After the templar and his servant had gone, Helias de Stow went back to his chamber, reseated himself at his desk and stared blankly at the piece of parchment lying on its surface. Although he picked up his quill and dipped it in the inkpot, he still could not bring himself to write the words that would tell Peter’s mother her son was dead.
De Stow sighed heavily, laid his pen down and rested his head in his hands, his fingers digging into the top of his bald pate as he did so. Peter’s death and the subsequent visit of the Templar had unnerved him. The moneyer had always taken pride in presenting a confident image to his family and employees but now he felt as though that facade was cracking. It had been a mistake to move to Lincoln, but it was an error he could not have foreseen. When Legerton had offered to recommend him for the post of king’s moneyer in Lincoln, it had seemed an attractive proposition. There were two royal mints in Grantham and the one in which de Stow worked had been the smaller of the two and of less consequence. The stipend for the Lincoln post was much higher than he had been earning in Grantham, as was the commission he, and Legerton, received on the amount of coinage that passed through their hands.
The problems that plagued him had begun to arise during the move from one town to the other. He and Blanche had sent their furniture to Lincoln by river barge and, during the journey, the barge had capsized. All their belongings, except for some clothing and personal possessions they had taken with them on their journey by road, had been lost and required a considerable sum to replace. Then Helias had arrived at the Lincoln mint and found some minor equipment was in need of replacement-the bellows for the forge were starting to rot and two of the hammermen’s tables were full of woodworm. He had also been dismayed to discover that a few stones in the outer wall were loose and in need of repair. Although the latter was not extremely urgent, it could not be delayed too long lest the security of the mint be compromised. Legerton had assured the moneyer he would be reimbursed by the crown for these necessities, but the promised payment had not arrived. When the cost of bringing the mint up to a reasonable standard was added to the sum needed to replace most of the household furniture, de Stow’s savings had not been enough to cover the total outlay. He had been forced to take desperate measures to try to extricate himself from his predicament and was worried they would prove disastrous. And now there was Peter’s untimely death to exacerbate the whole sorry situation.
De Stow took a sip of wine and tried to compose his thoughts. He must continue with the arrangements he had made and trust all would eventually be resolved in a satisfactory manner. Resolutely he picked up the quill and returned his attention to the composition of his letter to Peter’s mother, choosing his words carefully. He must try, as much as possible, to minimise the gor- ier details of her son’s death.
Eight
In front of a blazing fire in the solar, Nicolaa de la Haye sat with her female guests, all of whom, once Richard was wed to Eustachia, would be related to her by marriage. She was having difficulty in giving her full attention to the conversation of the other women, for her mind kept drifting to the conversation she had had with her husband the previous evening. Gerard’s concern that an unreported trove could be involved in the murder of the clerk was, in her opinion, well-founded.
Tales of corruption among those who manufactured and distributed coins of the realm were not uncommon and, because it was now the season of Christ’s Mass, Nicolaa recalled the story she had been told of an event that had taken place seventy-five years before at this very same time of year. The first King Henry had been on the throne then and, having discovered that a number of his moneyers were guilty of abasing the silver pennies issued in his name, had summoned them to Winchester and confronted them with their crimes. One by one, and despite the fact that he and his court were celebrating the holy days of Christ’s birth, the king had sentenced them all to be emasculated and their right hands cut off.
Nicolaa shivered, her diminutive, slightly plump frame overcome with a tremor of fear. If John believed that Gerard was part of any scheme that involved embezzling monies rightfully due to the crown, not even her friendship with the king, and the trust he had always placed in her, would deter him from subjecting her husband to the same harsh punishment.
Her attention was caught by a remark directed to her by Egelina Bassett, Eustachia’s mother, who was voicing her concern that the weather would not hold fine for the day of her daughter’s betrothal. Egelina and Nicolaa had been friends for many years through the acquaintanceship of their husbands, and although Egelina was not an overly intelligent woman, Nicolaa was very fond of her and admired the loving firmness with which she had raised both of her girls.
Eustachia was of a more serious mien than her younger sister, but had inherited her father’s acumen and would, Nicolaa thought, make a suitable wife for Richard. Her son had spent the years of his training for knighthood in Gilbert Bassett’s household and had always spoken of his admiration for the baron’s elder daughter, claiming she combined good sense with womanly grace. Although her son did not realise it, Nicolaa was sure Richard’s favourable impression of Eustachia was mainly due to the fact that the girl had the wit to discern that most men preferred a woman who listened rather than chattered. Eustachia was also sensible in the matter of her appearance; her colouring was dark, almost Italianate, and today she was wearing a gown of muted blue set with trimmings of dark green that contrasted subtly with her skin and gave it a rosy glow. While her features were not completely handsome-her eyes were set a little too close together and her teeth were crooked-her expression was pleasing, and she possessed an even temper. There was no doubt in Nicolaa’s mind that Eustachia was very fond of Richard; the castellan had seen the tender expression that came over the girl’s face whenever she looked his way. All in all, the castellan thought, the match was pleasing to both young people. Since marriages among the nobility were usually arranged for the purpose of forging a favourable alliance, it was not often the two people concerned embarked on a marriage based on love, or even mutual regard. That Richard and Eustachia would be an exception to this generality was a rarity for which Nicolaa was thankful.
The castellan’s gaze went to Lucia, the younger of Egelina and Gilbert’s two daughters. The sisters were a contrast in opposites. Lucia had a pretty face that was always animated, hair of rich auburn and an entrancing smile that showed off her small even teeth to advantage. Even though she was only sixteen years of age, her figure was already lush, with a swelling bosom and lissom hips. At the moment, Lucia was speaking volubly to her cousin Maud of Turville about Maud’s son, Stephen, telling the boy’s mother that Stephen had been most interested in the gestures the Templar’s mute servant had been using to convey his thoughts to the clerk that sat beside him at the banquet last night. She was also expressing her opinion that she thought Stephen should be taught some of them.
“I think he would benefit greatly from the knowledge, Maud,” Lucia said earnestly. “I know that because of Stephen’s disfigurement Ralph decided to keep him at home rather than send him to another lord for training in knighthood, but that decision has made him withdrawn in the company of others. If Stephen could use gestures to convey his wishes to your servants, and to converse with you and his father, I am sure it would swell his confidence.”
Maud’s response to the suggestion was one of agitation. Although she doted on her son, she was a timid and indecisive woman whose self-confidence had been sorely strained by the fact that the only heir she had given her husband had been marked in such a terrible manner.