The Grail Murders

But what happens if we have been sent here to die, one by one?'
    Benjamin shivered and folded his arms. 'We have found something,' he replied. ‘I saw the look on your face as we left Glastonbury.' 'What did Eadred tell you?' I countered.
    ‘I asked why Sir John Santerre had such close links with Glastonbury?' 'And?'
    'At first Eadred tried to bluff, claiming Sir John was a local landowner, but then he confessed that Santerre was funding Abbot Bere's construction of the crypt but told me if I wished to know more, I should ask either Sir John or the abbot. So,' Benjamin smiled, 'what did you find, Roger?'
    I told him of my discovery. Now, perhaps it was the poor light but Benjamin's face paled. (Excuse me for a minute, my little clerk is again insisting I furnish such clues immediately. No I will not! As Shakespeare says, 'Every tale has its own metre and beat.' He'll have to wait!) I'll be honest, at the time, I did not recognise the true value of my discovery but Benjamin did. 'Master,' I begged, 'does it mean anything to you?'
    'Yes and no,' Benjamin slowly replied. 'When we searched Templecombe's rooms a vague suspicion of how Cosmas died occurred to me. I also thought of something in the church the afternoon Damien was killed.' He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. 'But they are only pieces, Roger. By themselves they mean nothing.'
    He left me to sulk until a servant came to announce dinner was ready. I went down to the hall and found Santerre still intent on lavishing hospitality on his guests. The high table was covered in a silk sheet cloth, the best glass and silver had been laid out, whilst the savoury smells from the kitchen and scullery teased our nostrils and mouths with the sweet fragrance of roast duck, meat pies, quince tarts and the sugary odour of fresh marchpane.
    Santerre had changed into a doublet and hose of grey-silver whilst his wife and daughter both looked resplendent in gowns of blue satin trimmed with gold. Santerre bubbled like a stream in spring. He assured the drunken Bowyer that he would always be welcome at Templecombe and I recalled the friendship formed between Pilate and Herod. Southgate was in his cups though Mandeville looked subdued and stared speculatively at me as if my outburst had revealed a side of my character he had not noticed before.
    The meal was almost over and I had downed at least four deep-bowled cups of claret when the small red stain appeared on the table cloth. At first, I thought it was spilt wine but then it spread and I noticed little splashes coming down from the ceiling above. I gazed up into the darkness but the rafters were cloaked in blackness.
    You've drunk too much, I thought, but then Benjamin noticed the spreading pool and splattered drops.
    'Look!' he cried, pointing to the widening scarlet stain. The chatter and laughter died down. We all sat watching the drops fall and the scarlet blot widen. Benjamin was the first to recover his wits, standing up and pushing back his chair. 'What's above us, Sir John?'
    'A small solar. A chamber with windows looking east. We only use it in summer.'
    Benjamin ran out of the room and I followed. Behind us the shouts and exclamations grew as the scarlet stain spread. We ran upstairs, knocking aside startled servants. I glimpsed Mathilda's white face then ran into the gallery, pushing open the door to the solar.
    The room was cold and dark, the windows shuttered. Benjamin cursed the darkness but, as in any good household, there were boxes right inside the door containing rushlights and candles. Benjamin lit one of these and we walked into the centre of the room. At first we could see nothing so crouched on our haunches, edging forward like crabs, feeling the soft woollen carpet. I touched something wet and sticky. Benjamin pushed the rushlight closer. God forgive me, I could have screamed in terror. Resting in the centre of the carpet, severed at the neck, eyeballs rolled up in their sockets, was the decapitated head of the witch.
    Grotesque in death as it had been, now putrefaction tinged the face a greenish hue. The congealing blood from the severed arteries of the snow-soaked head drenching the carpet and seeping down between the floor boards. My stomach heaved. We heard the door behind us open but Benjamin shouted for everyone to stay out.
    'Come on, Roger,' he whispered. "There is nothing we can do here.'
    Outside in the gallery Benjamin told the rest of the group what we had found. Lady Beatrice became