died. Their sire, an upright and extremely moral man, had curbed Walter’s excesses while he was alive but, soon after their father’s death, her brother had sold the business he inherited and used the funds to buy the manor house at Canwick. Silvana had gone with him for, since the death of Walter’s wife in childbirth some years before, she had taken over the running of her brother’s household as well as the care of his two sons. It suited them both; Silvana had never had any desire to wed and enjoyed the position of a married woman without the onerous task of bedding a husband, while Walter was ensured that the person in charge of his domestic affairs was one he could trust. Their fortune in life was bound up in each other, tied securely by the bond of shared blood.
But lately Silvana had come to fear her brother was putting the financial security of their small family in jeopardy. She had advised him against selling their father’s business, but he had not listened to her, his eyes too eagerly set on living a life of ease away from the hard work of toiling in the silver manufactory. Once he had been awarded the post of exchanger-which he secured only by paying a hefty fee to the royal official who held the gift of the office in his hands-Walter had believed the commission he derived from the post would provide more than enough for him and his family to live on. But it had not taken long for him to realise that his hedonistic inclinations were proving far too expensive for his means. Entertaining and feeding the number of guests at Canwick during the feast of this year’s Christ’s Mass was too costly by far and Walter knew it, but he had invited all of them just the same, fearing he would be seen as parsimonious if he did not. Only Silvana knew of the desperate measures he was in and that he had borrowed money from one of the Jewish usurers in Lincoln to replenish his empty coffers.
“Walter, you must curb your spending,” Silvana said gently. “Once Epiphany is over, and our guests have gone home, we must try to live simply. There is no need to have expensive viands at every meal and strew the manor house with costly trappings. If you do not bring yourself to practice more thrift, we will soon be reduced to penury.” The softness in her voice removed any sting from the rebuke.
Walter looked up at his sister, at the features so like his own. Silvana had the same thick dark hair, which she wore braided and neatly coiled under a close-fitting coif, and the identical rosiness of cheek. Although she was five years younger than he, Silvana had always seemed as though she were the elder, for she watched over his well- being as though she were their long-dead mother. From any other, the words she had just spoken would have invoked his wrath, but he knew her castigation was well meant and given only out of concern for him and her nephews.
“You are right, Silvana,” he said with a groan of despair, his habitual haughtiness absent in the presence of his sister. “I promise that after Epiphany it will be as you say. I fear I do not have any choice in the matter.”
At Tasser’s manufactory on Mikelgate, Bascot and Roget were searching the silversmith’s premises. They had gained entry easily enough, for Tasser made no objection when told they had come on the sheriff’s behalf to enquire into the murder of Roger Fardein.
Tasser was a short fat man with an oily, obsequious manner and thick lips above a receding chin, a combination that gave him more than a passing resemblance to a toad. His hands were adorned with costly rings and around his neck was a heavy chain of meshed gold links. When asked why he had not reported the absence of his apprentice from his place of work, Tasser shrugged and replied that because it was the season of Christ’s Mass he thought Fardein was indulging in a prolonged celebration of the holy days.
“Roger was a man who liked his wine cup,” Tasser said in an offhand manner. “It was not the first time he failed to turn up for work. Had he not been such a competent apprentice, I would have dismissed him. But”-and here he directed an unctuous smile at Roget, who had the reputation of being a womanizer-“we all know what it is to be young and have an itch in our loins. I thought he would turn up when his passion was sated.”
Bascot told him they wanted to question the other men who worked in the silver manufactory, and Tasser summoned his remaining employees. There were only two: an accredited silversmith past his middle years, and a younger man who fulfilled the function of general factotum.
Both of them, when questioned, denied keeping company with their dead colleague in off-duty hours or knowledge of his whereabouts around the time he was murdered.
When asked where Fardein had lodged, Tasser took them to a chamber at the back of the building and said he had allowed his apprentice to sleep there. The silversmith made no demur when they informed him they intended to search both it and the rest of the premises for evidence.
Tasser, a knowing smirk on his wide lips that infuriated both men, left them to their task and they searched through Fardein’s few belongings. The room did not contain much in the way of furniture, and they found nothing under the thin mattress that comprised a bed, or in the leather satchel that hung from a peg on the wall. Aside from an extra pair of hose which were grubby and stained, and a couple of small tools used in his trade, the apprentice seemed to have owned nothing apart from a badly dented pewter mug that sat alongside an empty wine flagon on a table beside his bed.
The pair then went upstairs, to the three large private rooms that, along with the hall downstairs, constituted the silversmith’s living quarters. One of the chambers appeared to be an office, for there were a number of documents neatly stacked in an open-faced cupboard and a desk laid with parchment and writing implements. Around the desk were a number of comfortable chairs with laddered backs. Next to the office were two sleeping chambers, one containing a large bed fitted with a thick mattress and overlaid with quilts of goose down and the other appearing to be a guest chamber, with a smaller bed and less extravagant bed linen. All the rooms were richly appointed, with draught-excluding tapestries on the walls, rugs of sheepskin on the floors, and beeswax candles in finely wrought silver holders, but a thorough scrutiny revealed nothing incriminating.
Bascot and Roget went back downstairs and searched the hall. Although it contained a heavy oak table and chairs of fine craftsmanship, neither it nor any of the other furniture-a padded settle, two massive chairs with arms and an open-faced cupboard laid with pewter platters and silver drinking cups-contained any crevices that could be used as a hiding place. Out back, in the yard, was a building housing a small kitchen where an elderly woman was boiling a hock of bacon in a cauldron hanging from a tripod over the fireplace. She did not seem surprised when they interrupted her chore; both men guessed she was inured to the disturbance of authorities investigating her master’s activities.
When asked if she had any knowledge of Fardein’s personal life, she turned up her nose in disapproval. “I never talked to that one any more than I had need,” she replied. “I’m sorry he’s dead, but he thought himself far above the likes of me ’cause of the confidence the master placed in him.”
She had looked at both of them with wise old eyes. “I know the reputation Master Tasser has and I wouldn’t work here if I didn’t need the money, but I keeps myself to myself and only come in to cook the meals and give the place a clean once a week. I don’t stay any longer than I have to, but goes back to my lodgings in Pottergate every night.”
She stood by stoically while they searched the kitchen, but it contained only a supply of staples, some kegs of salted fish and rounds of cheese. Leaving her to resume her task of cooking the bacon, they went back to search the manufactory.
In the large chamber where the silversmith plied his craft, they paid special attention to the locked chests on the floor. In one was a number of newly made vessels Tasser claimed were items commissioned by various customers. After Roget gave all of these a careful examination, Bascot asked the silversmith to open the other chest. When the lid was lifted, it could be seen the coffer was half-filled with bags of coin that were, Tasser claimed, profits from his trade. Without telling Roget the reason for doing so, the Templar asked the captain to upend the leather satchels onto the floor. As the silver pennies spilled and rolled onto the ground, a quick glance was enough to ensure all were of recent minting and of the short cross design instituted during the reign of King Henry II. None of them bore the head of King Stephen.
During their search, Tasser stood complacently by and made no complaint at the disturbance of his trade or his premises. When they finally left, Roget was extremely angry.
“I hoped to find something that had been reported stolen,” he growled in disgruntlement. “Then I could have arrested that batard.”
“Fardein has been dead for a few days,” Bascot replied. “If Tasser knew of it before times, he has had ample time to rid himself of any evidence connected to the murder or to a theft.”
Roget nodded gloomily. “You are right, mon ami. But the day will come when I will find him out and, when I do, I will take great pleasure in seeing his right hand struck off for larceny.”
