Now, I tell you this, I am a rogue born and bred. I have great difficulty in distinguishing between my property and anyone else's, or at least I used to, but I do not like to be dismissed as stupid. True, we had discovered nothing at Glastonbury or of why Cosmas and Damien had been killed. I stared around. Bowyer was drunk, Benjamin lost in his own thoughts or seduced by Rachel's flattery, Mandeville and Southgate were revelling in the manor's hospitality whilst Santerre, whose conduct was suspicious to say the least, played the role of smiling host.
I slammed down my cup and stood up. Bowyer's and Southgate's conversation about the coming hunt faltered and died as I went to stand and warm my backside against the fire.
'Roger?' Benjamin looked at me, puzzled. 'What is the matter?'
I glared round. 'I'm tired,' I began. 'I'm cold and I'm exhausted.' I held my hand up, fingers splayed, and counted the points off like a teacher in front of a group of scholars. 'Cosmas is dead. Damien is dead.' I stared at Santerre. 'The old witch is dead. If you send men into the forest you will find her frozen corpse in that cave she called her home. Finally, on our return from Glastonbury, we were threatened with witchcraft.'
Santerre exclaimed in surprise. Bowyer looked at me drunkenly. I glared at Benjamin and the Agentes.
'Well, aren't you going to tell him?'
'Roger,' Benjamin intervened, 'it's best if you keep a still tongue in your head.'
'Bollocks!' I replied. 'As we came up the trackway of your house, Sir John, we found a Hand of Glory with a lighted candle in its fingers.'
The Santerres just stared, open-mouthed, back at me.
'I'm bloody frightened!' I bawled. 'In the stinking alleys and runnels of Southwark and Whitefriars, the Hand of Glory is a powerful talisman, a warning to us all. Someone here wishes our deaths. Someone at Templecombe or on the estates around. And I for one don't intend to play coney in the hay!'
I stalked out of the hall, quite pleased with myself, and went back to my own chamber. A few minutes later Benjamin joined me. He slipped through the door and pulled up a stool as I lay on the bed.
'Roger, why the outburst?'
I propped myself up on my elbow and looked at him.
'Outside, it's dark, cold and more snow has fallen. Bowyer's drunk as a lord, Mandeville and Southgate are scared, whilst you seem more absorbed in Rachel than anything else.'
Benjamin smiled and shuffled his feet. 'Is that the problem, Roger? Are you jealous?'
I threw myself back on the bed with a laugh. He grabbed my wrist.
'Tell me why you spoke Roger? You usually keep a still tongue in your head. The dutiful, sharp-witted servant who sees all and says nothing.'
I just stared up into the darkness. 'Perhaps you are right, Master, but I am frightened. We are threatened, attacked, two of our companions murdered. We go chasing around this frozen, benighted countryside and discover nothing. Yes, I wish Rachel would look at me as she does at you.' I gazed at him beseechingly. 'But here I'm like a duck out of water, Master. If these were the alleyways of Paris or the runnels of London I could hide or strike back. But what happens if we have been sent here to die, one by one?'
Benjamin shivered and folded his arms. 'We have found something,' he replied. ‘I saw the look on your face as we left Glastonbury.'
'What did Eadred tell you?' I countered.
‘I asked why Sir John Santerre had such close links with Glastonbury?'
'And?'
'At first Eadred tried to bluff, claiming Sir John was a local landowner, but then he confessed that Santerre was funding Abbot Bere's construction of the crypt but told me if I wished to know more, I should ask either Sir John or the abbot. So,' Benjamin smiled, 'what did you find, Roger?'
I told him of my discovery. Now, perhaps it was the poor light but Benjamin's face paled. (Excuse me for a minute, my little clerk is again insisting I furnish such clues immediately. No I will not! As Shakespeare says, 'Every tale has its own metre and beat.' He'll have to wait!) I'll be honest, at the time, I did not recognise the true value of my discovery but Benjamin did.
'Master,' I begged, 'does it mean anything to you?'
'Yes and no,' Benjamin slowly replied. 'When we searched Templecombe's rooms a vague suspicion of how Cosmas died occurred to me. I also thought of something in the church the afternoon Damien was killed.' He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. 'But they are only pieces, Roger. By themselves they mean nothing.'
He left me to sulk until a servant came to announce dinner was ready. I went down to the hall and found Santerre still intent on lavishing hospitality on his guests. The high table was covered in a silk sheet cloth, the best glass and silver had been laid out, whilst the savoury smells from the kitchen and scullery teased our nostrils and mouths with the sweet fragrance of roast duck, meat pies, quince tarts and the sugary odour of fresh marchpane.