The Canterbury Murders by Maureen Ash Page A

present state, she may forget something that is important.”
    “Very well,” Miles said. “I will find the priest and ask him where she lives, and also if he will kindly inform her that we will visit her tomorrow.”
    As Miles and Clare went up the path to find the cleric, Gianni trailed behind, his mind working furiously over what they had learned. It was not much, he had to admit, and although he had admonished Miles for being impatient, he now felt the same way himself. In an attempt to ease his disappointment, he touched the wax tablet at his belt, its wooden cover smooth and familiar under his fingers. Perhaps while he made a written report of today’s findings, he thought, he might discern something that had been missed. He recalled the previous investigations when he had accompanied the Templar and how his former master took plenty of time to mull over the facts. He also remembered that Sir Bascot had always said that it was necessary to ask God for guidance and not to rely on intellect alone. Comforted by the thought, Gianni resolved to follow the Templar’s example and, as he entered the church in Miles and Clare’s wake, he fixed his eyes on the crucifix above the rood screen and sent up an earnest plea for heavenly assistance.

Chapter Ten
    The Templar knight who was occupying Gianni’s thoughts was in closer proximity than the lad, or anyone else connected to the murder investigation, realised. Two months earlier, Bascot de Marins had been assigned to a temporary post at Temple Ewell, a small preceptory near Dover castle set high on the cliffs overlooking the Narrow Sea, the main function of which was to provide a transit point for Templars being sent overseas. The preceptor of the commandery had broken his leg during a tussle with a fractious stallion, and Bascot had been sent to assist him until his injury healed. That time had now come and although Bascot had enjoyed the busy atmosphere of the coastal enclave, he was looking forward to returning to Lincoln, a town he had come to consider as home. He would also be pleased to again be near Gianni, a lad he loved like a son. Although they did not see each other often, there was a strong bond between them, and Bascot hoped that during the forthcoming season of Christ’s Mass, their respective responsibilities would be eased enough to allow them to attend one of the services in Lincoln cathedral together.
    Just after Terce on the morning following Gianni and Miles’ visit to St. Alphege’s, Bascot was in the bail of Temple Ewell with the preceptor, Henry Verdun, waiting for a groom to bring out his mount for the return trip to Lincoln, when the two men heard a frantic fluttering of wings overhead. Looking up, they saw a pigeon land in front of a coop built alongside the walkway on the northern palisade and, with a desperate flutter of wings, scuttle inside. In the sky above a hawk circled, but as soon as the pigeon disappeared from view it wheeled away, flying high up into the sky to resume its search for prey.
    â€œThat was a narrow escape,” Verdun exclaimed, “both for the pigeon and the message it carries. The communication must be an urgent one; otherwise, it would have been sent by land. Will you wait here, de Marins, while I see what it is?”
    The preceptor started across the ward, limping slightly on his recently mended leg. The use of pigeons to carry messages—a speedy means of communication learned from the Arabs—was extensive in Outremer, especially when a fortress under attack had need to send an urgent request for support, but was not prevalent in England where the more conventional means of a rider on horseback sufficed for most despatches. Bascot hoped that the message did not contain disastrous news about any of the Templar ships that had recently left the port.
    As Verdun reached the bottom of the ladder that led to the top of the ramparts, one of the guards on the palisade descended,