‘And now he wants it so he can sell it abroad?’
Puddlicott made a face. ‘Ah, but there’s more. You see, I had three tasks: breaking into the crypt was one, the others were to collect information about the Templars in England as well as the whereabouts of their famous relic.’
‘Why this information?’
‘Ah.’ Puddlicott rose and whispered in Ranulf’s ear. He then stood back, enjoying the amazement on Ranulf’s face.
‘You are telling the truth?’ he asked.
Puddlicott nodded. ‘The breaking into the crypt is nothing compared to Philip’s plans for the future. Only four others now know what you do.’ Puddlicott held up his fingers. ‘Philip of France, Master Nogaret, de Craon and myself.’ Puddlicott shrugged. ‘I’ll soon be dead. Let’s face it, that bastard de Craon did nothing to save me.’
Ranulf eased himself off the table and hammered on the cell door.
‘You’ll keep your word?’ Puddlicott pleaded.
Ranulf looked over his shoulder. ‘Of course, provided what you have told me is the truth!’
In the porter’s lodge, Ranulf dug deep into his purse and slipped some silver coins into the gaoler’s palm.
‘You’ll do what I say?’ Ranulf asked.
‘I understand, Master,’ the fellow replied. ‘On the morning he dies, Puddlicott will drink deeply and go high up the hangman’s ladder.’
Ranulf assured him that he would check that his silver was well spent and, breathing a sigh of relief, stepped out of the prison, the iron-studded door slamming firmly behind him. He stood for a while sucking in the cool night air and staring up at the stars.
‘Ranulf-atte-Newgate,’ he whispered to himself. ‘The searcher of secrets.’ He recalled what Puddlicott had whispered to him. Oh, he would tell Master Long Face but his own quick wits would choose both the time and the place. The revelation of Puddlicott’s terrible secret would be the key to Ranulf’s fortune.