A Plague of Poison

by Maureen Ash

  Bascot spoke earnestly. “Each of those who was an intended victim was connected to one of you three, lord. Here, in the castle, the poison was meant for Lady Nicolaa. With Severtsson, it was his aunt and uncle. It was only happenstance that, on both of those occasions, others ingested the poison in their stead. The death in the priory is the only instance where Mauger achieved his aim. The poison was given to one of the monks, who are, to the prior, like members of his family. I have been told that when Mauger was a boy he enjoyed watching others being inflicted with pain. The manner in which Cooper was killed indicates that maturity has not changed him. Any revenge he sought would not be taken quickly, in the way that most men would do, with their fists or a sword. His requital would only be satisfied if he made his victims suffer before the coup de grâce was delivered, so that he could take pleasure in their anguish before he despatched them. If Lady Nicolaa and Severtsson’s family had died, as he intended, he would have fulfilled his purpose.”

  Camville’s face had become grim. “What are your proofs of this man’s guilt?”

  Bascot related the details of Roget’s interview with the draper’s wife and how Gianni had afterwards made a suggestion that there was a connection between the poisoner and Cooper’s death. He then gave details of his questioning of Wilkin and, afterwards, the beekeeper and his daughter. Finally, he related his conversation with Matthew Gant and how it had provided proof of his suspicions. Both the sheriff and his wife listened intently.

  “Mauger will not stop, lord, until he has gained his objective,” Bascot said when he had finished. “He will kill again. And the next time he might be more successful.”

  “If de Marins is right, Gerard,” Nicolaa said quietly, “I am not the only one he will try to kill. Richard’s skill with a sword would be no defence against poison.”

  For the first time since he had met him, Bascot saw an unfamiliar emotion appear in the sheriff’s eyes—fear.

  Camville walked over to the fireplace and studied the small flames rising from the log of applewood that was burning there. It was a long time before he spoke. “You are certain of this, Templar? There can be no mistake?”

  “I am sure, lord,” Bascot replied.

  The sheriff nodded, convinced. “Then no time must be lost in finding him.”

  AFTER GERARD CAMVILLE GAVE HIS SANCTION TO the search, they discussed how it could best be carried out.

  “He may be anywhere in Lincoln,” Bascot said. “Someone who lives in the town, a servant here in the castle or a lay brother at the priory. It is possible he is a man we see every day whose presence we accept unthinkingly, not realising his identity is a false one. The only facts of which we can be certain are that he is in his late twenties, probably strong in build and has hair that is brown and eyes of a pale colour. He will not have returned to Lincoln until after his brother and father were dead, and so he has not been here for longer than two years.”

  “The only place to start,” Nicolaa said, “is with a list of possible suspects. Ernulf and Roget can help me with those who have recently arrived in the town, and I will review the household records for those within the castle. The prior of All Saints can be asked if there are any newcomers among the monks and servants who fit Mauger’s age and description.”

  “You must exercise caution, Wife,” the sheriff warned. “We do not want this man alerted to our search. If he is, he will be forewarned and may leave Lincoln before we find him. To that same end, the potter must be kept in confinement.”

  Nicolaa nodded her agreement. “For the present, I will take only Ernulf, Roget and the prior into our confidence. And Richard.”

  “Reinbald and his family must be warned that they are in danger,” Bascot said. Then, as he recalled the animosity that the merchant’s wife, Helge, had towards Wilkin, added, “I am not confident that Reinbald’s wife has the ability to keep a still tongue in her head. She is a headstrong woman and suffered extreme embarrassment at the potter’s trial. She is also convinced that he is guilty. Her hatred of him may blind her to the peril she is in, and she may feel it necessary to defend her views to any who will listen.”

  Nicolaa pondered the problem for a few moments and then said, “I shall ask the merchant to come here to the castle so that I can speak to him of this matter alone. I can use the pretext of wishing to order some wine for our stores to request his presence and, once he arrives, explain to him our fears and the reason for them. Perhaps a way can be found to protect his family without his wife being aware of it.”

  “I will question Wilkin again, see if he can remember more of Mauger’s appearance, though I am doubtful he will recall much. The last time he saw Rivelar’s elder son was many years ago.”

  Nicolaa nodded. “And the aspect of a man can change drastically as he becomes an adult—his height increases and his beard will thicken. Unless he had some deformity or a visible blemish, he may look completely different. But it will be worthwhile to try, for we have a difficult task before us.”

  “It would be wise, Wife, if you and Richard were careful of what you eat and drink until Mauger is found,” Camville said gruffly.

  “We will be, Gerard, and I will especially ensure that Richard abstains from drinking the honeyed wine of which he, like Haukwell, is so fond.”

  The castellan stood up. “I owe you an apology, de Marins. I should not have doubted your instincts when you told me you believed the potter was innocent.”

  “I doubted them myself, lady,” Bascot replied. “Had Gianni not made an observation that directed me to the truth, I would still be doing so.”

  “Then I will ensure the boy is rewarded for his quick intelligence,” Nicolaa promised him.

