A Plague of Poison

by Maureen Ash

  Nicolaa stood up. “It would seem we are once again involved in the machinations of a murderer, de Marins. Let us pray we are as successful in catching him as we have been beforetimes.”

  WHEN BASCOT CAME DOWN INTO THE BAIL A SMALL crowd of servants was gathered in front of the cookhouse, watching Thorey as he tested the honey on his rats. There were about twenty pots lined up beside him and he had three cages set on the ground in front of him, a rodent in each one. Only a few of the pots bore a glaze of the same bright colour as the one that had been contaminated; most were tinged with a greenish hue, and a few had no glaze at all. Thorey’s little terrier dogs were still watching the proceedings from a short distance away, their gaze never wavering from their master’s actions.

  Bascot walked up to Ernulf, who was standing with a couple of the men-at-arms near Thorey and watching as the catcher fed a piece of honey-soaked bread to each of the rodents in turn. Gianni ran to his master when he saw him emerge from the keep. The boy’s eyes were still a little fearful, but the excitement caused by the discovery of the poison and the catcher’s testing of the honey had gone a small way to alleviate his concern.

  “Had to send to town for more rats,” Ernulf told Bascot. “There’s too many pots of honey and not enough rats to test them all. Thorey’s vermin are already so sated with bait that they’re refusing to take any more.”

  As he spoke, they heard the guard on the eastern gate give a shout and turned to see another rat catcher stride through the huge portal. He was a much bigger man than Thorey, resplendent in a cape and peaked hat made completely of rat skins, and was carrying a long ratting pole set with sharp metal barbs. Alongside him trotted another, much younger man, dressed more conventionally in plain tunic and hose, carrying two cages, each containing half a dozen rats. The rodents were huddled close together and squeaking with fear.

  “Serjeant Ernulf,” the catcher said as he came up to where they stood. “I have come as you directed.”

  “This is Germagan,” the serjeant informed Bascot. “He’s the premier rat catcher in Lincoln town.”

  The catcher bowed in the Templar’s direction, sweeping his cape aside as he did so. “My lord,” he said, “I am pleased to be of service.”

  Gianni’s eyes grew big with wonder as he looked at the cape and hat the catcher wore. The skins at the edges of both still had the heads of the rodents attached, and beneath the multitude of whiskered noses, small, sharp teeth gleamed ferociously as the catcher moved to take a place beside Thorey. His assistant set the cages down alongside the others, and Germagan listened intently as Thorey explained the purpose of the honey baiting. Soon, more pots had been opened and pieces of bread smeared with a spoonful of the contents before being fed to each of the caged vermin in turn. Once that was done, both catchers sat down on the ground to await the results.

  “This will take some time, Ernulf,” Bascot said, “and most of the day will be gone before all those pots have been tested. I am going to question Gosbert. Lady Nicolaa is not convinced that he is guilty, and if she is correct, he may have information that will help us discover who else had an opportunity to poison the honey.”

  “I didn’t reckon it was the cook, either,” the serjeant replied, his face grim. “But you can tell Gosbert from me that if it’s proved he did try to poison milady I’ll make him rue the day he was born. By the time I get through with him he’ll be begging for an easy death from a hang-man’s noose.”

  Bascot made no reply; he merely left the serjeant to overseeing the testing of the honey and made his way to the holding cells.

  Four

  BASCOT’S INTERROGATION OF THE COOK PROVIDED no indication of any person who, other than the cook himself, might have been responsible for placing the poison in the honey. Gosbert was relieved to hear that his mistress was not convinced of his guilt and once again adamantly denied his culpability. “Lady Nicolaa has always had a fondness for marchpane, and when I heard that her appetite was failing, I thought that if I put some atop the simnel cake, it might tempt her into eating,” he said. “Had I known the honey was tainted I would have eaten the marchpane myself rather than send it to her.”

  There was outrage in the cook’s eyes as he spoke and no trace of evasion as he answered the questions the Templar put to him. He had not noticed anyone touching the honey pot that had been contaminated, he said, but it could have been easily done. At least two pots of the same grade were always kept on an open shelf in the kitchen, along with a few of the inferior type. To remove one of them and replace it at a later time would be a simple task. And it would be even easier to do as Nicolaa de la Haye had suggested, bring in the tainted pot concealed in a basket or some other receptacle and exchange it for a pure one.

  “Either way would be the work of only a moment,” Gosbert said, “and with all the activity in the kitchen, especially at mealtimes, would not have been noticed.”

  When Bascot pressed him for the names of those who had access to the place where the honey pots were kept, Gosbert threw up his hands in dismay.

  “They are in easy reach of all the scullions and the servants that wait on the tables in the hall. Then there are the squires and pages that come to get a special dish for the household knights, and the servants that bring bags of flour or wood for the ovens, and the carters who deliver supplies of pots and ladles . . .”

  Gosbert’s voice began to tremble as he stumbled to a halt. “How are you to find the guilty one among so many, Sir Bascot?” he asked. “I am doomed. Even though Lady Nicolaa believes me, she will not prevail against the evidence. I will be hanged for a crime I did not commit.”

