Paul Doherty - The Grail Murders

Later in the day, two old women arrived. Mandeville, pale as a ghost, promised them anything provided his companion recovered. He then packed his belongings saying he would no longer stay in Templecombe and requisitioned carts and horses for a move to Glastonbury Abbey.

Any last vestige of merriment at Templecombe completely disappeared. The Santerres stayed well away from Mandeville who stalked the galleries and corridors shouting orders at both servants and the dead sheriff's soldiers. On one occasion he met Santerre inside the main hall. Mandeville pointed an accusatory finger at him.

'I'm leaving, Sir John, but I'll be back in the spring with His Majesty's Justices and a thousand pikemen!' 'Sir Edmund?' Benjamin approached him.

'What is it, Daunbey?' Mandeville snapped, not even bothering to turn his head. 'You are leaving Templecombe for Glastonbury?'

'Yes, I am quitting this hell-hole and recommend you do the same.' 'Southgate cannot be moved.' 'He'll die if he stays here,' Mandeville hissed.

Then perhaps only to the village. Perhaps to the priest's house where he can be guarded by soldiers. Sir Edmund, I beg you, wait a while.

'We can't leave here,' Benjamin insisted. 'Although no snow has fallen, the trackways are frozen hard. Southgate will die before he even reaches the village. Moreover, what will the King say?' Mandeville stared into the flames of the fire.

'I shouldn't have brought Bowyer here,' he moaned. 'I had forgotten about Buckingham.' He chewed his lip and looked at Benjamin. 'Bowyer was involved in the Duke's destruction. He was a marked man. But how?' he asked bleakly. 'How were those horses made to bolt? If you discover that, Master Daunbey, I promise I'll stay until this business is done.' 'Sirs!'

We spun round. Rachel, beautiful in a dark purple gown, stood in the doorway of the hall.

'Sirs,' she greeted us and stepped forward, a determined expression on her face. 'Sirs – especially you, Sir Edmund. My father is distraught, my mother hysterical. I object to you pacing round this house shouting at our servants like some freebooter. We, too, mourn Bowyer's death, and Master Southgate's wounds are being tended.' She looked appealingly at Benjamin. 'We are doing all we can,' she continued gently. 'Southgate will mend, God knows he was fortunate. A broken leg, a fractured arm. The rest are bruises which will quickly heal.'

Benjamin spread his hands helplessly. 'But the deaths and injuries occurred here, Mistress.' He tapped Mandeville gently on the shoulder. 'However take courage, Sir Edmund, Master Hopkins's riddle may be about to unravel.'

Mandeville looked up, startled. Rachel looked puzzled but Benjamin shook his head.

'Not now, there are other matters to deal with.' He gestured at me and we left the hall. 'What do you mean by that, Master?'

'Everything in its own season, Shallot. Now I want to look at Southgate's horse.'

We found the poor animal securely tethered and hobbled in a small, dank stable. It had been unsaddled but its coat was still covered with a thick, sweaty foam though it was now quiet and placid. Benjamin ignored my warnings: he went into the box, talking gently to the horse, smoothing its flanks whilst he examined its underbelly. Then, still talking quietly, he inspected its side.

'As I thought,' Benjamin murmured, coming out. 'Southgate spurred the horse.'

'I did the same but mine didn't bolt like a shot from a sling!'

Benjamin looked round the busy yard where servants were pulling out carts and hitching up horses under the watchful eye of Bowyer's soldiers. Benjamin pulled me into the shadows as Mandeville came out to issue curt instructions for the dead sheriff's body to be removed and informed the soldiers that he would stay at Templecombe for a while. Once he had gone, Benjamin led me back to the stable. He plucked an apple from his pocket, God knows where he got it from, and gave it to the horse who munched it greedily. Benjamin then dug his hand into the empty manger and plucked out the remains of the horse's feed. He examined this curiously, ignoring my questions, and went into the adjoining stable where his own horse was stabled and did the same. Benjamin muttered to himself, wiped his hands and shook his head.

'Ingenious,' he murmured. 'Come on, Roger.' He grabbed me by the arm. 'One final call.'

He led me back into the house and up to Southgate's chamber. The poor man now lay in a great four-poster bed while the two old beldames clacked and muttered to themselves as they fastened splints to his leg and carefully washed his naked, bruised body. Benjamin ignored them as he looked round the chamber. 'Southgate's boots,' he whispered.

I saw one lying under the dresser and pulled it out gingerly lest the spur catch my finger. Benjamin hid it under his cloak and hurried back to his own chamber like a schoolboy who has stolen a sweetmeat. He bolted the door behind us, sat on the bed and carefully examined the spur in the light of a candle flame.

'Perhaps it's washed off,' he murmured. 'But, as Pythagoras said, "Truth can only be found through experimentation".' He lightly scored his finger on the edge of the spur, gasped and quickly dipped it in the bowl of water on the lavarium before bathing it in a little wine. 'That hurt!' he grimaced. 'Master, you will tell me?' I asked.

Benjamin, his wounded finger clasped in a wet rag, grinned from ear to ear.

'Roger, Roger, isn't the human mind ingenious when it comes to plotting the destruction of another being? When I examined Southgate's horse I saw the spur marks. When I examined the manger where the feed had been put, I found oats and bran. When I examined my own horse's stable I found only traces of hay. And finally, when I scrutinised Master Southgate's spur, I found its sharpness tinged with mercury.' 'So?' I began slowly, trying to assemble all the facts.

'So,' Benjamin continued. 'I suspect Bowyer's and Southgate's horses were fed a rich diet of oats and bran both last night and this morning. Now you know, Roger, how that would affect an excitable horse who has had little strenuous exercise? It would become fiery and restless, something I noticed when Bowyer and Southgate left for the hunt. However, can you imagine what would happen if such a horse was not only spurred but goaded by a spur tinged with mercury?' 'It would bolt.' 'Which is what happened.'

'But, Master, Bowyer and Southgate, for all their faults, were expert horsemen. Why didn't they just dismount?'

'Ah! But what if the stirrups of their saddle had been changed, each being given a narrower set? Now, when you mount a horse, you simply push your boot in to the stirrup. That's the easy part. It's like anything else: you can get a small ring on your finger, the problem is getting it off. Remember, Bowyer's and Southgate's boots were wet and so leather would swell a little. Now, as they left Templecombe, the boots fitted snugly. They would not object to such a tight fit, in fact it would help them keep their restless horses under control, but once they had set spurs and the horses bolted, murder occurred.' He shook his head. 'There's no proof. Bowyer's and Southgate's saddles have now been returned to the stable and the original stirrups probably replaced. Nevertheless, that is how I believe the trap was set.' 'But the spurs would be kept in their own chambers?' Benjamin shrugged. 'I don't think that need bother us. There are probably keys to fit every chamber in this house. It would take only a few minutes to open a door, search out the riding boots and pour a little mercury over each spur.' 'And the murderer?'

'A vague suspicion as yet but I tell you this: if the murderer strikes again, it will be against us, Roger, so be on your guard!' 'What about Mandeville?' Benjamin peered at me.

'He could be the murderer, Master. He knew where those agents were in London and about Mistress Hopkins. He could have killed his own men, Cosmas and Damien. Above all, he survived the hunt.'