on Gianni’s face could grow no wider. Both master and servant went to partake of the midday meal feeling that a little ray of happiness had lightened the gloom that had, up until now, intruded on their hearts and minds.
As Bascot and Gianni were entering the hall, one of the men-at-arms was taking food to the prisoner in the holding cell. It was only a crust of stale bread and a small bowl of pottage, but Wilkin was frightened to eat it. All of the soldiers who stood guard over him had not hesitated to show their contempt, and he feared that the food had been tainted in some way. That morning, he had been told gleefully by one of them that Gerard Camville had returned and would hold a sheriff’s court the following day, and had added the assurance that Wilkin would soon find his neck being stretched.
The potter was desolate. The prospect of losing his life was fearful enough, but what would happen to his family once he was gone? Tears came to his eyes as he thought of his wife, Margot, their son, Young Adam, and poor, mazed Rosamunde and her babe. How would they all survive without him there to protect them? The worry that had engulfed him when he had been told he would be losing the custom of the castle and priory seemed small by comparison to the future that faced them if he was dead. He knew that the beekeeper would do his best to provide for them, but without the pennies Wilkin earned from the produce of his kiln there would be precious little money to buy flour for bread or other necessities of life. And it would not take long, without him there to tend to their maintenance, for the buildings on the property to fall into disrepair. Once that happened, the Templar preceptor might remove his family from the apiary and give it to more suitable tenants.
Wilkin cursed himself for not being able to resist the temptation to denounce the bailiff for raping his daughter. Despite both Margot and Adam insisting that Rosamunde’s baby had been fathered by Drue Rivelar, the potter was convinced that Ivor Severtsson had, nonetheless, taken her by force on the day that Wilkin had found her out of her senses in the woods near Nettleham village. It had been only moments before that he had seen the bailiff riding by the place where she was lying. She had been upset before that, it was true, and Wilkin allowed there might be some credence in the tale that she had taken the brigand as her lover and was distraught over his death, but she had, until that morning, been in her right senses. It was only after he had found her in such a dreadful state that she had become mazed. He knew with a father’s instinct that Severtsson was the cause, and he had been frustrated by his inability to mete out justice to the arrogant bailiff. Every time Severtsson had come to the apiary after that day, the knowledge of his perfidy had burned in Wilkin’s breast like the flames in the heart of his kiln. Finally, when the villagers had looked askance at his daughter’s swelling belly, he had no longer been able to contain his anger, and the accusation of rape had burst from his lips. Adam had been right; Wilkin’s unruly tongue had been his undoing, and now not only was he going to pay for his sin, but so were his family.
The potter fell to his knees in the small, cramped cell and, clasping his hands together as tightly as he could, once again sent a desperate prayer heavenward for mercy, beseeching God to look with kindly eyes on the plight of himself and his family.
It was late in the evening before Roget had a chance to go to the castle and tell Bascot what he had learned about Ivor Severtsson. When he finished repeating the tale the harlot had recounted, he hawked and spat as though Severtsson’s name had fouled his mouth. “I reckon that whoreson of a bailiff could easily be guilty of raping the potter’s girl,” he said to Bascot. “If I ever find him abroad in Lincoln on a dark night, his features won’t be so well- favoured when he wakes up in the morning.”
Bascot nodded grimly. “You may get the opportunity sooner than you think. Once I tell the preceptor what you have discovered, I doubt whether he will be allowed to retain his post at Wragby. There is no other place for him to go but back to his uncle’s home in Hungate.”
Roget’s face split into a grin, the old scar that ran down the side of his face crinkling as a result. “I look forward with pleasure to the day he is within my reach. I will make the batard wish he had been born a eunuch.”
Twenty-one
The next morning was the day of Wilkin’s trial, and the hour of Terce had barely finished ringing before a group of townspeople were at the eastern gate of the bail seeking admittance. Not only the leading citizens of the town but also many of lower station were agog to witness Wilkin receive his just reward in the sheriff’s court.
Bascot and Gianni stood outside the door of the barracks watching as Ernulf directed his men to take up positions along the perimeter of the ward, warning them all to be vigilant for any sign of trouble amongst the crowd. Roget was there, too, with a half dozen of the men that belonged to the town guard. They would be on duty in the hall, to serve the same purpose as the men-at-arms outside.
De Laubrec came across the bail and walked up to Bascot. “The sheriff has instructed that discrimination should be used regarding those who are allowed into the hall,” the knight informed him. “First, the witnesses must be accommodated, then those of the townspeople who are members of the town council, and other citizens of standing.” The marshal looked towards the throng that was coming through the gate. “Once the hall is filled, the rest will have to wait in the bail. I have given Ernulf instructions to wait at the gate and sort the wheat from the chaff, and Eudo has allotted a few servants to assist the serjeant and guide those who are to be admitted to their places.”
The marshal ran a hand through his shock of tawny hair, its bright colour striking in contrast with the darkness of his brows and beard. His long face was lugubrious as he said, “I will be glad when this day is over, de Marins. If the verdict is guilty, we will be hard-pressed to get the prisoner safely back into his cell, and if he is, by some rare chance, deemed innocent, there will be outrage that he has escaped justice. Either way, our task will not be an easy one.”
The next hour passed swiftly, with more and more people coming through the gate. Bascot knew he would be required to give evidence against the potter, but he decided to wait until it was nearly time for the proceedings to start before he went into the hall.
The sheriff had decreed that the court would commence an hour after Terce, and as the time drew nearer, Bascot saw the arrival of those who would give witness. Alaric the physician was among the first, closely followed by Reinbald and his wife, with Harald escorting the old nurse, Nantie. Brother Andrew and another monk, whom Bascot assumed was the novice who had inadvertently fed the ailing lay brother the poison, walked together through the gate just afterwards. Everard d’Arderon was among the last to arrive, clad in the white surcoat of a knight of the Order, his face downcast as he strode through the gate and up the steps into the hall.
Just as Bascot turned to follow the preceptor, he saw a two-wheeled dray approach the gate. Driving it was Adam, the beekeeper, his daughter Margot beside him, clutching her grandson to her breast. Sitting in the back were Young Adam and Rosamunde. The girl was staring blankly ahead, not paying any attention to her surroundings.
Hurrying over to the gate, Bascot welcomed the old man and helped Margot down from her seat. “Are you sure it was wise for you to come here today?” Bascot asked. “There will be some amongst the crowd who will not look kindly on the kin of a man suspected of murder.”
“I know, lord, and I thank you for your concern,” Adam replied. “But if we didn’t come, then I reckoned as how people would think we believed Wilkin was guilty.” The old man lifted his head proudly and looked around him. “I’ve never deserted my family in times of need afore, and I’ll not do so now.”
Bascot admired the old man’s courage, but thought it foolhardy, and watched with misgiving as Adam went around to the back of the cart and gently guided his granddaughter down. His grandson went protectively to her side and took his sister’s hand as she stood uncomprehendingly beside him.
As the crowd began to notice the beekeeper’s arrival, their faces became indignant and one or two called out to the beekeeper in anger, deriding him for his presence amongst them. “I think it would be best if Mistress Margot and the others waited outside in the bail,” Bascot said to Adam. “They will be safer there than in the hall.”
The beekeeper nodded, and Bascot told Gianni to take them to the bench outside the barracks door. “I will send one of the men-at-arms to keep guard until I return.”
As Gianni shepherded the little group across the bail in the direction of the barracks, Bascot went over to Ernulf. “I would ask you to provide protection for Wilkin’s family,” he said and, seeing the serjeant look askance at
