The Grail Murders(63)

Benjamin walked into one of the small transepts and stopped beneath the window. He opened this and, from the darkness, picked up a long, narrow ladder, the type soldiers climb when scaling a castle wall, or a tiler might use when working on the roof of a house. Benjamin pushed this ladder through, then hoisted himself up and, with a great deal of huffing and puffing, disappeared down the ladder. I heard it scrape as it was lifted away and his voice sang out.



'So you see, Roger, this is how the murderer left.'



'Very good,' I called out. 'But how do you close the shutters, both from the inside and the outside?'



'Oh, very easily,' my master replied. 'Stand back!'



I did so. The shutters slammed shut and I even heard the catch fall. I ran out. Benjamin was standing a few yards away from the church, the ladder still in his hand. It was apparent that he had used it both to slam the shutters and so knock the simple latch back into place. I walked over to him. He stood, as pleased as a school boy, grinning and clapping his hands.



'You see, Roger, I used the ladder to get out of the church. I leave no footprints under the window and use the same ladder to shut the window and force the catch back.' He blew on his cold fingers. 'I could have opened the outside latch in the same way.'



'But what about the one inside?'



Benjamin shrugged. 'That is neither here nor there. Do you remember when we went into the church with Mandeville and the rest? It was dark, anyone could have slipped along the transept and put the catch down. And don't forget, Roger,' Benjamin added, 'with the window slamming shut, the inside latch might just have fallen into place.' He took



the ladder and slung it into the snow-covered bushes. 'What now, Master?'



He put his arm round my shoulders. 'To be perfectly honest, my dear Roger, I don't really know. But go back to your room and wait for me there.'



Mathilda was waiting for me in my chamber. I grinned and seized her, but she was not in a playful mood. She looked fearfully around and I wondered if there were eyelets or spy-holes in the wall.



'Listen!' she hissed. 'You have not hurt my father, so listen to this. Tonight, the Templars will meet on the island.'



I shook my head disbelievingly.



'Yes,' she persisted. 'I tell the truth. It's all I can or will tell you. Go down to the lakeside. There will be a barge waiting for you but don't cross unless you see the lights. Study the island carefully and you will see.' She pushed me away. 'I'll do no more,' she repeated, and left.



My master came back, slightly bemused, lost in his own thoughts and I had to repeat two or three times what Mathilda had told me. He chewed his lip and looked at me.



'How do we know it's not a trap?'



'I don't think it is. It stands to reason, Master. That island, its awesome long house . . . We both know it lies at the heart of this mystery.'



'Does it?' Benjamin asked. 'Does it really?' and wandered away.





Chapter 13



The mood in the Santerre household was not conducive to any more festive banquets or grand meals. Mandeville kept to himself, fretting about Southgate and when the additional soldiers would arrive. So we snatched mouthfuls of cold food and went back to our own chamber to wait until midnight. It seemed an eternity in coming. We carefully watched the flame of the hour candle eating away the wax from ring to ring.



When it reached the twelfth, Benjamin and I dressed in boots and cloaks, put on our sword belts and quietly left. The house seemed asleep yet, as I have said, it had a life of its own. Time and again we stopped, hearts beating, the hair on our necks prickling with fear at the eerie, creaking sounds which seemed to match our every move. We crept down into the hall, through the kitchen and out by a small postern door.



The night was as black as the Devil would wish. No moon, no stars, just a cold biting wind moaning, shifting the gaunt branches of the trees and throwing icy flurries of snow on to our heads. I would have preferred to have lit torches but Benjamin was against this.



'We hunt creatures of the night, Roger. Let us become like them.'



We slipped and slithered out of the stable courtyard where horses moved and snickered, past the Templar church and down to the gleaming lakeside. We sat on our haunches, two black shapes against the snow, and peered through the mist at the faint outline of the island. At first we could see nothing, our eyes hurting and smarting at the strain as well as the biting night air. Then Benjamin stirred and seized my arm.



'Am I seeing things?' he hissed.



I stared through the bleak darkness. Still I could see nothing but then I glimpsed the light of a torch. One, perhaps two. The flames seemed to flicker as if someone was moving about on the island.



'Come on, Roger!'



Benjamin and I slithered down the bank. We saw the barge, pole resting in its stern, as if some ghostly boatman was waiting to take us across. We clambered in. Benjamin sat in the prow whilst I grabbed the pole, brushing the ice away, trying to close my mind and senses to the chill wind and the lapping of the cold black lake. At first I was clumsy but then my old skill returned. (Don't forget, I was raised in Norfolk where the skill of punting barges is as natural as walking.) Nevertheless, I make a confession: Benjamin and I were stupid. Now and again we made such mistakes. An excess of impetuosity, the rashness of youth. Time and again it nearly cost us our life and that night, on the frozen lake, was no different. I had made two, maybe three sweeps of the pole, when I felt a wet slippiness beneath me. Benjamin spun round, his face a white mask in the darkness. He, too, had felt the dampness seep in and yet, due to the broad sweeps of my pole and perhaps the motion of the lake, we had already travelled yards from the shore.