The Grail Murders

but see where he goes to.'
    The prospect didn't appeal to me but, there again, neither did the thought of lounging around Templecombe. So I slipped back upstairs, taking more careful note of my surroundings, particularly the small gargoyle's heads in the cornices of the ceilings and, above all, the great blackened Beauce crosses. Why hadn't they faded with time? Were they being constantly re-painted and gilded as some sort of memorial to that ancient secretive order? I reached the chamber, found the door half-open and cursed my own stupidity. I don't trust myself and, apart from Benjamin, I certainly didn't trust anyone else yet I had forgotten to take the key down with me.
    I pushed the door open quietly. A young woman sat with her back to me on the far side of the great four-poster bed. Her head was covered in a white coif with a white shawl shaped in the form of a triangle going down her back like a liripipe. I heard the clink of coins, smiled and tiptoed round the bed.
    'Good morrow, Mistress,' I said, leaning against a bedpost. I glanced at my purse in her lap and the coins scattered on the bed beside her. 'Do I owe you something?'
    The young woman just stared back like a frightened rabbit. I caught a glimpse of auburn hair and large blue eyes in a suntanned face. She seemed to be about seventeen or eighteen years old.
    'I asked you a question, Mistress. Do I owe you some money? If not,' I continued sarcastically, 'can you tell me why my purse is in your hand?'
    I stepped closer and the young woman rose and made to flee but I seized her by the wrist. She struggled.
    'I am sorry,' she pleaded, her voice betraying a thick country burr. 'Oh, sir, I am sorry but I saw it lying there and the temptation was too much for me.'
    I pulled the girl closer, caught the faint perfume of lavender and roses and noted appreciatively how, under the brown smock, her plump breasts rose and fell in agitation. 'You're Mathilda, aren't you?'
    'Yes, sir, I'm the chambermaid and I am also responsible for the linen cupboard.' 'And you prepared the beds for Sir John's guests?' The girl nodded, still wide-eyed. 'Including the bed of the man who died?'
    Now the girl's face paled. 'Yes, sir, but as I have told Sir John and Master Devil…' I laughed at the girl's pun on Mandeville's name. With his black garb, Italianate features and fearsome reputation, Sir Edmund must appear as Master Lucifer himself to the peasants of Templecombe Manor.
    'I saw nothing untoward,' she repeated. 'You are hurting me, sir, let go of my wrist!'
    'Why should I? You are a thief. You could be hanged for what you have done.' I looked at her in mock sternness. She caught the mischief in my eyes and pressed against me.
    'Oh, come, sir,' she said. 'Perhaps you could give me one of these coins and send me away with a beating? I have been wicked.'
    She pressed her body closer against me. I could feel her soft breasts and noted how slender and long her neck was. I released her hand and grasped her firmly by the buttocks, small but ripe. The girl touched the leather belt round my waist. 'You could use that,' she said thickly.
    Well, you know Old Shallot. Like a jousting knight, my lance was ready! The girl's body was curved and slender and my hands were straying to the ribbons on her bodice. Then I thought again. Old Shallot's rule: never force yourself on a woman. And, like the romantic fool I was, I thought Mathilda was only offering herself in an act of desperation. I tapped her gently, picked up a silver coin and thrust it into her soft, warm hand. 'Don't do it again,' I growled. 'Now, begone!'
    I heard her trip across the floor and the door closed behind her. I stood, eyes closed, congratulating myself on my newly found sanctity – then cursed at the sharp knock on the door. I went across and threw it open, exasperated that my holy moment had been so brutally shattered. Mathilda stood there, her bodice unlaced, breasts as ripe as any fruit, half-spilling out of her dress.
    ‘I really do think,' she murmured mischievously, 'that I deserve correction.'
    Well, what could I say? Old Shallot has another rule: never resist temptation twice. And within five minutes, we were both as naked as when we were born, bouncing merrily across the great four-poster bed. She was young and vigorous, a warm and comely maid, and what she lacked in skill, Mathilda certainly made up for in enthusiasm. She laughed and screamed until I had to smother her mouth with kisses. Even now, years