other brigands get hanged, and there are plenty who would remark on it if a brother to one of ’em had returned. ’Twould have been a tidbit of gossip to repeat to all and sundry.”
The serjeant shook his head in sad remembrance of the day the executions had taken place. “Sir Gerard ordered me to hang them all, including Drue Rivelar, from the parapets, and let their bodies dangle over the wall in plain sight of all as a warning to any others as should be tempted to rob honest travellers. ’Twas his right; all of them had been caught in the act of thievery and murder, and no trial was needed. The people in the town agreed with him and gathered along the south wall by Bailgate to see the deed done. There was a multitude of cheers when they breathed their last. ’Twas one of the few times they gave Sir Gerard their support, but it was well deserved.”
Bascot then said that Richard Camville had told him that John Rivelar had accused the sheriff of meting out too swift a justice and had claimed that his son should have been publically tried so that his innocence could be proven.
“Aye, he did,” Ernulf confirmed. “Stood in the bail and ranted at the sheriff as we put a noose over his son’s head. When the boy was dead, tears streamed down his face and he could barely keep to his feet. Then he went down into the town, to see Bailiff Stoyle, trying to enlist his help in bringing a charge against Sir Gerard, but Stoyle would have none of it. On the day the brigands were captured, the prior from All Saint’s had been among the party they were robbing, returning from a sad journey to visit his father on his deathbed. He had been beaten during the attack, but he came to the bail and denounced all of the brigands, including Drue, to the sheriff despite the fact that he could barely walk for soreness at his injuries. The townspeople were outraged that a man of the church, and one who had been on an errand of mercy, should have been attacked so violently.”
While listening to the serjeant’s recounting, the Templar felt his interest in Mauger Rivelar grow. If the bailiff’s elder son had returned after the deaths of his brother and father, he would have been desolated by the news of their demise, much as Bascot had been when he returned after his eight years’ imprisonment in the Holy Land and found that all of his family had died during a pestilence. Mingled with the Templar’s sorrow had also been a good portion of guilt, a feeling that he had betrayed them for not being at their sides to give them comfort during their last moments. It had been then that Bascot had raged at God for keeping him away from his homeland for so many long years. Would Mauger not have felt the same? Bascot knew that if the deaths in his own family had been caused by a human agency, he would have sought retribution; was it possible that all of these deaths had been caused by Mauger’s desire to do just that, wreak vengeance on those who had been responsible for his brother’s and father’s deaths? All of those who had been affected by the poisonings had in some way been connected to the fate that had fallen on Drue Rivelar. Ivor Severtsson had been the one who had enabled his capture, the sheriff had hanged him and the former prior had given evidence against him. Poison had been placed in all of the places where each of these men, or people close to them, lived. The likelihood that Mauger Rivelar had returned was certainly worth investigating.
When Bascot and Gianni arrived at the apiary, there was a large dray piled with sacks standing just inside the gate, and Bascot recognised the driver as a Templar lay brother. At the sound of Bascot’s arrival, one of the men- at-arms that d’Arderon had sent the day before came swiftly forward from the direction of the orchard, and the other, who had been engaged in mending wattles on a portion of the fence, quickly dropped the tool he had been using and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. When they recognised Bascot, they saluted him and returned to what they were doing. The Templar smiled. Both of the soldiers were men about his own age, their skin bronzed from the hot sun of the Holy Land, and possessed of the wariness that came from being constantly on vigil against an enemy. Their alert and unobtrusive presence would ensure that if Cooper’s murderer came to the apiary, he would not find an easy victim among the beekeeper’s family. There was no need to worry about their safety until it was made certain whether or not they were in danger.
Adam, who had been about to help the Templar lay brother unload the cart, came forward to greet his visitor. He was effusive in his thankfulness to the preceptor for the help that had been sent, and tears filled his eyes as he told Bascot that the sacks on the cart contained milled flour and a variety of root vegetables. “The bees told me not to fear we would go hungry,” he said, “but I never expected such kindness as this.”
