Once the vows were said and the blessing over, the archdeacon preceded the pair inside the cathedral and conducted Mass before the high altar. Richard and Eustachia knelt at the door to the chancel during the service and the witnesses stood in the nave behind the huge carved screen that separated them from the inner sanctum. As the service progressed, the church filled with the sweet smell of incense and at the end, when the choir lifted up their voices in praise of the Lord of heaven, a feeling of exultation descended on the assembly.
Later that afternoon, a meal fully as sumptuous as the one served on the day of Christ’s Mass was placed before the company. Bascot sat at his customary seat among the household knights while Gianni stood behind him in attendance.
As on similar occasions over the holy days, tumblers were cavorting among the tables, spinning coloured balls as they turned somersaults, and musicians were playing softly at the back of the hall while a troubadour stood in front of the dais and sang a romantic ballad to the newly betrothed couple.
The Templar tried to enter into the happy spirit of the occasion and, while he was pleased that Richard and Eustachia seemed truly happy with each other, he could not keep his thoughts from the night he had just spent at the preceptory and his conversation with Emilius, the Order’s draper.
On his arrival at the enclave the day before, Bascot had met the supplicant knight, a young man named Hugh of Sturton, and spent some time in conversation with him before going to join the rest of the brothers in the refectory for the evening meal. The Templar had been favourably impressed with Sturton; the young knight’s desire to serve Christ seemed earnest and he comported himself in a seemly manner. As they ate in the silence demanded by the Order’s Rule, Sturton had listened attentively as a Templar priest read a passage from the Bible.
Afterwards, in the hour allowed for a period of recreation, the situation in Tomar was discussed and how it was vital that the attempted encroachment of the Mus lims into Portuguese Christian territory be stemmed. Emilius, who had spent some years in Portugal before being sent to Lincoln to fill the office of draper-a post which made him second-in-command to the preceptor and involved the important duty of ensuring all brothers in the enclave conformed to strict rules of dress and appearance-told the others a little of the history of the region.
The castle at Tomar had been built about thirty years before, on a grant of land given to the Templar Order by a member of the monarchy of Portugal, together with another stronghold twelve miles south at Almourol. The two fortresses formed the first line of defence against repeated infidel attacks from the south. Emilius related some of the atrocities the heathens had inflicted on Christian villagers in the area-babies impaled on the point of a sword, women raped, and men disembowelled and left to die a lingering and agonising death. As Bascot listened to the draper’s report, his heart flooded with anger.
His blood had cooled somewhat by the following morning when he attended the chapter meeting and listened to Sturton’s quiet but resolute responses to the questions put to him by d’Arderon, Emilius and himself, but the sentiment that fostered it had not dimmed. Senseless killing, whether perpetrated by an enemy on helpless villagers or by means of secret murder, always inflamed outrage in Bascot’s soul. It was God’s right, and His only, to take the life of another without just cause. By the time he returned to the castle, he decided he would not wait until the morrow to question Tasser again, but do so as soon as the betrothal celebration was over.
The silversmith bore the full brunt of the Templar’s pent-up anger when Bascot went into the holding cell. Tasser was in an abject state; his cheeks were dark with days-old stubble and his fine clothes stained beyond cleansing. Confronted by the ice-cold gaze of the knight’s eye, he quailed in Bascot’s presence before the Templar spoke even one word.
“Sheriff Camville is out of patience with you, silversmith, and so am I,” Bascot said menacingly. “If you did not, as you claim, kill Brand and your apprentice, then you know who did. If you do not give me his name, you will stand in judgment of the murders in his place.”
“As God is my witness, lord, I do not know who it was. If I did, I would tell.” The silversmith was almost crying.
“You lie,” Bascot said and, stepping forward, grabbed Tasser by the front of his tunic and slammed him into the wall. The back of the silversmith’s head struck the hard stones with a sickening crunch and his eyes rolled back in his head.
“I am telling the truth, lord, I swear it,” he screamed as Bascot raised his arm and gave the prisoner the full force of a backhanded slap across the mouth. Blood gushed from Tasser’s mouth and he screamed with pain as Bascot released his grip and let the silversmith fall to the floor.
Bascot stepped back a pace, appalled by his own brutality. He had let the deadly sin of anger lead him into the very behaviour he decried in the infidel Moors. Never before had he struck an unarmed foe, nor used force on a man who, even if he had not been manacled, would be no match for Bascot’s youth and strength.
He was about to step forward and assist Tasser to his feet when the silversmith spoke, his words barely audible through the blood that welled from the split in his lower lip.
“I think… I think… Roger knew who killed Brand,” he mumbled.
Bascot willed himself to stillness. “How so?” he asked.
Tasser lifted eyes full of resignation. “Roger was following the clerk, at least… I think he was.” Raising the arm that was not manacled, Tasser dabbed at the blood on his chin with the filthy sleeve of his tunic. “It was the day after I bought the jewellery from Brand. The clerk was passing my shop and Roger… he made an excuse to leave his work. I saw him go after Brand, keeping a little distance behind him.” Tasser dabbed again at his mouth. “There were other times, too. Over the next couple of days, Roger disappeared for an hour or two and, in the evenings, he would return to his room sober instead of cupshotten. He was up to something… and I think it involved the clerk.”
“Did you ask him whether he was following Brand?”
The silversmith nodded. “He wouldn’t tell me if he was or not, just laid his finger aside of his nose in a knowing fashion and would say no more.”
“What about after Brand was killed? What made you think he had witnessed the murder?”
Tasser gave a sigh. “Because even before the clerk’s body was found, Roger knew he was dead. He told me I had better lock up the jewellery I had bought from Brand lest I be implicated in a serious crime. When I asked him what he was talking about, he said only that I had better pay heed to his warning. But even though I did as he said, it doesn’t look as though it was enough to save me, or him, from danger.”
The templar waited until later that evening, when the festivities were almost at an end, before he approached Gerard Camville and asked if he could have a few moments of private speech with him. The sheriff raised his eyebrows at the request, but excused himself from his guests and took Bascot upstairs to his chamber. He gave his undivided attention to Bascot’s words and, when the Templar finished speaking, began to pace.
“So it appears that Fardein saw the murder of Brand and was then murdered to ensure his silence.”
“I believe so, lord,” Bascot replied. “I think the apprentice, just like Tasser, was suspicious of the provenance of the jewellery the clerk brought to sell and wanted to find out if Brand had any more and, if so, where he had it stored. So he followed Brand hoping to confirm his supposition. What Fardein intended to do once he had uncovered the clerk’s secret, we shall never know. It may be he planned to make an offer to buy the additional valuables without involving Tasser or he could have simply intended to rob Brand. Whatever his purpose, since he knew the clerk was dead before his body was found, it seems certain Fardein must have seen the murder.”