by Maureen Ash
St. Maur bade Bascot rise, giving him the kiss of peace on both cheeks as he did so. “I am pleased to see that the health of your body has been recovered,” he said, and then gestured to the saddled horse that the groom was bringing through the stable door. “Are you about to embark on a journey?”
“Yes, Master,” Bascot replied. “I am going to London, to request permission from Master Berard to resign from the Order.”
St. Maur rubbed his hand over his short pointed beard and nodded. “I met with King John recently and he told me of the offer he had made to you.” He gave Bascot an intent look as he asked, “I take it that you have decided to accept the king’s gift and abide by the stipulations he attached to it?”
When Bascot replied that he had, St. Maur asked another question. “Is it your wish, de Marins, as well as your intention, to leave our brotherhood?”
Bascot answered him honestly. “No, Master, it is not.”
“Then I think there is need for us to discuss the matter further,” St. Maur said in grave tones. “Go to the commandery and await me there. Inform Preceptor d’Arderon of my arrival and tell him I will join you shortly.”
Bound by his vow of obedience, Bascot did as he was bid and then, with d’Arderon’s permission, went to await his interview with St. Maur in the preceptory chapel.
The Templar chapel in Lincoln had been built, like many of those in other enclaves, in a circular fashion to emulate the rotunda of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. The interior of the chapel was plain, its small space supported by columns placed around the perimeter. On each of the two pillars alongside the altar, stone representations of cherubim had been carved on the capitals, and below them was a depiction of two knights astride one horse, the symbol that was used on the Templar seal. Niches in the walls contained torches that were kept alight day and night, and the acrid smell of burning resin filled the air, mixed with the sweeter and underlying aroma of incense. The altar was at the eastern end, with a figure of Christ on a cross above it and a statue of the Virgin Mary to one side. Bascot knelt in front of the rail that protected the table on which Mass was celebrated, and he bowed his head.
First he put an image of Gianni in his mind, asking God to protect the boy through whatever trials awaited him, then repeated the prayer of a paternoster over and over until he heard the footsteps of St. Maur ring on the stones of the chapel floor behind him.
The master genuflected and then knelt beside Bascot, his lips moving in silent prayer before he rose and spoke to the younger knight.
“I have just been discussing with Lady Nicolaa the offer that King John made to you and the terms that bind it. She tells me, as I suspected, that she believed you were not content in the Order and wished to leave it. That being so, her suggestion to the king that he reward your services by restoring your father’s fief to your possession was in anticipation of that desire. The constraints placed upon the boon were not of her design, but King John’s alone. She assures me that although she would be pleased to have you join her retinue, she has no desire to command the fealty of a man who has given it under duress.”
St. Maur paused when he finished speaking and, clasping his hands behind his back, walked to where the statue of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus in her arms stood on a plinth. After looking up at her serene face for a few moments, he walked with a measured tread back to where Bascot stood. “Am I correct in assuming, de Marins, that were it not for the boy, you would refuse the king’s offer and return to our brotherhood?”
“You are, Master, but I must put Gianni’s welfare before my own and so cannot, as much as I would wish to.”
“And the vows you took, de Marins, what of them?”
“I shall honour those even though I leave the Order, Master. I will remain chaste, as I swore to do, and I have no desire for earthly riches. Any monies that accrue from the king’s gift, or my service to Lady Nicolaa, will remain intact and be given to Gianni when he is old enough to manage them.”
“And your promise of obedience?” St. Maur pressed.
“Any penance that is laid on me I will complete,” Bascot replied. “I would hope that it would not be so severe as to take me from Gianni’s company for the rest of my life, but if it is, I will do it and leave his care to a person of integrity.”
St. Maur nodded. “Thomas Berard told me that such would be your intent.”
Noting the expression of surprise on Bascot’s face, the master explained. “Before I came north to Lincoln, I called an assembly of some of our older and wiser brothers, as is the custom, to discuss your dilemma and seek their advice as to a resolution. We are always reluctant to lose any of our number, de Marins, especially one who has suffered as much as you have done in the service of Our Lord. At the meeting, that thought was uppermost in our minds, and we all gave much consideration to the part of our Rule which enjoins all brothers to defend the poor, widows and orphans. It was felt, by all of those who conferred on the matter, that your young servant is one of those we have sworn to protect and that it is incumbent on us, your brethren, to assist you in that task.”
Bascot held his breath as St. Maur continued. “While I was at the castle, I had your servant brought to me. I asked him what his feelings were in this matter, and he conveyed to me, through his literacy, that he has no desire for you to leave the Order, or for the provision that you would gain for him by your sacrifice.”
“He is young yet, Master. He has not the wisdom to judge . . .”
St. Maur interrupted him. “On the contrary, de Marins, I think he shows much intelligence and has considerable pureness of heart. He is very conscious of the favour you have shown him and now wishes to give to you in return.
