The Alehouse Murders (Templar Knight Mysteries, No. 1)
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A Templar treasure for mystery readers!
An honorable-yet world-weary-Knight Templar solves the mysteries of Medieval England.
After eight years of captivity in the Holy Land, Templar Bascot de Marins escapes with injuries to his body and soul. Now on a sojourn at Lincoln Castle, he hopes to regain his strength, and mend his waning faith-but not even the peace of God's countryside is safe from the mortal crimes of man. For what appears to be the grisly end to a drunken row is in fact a cunning and baffling crime.
to refill his goblet with wine from a leather bottle on the table. “Whatever ails them they bleat and cry like lost lambs, pleading poverty while they count their silver in secret.” Bascot made no remark; neither did the sheriff’s wife. Camville resumed his pacing. Bascot could not ever recall him being still, except when he was eating. It was said the old king, Henry, father to both Richard and John, had been the same, forever moving. Gerard Camville had been familiare to King Henry, one of a
the Templar made their slow progress down the street. He knew that they would soon arrive at his own door and he waited with indecision, uncertain as to whether to take refuge in flight over the wall or to stay and do as he had promised Wat the day before the alekeeper had been found dead. Brunner had never thought matters would come to such a pass. Wat had merely told him there was a goodly pile of silver to be had if he gave the alekeeper one of his harlot’s old gowns and was to tell anyone, if
pig or a goat as replacement for his bear, yelling that even a goose would be superior as an adversary for the dogs. Bascot edged past the throng while Gianni, as usual, kept pace at his right hand. The boy knew his master’s blindness on that side could make him unaware of an imminent collision with a passerby or the encroachment of a nimble-handed thief. He had also noticed Bascot’s dark mood and wanted to prevent any such upset from deepening it. As they pushed their way down the sharp incline
remnants of his earlier irritation, Bascot answered him with little patience. “I have come to see the letters written by Hugo’s mother. It is possible they will give some hint of how Lady Sybil or Conal could have found out about your illegitimate son’s existence.” De Kyme nodded drunkenly. “Yes. A common acquaintance here in Lincoln, perhaps. Some merchant the boy was to travel with that had a loose tongue. I will send for Scothern. He has the letters in his safekeeping.” As a servant was sent
heavily on Conal’s arm, Hilde went slowly from the hall. It was late in the evening before Bascot began the ascent up the stairs to the chamber where Lady Hilde awaited him. The Templar was tired and his leg ached from the riding he had done that morning, and also from his walk to the priory that afternoon after he had left the company in the hall. The purpose of his visit had been to see if the priest, Father Anselm, was showing any signs of recovery. Brother Jehan led him to the injured