Bascot stayed apart as much as he could from the mass of people that crowded the bailey and hall, his thoughts still on Tostig and the murders the forester had committed. His own part in the discovery of the man’s guilt still bothered him, mainly because of Joanna’s words blaming his persistence in the investigation for the deaths of the charcoal burner and his sons. His satisfaction at discovering the perpetrator of the crime was tainted by the burden of responsibility that had accompanied it. He began to think again of rejoining the Templar Order. But, if he did, could he bear leaving Gianni to the care of others?
Late that night, as he was sitting in Ernulf’s quarters, ruminating once again on what he should do for the future of both himself and his servant, the serjeant came in from a last check on his men and the castle defences.
“The lords and ladies are all abed, thanks be to God. I’ll be glad when this royal visit is over. As will Lady Nicolaa, I’ll warrant.” The serjeant poured himself a cup of ale and pulled off his boots before sitting down beside Bascot.
“You are up late, my friend,” Ernulf said to him. “Is the bed I gave you too hard to induce a restful night?” He cast an eye at Gianni, curled up fast asleep on a straw pallet in the corner.
“No,” Bascot replied. “I am thankful for it. I have slept on far worse.”
“Aye, I’ve no doubt you have. Still, sleep is not always dependent on a soft couch, is it?”
Bascot shook his head and made no reply. Ernulf, seeing his mood, changed the subject. “I’ve just been talking to an old comrade that rode in here today from Torksey. Strange doings been going on there, it seems.”
Bascot roused himself to be sociable. “How so?”
“Two bodies found floating near the banks of the Trent, tied to one another at the wrists. Vagrants, by the look of them. Or brigands. Unkempt hair and beards, a few scraps of ragged clothing left on their bodies. Both had wounds, one an arrow-hole in his leg, the other’s back and face a mass of bruises and gashes.”
Bascot looked up, startled. “Did your friend say what they looked like?”
“The one with the arrow wound was yellow bearded and thickset. He’d been throttled, his larynx mangled. My friend said he had some twists of dead ivy wrapped around his arms.”
“And the other?” Bascot asked, almost expecting the answer. Gianni had described Green Jack to him and the Templar had told Ernulf.
The serjeant’s expression was knowing. “Sounded just like Fulcher, the brigand that Roget’s men beat almost to a pulp. Had a knife wound in his chest. Probably bled to death.”
“You said they were tied together?” Bascot’s mouth suddenly tasted sour.
“Aye,” Ernulf confirmed. “Tight as lice in a beggar’s armpit. The bindings were river weed.”
The serjeant poured another cup of ale and handed it to Bascot. “Looks like Fulcher kept the promise you told me about. Made sure Green Jack kept him company on his journey to hell.”
I T WAS EARLY THE NEXT MORNING THAT O SBERT CAME to the barracks and asked to speak to Bascot. “Lady Nicolaa sends a message from the king. You are to attend him in his chamber-that is, the one that is usually Lady Nicolaa and Sir Gerard’s bedchamber-at the top of the keep.”
Bascot straightened his tunic and pulled on his boots. “Did she say what it is that the king wants of me?” he asked as he splashed cold water from a ewer on his face.
Osbert shook his head. “But I don’t think it’s anything bad,” he replied cheerfully. “She didn’t look unhappy at sending for you.”
Bascot followed Osbert across the bail. Servants and animals were just beginning to stir, shaking themselves awake in readiness for the onerous demands of another day tending to the needs of a castle overflowing with guests. The page trailed through the hall in front of Bascot, then up a flight of stairs to a room Bascot had never been in before, a well-appointed chamber with a large bed set in a wall space and draped with covers and hangings of finely worked tapestry. Alongside the bed was a huge carved-oak clothes press and an ironbound chest secured with triple locks. Under a narrow recessed window was a small table. On its surface was a flagon of wine and cups, a holder with thick lighted candles, and a sheaf of parchment and writing implements. It was at this table that the king was seated, sunk deep in the depths of a furred bed-gown, his feet comforted by soft shoes of lambskin. In one corner a brazier of charcoal burned. There was no sign of the queen.
“Sit down, Templar,” John said once Osbert had announced Bascot and left the room, motioning towards a stool. “And pour yourself a cup of wine. It is good Rhenish, my favourite. Nicolaa knows my tastes.”
Bascot went down on one knee and bowed his head in obeisance before accepting the king’s offer. John’s saturnine gaze regarded him obliquely for a few moments before he spoke.
“I have been told by Lady Nicolaa of the part you played in discovering the man responsible for the death of Hubert de Tournay,” John began. “It seems that without your assistance the forester would never have been found guilty of the crime.”
Bascot hesitated to make any response to this statement. He did not know how much of the story Nicolaa had told the king. Was John aware that the boy had been the source of a rumour about a plot to undermine his crown? Had he been told that Nicolaa’s own husband and her brother-by-marriage, Richard de Humez, had been suspected of complicity?
“I am pleased to learn that Lady Nicolaa holds my help in such high regard,” he finally said noncommittally. “But, in truth, Your Grace, many others contributed to the discovery of Tostig’s guilt. My own part was negligible, for I did not have any knowledge of the squire before his death.”
John had been watching him carefully as he answered. Now he leaned back his head and laughed.
“There speaks a diplomatic answer,” John remarked with a chuckle. “Say nothing of import and cast no aspersions.” The king shook his head, amused. “You have no need to be careful, de Marins. Nicolaa has told me all, of the machinations the boy hinted at, as well as the possible culpability of some of my barons. That is why I value Nicolaa so much. She is loyal and she is honest. Speaks when there is need and stays quiet when there is not. I could wish more of my nobles were made of such stuff, especially the de Tournay family.”
His tone became heavier. “Godfroi came to me decrying the rumour that was being bruited abroad about his family. His protestations were vociferous. So much so that it made me not of a mind to believe him. I will ensure a sharp eye is kept on him and his brother in future.” Bascot felt a small stab of pity for Godfroi. Whether he was guilty of treason or not, the murder of his half brother had affected the de Tournay family in more ways than one.
John rose, his mood seeming to have plunged into darkness as he picked up his wine cup and walked to the window. It was deeply silled on the inside, and all that could be seen through the narrow slit of its opening was a patch of dull grey sky. He stood looking out of the embrasure for some moments and when he spoke again, it was on a completely different topic.