Is it not written in holy script that charity is the greatest of all gifts? Would you deny him the right to practice the dictates of that blessed teaching?”
Bascot accepted the rebuke without comment but felt his heart swell with pride in Gianni.
“I asked the boy to tell me, if he were given the freedom to choose, what path in life he would follow,” St. Maur went on. “He wrote down four words—‘to be a clerk.’ He then explained to me, through signs he made with his hands, that because of his muteness, his longing to be able to communicate with others was his paramount desire.” The master grinned with remembered amusement. “He was very descriptive, even without the use of words. First he pointed to his mouth and shook his head, then he picked up the quill he had been given and pointed it at the paper and, with a wide smile, clapped his hands together. There was no mistaking his intent.”
Bascot could imagine Gianni using the signs that had been their only way of communicating when he had first found the boy. Over time, as Bascot had taught him to be literate, he had used them less, but the motions were still remarkable for their clarity.
“If there were a way, de Marins, to fulfil the boy’s desire and, with it, your own, would you forego the king’s gift to obtain it?” St. Maur asked.
“At once, and with no regret,” Bascot assured him.
“Then, in the name of the Order, my command to you is this. You will stay on in Lincoln castle for the space of one year while the boy is instructed, as you had already arranged, in the art of scribing. At the end of that time, if the lad proves to be as intelligent as he seems, and as diligent as he has promised, Lady Nicolaa has agreed to take him into her household staff and assign him duties in the scriptorium. Once his future is assured, you will rejoin your brethren and once more wield your sword in the battle against the enemies of our sovereign Lord, Jesus Christ.”
As tears swelled in Bascot’s eye, St. Maur added, with a smile, “I see that I need not harbour any concern that, on this occasion, you will honour your vow of obedience.”
Epilogue
TWO CURIOUS INCIDENTS OCCURRED AFTER THE CAPTURE of Mauger Rivelar. The first took place just a few days later when Ivor Severtsson claimed to have had an accident with a stack of falling wine barrels. The injuries from the m
ishap were severe—a broken nose and severely lacerated jaw as well as the loss of several of his front teeth. Before his wounds had even begun to heal he announced his intention of leaving Lincoln immediately and returning to his homeland of Norway. Although Helge, his aunt, was rendered disconsolate by his decision, it was remarked by the neighbours that Reinbald did not seem greatly distressed by Ivor’s departure and that the younger Severtsson brother, Harald, had been pleased to speed his sibling on his way. Some of them also noticed that Captain Roget of the sheriff’s town guard was standing outside the merchant’s house on the day that Ivor left and had watched the former bailiff ride towards the southern exit from the town with a satisfied smile on his face.
The second happening was not until many months later, long after Mauger Rivelar had undergone the penalty of being hanged, drawn and quartered for his crimes. After his arrest, all of the buildings within the castle ground were searched in an attempt to locate the poison he had used, but no trace was ever found. It was not until a new priest was appointed to St. Bavon’s Church in Butwerk and ordered some straggling brambles in a corner of the graveyard to be cleared away that a leather bag containing a compound of Helleborus niger was discovered. The two gravediggers that were carrying out the task of clearing the undergrowth first discovered the bodies of several dead rats and then, after upending a flat stone that lay over the place where the vermin had been digging, a large scrip. The surface of the bag had been chewed, and the contents had oozed into the cavity where it had been concealed. Underneath the bag were two honey pots, their bright amber colour dulled by being buried in the earth for so long. The wax seals at the necks had melted in the heat of summer, and the contents had run out of the containers and mixed with the substance that had been in the scrip. The cross pattée etched into the bottoms of the jars was nearly obliterated by dirt and neither of the men noticed it.
The gravediggers did not realise the import of their discovery, but they nonetheless called the priest and showed him what they had found. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he ordered the men to shovel the whole mess, including the bodies of the dead rats, into a hempen sack and dispose of it. The gravediggers did as they were instructed, securing the bag tightly before they took it to the Werkdyke and threw it onto the deep pile of rubbish in the ditch.
Author’s Note
The setting for A Plague of Poison is an authentic one. Nicolaa de la Haye was hereditary castellan of Lincoln castle during this period, and her husband, Gerard Camville, was sheriff. The personalities they have been given in the story have been formed by conclusions the author has drawn from events during the reigns of King Richard I and King John.
For details of medieval Lincoln and the Order of the Knights Templar, I am much indebted to the following: Medieval Lincoln by J.W.F. Hill (Cambridge University Press) and Dungeon, Fire and Sword by John J. Robinson (M. Evans and Company, Inc.).
Maureen Ash was born in London, England, and has had a lifelong interest in British medieval history. Visits to castle ruins and old churches have provided the inspiration for her novels. She enjoys Celtic music, browsing in bookstores and Belgian chocolate. Maureen now lives on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada.