they were either delivered or sold.”
Bascot then asked the potter if he made all the containers that were used for the apiary’s honey.
“Aye, lord, I do,” was the response.
“And where are the pots kept after you have fired them and before they are filled?” Bascot asked, trying to determine if there could be a chance that the poison had been placed in the adulterated jars before the honey was poured in.
“In the same shed as they’re kept in after they have been filled and stoppered,” Wilkin told him.
“You told me your dogs gave no alarm of any intruder while the filled pots were in the shed. Was there any alert from them before that, while it contained only the empty ones?”
Both Adam and Wilkin shook their heads. Unless the beekeeper or one of his family was guilty, it seemed unlikely that any of the honey had been adulterated before it left the apiary, or while it was in transit. To be sure, he asked them if the honey was overseen at all times once it had been harvested from the combs and poured into the pots.
“The best grade is,” Adam said. “That be the one we gets from the first gleanin’. It be ready right away, so after we pours it into honey bags it goes straight from the bags into the jars. Then we leaves the bags to drip overnight on their own before wringin’ ’em out for the second gleanin’ and then we washes ’em out with water for the third.”
Bascot nodded absently. He was only interested in the best grade, for it was the type that had been poisoned, and it appeared that it could not have been tampered with while under the beekeeper’s care. The second grade, which was cheaper and usually purchased by people with lesser means, was of no interest to him, and neither was the last type, which was very thin and used mainly to make mead. He resumed his questioning of the potter and the vessels he made.
“Do you make any of the amber-glazed honey pots for another apiary’s use?” he asked.
“No, lord,” Wilkin told him. “I fashion many other vessels that I sell in Lincoln town, but not that kind.”
“I understand it is the practice for the pots, once they have been emptied by your customers, to be returned to the apiary so they can be reused. Are you the one that collects them?”
“Yes, but I only take back those that are not chipped or broken,” Wilkin explained. “We pay the customers a fourthing of a penny for each. I collect the empty pots once a year, in the late summer, so as to have ’em ready for the next harvest.”
So, Bascot thought, all of the empty pots of the type that had been used by the poisoner were still sitting in the castle shed awaiting collection. The same would probably be true in Reinbald’s home; his cook would put them in an out-of-the-way place until the potter arrived to take them away. It would be a simple matter to steal one. A missing pot would not be noticed until Wilkin went to collect it and would even then be thought to have been discarded because it was damaged.
Since it seemed that the honey had not been tampered with while it was on the apiary property-or while it was in Severtsson’s possession-it was likely that the adulteration of the honey had been carried out recently, as had been suspected. Nonetheless, he asked Adam how many pots of that grade had been gleaned last year and if the beekeeper knew who had bought them.
“ ’Twere two score and four pots altogether,” Adam replied. “I don’t know who bought ’em, but Margot does, she keeps the tally sticks for to show the bailiff.”
“A score went to the castle, lord,” the beekeeper’s daughter replied. “Then there were the eight given to Master Severtsson for his uncle, six that went to the priory and t’other ten were sold in ones and twos to customers in the town. I don’t know the names of the people that had those; I never goes to town except to sell the honey, and I only know their faces, not who they are.”
Bascot was relieved to hear that the remainder of the pots had been sold in small quantities throughout the town. It was likely that all of these had been opened and used throughout the winter months, and since no suspicious deaths had been reported during that time, all of that honey must have been pure. Deciding there was nothing further to be learned from Adam and his family, Bascot signalled to Hamo that he was ready to leave.
As they went towards the door of the cot, the bailiff, who was a little ahead of Bascot, hesitated and glanced at Rosamunde. The young woman was still sitting as she had been during the whole time they had been there, staring vacantly at the empty space in front of her, and made no sign of having noticed his, or anyone else’s, presence. Despite that, Wilkin quickly stepped into the space between the bailiff and his daughter in a protective manner and glared at Severtsson. Margot watched her husband’s defiant movement with an anxious face, her lips pressed tight together as though to stop her from crying out in alarm. The bailiff gave them both a disdainful stare and then, with a petulant shrug of his shoulders, turned and left the room.
Severtsson parted company with the two Templars at the junction of the apiary road with the main track, his journey back to Wragby taking him in the opposite direction to their own. As they watched his retreating figure disappear down the road, Bascot said to Hamo, “All is not well between the potter and the bailiff, and it would seem to have some connection with Wilkin’s daughter, Rosamunde.”
Hamo was alert at once, ever conscious of any wrongdoing which might impugn the integrity of the Order. “Severtsson said the girl was unmarried,” he observed. “Perhaps he is the father of her babe. If that is so, the preceptor must be told. The Order frowns on moral laxity among its lay servants.”
“We will do so when we return to Lincoln. But, Hamo, both the potter and the bailiff are connected to the mystery of these poisonings, although only by tenuous threads-Wilkin because he is one of those who oversee the preparation of the honey and undertakes its delivery; and Severtsson because one of the jars that he took to his uncle’s house was adulterated. Is it possible that the enmity between the two is somehow involved in the matter?”
Ten
The poisoner found it difficult to maintain his facade of innocence during the turmoil that followed the deaths of le Breve and his family. His anger had almost overwhelmed him, and it still burned in his gut like molten iron in the depths of a blacksmith’s forge. After all the risks he had taken, it had happened again, just as it had with Nicolaa de la Haye, and instead of the lives of Reinbald and his family being taken, it had been people of no consequence who had died.
He recalled how, for one heart-stopping moment, he had thought himself discovered and had made preparations to flee if the hue and cry was raised for his capture. But, as the hours passed, and his alarm proved groundless, he knew that he could resume his quest for vengeance without fear of hindrance.
He would need to wait before he made another attempt to poison either the castellan or the merchant.
Counselling himself to patience, he took comfort from the thought that since the finger of suspicion had not been pointed in his direction, there would be no obstacle to his entering the premises of his next victim.
Eleven
The morning was not far advanced when Bascot and Hamo returned to Lincoln. D’Arderon was waiting for them, and Bascot told him briefly of their visit to the apiary and of his suspicion that there was something amiss between the bailiff and the potter.
The preceptor shook his head in distaste. “Whether their rancour has any connection to the poisonings or not, if Severtsson has been involved with this young woman, perhaps even responsible for the babe she bore out of wedlock, I cannot let him continue as a servant of the Order. It would be tantamount to blasphemy to do so.” He looked at Bascot with weary eyes. “Unpleasant as it may be, I must learn the truth of the matter, de Marins. The decision to appoint him as bailiff was mine. If he is immoral, I should have discovered his inclinations before giving him the post.”
Hamo nodded his head in confirmation of the preceptor’s statement, and Bascot knew the depth of concern they both felt. Not only must the brothers of the Templar Order be morally above reproach, but also any servants
