matter for Mauger to slip poison into one of the dishes or cups without being noticed.”
Her shoulders drooping with weariness, Nicolaa had almost reached the door of the chamber as her son spoke. She turned, her hand on the latch as she began to assure him she would heed his words, when she suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. “But that is it, Richard! The May Day celebrations. That is the time when it may be possible to cozen Mauger into revealing himself.”
Both her son and Bascot looked at her in confusion, but this was soon dispelled when she explained the idea that had come to her.
The next morning, before the hour of Terce, Bascot went into the town, bound for Reinbald’s house. He had sat up with Nicolaa and Richard until a late hour the night before, refining the plan that Nicolaa had devised, and it had been decided that the cooperation of both Harald and Ivor Severtsson would be needed to bring it to fruition. Before they went to bed, Roget had come to give his report and told them he had seen Reinbald and his wife, Helge, leaving town earlier that day, riding ahead of a wain crammed with a number of laden panniers. The Templar hoped that at this early hour he would catch Harald before he left to attend to his uncle’s business.
When he knocked at the door of the merchant’s home, it was not opened by the maidservant that had formerly answered his call, but by Harald himself.
The young merchant’s face expressed surprise at the identity of his visitor, but he quickly ushered Bascot in, explaining that he had given his aunt’s cook leave to visit her sister in Nottingham while Helge was absent and that the young maidservant, who was the woman’s niece, had gone with her.
“I thought they might be in danger if they were in the house while the poisoner is roaming free,” he explained and added, with an impish grin, “I hope you bring news that they may soon return, Sir Bascot. Preparing my own meals is not a task I enjoy.”
The Templar said that he had come to tell Harald of a plan that might enable them to tempt Mauger into betraying himself and had been sent by Lady Nicolaa to request his collaboration.
The young merchant readily gave his assent to whatever ruse the castellan was proposing. “Since the man is trying to kill me and the rest of my family, I would be a fool if I did not make every effort to gain his capture.”
Relieved at the young merchant’s sensible attitude, Bascot explained that he would also need to speak to his brother. “Ivor, too, must play a part,” the Templar told him, “and I will go to Wragby to speak to him as soon as I leave here.”
“There will be no need for you to make the journey,” Harald said, an unreadable expression on his face. “My brother is here, in the hall. He will not be anymore at Wragby.”
“Then I assume that Preceptor d’Arderon has dismissed him,” Bascot said shortly.
“Yes.” Harald gave Bascot an oblique glance. “I see you were already aware that he would lose his post.”
“I was,” Bascot confirmed. “Did he tell you the reason for his dismissal?”
Harald gave a curt nod, and the Templar asked if Ivor had denied the charge that had been levelled against him.
“My brother is not a man to take responsibility for his actions,” Harald said with distaste. “Unless it might be to his advantage, that is.”
Harald gave the Templar a level look and said, “I love my brother, Sir Bascot, but I do not like him. Is it not strange how the vagaries of kinship can often be ironic?”
After assuring himself that Harald had told Ivor of the belief that it was John Rivelar’s elder son who was responsible for the poisonings, and why, Bascot asked the merchant to take him to his brother.
Ivor Severtsson was in the hall, seated at the table, a flagon of wine in front of him and a full cup in his hand. When he saw Bascot he rose to his feet and gave the Templar a nod that held little respect. His face was flushed, and his expression mulish. He said nothing, however; he merely waited in silence as Bascot told both of the brothers to be seated and took a chair on the opposite side of the table.
As Harald poured his visitor a cup of wine, the Templar explained the stratagem that had been devised to trap Mauger, and both of them listened, without comment, until he finished. When he had done, Ivor was the first to speak.
“There is much danger in this enterprise. We will both be laying ourselves open to a sudden attack and may not have time to defend ourselves,” he said.
Harald turned to him and said, “Is it not worth the risk, Brother? I do not want to live under the shadow of this man’s threat any longer than I have to, and even less do I wish our aunt and uncle to be subjected to the threat he poses. Are not a few moments of peril preferable to days, or perhaps weeks, of waiting for him to make another attempt on our lives? If you have not the courage for it, say so, and we will try to trap him without your assistance.”
Ivor flushed red at the rebuke in his brother’s words, and Harald said to Bascot, “You may tell Lady Nicolaa that I am ready to do as she asks, and willingly.”
“And you?” Bascot challenged Ivor.
The older Severtsson brother made no answer, only giving the Templar a grudging nod of assent.
Bascot rose to take his leave, and as Harald accompanied him to the door, the young merchant said, “Tell Lady Nicolaa she need have no fear that Ivor will participate in the scheme.”
“How can you be sure?” Bascot asked doubtfully.
An ironic smile appeared on Harald’s face as he said, “I have only to threaten Ivor that I will tell our aunt the true reason he was relieved of his post by Preceptor d’Arderon. My brother will not be able to lie his way out of that, for while it might be easy to convince Tante Helge that a potter would tell a falsehood, she will never believe it of a Templar knight.”
Thirty-four
Ivor and Harald Severtsson came to the castle that afternoon as had been arranged, timing their visit to coincide with the end of the last meal of the day. Members of the castle retinue were still in their places at the tables, and Nicolaa sat on the dais in company with the prior of All Saints and Brother Andrew. The two monks had been invited to attend the meal in order to discuss the part the church would play in the festivities the following morning. The prior would bless the procession of castle servants before it left to go out into the countryside, and Andrew and two other monks would sing psalms as the cavalcade left the ward, reminding all of those present that the festival was of Christian significance, honouring two saints, and not in praise of the pagan entity that had been associated with the festival in heathen times. Gerard and Richard Camville were absent.
Noticing Harald and Ivor’s arrival, Nicolaa gave a nod of sanction to her steward for their admission, and they made their way up the central aisle between the tables and came to a halt below the dais. Harald bowed and removed the cap he was wearing, his brother standing behind him. The attire of both was somber; tunics and hose of dark grey, the only item of ornamentation a badge bearing an image of St. Amandus, patron saint of vintners and merchants, affixed to Harald’s sleeve.
After introducing his brother and telling the castellan that Ivor had left his post as bailiff and was assisting him in Reinbald’s business while his uncle was away, Harald came to the purpose of his visit.
“Lady Nicolaa,” he said, “I am come to offer my apologies for not being able to deliver the order of Granarde wine that you placed with me a few days ago. I have just received word from the merchant in London who was to supply it that he will not be able to do so. It will be some weeks before I can obtain more.”
“That is sad news, Master Severtsson,” Nicolaa said.
“My son had a particular fancy to try it. He will be disappointed.”
“So I thought, lady,” Harald said smoothly, “and, to make up for the loss, my brother and I have brought with us tonight a small tun of another wine that is very similar but, I believe, even finer of taste. I would like to offer it to you free of payment, in the hopes that you will enjoy it and be encouraged to order more.”
He bowed low as he said this last, looking exactly like a merchant touting for business. Bascot, watching his performance from his seat among the household knights, admired Harald’s steady nerve. No one listening to his conversation with Nicolaa de la Haye would have realised that he was acting a part, just like a mummer in a play.
