“No. I am going to see Isaac, the Jew.”
Seventeen
Bascot sat across from Isaac in the chamber where the usurer carried out his business transactions. It was richly, but not ostentatiously, furnished. In one corner stood an empty brazier and on the floor beside it was a stout wooden chest, intricately carved on the front and side panels and securely banded with strips of iron. In a wall niche was an incense holder. It was lit, and emitted a wispy stream of smoke, filling the room with a pleasant musky smell. The aroma reminded Bascot of the Holy Land, where the spicy gum was used in abundance.
Wine was brought by a servant and, once the man had left the room, the Jew spoke. “You said you wished to have speech with me about my cousin, Samuel, who was found dead with the two Christians. How may I be of assistance?” Isaac’s words were formal, but there was no obsequiousness in his tone.
Bascot took a sip of wine before he answered. It was good, dark red and laced with sweet spices. “Are you aware that a charge has been made against Lady Sybil de Kyme and her son, Conal, in connection with the deaths of the two Christians found in the alehouse?” he asked. “It is being claimed that the two dead strangers were the illegitimate son of Sir Philip de Kyme and the son’s wife.”
Isaac nodded. His face was heavily fleshed above a robe that was loose sleeved and made of finely woven cloth, as was the close-fitting cap that held back the curling mass of his hair. On both hands he wore thumb rings of gold. He regarded Bascot with a solemn air, but his dark Semitic eyes were wary.
“It is said that Lady Sybil feared for her own son’s disinheritance in favour of Sir Philip’s bastard,” Bascot continued, “and, with the connivance of Conal, removed that threat by killing the son and his wife. I have been given the duty of finding out the truth of that charge. If it is proved, or if I cannot disprove it, then Lady Sybil and her son will stand to answer it before the king’s justices at the assizes in July.”
Bascot paused, picking his words carefully. “Since your cousin, Samuel, was found slain along with the two Christians, it would seem that whoever murdered them also killed him.”
Isaac said nothing, merely kept his watchful silence, and Bascot went on. “Wherever all three were killed, it was not the alehouse. They had all been dead some hours, we believe, brought to the alehouse later from some other place, perhaps a house in the town. The two Christians were from Maine, and must have come to Lincoln recently. I am trying to determine where it was that they came to be in company with your cousin. If I can find that out, I may also be able to determine if Conal or Lady Sybil had the opportunity to kill all three of them. Can you tell me Samuel’s whereabouts on that day?”
Isaac leaned forward and picked up his wine cup, not drinking but merely holding it between his hands. When he spoke, it was softly. “Will Lady Sybil and her son, or any other Christian you may find guilty, also be charged with the death of my cousin?”
Bascot answered him straightly. “You know the answer to that question as well as I. They will not. The death of a Jew at Christian hands will not be considered of sufficient import. Whoever, if anyone, is found guilty of the Christian deaths will, I presume, also be found guilty of the death of your cousin. In that case a fine may be levied concerning his loss-which will go into the king’s coffers-but that is all.”
“Then, why, Templar, should I help you?” The question was couched in the same low tones Isaac had used before.
Bascot tried to answer with honesty. “I had hoped you would want to find out the truth of the matter. Who it was that brought about the death of a member of your family.”
“It will not bring Samuel back, and any information that I give you may be held against me by the kin of whatever Christian is found guilty. Indeed, if my cousin had not been found along with the Christians, I have no doubt that their murders would have been found to have been carried out by a Jew. We are usually blamed in such matters, whether implicated or not.”
Bascot took a breath and leaned back in his chair. He had expected such a response and hoped that he could circumvent it. “It was said in my hearing that such would be the case. It was also said that a hue and cry after the Jews of Lincoln would be bad for trade during the fair. That is the reason I am here. If it is disproved that Lady Sybil and Conal are guilty, do you think it will take long for suspicion to be cast in the direction of you and your brethren? It will be said that your cousin was killed by one of his own race merely to cast the blame elsewhere. Are you willing to take that chance?”
For the first time Isaac smiled. “You speak with a strange directness for a Christian. Especially one”-he gestured with his wine cup in the direction of Bascot’s Templar badge-“who has dedicated his life to the slaying of the enemies of Christ. How do I know that you will not use any information I give you against one of my own kind?”
“You do not,” Bascot replied. “But unless a member of the Jewish community is guilty, I give you my pledge, in Christ’s holy name, that I will keep in the strictest confidence anything you may tell me.”
The usurer stared at Bascot for a moment, then took a sip from his wine cup. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision. “Since that oath is one that I know means much to you, I must assume your promise is made with integrity. Very well, Templar, I will help you as much as I can. What is it you wish to know?”
“As I said, where your cousin was on the day that he was killed. Would he have had occasion to visit any of the Christian houses in the town and, if so, which ones?”
Bascot waited for the answer with held breath. If Isaac named the house of Roger de Kyme it would, with the lack of either Lady Sybil or Conal being able to provide a witness to their activities on that day, press the finger of guilt on them as surely as if they had been caught stuffing the bodies into the barrels. Isaac’s reply, however, was not one that Bascot had expected.
“My cousin was not in Lincoln on that day. He left early, to visit a client who has his manor to the northwest of Lincoln, off the Torksey road. The last time he was seen was when he left to fulfill that task.”
Bascot took in the information with surprise. How had Samuel, if he had left Lincoln alive, come to be back there after he was dead?
“You are sure he did not return? Perhaps later in the day?” he asked Isaac.
“I am sure,” Isaac replied. “Samuel was seen leaving by the warden on the western gate and was never seen to come back. We have asked both shifts of the guards, who all knew my cousin well, and have also enquired at the other access points into the town. He did not return. Alive, that is.”
“What was the name of your client? Have you spoken to him? Did Samuel complete his errand?”
Isaac sighed, the curls in his beard bobbing slightly with the movement. “I cannot tell you the name of our client because, as you know, it would be a breach of the confidence placed in us and might lead not only to loss of the customers we have, but could also involve unpleasant recriminations for our lack of discretion. But this much I may tell you. Samuel was on his way to deliver a small quantity of silver to a borrower and to bring back a signed note of the debt. The client has been contacted and insists that Samuel did not arrive as arranged, but…” Isaac lifted his shoulders in an eloquent shrug of dismissal.
Bascot finished the sentence for him. “… the client would say that was the case even if Samuel did deliver the silver as promised. Without the note of debt you cannot prove that any money was borrowed from you.”
Isaac nodded. “Exactly.”
“The Torksey road-that leads in the direction of Philip de Kyme’s demesne, does it not?”
“It does,” Isaac confirmed, “and also passes by many other, smaller fiefs. I will tell you that it was not to Sir Philip’s manor that my cousin was bound.”