  Twenty-nine

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, NICOLAA DE LA HAYE sat with her son, waiting for Reinbald to respond to a summons she had sent asking that he attend her that afternoon to discuss the purchase of a quantity of wine for the castle store. Richard had been apprised of the situation the night before when his father sent for him to come to the sheriff’s private chamber while Bascot was still there. He had listened in dismay as the Templar repeated his proofs of Mauger’s guilt and was shaken when he realised the danger that Nicolaa was in. “You must stay in the company of either Father or myself at all times, Mother. To do otherwise will put you in great peril.”

  “Then you can help me prepare the list of those within the castle household who fit Mauger’s description, Richard,” Nicolaa said lightly, trying to alleviate the fear she saw in her son’s face. “I do not think your father would have much liking for the task.”

  It was this list they were studying as they were waiting for Reinbald, Richard eschewing his favoured honeyed wine and sharing a flagon of tart cider with his mother as they considered each of the names that had been put down. There were many, for old age, death or injury often gave need for replacement.

  After they had spent an hour at the task, Nicolaa laid her pen down with a sigh of frustration. “This would be far more profitable if we had some sort of description, Richard. While we can eliminate some as being too old, or too young, the rest are such a motley crew of differing physiognomies that it becomes almost impossible to eliminate any of them.”

  “I agree, Mother,” Richard replied. “A description of fair skin and brown hair does not give much guidance.”

  “I have been trying to remember John Rivelar’s appearance and that of his son Drue, although it cannot be taken as certain that Mauger will resemble either of them closely. It is possible he may take after his mother, but I was told that she has been dead for many years, and so any details of her aspect are lost to anyone’s memory.”

  “I recall that Drue was small and dark, but his father was not. They would not have been taken as father and son at a cursory glance,” Richard said.

  “Just so,” Nicolaa agreed. “Let us hope the potter will be able to give de Marins details that are more helpful.”

  At that moment, a servant knocked at the door and told his
mistress that Reinbald had arrived. When the merchant entered, his younger nephew, Harald, was with him, carrying a flagon of Granarde wine in the crook of his arm. Nicolaa looked at Richard and her son grimaced before reluctantly giving a nod. Although neither of them had much regard for Ivor Severtsson, especially after Bascot had told them what Roget had learned about him, it seemed it would be necessary to include his brother in the conversation they intended to have with his uncle.

  Reinbald doffed the tasselled cap of brocaded silk he wore and bowed low to the castellan and her son. “I was pleased to learn that you are interested in the wines that I offer, lady, and have brought one for you to taste in the hopes that it will tempt your palate.”

  “I am afraid, Master Reinbald, that I asked you here for quite a different purpose than the one which I stated in my message,” Nicolaa told him. “While both my son and I would be more than pleased to sample your wares, we have a much more serious matter than the purchase of wines to discuss.”

  Both of the men were startled by her words, but when she bade them sit down and hear what she had to say, they complied, albeit with wary expressions on their faces. As Nicolaa explained the discovery that Wilkin was not guilty of attempting to murder the members of their household and who they believed had done so instead, Reinbald’s face became grave.

  “If what you suspect is true, lady, then my wife, myself and Harald are all still at risk from this man.”

  “I am afraid so, merchant,” Nicolaa replied. “And that is why it was necessary to use the precaution of a ruse in my summons to you. There was a need to alert you to the danger and find a way to circumvent it, but if we are to apprehend this man, it is vital that our suspicions are kept secret.”

  Nicolaa gave the merchant a conciliatory smile as she added, “I feared the danger of the situation might prove a little too much for your wife to withstand, and so decided to talk to you privily.”

  “But how can we defend ourselves, lady?” Reinbald said with some agitation. “This man has gained access to our home before, without any of us having knowledge that he had done so. He may do so again.”

  “We are well aware of that, merchant,” Nicolaa said dryly, “and that is why you are here, to discuss how we may provide you with protection without it seeming to be done.”

  Harald had remained silent throughout the exchange between Nicolaa and his uncle, but now, with a steadiness in his pale blue eyes, he said, “Would it not be easier if my aunt and uncle were to leave Lincoln for a time, Lady Nicolaa? My uncle often goes to London and even farther afield to purchase wine for his stores. If he made it known that he was leaving town for such a purpose, and taking my aunt with him, none would suspect that it was not the truth.”

  “But I never take your aunt Helge with me on such trips,” Reinbald protested.

  “She is always begging you to do so, Onkel, and every time you refuse. Now you must pretend to indulge her. It will keep you both out of harm’s way, even if it is only for a short time.”

  “And what of you, Harald?” Reinbald objected. “Will you remain in Lincoln and expose yourself to the danger alone? I am not sure I can allow such a thing.” The merchant’s consternation was palpable.

  Harald gave his uncle a reassuring smile. “Onkel, it is far easier to protect one person than three, especially if one of those three is a woman. I do not need to spend much time in our house; I will be in the wine store during the day and, if necessary, can spend the nights with Bedoc.” Harald glanced at Nicolaa and Richard. “Bedoc is our clerk and lives above the storehouse. He has two dogs who keep watch over the premises at night. I will be perfectly safe there.”

