When Bascot and Gianni reached their tiny chamber the boy, finally full of food, slumped onto his pallet and within moments was fast asleep. Bascot left the boy to his slumbers and walked up the few steps to the battlements of the tower. The walkway faced south, so that he could see out over the curtain wall to the town spread out below and to where the streets drifted down the hill to the River Witham at the lower end. The night air was fresh from the rain and a small wind was blowing. Above was a canopy of stars, washed with the faint light that never seems to leave the sky at the high point of summer. In the semidarkness a few bats flitted. He removed his eye patch and felt a rush of air cool the withered socket beneath.
As always when up high, the loss of half his sight made him feel slightly dizzy, but long years of practice had made him accustomed to it and he gripped the solid stone of the battlements to steady himself. The light of torches could be seen bobbing here and there as the merchants and their families made their way to their various lodgings. Even within some of the dwellings a light could be seen, though it was long past couvre feu or, as the English speaking population pronounced it, curfew. There would be no fines tonight for those who broke the law and stayed late abroad since the advent of the fair in the morning was considered a valid enough excuse to do so.
His dizziness under control, Bascot leaned onto the stone of the crenellations and let his thoughts drift, planning how he would set about fulfilling the task that Nicolaa de la Haye had given him. The scrap of cloth that Gianni had found he could show to the drapers and weavers gathered for the festivities. It might be worthwhile to visit a few silversmiths and ask about the brooch, to see if they could determine its origin. He would need to visit the Jews and ask if the whereabouts of Samuel in the day or two before he met his death were known. It would also be advisable to visit the three places where the alekeeper had made his deliveries and try to discover if he had been seen at any house other than those at which he was known to have stopped. Of course, if the priest recovered and could identify his assailant, Bascot’s task might be made easier.
Bascot shook his head to clear it. Tomorrow there would be so much activity within the town he would have difficulty getting anyone’s attention for long enough to gain a coherent answer to his questions. The other side to that problem would be that people would be off their guard and he would be able to move comparatively unnoticed through the throng. The scrap of material was, although slight, his best indication of the young woman’s identity. If he could find out who she had been, perhaps then he might also discover the identity of her companion, if the young man had been such, that is. He pondered on that for a moment. Had the boy been her husband? Or a stranger, their only link the manner of their death? There had to be a common thread weaving all of the dead people together and binding them to the murderer. It seemed only fitting that he should start his enquiries with the scrap of material.
Before he went inside to his pallet, the Templar replaced his eye patch, and looked up again at the canopy of stars overhead. Into the peace of the heavens he murmured a prayer for assistance and aid in successfully bringing the murderer to justice.
The next morning the day dawned with as fair a promise of sunshine as any of the townspeople could wish. Before first light there was movement as people gathered in knots of two, three or more, full of anticipation for the festivities. At midmorning there was to be a procession, starting at the principal gate of Stonebow in the lower town and winding its way up Mikelgate and Steep Hill through Bailgate to the Minster where the cathedral was situated. Every guild in the town would be represented, some by a delegation of its members marching in their finest clothes, others by a cart decorated with a scene to display their wares, all accompanied by the same strolling musicians and tumblers that had entertained in the castle hall the night before. The townspeople were already beginning to line the streets, some sitting on stools or benches they had brought with them for the purpose, others claiming an advantageous corner by planting themselves firmly in possession, and for those who were lucky enough to either have a house on the main street or to know someone who had, viewing the procession from the comfort of an open casement in the top storey of the dwelling.
Bascot knew it would be pointless to embark on his queries until the pageant had finished and, since Gianni was all agog to watch it, they climbed to the walkway of the outer wall of the castle bail and got a good vantage point from the battlements. They would see the procession just as it finished the trek up Steep Hill and turned into the grounds of the Minster. Gianni had come prepared for the entertainment by begging some pieces of bread and cheese from the castle cook which he had carefully wrapped in a square of clean linen, and Bascot carried a flask of watered wine at his belt.
They were not alone in their chosen spot. Many of the soldiers from the garrison clustered beside them as well as those of the castle servants who had finished their duties in time to scamper up to the walkway. But in deference to Bascot’s rank and, he suspected, out of consideration for his physical infirmities, he and Gianni were right at the front, and could see the street beneath them clearly through one of the gaps in the crenellations.
The cobblestones below them were thick with people and the hum of conversation. Excited laughter could be heard long before the strains of the musicians accompanying the procession were audible. Finally the leaders of the parade came into view as they passed through the huge arch of Bailgate. An exultant shout went up from the crowd as the most prominent members of the Draper’s guild stepped out from under the arch, their faces red with perspiration as they sweated under the weight of the fine clothes they had donned for the occasion. The sun struck bright on the materials they wore-short summer cloaks in lustrous velvets of blue or green, silken tunics of red, yellow and ivory, and close-fitting caps of softest amber decorated with feathers dyed to match. There was embroidery on every hem and sleeve, and jewels as well, pinned to cap and cloak. They made a magnificent display and the crowd gasped and called out their admiration. Cloth was the main staple of the fair and, as such, deserved pride of place at the head of the procession.
Behind the drapers came the other guilds, first the ones associated with cloth-making such as the weavers, dyers and tailors, then the gold and silversmiths, the parchment makers, the barbers-a wooden pole painted with stripes of red and white carried aloft in front of them-the soap makers and salters, the bakers and carpenters. Many had a cart in their midst, decorated with flowers and strips of cloth, with one or more of the guild members standing inside and displaying samples of their produce or, where possible, actually plying their trade as the carts moved slowly along. Beside and among them the musicians strolled, piping and playing, while the tumblers threaded their way cleverly through the procession and the crowd, deftly catching any pennies that might be thrown their way.
At strategic intervals, Bascot saw, there were pairs of Gerard’s guard, eyes darting amongst the throng, on the look-out for cutpurses. Occasionally one of the soldiers would swoop into the crowd and grab some mean-looking fellow, shake him roughly and issue a warning before letting him go. The sheriff was determined that there would be no charge of laxness against his authority.
When the last of the procession, a few members of the butcher’s guild, passed into the Minster, the crowd flooded behind, laughter and merriment cresting like waves in the wake of a boat. As the last of the revelers disappeared, Bascot and Gianni left the walkway and descended into the bail.