The Grail Murders

makeshift coffin lay on trestles before the altar. Six purple candles, three on either side, flickered in heavy iron holders. Someone had nailed a simple crucifix to the top of the lid with the name 'Cosmas' scrawled in black beneath it. On a prie-dieu, at the foot of the coffin, knelt the dead man's brother, his shaven head bowed, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Mandeville came up behind us.
    The coffin will lie here tonight,' he whispered. Tomorrow we will take it down to the village church.' He then strode off as Damien turned, his eyes red with weeping, his white face now puffy. Before, he had always been rather frightening but now he looked pathetic with his tear-stained cheeks, grieving eyes and red gaping mouth which could only make gurgling sounds as Benjamin took him by the hand and tried to convey his condolences. The poor mute nodded, his hideous face twisted into a smile, but when he looked at me, his eyes narrowed. Oh no, I thought, here we go. Old Shallot's a suspect again! I tried to look sympathetic but that only made matters worse and the fellow waved his fingers in the air as a sign for us to go and, turning his back, resumed his prayers. We left and he followed us to the church door. We heard it slam behind us and the key turn in the lock. 'The poor fellow wants to be alone,' Benjamin murmured.
    'I understand that,' I replied. 'But must he look at me as if I am the murderer?'
    Benjamin linked his arm through mine and we walked back to the manor house.
    'I know the truth, Roger. But they think differently. After all, you were the first to leave the dinner table. You could have prepared that fire and retired to bed.'
    'How could I?' I cried. 'Moreover, Master,' I dragged my arm away, 'you know Cosmas was a professional spy, an agent. Didn't he lock his chamber door?'
    'Unfortunately not,' Benjamin replied. He looked at me, his face innocent. 'Don't forget, Roger, the key was on the inside of his chamber. Cosmas thought he was safe. After all, he was protected by the King's chief agent. Remember the old proverb: "It's easy for the hunter to forget how quickly it is to become the hunted." Anyway,' he seized my arm again, 'do you always lock your chamber?'
    I wondered if my master knew something about my tryst with Mathilda but he had that distant, innocent expression. Benjamin at his most inscrutable.
    'Did you really think,' I asked, quickly changing the subject, 'the chapel could pose a solution to Hopkins's riddle?'
    'Not really, but the riddle must refer to a place. Either here at Templecombe or, more likely, Glastonbury.' "There's one other place, Master.' 'Such as?' 'The house on the island.'
    Benjamin's face beamed in surprise. 'Of course,' he breathed and, turning round, went back past the chapel and down to the lakeside.
    We stood staring across the icy water at the mist-shrouded island. God knows, it was a most desolate place. The water was covered with a film of ice whilst above it a grey mist boiled. It almost disguised the island and its strange Templar house for we could only glimpse the tiles of its roof.
    'I wonder what used to happen there?' Benjamin whispered.
    I shivered and stamped my feet. You didn't have to have the soul of a poet to conjure up what could have been; in my mind's eye I had a vision of Templars in their faceless conical helmets, red and white crosses on their black cloaks, moving across the island at the dead of night, the barges being soundlessly poled whilst, at prow and stern, huge cresset torches spluttered and flared in the darkness. Why would they go there? I wondered. Some macabre rite? A Satanic mass? The conjuring of evil spirits? Or to indulge in illicit sexual pleasures? 'We should go across,' Benjamin commented.
    'Not now, Master,' I said, trying to hide my panic. 'It's growing dark. Heaven knows how thick that ice is. And, if we have to go, I would like to be armed.'
    Thankfully, Benjamin agreed and we returned to the manor house. I was cold and stiff, so went back to my chamber to warm myself. I lay on the bed for a while wondering if Mathilda might return, before drifting into a troubled sleep where ghastly figures, masked and hooded, danced on a lonely island before a terrible demon god. Benjamin shook me awake.
    'Santerre has returned,' he whispered. 'Let's go down and see where he really went.'
    We found Sir John and his family in the great hall, sitting on the coffer-box chairs before the fire. Santerre seemed cheerful enough, shuffling