  The Templar tried to console the cook, telling him that it would be some time before such a thing came to pass and that, in the meantime, there was every hope the true culprit would be found.

  “Cast your memory back over the last few months, Gosbert. Try to remember if there was any occasion when one of the people of whom you have just spoken was near the honey pots without good cause or seemed to be acting in a furtive manner.”

  “I will do my best, Sir Bascot,” Gosbert promised fervently. “My life may well depend on it.”

  WHEN THE TEMPLAR LEFT THE CELL WHERE THE cook was imprisoned, he saw two monks standing by the rat catchers, who were still busy testing the honey. One of the brothers he recognised as Jehan, the elderly infirmarian from the Priory of All Saints, but the other was a much younger monk that Bascot had never met before, although he had seen him within the ward a couple of times in the company of the servant who tended the plants in the castle herb garden. Jehan was deep in conversation with Thorey and Germagan, nodding his head as they spoke while his companion listened with unswerving attention. As Bascot headed in the direction of the keep to tell Nicolaa de la Haye that Gosbert, unfortunately, had not been able to give him any useful information, the two monks left the catcher and made haste to join him.

  “Greetings, Sir Bascot,” Brother Jehan said, and he introduced the monk who was with him as Brother Andrew, recently come to the priory from another enclave of the Benedictine Order. The younger monk was perhaps thirty years of age, very tall and rangily built. He had an austere appearance about him which was relieved only by the generous mobility of his wide mouth.

  “I just received a message from Lady Nicolaa requesting our assistance in regard to poisonings that have taken the lives of two people in the castle household,” Jehan said. “The matter seemed an urgent one and I thought it best to come at once.” He gestured towards the younger monk. “Brother Andrew has had some training in the herbal arts and so I brought him with me. His knowledge may prove useful.”

  Bascot told the brothers that he was on his way to speak to the castellan, and together the trio went into the keep and up the stairs of the tower in which Nicolaa’s chamber was located. She was in the midst of dictating letters to John Blund when Bascot and the two monks arrived; the pot of poisoned honey was still sitting on her desk. The secretarius immediately rose from his seat at the
small lectern and began gathering up his papers, but Nicolaa forestalled him and told him to remain where he was.

  “I should like you to take note of any salient points that Brother Jehan may be able to give us, John, in case we should want to review them later.”

  As the secretary reseated himself and placed a fresh sheet of parchment on his desk, Nicolaa thanked the infirmarian for his prompt answer to her summons, and then, explaining that her throat was sore from her ailment, asked Bascot to tell the two monks what little information they had concerning the deaths of the clerk and Simon of Haukwell.

  “The poison that was used appears to act quickly once it is ingested,” he said, “and is extremely virulent.” He then went on to describe the symptoms that had afflicted the rodent after eating the honey-soaked bread. “Although Thorey told us that rats do not usually vomit, some foam did appear around its mouth, and both Haukwell and Ralf purged extensively before they died.”

  “There are many poisons that have a similar effect,” Jehan said reflectively. He was an elderly man, with a slow and sonorous manner of speaking and a frail appearance that belied his inner fortitude. “However, as we were coming across the bail, we spoke to the rat catchers. They expressed their opinion as to the nature of the poison, and I think I can tentatively agree with their observation.” He looked across at Brother Andrew who nodded in agreement.

  Nicolaa’s eyebrows rose. “The rat catchers know the type of poison that was used? Why was I not informed?”

  Jehan gave a slow smile. “Such knowledge could be considered as incriminating, lady. The catcher here in the castle—Thorey, I believe his name is—was careful to explain to me that after watching the effects of the poisoned honey on the rat, he believes it contained a venom that is used by many of those who follow his trade. While assuring me that he does not use the substance himself, or indeed any other type of poison, he feared that it might be thought he was the perpetrator of the crime.”

  “I see,” Nicolaa nodded. “It is true that I have forbidden him to use such a means to rid the castle of rats. When I was a child, the catcher my father employed was in the habit of using poison to kill rodents, and one of my father’s favourite hounds accidentally ate some poison and died. My father was so angry that the catcher was lucky to escape with his life. Afterwards, my father forbade all of his catchers to use any type of venom, and I have followed that dictate. Thorey, as far as I am aware, uses only his dogs and traps baited with untainted food for his purpose. He would be dismissed if he did otherwise.”

  She returned Jehan’s smile. “And so his concern that he may be blamed is understandable. There was a great display of anger against my cook, even though it is not certain he is guilty. Thorey would have known that and feared the same suspicion might fall on him.”

  Bascot motioned to the earthenware pot. “That is the pot that contains the poisoned honey. What is it that Thorey—and you—believe to have been used to adulterate it?”

  “It is a common ingredient in rat poison, Sir Bascot,” Jehan explained, “and is extracted from a plant whose Latin name is Helleborus niger but is more commonly called the Rose of Christ. The plant blossoms about the time of the celebration of Christ’s holy Mass, and the leaves of it, in pagan days, were used in a ceremony to bless cattle and protect them from evil spirits. Other than as a means to destroy vermin, it is sometimes used in a beneficial manner, as a tincture to assist in the purging of parasites or to restore the balance of humours in women, but it is a very dangerous medicant and must be administered with great caution. Most apothecaries would not recommend it for any purpose other than to kill rodents.”