  “But you are Ivor’s brother,” Reinbald reminded him. “This man may decide that you would be a fair exchange for his own brother, whose death he believes Ivor caused. He may not use poison next time but attack you with a knife as he did when he killed the fishmonger’s assistant. It is a quick matter to stab a man in the street and disappear in the crowd around him.”

  Again Harald dismissed his uncle’s protestations. “I promise I will stay alert, Onkel, while you are gone. And that will be much easier to do if I know that you and Tante Helge are safe.”

  Richard regarded the younger Severtsson brother. He had not the height nor the strength of his brother, but his manner was unaffected and the courage inherent in his words had been stated with a quiet resolution that held no hint of bravado. The sheriff’s son thought that although Harald and Ivor were brothers, they were not much alike, and that the younger was far more preferable than the elder.

  WHILE NICOLAA And HER SON WERE CLOSETED with Reinbald and Harald, Bascot was questioning Wilkin about his memories of John Rivelar’s elder son. The potter had returned to the state of apathy that the Templar had found him in on the previous occasion he had been in the cell, and the spark of hope that had gleamed in Wilkin’s eyes on that occasion was gone. Bascot suspected he had been subjected to another round of abuse by the guards and had to shake him sharply before he regained awareness. Although he wished he could relieve the potter’s anguish, and that of his family, by telling all of them that Wilkin’s innocence was no longer in doubt, he knew he could not do so. If the potter tried to defend himself against the guards’ brutality by revealing his knowledge, or if Adam or Margot mentioned it to one of their neighbours, the news of the search for Mauger would leak out. That could not be allowed to happen.

  “Tell me what you recall of Mauger during the time before he went away,” Bascot demanded of Wilkin, keeping his tone rough on purpose. “Did he have any blemish on his skin, or perhaps a lisp in his speech? Were there any scars on his face or arms that you noticed?”

  Wilkin rallied sufficiently to say that the only thing he remembered was that he thought Mauger’s eyes may have been blue, but nothing else.

  “I want you to think on the matter, potter, and send one of the guards to fetch me if you remember anything that might be pertinent, no matter how insignificant it seems.”

  Wilkin gave the Templar a weak nod, and Bascot left the cell, disappointed by the interview.

  Thirty

  THAT SAME AFTERNOON, MAUGER RIVELAR WENT down into the streets of the town. He knew Roget had been questioning the citizens about their knowledge of Fland Cooper’s friends and wanted to listen to any gossip about the killing. Although Cooper had sworn that he had not mentioned his knowledge of Mauger’s presence in Lincoln to anyone, he wanted to make sure that the ale keeper’s son had been telling the truth. He had, after all, been begging for his life when he said it.

  Mauger smiled inwardly at remembrance of his last meeting with Cooper. As he had feared at the time, Fland had recognised him on the day that Mauger had been in the lane behind Reinbald’s house, just after he had placed the poison in the merchant’s kitchen, but it had taken Cooper a couple of days to remember where he had seen him, and then a couple more before he realised that Mauger was using a false name and why. It had been then that the little whoreson had come to him with a demand that he be paid to keep silent and had foolishly expected Mauger would part with the money quietly and without a struggle. Cooper had been stupid and greedy as a child, and had not changed with the passage of years. It had not been until he was lying on the ground with his stomach ripped open that he had finally realised the pass to which his avarice had brought him. Cooper had deserved every second of the agony he had endured, and Mauger had enjoyed inflicting it. Lovingly, he patted the knife that he wore in a sheath underneath his tunic. He could hardly contain his longing for the day when he would do the same to all of those who had conspired in his brother’s death, but he knew he must be patient. Before he killed them, they must experience the same depth of anguish they had inflicted on him. Only then would justice be served.

  Grief for Drue swelled anew in Mauger’s breast as he recalled the night he had left all those years ago. His brother had been just a boy then, only twelve years old, and Mauger could still remember the excited look on Drue’s face as he had
watched his older brother pack a sack with food as he prepared to leave their home. When Drue had asked him where he intended to go, Mauger had answered carelessly that he did not know, but anywhere was preferable to being under the subjection of their father any longer. In all the years he had been gone, he had not once envisaged that he would never see either Drue or his father again.

  If only he had returned a scant few weeks earlier he might have been able to save his little brother from the sheriff’s noose, but he had been too entranced with the charms of a compliant widow in Grimsby to come as quickly as he had intended. He had not heard of his brother’s and father’s fate until he was finally on his way back to Lincoln in the company of a party of travellers going in the same direction. Shortly after he joined the group, one of them, a cordwainer returning to Lincoln after collecting a shipment of Spanish leather at Grimsby, and not aware of Mauger’s identity, had told his companions about a band of brigands that had recently been hanged by the sheriff in his hometown, and how the father of one of them, a bailiff by the name of John Rivelar, had died shortly afterwards from the shock of his son’s death. Mauger had been horror-struck. He had kept a grim silence as the cordwainer embellished his tale with details of his brother’s hanging, wishing he could tear the man’s tongue out so that he could speak no more. When the travellers reached Louth he made an excuse to part from the others and took a private room in an alehouse. Only when he was finally alone did he allow his grief to engulf him.