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The knight, who was wearing what surely must be his best tunic, a knee-length garment of bright yellow over a handsome undergown of dark blue with an embroidered cap of matching colours on his straggly white hair, gave Bascot a direct look, finished chewing his mouthful of cheese and apple and said, “Lady Nicolaa set you to find the villain who did it, didn’t she? Have you got him yet?”

As Bascot started to explain he was merely trying to discover the identity of the unknown couple found on the taproom floor, he was interrupted by the arrival of the young man who acted as secretarius to Philip de Kyme, a fresh-faced fellow named William of Scothern. He had come into the hall while the old knight had been speaking and had made his way at once to where Bascot sat, standing quietly until a pause came in the conversation.

“Sir Bascot. I have seen you about the castle, but have never yet had speech with you. I hope you will excuse my interruption, but I have just spoken with Ernulf and we both thought I should bring a concern I have to you.”

His manner was deferential, even though Bascot had heard a tale that he was a grandson of Nicolaa de la Haye’s father, Richard, son of an illegitimate daughter born to one of the baron’s lemans, a woman who had been kin to one of the more prosperous merchants of the town. The leman, Scothern’s grandmother, had died in birthing the child, and Richard de la Haye had provided for the girl, marrying her off to one of his retainers. In due course she had produced William and, Bascot seemed to recall it being said, another child, a girl. They were both now in de Kyme’s household. William, although eligible for a knight’s rank because of his father’s status, had chosen instead to be educated and now fulfilled the role of personal clerk to de Kyme. The girl was one of Lady de Kyme’s attendants. Scothern was a fair-looking lad of about twenty years, with a touch of the Haye red in his brown hair and serious green eyes. He seemed extremely edgy and Bascot noted that his ink-stained fingernails had been bitten to the quick.

Bascot gave him permission to speak and the clerk said that Ernulf had told him that the cloth merchants he and the Templar had spoken to had been of the opinion that the clothing they had been shown had come from Maine, in particular from the town of La Lune where there was a weaver of great skill. The cloth was easily recognised by its individuality among merchants accustomed to trade with those parts of the Angevin empire which lay on the borders of France.

Bascot, wondering at Scothern’s interest, gave no reply beyond agreement with the statement, and waited for the clerk to continue.

Scothern glanced at the elderly knight, who was listening to their conversation with interest, and said, “I do not wish to interrupt your meal, Sir Bascot. Perhaps you will give me a few moments of your time when you are finished. I do not think you will find it wasted.”

Bascot nodded and said he would meet with the clerk in his room in the old tower in an hour’s time. As Scothern left, Bascot’s companion leaned forward. “Bright young spark that. De Kyme wouldn’t know what to do without him, so I’m told. Old Richard de la Haye would be proud of his grandson, I’ll warrant. Too bad William’s mother hadn’t been born male for, even though illegitimate, a boy child might have been made Richard’s heir, since his wife only gave him daughters. Then it would have been young Scothern’s destiny to sit up there on the dais instead of Lady Nicolaa. Not that he’d have made a better castellan, of course, for Lady Nicolaa fills the office just as well as any man. But a man’s parts are easier in the saddle than a woman’s, if you know what I mean.”

Bascot let the knight ramble on while he finished his meal, then excused himself and, calling Gianni, made his way to his chamber.

Scothern was waiting on the steps outside the door to Bascot’s room when the Templar arrived. They went inside and Gianni poured a cup of ale for both of them then, at Bascot’s signal, made himself comfortable on his pallet in the corner. The room was so small that Scothern had to sit on a stool beside Bascot’s bed in order to speak to him, but what he had to say soon drove the closeness of their proximity out of the Templar’s notice.

“A couple of months ago, Sir Philip bade me write to a lady who lives in Maine,” the clerk said. “It was a letter he told me to hold in the closest of confidence, but in view of the knowledge I had from Ernulf tonight, I am in a quandary as to whether to inform Sir Philip of my suspicions, or to just let the matter rest. It is really your advice I have come for, Sir Bascot. I know you will keep what I have to tell you as private as I have myself.”

Scothern took a swallow of ale and waited for Bascot’s nod of agreement before he continued. “As you are probably aware, for most of Lincoln is, Sir de Kyme is not happy that he has only Conal, his son-by-marriage, for an heir. If he should pass Conal by there is a nephew, Roger de Kyme, who at least has a son to follow him, but my master would rather have an heir of his own issue, if at all possible.”

Here the clerk looked down at his ale, seemingly embarrassed. “It appears that early in his youth Sir Philip was enamoured of a young lady of the town and planned to make her his wife. His family stopped the marriage and a contract was arranged with his present wife, who was then a widow with a young son. However, even though the marriage of his choice was stopped, and the young girl who held his affections was sent away, it seems she was already with child by Sir Philip, a circumstance known only to him and to her. She later had the child, a boy, and wrote to Sir Philip of the birth. He was not then in a position to help her and, besides, he had hopes that the wife chosen for him would present him with a son. But many years have now passed and he despairs of any issue from his present wife so he decided to contact the woman he was in love with in his youth by sending her a letter and asking if his child by her still thrived.”

“And you wrote this letter for him?” Bascot asked.

“I did, sir, and the one that followed her reply. When Sir Philip found that the boy had grown up hale and hearty, he offered a place for the lad here and I know, if the lad pleased him, it was his intention to formally acknowledge him and make him his heir. He intimated as much to the boy’s mother when he wrote.”

Scothern now leaned forward in earnestness. “This last letter was written a scant two months ago and a response was made indicating that Sir Philip’s son, Hugo by name, would leave almost immediately, and that he would bring with him his wife, Ernestine. She was with child, the letter said, which made Sir Philip overjoyed, for he thought not only to have a son of his own, but perhaps a grandson, too, into the bargain. Do you see my dilemma, Sir Bascot? All the circumstances-the age of the two murdered strangers, the woman being enceinte, the origin of the cloth that was part of her apparel-all point to them being this same son and his wife. But if I should tell Sir Philip and I am wrong, then I give him grief for nothing, while if I am right.. . then he should know at once.”

“I take it that Sir Philip has never seen this illegitimate son?”

“No.”

“And the messenger who took the letters to Maine, did he meet with the boy?”

Scothern sighed. “They were sent in the usual way, by one of the de Kyme retainers to the south coast via London, then in the charge of a captain on a boat crossing the Narrow Sea, and by hired messenger on the other side. The replies were brought back in like manner. The situation in Maine and neighbouring Brittany and Anjou is volatile at the moment, what with King Richard’s death and his brother John ascending the throne. As you will be aware, there are many who hate the English there, thinking that Arthur, son of King John’s dead older brother Geoffrey, should have the crown. Sir Philip thought it best if no attention was drawn to his former love by the arrival of a messenger from England. And he wished to keep the matter secret. It is quite likely that Conal or his mother would have noticed if one of Sir Philip’s servants was gone for any length of time and they might have asked questions.”