The Grail Murders

on that lonely island in the middle of the lake.'
    'When we were at Glastonbury,' Mandeville answered, stroking the side of his face, 'I told the abbot to send one of his lay brothers to Taunton with a message for the sheriff to bring armed men to Templecombe. I expect them tomorrow morning. Once they have arrived we will interrogate the servants, cross to the island as well as hunt down that bloody witch.'
    'And the two murders?' I asked. 'Do we have any further evidence?'
    'Nothing,' Benjamin replied quickly. 'One man dies in his bed which mysteriously catches fire. Another is killed by a crossbow bolt but the only door is bolted and the windows shuttered. We have established the assassin had been tramping round in the snow, yet Lady Beatrice and Rachel are wearing the same clothes as they were this morning and, as far as I know, never left the house.' 'Both of you did,' Mandeville tartly replied.
    'But why should we kill Damien? Others were in the house.'
    Mandeville caught Benjamin's steady glance. 'Well, before you ask me, Master Daunbey, I stayed here, though Southgate did leave to ride the estate.'
    He tilted his head and stared down the gallery. 'And, of course,' he whispered, 'there is always Sir John Santerre.'
    I looked sharply at my master. He tugged his ear lobe, our agreed sign for the other to remain silent. Benjamin did not fully trust Mandeville and was unwilling to admit that Sir John Santerre might have gone to Glastonbury.
    Our meeting then broke up, Mandeville stalking back into the hall whilst we returned to our chambers. Benjamin became lost in his own thoughts so I left him alone and lay on my own bed thinking about Mathilda until the bell sounded for supper.
    Despite the rich food, the meal was a sombre affair. Benjamin tried his best to make light conversation but Mandeville and Southgate were withdrawn, Sir John Santerre lost in his own thoughts, Lady Beatrice looked anxious whilst the pale-faced Rachel merely toyed with her food. Once the table had been cleared and everyone was preparing to leave, my master suddenly stood up.
    'This house must be searched,' he declared. 'Every room, every closet.' 'What for?' Mandeville asked. *I don't really know though I will when I see it.' Santerre bristled with rage. 'You may accompany us,' Benjamin added softly. 'Must it be now?' Lady Beatrice asked.
    'I agree,' Mandeville insisted. 'Either now or tomorrow when Sir Henry Bowyer will arrive with armed men from Taunton.' Sir John flinched. 'Is that necessary?'
    'Yes, I sent the message when I was at Glastonbury. The sheriff's men will be able to assist us. Now, after the death of two of my colleagues, I need them for my own protection. Anyway, I am sure you prefer myself and Master Daunbey to search the house rather than clod-hopping shire levies?'
    Sir John did not demur but insisted that he join us. Servants were called, torches and lamps brought and we began our search. Believe me, Templecombe proved to be an even larger house than I thought. The cellars were huge and cavernous but contained nothing remarkable; beer barrels, wine tuns, cut logs, sea coal and other stores. At the far end of the cellar, we found one chamber where the door was padlocked and barred. Santerre hastened to open it but told us not to bring any torches in.
    'Gunpowder and oil are stored here,' he explained. 'We use it for taking rock from the local quarries.'
    The door was opened and I went in. The room was nothing more than a dry, musty cell. Benjamin followed, studying the coiled slow fuses, jars of oil and small barrels of gunpowder piled there. He cocked his head to one side and I could see that something had caught his attention. 'What is it, Master?' 'Nothing, nothing at all.'
    We continued our search and, I tell you this, if any place was haunted, it was Templecombe, particularly those cellars. We then returned upstairs, going from room to room, only to discover nothing untoward.
    At last Mandeville himself called off the search, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
    'We have done what we can,' he commented. 'Tomorrow we search the church and cross to the island.' Benjamin objected. 'There are still the servants' quarters.'
    Mandeville made a face. 'Let the sheriff's men deal with them. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'
    We returned to our chambers, Benjamin joining me in mine. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to recite all he knew as if memorising some poem: 'Buckingham dies, the agents die, garrotted to