Free The Canterbury Murders by Maureen Ash

certain it could not have been an intruder that killed the woman?” he asked.
    The mercenary shook his head. “Positive. Two of my men were on guard inside both entrances, there was another at the landing stage by the river and two more kept watch over the stables and the outbuildings. I also made regular patrols of the premises myself every hour. It is impossible that anyone could have entered without being seen.”
    “Then if follows that the culprit must be a member of the household,” Marshal declared.
    Chacal shrugged, his impenetrable flat grey eyes showing little interest beyond exoneration of himself and the soldiers under his command. “That is how it appears to me and, if so, neither I nor my men can be held accountable. I was not given any dictate to keep watch over the servants, or to monitor their movements.”
    The Earl of Pembroke studied the mercenary captain. He knew him only slightly, for Chacal had joined the de Socienne band only a week or two before John left Normandy. He had an aloof manner and seemed a little resentful that the competence of his men was being called into question, but Marshal could understand his attitude. He had been young and penniless himself once and, like Chacal, had found it necessary to ply his sword to earn his livelihood. Poverty was not an easy burden for a man to bear and he could not blame the mercenary for fearing John might dismiss him for incompetence.
    “Well, the matter may soon be resolved,” Marshal said. “The king intends to ask the master of the Templars for the assistance of one of their monks, a man who has considerable experience in investigating such matters. With good fortune, he will be allowed to come and we may hope for a speedy resolution.”
    At that moment, John appeared in the doorway of the tower and, after calling for a servant to bring his cloak, handed the constable his letter to Amery St. Maur. “Arrange for this to be sent with all despatch,” he ordered, “and see that the reply, when it comes, is brought to me immediately at the priory guesthouse.”
    As the king and Marshal walked away, Chacal looked after them thoughtfully and then asked Criel if he was acquainted with the Templar monk of whom the earl had spoken.
    “I have made his acquaintance, but his reputation as an investigator is known to me only from hearsay,” the constable replied. “He is a knight by the name of Bascot de Marins. He has a rare talent, apparently—solved a number of secret murders in Lincoln and gained the esteem of both Lady Nicolaa and the king.”
    “Whether or not he catches the killer is beyond my interest,” Chacal replied dismissively. “I care only that he has enough skill to clear the stain on my reputation by proving it wasn’t an intruder that committed the murder.”

Chapter Nine
    The cathedral bells were tolling Compline when Gianni, Miles and Clare set out for the death house in St. Alphege’s church, the dolorous peals soon joined by the bells of all of the other churches in the city, creating a canopy of rolling noise overhead. St. Alphege’s was some distance from Watling Street, situated in the northwest area of the city near the cathedral, and in the darkness of the winter evening the streets were almost deserted. A bitterly cold wind was blowing and Clare huddled deep into her cloak, trying to summon up enough inner strength to carry out the grisly task that lay ahead. She had encountered secret murder before, and most closely, when the young clerk she had promised to marry had been killed by a poisoner. Because it had been she who had inadvertently served the food containing the lethal dose, her grief had been all the harder to bear. Lady Nicolaa had given her great comfort at the time, and she was resolved not to let her aversion for touching a dead body overcome the need to repay the debt she owed her mistress.
    The short service was over by the time they reached the church, the few parishioners who had attended hurrying