Paul Doherty - The Grail Murders

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.

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. 'Roger, it's been holed!'

I let the pole slip and crouched, plunging my hand into the bottom of the barge. My heart jumped in fear as I felt an inch of icy water. I put the pole down and clambered on hands and knees round the barge, looking for the hole.

Now this is where my skill as a bargeman saved our lives. You see, on the Broads of Norfolk and Suffolk such accidents are common and the unwary make one of two mistakes, or even both. They try to reach the place they are heading for or else turn back to the shore. Sometimes, due to panic and fear, they try both. But take Old Shallot's advice: if you are in a boat or barge which has been holed, particularly one where the damage is malicious, stop rowing and block that hole for any further movement of the barge simply helps the water rush in.

At last I found it in the stern of the barge, a hole the size of a man's fist as if someone had taken a hammer and smashed through the bottom. I took off my cloak and immediately began to thread the fabric through the hole. My master, who had found a similar one on the port side, first tried his cloak but then cursed as it went into the lake and he had to stop the hole with the heel of his boot. For a few seconds, and it seemed like hours, we just crouched, looking at each other, as the barge danced on the glassy surface. I glanced quickly towards the island where the siren light still beckoned us on. 'I am sorry, Master,' I wailed. 'Oh, shut up, Roger!' he hissed.

I kept my hand pressed to the bottom of the boat, my fingers freezing in the icy water swilling round us, but I noticed it grew no deeper. 'Master?'

'Yes,' Benjamin hissed. 'Now, Roger, my friend, turn this barge round and pull us to the shore, swiftly, with all your skill. If there's another hole and the water swamps us, we will not survive for long in these icy waters.'

Now you know Old Shallot. My heart was pounding, my stomach spinning like a child's top. I wanted to cry, weep and beg the Almighty for mercy. I seized that bloody pole, swinging the barge round even as I felt the water beneath me slop and gurgle as if maliciously laughing at me, waiting to embrace us in its frozen grasp. The barge turned. I closed my eyes and began to pole.

'Roger!' my master screamed. 'You are going the wrong way!'

I opened my eyes and realised the barge had only half-turned and we were now running parallel to both the island and the shore. I began to pole and pray with a vigour which would have astonished any monk. In between snatches of prayer I cursed, using every filthy word I knew, until that bloody barge was heading straight back to the bank. The water lapped round my ankles. We had failed to discover a third or even fourth hole and still the water was rising.

My master manoeuvred himself round, using his hand to scoop out the icy water, shouting at me to pole faster. We skimmed across the surface of that sodding lake whilst all around us gathered the dark hosts of hell. The water rose higher but then, just as Old Shallot's courage began to crumble into blind panic, the barge shuddered to a stop; both my master and I ran ashore, grateful to fall sobbing on to the snow-soaked bank.

My master crouched, breathing in deeply to calm himself, whilst Old Shallot dealt with the threat in his usual formidable way.

'Bastards!' I screamed, jumping up and down on the bank, shaking my fist at the island. 'You murdering, sodding bastards! Come on, Master!' I seized Benjamin by the arm.