Bascot told the beekeeper that he had some questions he wished to ask both him and his daughter, and Adam quickly showed the Templar into the cot and called for Margot to fill a mug with ale for their visitor. Wilkin’s wife had just finished feeding her young grandson a bowl of bread sopped in milk when they entered, and she passed the child to Young Adam to hold while she complied with her father’s request. Rosamunde was in her usual corner of the room, this time holding a large metal comb used for carding wool. Although a piece of sheep’s fleece lay in her lap, her hands were motionless as she stared off into space. Bascot wondered if she would ever come out of her stupor. He had seen men on the field of battle taken in just the same way, usually after a blow to the head. Sometimes the dazedness was of short duration; on others it lasted for many months. He wished he knew of a remedy. Rosamunde had knowledge inside her head that would help him, but in her present state, it was inaccessible.
Taking a seat at the table, Bascot motioned for Adam and Margot to be seated alongside him. “I have come to ask you about a man you mentioned to me, Adam, on the day that you were in Lincoln for Wilkin’s trial-Mauger Rivelar. There has been a stabbing in Lincoln town, and from information given by a person who knew the victim, it is possible he may have been involved. You said the elder son of the old bailiff left many years ago and had not returned. Are you certain that he never came back?”
The Templar could see that both the beekeeper and his daughter were startled by the question, but he did not elaborate on his reason for asking it. The less they knew about why he wanted information concerning Mauger, the less they would be alarmed. Deference for his rank would ensure they answered him without demur.
“I don’t think he come back, lord,” Adam said. “If he did I never seen him, nor heard talk of it.”
The beekeeper looked at his daughter, who agreed with her father but added, “Rosamunde said Drue told her his brother was coming back, but I don’t think he did.”
“When did Rosamunde tell you this?”
Adam was the one who answered him. “As I recall, ’twas about a week before Drue was taken by the sheriff.” Margot nodded in confirmation of her father’s words. “Wilkin was at work in his kiln and Rosa was here with us in the cot. She was excited, and when Margot asked her why, she said ’twould not be long before she and Drue could get married ’cause his brother would help them to do so.”
“That’s right, lord,” Margot said. “Rosamunde and Drue were planning to run away ’cause neither Wilkin nor John Rivelar would have allowed for them to be wed, but they had no money to keep them fed until Drue could find work. Rosamunde said Drue was sure his brother would give them some when he came.”
“How did Drue know his brother was returning? Had he been in contact with Mauger during the time he had been away?”
“I don’t think so, lord, not ’til then, anyway. Rosa said Mauger had sent a message sayin’ he would soon be back in Lincoln, and I think they hoped Drue’s brother would help them. I warned Rosa that Mauger might be just as penniless as they were, but she wouldn’t listen. She just kept goin’ on about how they would soon be married.”
“This message from Mauger, did she know how it came and from where?” Bascot asked shortly.
Margot was a little taken aback at the urgency in the Templar’s voice, but she answered it without hesitation. “Rosa said a pedlar had come to Cooper’s alehouse while Drue was in there havin’ a mug of ale, askin’ where he could find a man named John Rivelar. When Drue told the pedlar he was the bailiff’s son, the pedlar said he had a message for his father from his brother, and that it was to tell Rivelar that Mauger would soon be back in Lincoln.”
“Did the message say when Mauger would arrive?” Bascot asked.
“No,” Margot replied. “The only other thing Rosa told me was that Drue reckoned his brother wouldn’t be long in coming because when he asked the pedlar where he had seen Mauger, he said it had been in Grimsby, and that’s not a far piece from here. The pedlar told Drue he had met his brother when he had called with his wares at the house of a lady who lives in the town, and Mauger had paid him to deliver the message.”
So, Bascot thought, the message had come just a week before Drue Rivelar had died, and since his father’s death had taken place only a few days later, it could be possible that Mauger had returned too late to see either of them alive. The alehouse had burned down about the same time, so if Mauger had passed that way, Fland Cooper would not have been there to see him, hence the reason that the fishmonger’s assistant had said that the man he had met was one he had not seen since childhood.
