alehouses, where drink had loosened tongues and made people reckless. Roget and his men were finding it difficult to comply with Nicolaa de la Haye’s directive to treat the townspeople gently and had no choice but to incarcerate some of the worst offenders in the town gaol.
A few citizens believed that the safety of themselves and their families could only be ensured by leaving the confines of the town, and within hours, wains laden with household goods began to trundle their way through the streets towards the exits of Newport Arch at the north end of Lincoln, and Stonebow in the south.
As the day progressed, Roget found himself more weary than he could recall having ever been before, even on those many occasions when it had been necessary to fight all day long on a bloody battlefield. As he paced the streets in an attempt to maintain order, he promised himself that never again would he drink wine flavoured with honey, even if he was sure it was untainted. The remembrance of this day would make its sweetness turn sour in his mouth.
By the time Bascot and Gianni left Germagan’s house, it was almost midday and they were both getting hungry. The Templar purchased a loaf of bread from one of the bakers in Baxtergate, and they munched on pieces of it as they walked back into the town, passing through Stonebow Gate and going up Mikelgate Street in the direction of the castle. As earlier in the day, people were still gathered in the streets, and some of the groups Bascot and Gianni passed were engaged in passionate argument. A few of those who had decided to leave Lincoln had wains or packhorses outside their doors and were in the process of piling them high with panniers containing clothing and other personal possessions.
As the Templar and his servant neared the intersection of Brancegate, Bascot saw the merchant, Reinbald, accompanied by a younger man who had enough resemblance to Ivor Severtsson to be his brother, coming towards them. The merchant hailed the Templar and, after introducing him to his companion-who proved to be, as Bascot had suspected, Ivor’s brother, Harald-asked if the search for the poisoner had made any progress.
“Not yet, I am afraid,” Bascot replied. “But it is to be hoped that will change soon.”
Reinbald shook his head, the heavy jowls on his face quivering with the movement. “I fear these deaths are causing much alarm amongst all of those in the town. My poor wife is very distraught, not only at the thought that she was the means by which her good friend, Maud le Breve, and her family died, but also that it could have been us that are lying on our biers in their stead.”
Bascot asked how le Breve’s old servant, Nantie, was faring. It was Harald Severtsson who answered. He was very like his brother in appearance, but shorter and not so well-favoured in his features. His face had a more serious cast to it, and his eyes held a look of candour that was lacking in Ivor’s.
“We have just been to the guildhall, Sir Bascot, to arrange a collection of funds to assist her,” he said, his words touched with the slight Norse accent that Bascot had noticed in his brother. “As yet, she refuses to leave le Breve’s home and is keeping watch over their biers, but after they have been laid to their rest, she will be homeless. My uncle and I have proposed that a collection be made from those of affluence and used to sustain her for the rest of her days, perhaps in the guesthouse of a local nunnery.”
Bascot was very pleased to learn that the old servant would be provided for and then asked if the merchant had given any more consideration as to who could have had reason to place the poison in his kitchen.
“I have wracked my brain to think of any person who would bear me such malice,” Reinbald replied. “While there is sometimes a small rivalry between myself and another wine merchant, I can think of nothing of such severity that it would give rise to a wish for my death.”
“If this attack is not a random one, Onkel, then it would be a dull-witted person that would take revenge over an enmity that was well-known to you, for he would immediately be suspected of the crime,” Harald observed. “And, because of the boldness and cunning it must have taken to place the poison in Tante Helge’s kitchen, I do not believe this poisoner is lacking in intelligence.”
As Bascot took his leave of the merchant and his nephew, Harald’s last words made the Templar take them into his consideration of the likelihood that Wilkin had committed the crimes. The potter was more well-spoken than the rest of his family, an influence, no doubt, of being often within the town and conversing with the customers he met while he plied his wares. But did such an asset denote the intelligence that Harald Severtsson believed the poisoner possessed? If Wilkin had truly been the person who had adulterated the honey, would he not have been devious enough to hide his dislike of the bailiff in front of himself and Hamo? The Templar would have thought so, but bitter experience had taught him that a person who commits secret murder often wears a guileless face. It could be that Wilkin was such a one.
Fourteen
When Bascot returned to the castle, he found Nicolaa de la Haye in the hall where she had, up until a few moments before, been speaking to the town bailiff, Henry Stoyle. The official, an expression of disquietude on his face, was just leaving as Bascot came in.
When Bascot approached the dais, Nicolaa was discussing with Gilles de Laubrec the results of her meeting with Stoyle. Seeing the Templar, she immediately invited him to take a seat and sent a page scurrying for a cup of wine.
“I hope you have some good news for us, de Marins,” she said. “I am told that the townspeople are becoming very agitated. According to what I have just heard, every death that has taken place in Lincoln in the last few weeks has now been ascribed to have been the work of the poisoner. I do not doubt that if a corpse were found with a dagger through the heart, the death would still be deemed to have been caused by poisoned honey.”
She picked up her cup and took a sip. “The bailiff tells me that some of the citizens he spoke to are concerned, and rightly so, that rumours of this plague of poison in Lincoln will spread to other parts of the country and affect trade with the town. If it does, it will not only empty the coffers of our richer citizens, it will also mean less work for those they employ, and could cause great hardship among the poor. I have promised to meet tomorrow with some of the leaders of the guilds to discuss the situation. They would be pleased if I could tell them we had apprehended the culprit. Is there any likelihood I may be able to do so, de Marins?”
“I fear not, lady,” Bascot admitted. “I do have sight of a possible suspect, at least for poisoning the honey in Reinbald’s home, but I can find no reason for him to have done so in the castle.”
“Who is this person?”
“Wilkin, the potter at Nettleham, although I do not think it was the merchant he wished to harm, but his nephew, Ivor Severtsson.” Bascot explained how Wilkin believed that Ivor had raped his daughter. “The bailiff often dines at Reinbald’s home. Wilkin could have adulterated the honey in the hope that he would eat a dish that contained the poison.”
“Is it not more plausible he would try to harm Severtsson directly?”
“It would be difficult for him to do so. The bailiff is young and strong. The potter has not the physical strength to overcome him, even if he took him by surprise. And Severtsson, as their overseer, holds the livelihood of the potter and all of his family in his hands. To attack him by stealth would be Wilkin’s only option.”
“It is strange that the bailiff has not taken some action against the potter over the accusation he has made,” de Laubrec said. “Could it be because there is some truth to the charge?”
“It may be. Whether he is the father of her babe or not, the potter is adamant that Severtsson assaulted her and has made his charge public. Preceptor d’Arderon is very concerned about the matter and has asked that I let him know if I discover whether there is any validity to Wilkin’s claim.”
“Still,” Nicolaa mused, “whether it is true or not, if the potter believes it is, and he is not in a position to take his revenge openly on Severtsson, it may be that he felt he could do so by poisoning the food the bailiff ate in his uncle’s house.”
“But that does not give him a reason to harm anyone in the castle,” Bascot said doubtfully.
“Not unless it occurred by accident,” de Laubrec surmised. “Perhaps the honey pot he poisoned was accidentally put in with those that were destined for the castle kitchen and he had need to prepare another to include with those that Severtsson was taking to his uncle.”
“If that is so, then we must conclude that both of the pots were poisoned last autumn and the fact that they were opened at almost the same time was just by chance,” Nicolaa said. “That would be a rare coincidence
