The Grail Murders

breaking furniture, the shouts of soldiers and the stench of cooking fires. Even I, a professional thief, felt sickened at the wanton vandalism. I was half-way between Templecombe and the chapel, about to turn back, when a dark shape stepped out of the bushes. 'Master Shallot! Master Shallot! For the love of God!'
    I looked round. No soldiers were present so I moved into the shadows to meet Mathilda. 'It is all over?' she asked.
    'Yes. The Santerres have fled. Mistress Rachel is Mandeville's prisoner.'
    The girl bit back a sob. I remembered the icy waters of the lake and seized her by the shoulders. 'You could have killed us!' I hissed.
    She looked up fearfully. I could tell by her white face and staring eyes that she did not know what had happened. 'What do you mean?' she whispered.
    'Nothing,' I replied. My hands fell away. 'Did you know that Rachel Santerre was the leader of the Templar coven?' The girl shrugged.
    'We suspected but nothing was proved. Sometimes we met on the island but the master was always hooded and cowled. Orders would be issued, instructions about what we had to do.' She licked her lips and stared fearfully over my shoulder towards the house.
    'We were told you were not really our enemy, Master Shallot. I was asked to know you better.' She moved a little closer. 'What will happen to us?' she pleaded.
    'By now,' I replied, 'Sir John and Lady Beatrice should be on board ship bound for foreign parts. Mistress Rachel is to be taken to London.' 'And us?'
    Tell your people to flee. Put as much distance between themselves and Templecombe as possible, your father especially.' 'Where can we go?' she wailed.
    I glimpsed the terror in the poor girl's face and realised she had simply been a tool. They had all been used by Rachel Santerre for her ancient order. I loosened my money belt (oh, yes, where I went, it went) and counted out ten gold coins, a veritable fortune, then slipped a small jewelled ring off my finger and pushed it all into her hands.
    Take your child,' I said, 'and your father, and within a week follow Sir John and Lady Beatrice abroad. I cannot do more for you.'
    I walked back to the house, feeling as brave and courageous as Hector. 'Roger!' I turned and glimpsed Mathilda's white face in the shadows. 'You should go,' I repeated.
    They said you were a rogue but you have more honour than any of them. Goodbye, Roger Shallot!'
    I saw the shadows move, Mathilda disappeared and I walked back into the house. Now, naturally, with so many light-fingered bastards about, I decided that the best course of action was to recoup my losses with Mathilda. I grabbed whatever took my fancy and walked back to my chamber with a jewel-encrusted cup plucked from the fingers of a drunken soldier. After all, the labourer deserves payment and I wanted to show a little profit.
    Benjamin was lying on my bed snoring like a child so I walked back along the galleries. Mandeville was frenetically trying to re-impose order whilst at the same time preparing for a quick departure to London the following morning. 'Are you and Daunbey returning with us?' he snapped. 'Must we?' I asked.
    He shrugged. 'That is a matter for you. It is important that I take my prisoner to London and report direct to the King.' 'May I see Mistress Rachel?' 'Why?' 'I wish to take my farewells.' Mandeville looked at me suspiciously. 'My master has ordered me to,' I lied glibly.
    (Do you know, when I was young, I looked my most innocent when I was lying through my teeth?)
    'She has been moved from her own chamber,' Mandeville retorted, 'to one of the cellars beneath the hall. She is being well looked after.' 'My master is the Cardinal's nephew,' I added.
    Mandeville pulled a face and shrugged. 'Come! I will take you there.'
    The passageways beneath the hall were lit by torches and guarded by Bowyer's soldiers. We stopped before an iron-studded door. 'Open it!' Mandeville ordered.
    Inside the cellar smelt musty though, even in that dark forbidding place, I still caught the tang of Rachel's perfume. The woman herself sat on a trestle bed: she looked composed, even serene, and smiled as I entered. 'Good evening, Master Shallot. You have come to gloat?'
    Mandeville slammed the door behind me and turned the key. 'A place for a princess, eh, Shallot?'
    I looked round the gaunt chamber. A cresset torch flickered high on the wall and tallow candles dripped their smelly wax on a shabby table.
    'Stolen from the stables,' Rachel explained, catching my