard in the hall instead of trying to play the hero himself, we would have been spared our trudge through the forest to rescue him.”
“True,” the former mercenary replied, “but then we would not have captured all those brigands, my friend. That alone made the effort worthwhile. Although,” he added, with a glance towards the sleeping figure of Gianni, “I would as lief the boy had not been put into such danger.”
“Nor I,” Ernulf agreed, refilling his cup, then raising it to the captain. “This is a good vintage, Roget,” he said. “I thank you for it.”
“Ha! Enjoy it well. That is the last jug from my store. I do not know how soon I can get more.” The captain made a mock expression of such ruefulness that Bascot burst out laughing.
“He was tumbling a wine merchant’s daughter,” Ernulf explained to the Templar. “The father gave him a dozen jugs of this”-he raised the cup high-“for a promise to leave the girl alone.”
“I was tiring of her in any case,” Roget commented, shaking his head. “I never like to spend too long with one woman. They get ideas that are dangerous.”
Ernulf leaned towards Bascot. “But tell us, what was it Gianni overheard, and what did you find out in the village?”
Both the sergeant and Roget listened silently as Bascot told them his tale. Then Ernulf refilled all their wine cups and said, “So you have discovered who murdered Hubert and the charcoal burner and his sons.”
“Yes,” Bascot agreed. “But I cannot prove it.”
“ Ma foi, does it matter?” Roget asked. “The sheriff will not care for such a nicety.”
Bascot shook his head, but it was Ernulf who answered Roget’s question. “The sheriff may not, but the king will.”
“The king?” Roget protested. “Why should it worry him? The boy was of no importance, not to King John anyway, and I do not think that our new monarch will care overmuch about the fate of Chard and his family.”
“You are right, Roget,” Bascot replied, “but he will care about the rumour of treason. Proof of the motive for Hubert’s murder, and of who committed it, must be given to him.”
“Have you thought of a way to get such proof?” Ernulf asked.
“I think so,” Bascot said. “I have discussed the matter with Lady Nicolaa, who has, by the way, discovered another, and separate, transgression against the king’s justice. We have devised a plan, which, if it succeeds, will bring all these matters to light in front of witnesses and thus resolve them. She has instructed me to explain your part in the ruse we propose to play.”
Roget chuckled deep in his beard and Ernulf grinned. “Just tell us what it is that we are to do, de Marins,” the serjeant said. “We both have much relish to hear of it.”
It was early the next morning that Melisande Fleming received a request from Nicolaa de la Haye to attend a meeting at the sheriff’s hunting lodge for a discussion of the preparations necessary for a hunt planned for the king during his stay in Lincoln. Melisande was in her gold manufactory when the messenger arrived. The workshop was housed in a building adjacent to her house on Mikelgate, and she always enjoyed being in its confines. The sight of the master goldsmith at work on his small anvil, his tiny hammer and tongs stretching and tapping the gleaming yellow metal, always soothed her, and she often herself performed the task of polishing a finished piece with the fine soft fur of a rabbit’s foot.
It had been decided by the goldsmith’s guild that King John would be presented with three gifts from the workshops of Lincoln. Melisande’s manufactory had been allotted the making of a hanap-a large cup-which was to have a cover and footed base and be encased in a wooden box inlaid with silver decoration. The cup was now finished, and Melisande was holding it in her hands, admiring the workmanship of her staff when the messenger came to the door.
The goldsmith’s widow was annoyed at Nicolaa’s request. She knew that John was now at Southwell, having travelled there from Nottingham, a distance of fourteen miles, the previous day. From Southwell he would come the final twenty-three miles to Lincoln and was expected to arrive the following afternoon. She had intended to spend the day preparing for the monarch’s arrival at the castle. There was much to do; the hanap and box must be enclosed in a bag of soft velvet for its presentation, there was her gown to inspect and the choosing of the jewellery she would wear and, most vexing of all, she still had the rebellion of Joanna to contend with.
Impatiently, she threw the short note from Nicolaa onto the floor. She would have to go, like it or not. Even though she held the office of chief forester and, as such, received her salary directly from the crown, it would be unwise to irritate the castellan by a refusal. Nicolaa was well thought of by King John and any commissions the goldsmiths of Lincoln hoped to receive from him could easily be withdrawn if she chose not to recommend them. Angrily Melisande called for one of her servants to saddle the palfrey she kept in a stable behind the house, and for another to bring her a warm cloak. Before reluctantly leaving the manufactory, she sent an urgent message to Copley instructing him to attend her at the lodge for her meeting with Lady Nicolaa. Still in a fury, she left the warm glow of the manufactory’s small furnace and, with a groom to accompany her, rode towards the western gate of the city.
In the chamber that had been allotted to Baldwin high in the top of the keep, Alys and Alinor kept the sick boy company. His excitement at the imminent arrival of the king had brought on another of his spells of breathlessness and the castle physician had recommended he rest until it should be time for him to be presented.
“I must be well enough to see King John, Alys, I must,” he said tremulously as she held out a cup of heated wine for him to sip.
“If you don’t stop fretting, little brother, you most assuredly will not be,” his sister said tartly.
“I have sent Osbert for his lute,” Alys told him. “He plays passably well and a little soft music may soothe you and allow you to rest. Now come, lie back and drink your wine. It has a generous dollop of honey in it.”
Baldwin, his face flushed from his recent exertions of struggling for breath, did as he was told and, when Osbert arrived, was lying comfortably and breathing easier.
The page took a seat in the far corner of the room and strummed his instrument quietly. His young fingers were nimble on the strings and his high clear voice carried gently to where Baldwin lay as he sang the opening lines of a ballad about two young lovers travelling together on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Soon Baldwin was asleep and Alinor motioned to Alys that she would leave her brother in her friend’s care, and quietly left the room.
Outside she tripped lightly down the circular stone steps to the hall, looking for Alain and Renault. They were receiving instructions from the Haye steward, Eudo, along with Hugo and a few other squires and pages, on the correct etiquette to be observed when it came their turn to serve at King John’s table. Alinor waited with little patience until Eudo finished his lecture, and then called urgently to the pair to join her in a corner of the hall. Hugo came trailing a few steps behind.
