Bascot shrugged. The impulses that drew men to break God’s commandments were varied and complicated. The reason why one man committed a mortal sin could be quite different from the urge that prompted another to the same terrible act.
With resignation, and an unwarranted sense of failure, the pair rose from their chairs and doused the candles. After covering the brazier with a metal cap to extinguish the burning embers, they locked the door securely and made their way back to the castle ward.
Twenty
As Bascot and Gianni walked through bailgate, they could see a sturdy cart trundling through the castle gate, laden with small pieces of stone. The rubble was purchased from the cathedral quarry on a regular basis during the winter season, and used to fill in the shallow holes pitted in the bail by rain or snow. Just as the tail end of the cart disappeared under the archway, they heard a rumbling noise and the sound of voices raised in anger. Hastening their steps, they saw that the hinged gate at the back of the cart had come unpinned and part of the load had spilled into the castle entryway.
“Get that bloody lot cleared up, and fast! You’re blocking passage into the ward.” It was Ernulf who was shouting at the unfortunate carter, running across the bail in the direction of the gate as he did so.
The driver stepped down from his seat and Bascot was surprised to see it was Cerlo, the mason who had reported the finding of Brand’s body. Surely, the Templar thought, delivering a load of broken stone was a chore beneath the talents of a journeyman mason. Ernulf, too, pulled up short when he recognised the driver.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you, Cerlo,” Ernulf apolo gised. “I thought you were that dozy cowson who usually drives the cart. Why are you doing such a menial task?”
The mason mumbled something Bascot could not hear and Ernulf sent the gateward running for a couple of shovels and gave him instructions to help clear up the mess. The Templar waited until all the pieces of stone had been shovelled up and then he and Gianni walked through the entryway. As he passed the cart, the mason saw him and raised a hand to his brow respectfully, his eyes downcast. The leather apron with capacious pockets at the hem that Cerlo wore was covered in stone dust, and the mason mopped his brow wearily as he clambered back onto the wagon.
Sending Gianni to wash his grimy face and hands at the well in the castle bathhouse, Bascot walked across the bail with Ernulf.
“Sad to see a man brought so low,” the serjeant remarked.
“Are you speaking of Cerlo?” Bascot asked.
Ernulf nodded. “Aye. Alexander, the master builder at the cathedral, told him today he’d be out of a job come spring. ’Tis Cerlo’s eyes that are the cause. They’re failing, and he can no longer see well enough to use his chisel. He’s been overseeing the quarry for the last few weeks while the quarry master was laid up in town with a broken leg, but the master is now fit enough to return to work and Cerlo is no longer needed. That’s why he was drivin’ the cart. Alexander promised he’d try to keep him busy throughout the rest of the winter if he could, but not beyond that.”
Bascot remembered the odd way the mason held his head. The reason for it was now explained. “Can nothing be done to heal his eyes?”
Ernulf shook his head. “He went to see Brother Jehan at the infirmary but the monk told him there wasn’t any remedy and warned he’d soon be blind.” The serjeant’s face was grim.
“Surely the mason’s guild will help him?” Bascot said.
“They’ll give him a bit of money to see he doesn’t starve-that’s what the guild members pay their dues for, after all-but it won’t be enough to keep him and his wife indefinitely,” Ernulf replied. “He’ll lose the house they live in, too. It’s on cathedral property and is only for the use of those employed by the Minster.” Ernulf shook his grizzled head. “’Tis a hard thing to grow old and lose your abilities.”
Bascot nodded in agreement, his own impaired vision inspiring commiseration for Cerlo. The Templar thanked God the sight in his one remaining eye was still sharp and prayed it would remain so.
Bascot waited with Ernulf in the barracks until Gianni returned from the bathhouse, and then told the boy he was going to report to the sheriff that, unfortunately, they had not found anything in the manufactory to provide evidence of Tasser’s involvement in an unreported treasure trove.
It was late in the afternoon by the time Bascot went to interrogate the silversmith. The winter day was already darkening and spatters of rain were beginning to fall, driven on their course by a rising wind. Tasser was in a distraught condition when the Templar entered the cell. His squat body was curled up on a straw pallet in the corner and the posture enhanced his unfortunate resemblance to a toad. The fine tunic the silversmith had been wearing when arrested was soiled and his embroidered silk hat lay on the floor.
When the guard opened the door and Bascot came in, Tasser struggled to his knees, his bulbous eyes fearful. “Sir Bascot,” he pleaded, hands clutched together in supplication, “please, for the love of God, tell me you have come to release me from this hellhole.”
“No, silversmith, I have not,” Bascot replied. “You are to be charged with the murder of your apprentice, Roger Fardein, and will remain here until Sheriff Camville convenes his court and tries you for the crime.”
“But I did not kill Roger, I swear to you,” Tasser said, his fleshy lips quivering. “Why would I do such a thing?”
Bascot shrugged. “We have proof you are a criminal. Perhaps your apprentice threatened to report you to the authorities.”
Tasser shook his head dolefully. “Since you found stolen items in my possession, I have no choice but to admit I have consorted with thieves, but that is all I have done. I have murdered no one.”
“Fardein knew of your illegal dealings, did he not?” Bascot asked.
The silversmith gave a forlorn nod. “But Roger was not a threat to me. He was a willing partner in the transactions. It was through him that contact with the thieves was made. Whenever one of them had something to sell, they would come to the alehouse where Roger drank and tell him what they had to offer. If a piece seemed valuable enough to interest me, Roger would bring the item to the manufactory and we would decide together how much we would offer for it.”
Tasser turned his sorrowful gaze on his inquisitor. “I paid Fardein a commission for each item I bought and I have no doubt the thieves paid for his services as well. He also took some of the stolen items to silversmiths in other towns, men who, if the price was low enough, were not overnice of how he had come by them. I paid Roger a further commission for that service. He was more than content with the arrangement and had no reason to threaten me with exposure.” Tasser gave a great sigh. “I am sorry to say that Roger drank and whored away most of the money he earned, but he was a man with powerful urges and the extra income provided him with the means to satisfy them.”
He paused for a moment, and then added, “It was Roger who persuaded me to have commerce with thieves in the first instance,” he said. “Why would he wish to lose what was, to him, a lucrative source of income by reporting me to the sheriff?”
“Perhaps because he wanted more than just a small commission for selling the jewellery found in your hiding place,” Bascot replied. “They are costly items; worth far more than the other pieces you had stored there. Perhaps he wanted a larger cut and you murdered him in order to keep it all for yourself.”
“That jewellery was not stolen,” Tasser burst out. “I bought it in good faith.”
Bascot felt his pulse race a little. “It is not listed in the records you keep of such transactions,” he said harshly. “I have been through them all. There is no mention of the chain and pendant, rings or cloak clasp.”