The Canterbury Murders by Maureen Ash Page B

holding the tiny scrap of parchment that had been attached to the pigeon’s leg. He handed it to the preceptor who, after reading it, walked back to where Bascot stood.
    â€œI think you had better see this,” Verdun said, handing the paper to Bascot. The parchment had been scraped so thin it was almost translucent. On it was a brief message in miniscule writing. “De Marins to report to Canterbury castle immediately to assist King John in murder investigation. Advise progress.” It was signed by Thomas Berard, the London master of the Order.
    As Bascot scanned the message, the Temple Ewell preceptor studied his companion, trying to gauge his reaction to the command. De Marins was a knight in his late thirties, of medium stature and wearing a patch over the socket of his missing right eye, a legacy from the eight years he had spent as a prisoner of the Saracens in Outremer. The preceptor had found him to be taciturn, but not unfriendly, and had come to respect and like him during the short time Bascot had been at the enclave. Verdun had heard, from some of the brothers who had passed through Temple Ewell on the way to the Holy Land, of de Marins’ exceptional ability at finding the perpetrators of secret murder, and it seemed this talent was once again required. But Verdun was also aware that, like many of his confreres, Bascot did not hold King John in high regard, and that secondment to royal service would not be a welcome duty.
    â€œThe king must have sent a request for your assistance to London,” Verdun commented. “Master St. Maur is in Scotland at the moment, so it would have been received by Thomas Berard. I recently wrote to tell him that my leg was almost healed and I would be able to resume my duties soon. That must be why he sent the message in such haste, in the hope it would arrive before you left to return to Lincoln.”
    Amery St. Maur was the master of the Templar Order in England and, as such, held the highest office in the country. Thomas Berard, master of the London enclave, was St. Maur’s second-in-command. While the Templar Order did not owe fealty to John, or to any other earthly monarch, it was within their discretion to aid the king if the cause seemed worthy. It would appear that Master Berard had decided to comply with John’s request.
    Bascot nodded, making no comment, but Verdun could see the aversion in his pale blue eye. But whether the command was to his liking or not, he was duty bound to obey.
    ***
    As the Templar started on his journey, completely unaware that Gianni and Nicolaa de la Haye were in Canterbury, John was ensconced in a chamber in the priory guesthouse, a pile of parchment on the table beside him. His accommodations were very comfortable. A wide bed with a soft mattress sat in one corner, and there was a large fireplace filled with blazing logs to ward off the cold and an antechamber fitted with an oaken table, padded chairs and settles. This guesthouse was the most prestigious of the three provided for the comfort of pilgrims and visitors, the other two comprising less salubrious quarters; the one on the eastern side, next to the piscina that provided fresh fish for the refectory table, had smaller living quarters and less bounteous fare at table, and the almonry, in the northwest corner of the precincts, had only one large communal chamber for the accommodation of those of poorer means. At the moment he was the only occupant of this particular guesthouse, for William Marshal, with a perversity that seemed suspicious to John, had elected to stay in the less comfortable one beside the piscina, saying that he had need for no more than a pallet on which to lay his head, and that one of its narrow cells would suit him admirably. John had not been pleased at the earl’s decision to keep apart from his company and decided it might be wise to make an effort to heal the breach between them. The earl was a popular figure