the small group, added, “They are innocents in all of this, Ernulf. I am sure they had no knowledge of the potter’s intent and will be left destitute by his actions. They are victims of his crimes just as surely as those who died.”
Bascot waited for Ernulf’s reply. He knew the serjeant, for all his crusty manner, had a softness for any defenceless creature, especially women and children. It took only a moment’s observation of Margot holding her little grandson fearfully to her breast and of the apprehension etched on Young Adam’s face for him to accede to the Templar’s request. He called to one of his men and told him to keep watch over the little group.
“We’ll see ’em safe, de Marins,” Ernulf said reassuringly as he glared menacingly at the sneering faces in the crowd around them. “If anyone so much as spits in their direction, I’ll have ’em clapped in gaol alongside the prisoner.” He spoke loudly, so that his words carried out over the heads of the throng, and those who had been openly expressing their revulsion immediately turned their attention elsewhere.
Bascot motioned for Adam to follow, and they crossed the ward and went into the hall. It was packed, and the Templar had to push his way through the press of people to reach the space where those who would give witness were congregated. Keeping the beekeeper close behind him, he took a place beside Brother Andrew and the novice monk and looked up towards the dais.
Above him, near one end of the raised table, John Blund sat, parchment, ink and quill pens laid out before him in preparation for recording the details of the trial. His assistant, Lambert, a thin, dolorous man of about thirty years of age with a heavy lantern jaw, was seated by his side. At the other end was the knight who held the office of coroner for Lincoln, a man named Alan of Pinchbeck, who was attending the court in his official capacity. Preceptor d’Arderon sat beside him. Roget and three of his men flanked the dais, two on either side.
The steady hum of conversation in the hall was abruptly stilled as Gerard Camville came into the room, followed by his wife and son. Around his neck Camville wore a heavy chain of silver bearing a medallion engraved with the image of a man armed with a lance sitting astride a horse, the symbol of the office of sheriff. Taking his seat at the central position, with Richard and Nicolaa one on either side of him, Camville gave a curt command to Roget to bring in the prisoner. The captain signalled to one of his men, and the guard went running to the door. Within moments, Wilkin was led into the hall, escorted by two of Roget’s men. The crowd hissed and spat at him as he stumbled through the spectators and was led up to face the sheriff.
Gerard Camville stood up, and a hush fell as he spoke in the loud voice of a commander accustomed to giving orders on a battlefield. “We are here today, according to the laws of England and with the authority of the king, to hear evidence concerning the recent crimes of murder by poison in the town of Lincoln. The details of this hearing will, as is the custom, be taken down and kept as a record.”
The sheriff glared out over the assembly as though daring anyone to challenge his authority and then motioned for his son to call the first witness. Richard, his red hair gleaming in the light of the torches in the wall sconces behind him, rose and spoke in a voice that was just as resonant as his father’s.
“We will hear from the first finder of each of the victims, in the order of the deaths. John Blund will now step forward and tell us how the clerk, Ralf, met his end.”
Leaving the task of making a record of his evidence to Lambert, the secretary descended from his seat on the dais and came to stand before the sheriff. In his precise voice he told how he had found his young assistant in the throes of a violent illness and that the lad had subsequently died. As he related the details of Ralf’s final agonies, his voice faltered with emotion, and the crowd called out in anger at the heartlessness of the crime. The sheriff’s heavy fist crashed onto the table in front of him and silence quickly descended.
The squire, Thomas, was called next, to give an accounting of the death of Simon of Haukwell. The young man gave his testimony in a succinct and detached manner that seemed to impress the spectators more than Blund’s emotional one. There were a few gasps of horror when he had finished, but no more explosions of indignation.
For evidence of the spice merchant and his family’s deaths, only old Nantie was called. She was supported in her accounting by Reinbald and his wife, who also gave an explanation of how it was that the poisoned honey had first been placed in their home and subsequently given to their neighbour.
Finally, in the list of first finders, Brother Andrew and the novice monk, Eustace, told of the death of the lay brother and how the poison that had caused it was found to have been placed in a small jar of honey kept for use in the infirmary. Andrew also related how he and Brother Jehan had previously identified the nature of the poison for Nicolaa de la Haye.
Richard thanked the monk and then called all of those who, in some way other than being first finder, had knowledge of the circumstances surrounding each death. These included Martin the leech and Alaric the physician. Gosbert and Eric gave evidence that Wilkin had been in the castle kitchen in the days before the deaths of Ralf and Simon of Haukwell and had access to the shelf where the poisoned honey was found; Brother Andrew confirmed that the honey that had been tainted, and that had been fed to the lay brother who had died, had originally come from the priory kitchen where the potter had delivered some of his wares only a few days before. Ivor Severtsson was called to testify that he had received the supply of pots that had contained the adulterated one from Wilkin himself and had taken them to his uncle’s house in Hungate. Gilles de Laubrec described how, when he had gone to arrest the potter, roots of the herb from which the poison was made were found in a shed used by Wilkin. Finally, Bascot was called to speak of his investigations into the matter.
The Templar answered the questions Richard put to him and told how it had been discovered that the potter had a grudge against Ivor Severtsson and why. There were gasps of salacious disgust from the spectators when it was learned that Wilkin had accused the bailiff of rape, and Helge’s face flamed red in embarrassment. Then Bascot related how he had learned that Wilkin had been told that his wares would no longer be purchased by the castle or the priory and that it would have caused him to feel resentment for his impending loss of income. When he was done, Gerard Camville pronounced that the evidence given was sufficient to convince him of the prisoner’s guilt and that Wilkin would be held over for trial before the justices of the assize, who were due to reach Lincoln at the end of the first week in May.
The verdict was greeted with shouts of acclaim from all of the spectators. As Wilkin was led out of the hall by Roget’s guards, the crowd railed at him, some even landing a blow on his shoulders before the captain or one of his men could forestall them.
As the crowd surged out of the hall behind the prisoner, Bascot turned to Adam, who had watched and listened in a stoic fashion to all that had occurred, holding rigidly to his place despite the glowering looks he had received from some of the men around him.
“I am sorry for the trouble that has come upon you and your family, beekeeper,” he said.
“Aye, lord, I know you are. And I think you’re the only one who is, even though you, like the rest of Lincoln, believe Wilkin is guilty.”
Bascot sighed. “You have heard the evidence. Surely you do not still think he is innocent?”
“ ’Tis damning, I’ll admit,” Adam said. “But I knows my daughter’s husband as well as I knows my bees. He didn’t do these terrible things, lord, and there’s nothing that will convince me otherwise.”
With that implacable pronouncement, he placed the shapeless cap he had doffed on entering the hall back on his head and said, “I had best go and see to my daughter and the others. They will be sore grieved at the news.”
Bascot felt sorry for the old man but admiration for his unswerving loyalty to a member of his family. “I will come with you,” he said, “and see you all safely on your way back to Nettleham.”
Twenty-two
Gianni waited with the beekeeper’s family with growing apprehension. He did not fear for their safety, not with the stalwart bulk of Ernulf and his men-at-arms nearby, but was concerned for what would befall the little group when, as he was sure would happen, the potter was found guilty. Young Adam was only a boy, younger than Gianni had been when the Templar had rescued him from starvation; how would he and the others fare if they had to beg on the streets of Lincoln for food? There would be no alms freely given to the family of a man who was believed to have murdered six people. It was more likely they would all be driven out into the countryside and left to the mercy of the wild animals in the forest.
A surge of movement at the door to the keep told the little group waiting by the barracks door that the