  “But it is available for purchase from an apothecary?” Bascot asked.

  “Oh yes,” Jehan replied. “The usual customers would be rat catchers, but any householder who wishes to forego the catcher’s fee could buy it to use himself.”

  “It can also be made by any who know how to do so,” Brother Andrew added. “In the countryside, where the services of an apothecary or a rat catcher may not be available, I am sure there are many wisewomen who possess the knowledge to make it.” The younger monk’s speech was quicker than his elderly companion’s and contained a lilting accent that was not common to the Lincoln area.

  Nicolaa and Bascot exchanged glances. If the poison was one that could easily be purchased or made, it would not make their task of finding the poisoner an easy one. “Are you certain, Brother, that this is the poison that was used?” Bascot asked Jehan.

  “Reasonably so,” he assured him. “But it may be easier to confirm that it was truly Helleborus niger if there was another person nearby when either of the two victims was first taken ill. There are certain symptoms that are peculiar to this poison, and if they were present, it would eliminate the possibility that it could be venom of another type.”

  Nicolaa spoke to her secretary, who was busy writing down what Jehan had said. “You were with Ralf just before he died, were you not, John?”

  Blund laid his quill aside. “Yes, lady, I was. Only for a few moments, though.”

  “Were you in his presence before he began to vomit?” Jehan asked.

  “No,” Blund replied. “When I arrived he was lying on the floor and was near death.”

  Jehan and Andrew both shook their heads. “Soon after the poison is ingested, and before it acts upon the contents of the stomach and bowels, it will cause an excessive flow of saliva and a tingling sensation in the mouth which usually results in slurred speech. Unfortunately, you arrived too late to see if this was so with your clerk, Master Blund.”

  “What of Thomas, Haukwell’s squire?” Bascot suggested. “He said he served his lord with more than one cup of the poisoned wine; it may be that he noticed these symptoms.”

  Nicolaa despatched John Blund to fetch the squire, and while they waited, Bascot asked the two monks how long a poison made from Helleborus niger would remain potent. “There is a possibility that the honey was adulterated some time before the pot was opened,” he explained. “If the venom deteriorates with the passage of time, it may help us to determine when the pot was contaminated.”

  “It would not lose any of its strength with age,” Andrew replied. “It might even become more vigorous, aided by fermentation in the honey.”

  “That is not good news,” Bascot said regretfully. “It means that, as we feared, the poison may have been added to the honey at any time since it was harvested from the combs.”

  When Blund returned with the squire, Jehan asked him if he had been in company with Haukwell before he was taken ill. “Yes,” Thomas replied. “After I brought him the wine, I sat with him in conversation while he drank it.”

  “Did he show any signs of discomfort before he began to purge?” Andrew asked.

  Thomas thought for a moment. “Not discomfort, but I did think that the wine seemed to affect him more quickly than usual.”

  “How so?” Andrew enquired.

  “His speech became slow, and he kept wiping his face and mouth on his sleeve as though he were hot. It was almost as though he were cupshotten.” The squire’s young face grew thoughtful. “Sir Simon was not a winebibber. He often cautioned myself and the other squires to beware of the excesses of strong drink, saying it would cloud our judgement on the battlefield. Because of that, I was a little surprised that he would allow himself to be overblown with wine, but when he finished his last cup and said he felt very tired, I thought that perhaps his manner was due to the heaviness of the meal he had eaten earlier. After he retired, I went to my own pallet, which was laid only a little way from his. It was just minutes later that he began to vomit.”

  “I think,” Jehan said in his slow, methodical fashion, “that there can be little doubt that the poison used was extracted from the Helleborus niger plant.” He pointed to the honey pot on Nicolaa’s table. “I would advise that the contents of that jar be disposed of with great care.”

  THE RAT CATCHERS DID NOT FINISH THEIR TESTING of the rest of the hon
ey until late that afternoon. All proved to be untainted. Despite that, after discussing the matter with Bascot, Nicolaa de la Haye ordered that all of the pots be placed in a separate storeroom with the door locked. She also gave directions that only roasted meats free of garnish and plain boiled vegetables were to be served in the days to come, with rounds of cheese to follow. Sweetmeats of any kind, except for dried fruit, were to be foregone.

  It was late in the evening by the time she was ready to retire, and she was exhausted. She thanked God that the Templar was there to give his assistance, for her ailment and the events of the day had drained much of her energy. But it was necessary that Gerard be informed of what had passed, and so before she went to her bedchamber, she penned a letter to her husband in London in order that it could be sent with a messenger early the following morning. She found that the words she needed to write did not come easily to her mind; she knew how much value Gerard had placed on Simon of Haukwell, both as a man and a knight, and that her husband’s explosive temper would erupt when he learned the manner of Simon’s death. It would be best for Gosbert if Gerard was many miles from Lincoln when he was given the sad news.