A Plague of Poison (13 page)
Thirteen
A
S THE HOURS Of THE DAY CREPT FORWARD, IT SOON became apparent that Nicolaa de la Haye’s prediction would prove true: the deaths of three of Lincoln’s citizens would provoke an outcry among the townspeople. The news of what had befallen le Breve and his family was passed along with the speed of a raging conflagration. The deaths in the castle had not concerned them greatly, for all considered them to be in retaliation for a grudge against the sheriff, Gerard Camville. He was an uncompromising and brutal man, and there were many who had reason to resent his harsh administration. Most of the townspeople had shrugged their shoulders in dismissal when they had heard about the poisoning of the clerk and the knight, and there had even been a few who had quietly whispered that it was a shame that Camville had been away when the deaths had taken place, for if he had not been, he might have been one of the fatalities. It would have made the passage of many lives a little easier.
S THE HOURS Of THE DAY CREPT FORWARD, IT SOON became apparent that Nicolaa de la Haye’s prediction would prove true: the deaths of three of Lincoln’s citizens would provoke an outcry among the townspeople. The news of what had befallen le Breve and his family was passed along with the speed of a raging conflagration. The deaths in the castle had not concerned them greatly, for all considered them to be in retaliation for a grudge against the sheriff, Gerard Camville. He was an uncompromising and brutal man, and there were many who had reason to resent his harsh administration. Most of the townspeople had shrugged their shoulders in dismissal when they had heard about the poisoning of the clerk and the knight, and there had even been a few who had quietly whispered that it was a shame that Camville had been away when the deaths had taken place, for if he had not been, he might have been one of the fatalities. It would have made the passage of many lives a little easier.
But now the poisoner had struck at a family in the town, and one of them had been a young child who could not have been anything but innocent of injury or unkindness to others. As the story of the murders passed from one person to the next, not only fear but outrage rose to the surface. Soon other recent fatalities were recalled, ones where the cause of death had been obscure. It did not take long for such speculation to give rise to the certainty that these other deaths were the result of the poisoner’s machinations.
The first to be remembered had occurred about two months before when the wife of a prominent baker had died. She had been ailing for many months, complaining of pains in her stomach. The baker had obtained the services of a leech, but the numerous bloodlettings he administered did not ease her complaint, and so the baker had asked Alaric, as a physician reputed for his learning, to attend her. After Alaric had checked her blood for its viscosity and inspected her feces and urine for the balance of the humours within her body, the physician had cast her horoscope and shaken his head; there had been a malign conjunction of planets on her natal day, he told the woman’s husband. He would do his best to cure her, but she would need a lengthy treatment and it would be costly. The baker, a moderately wealthy man, gave his assent, and Alaric prescribed the use of several medicines, including feeding her on a diet of roasted mice and applying a paste made from pulverised laurel leaves to her abdomen. None of his remedies prevailed, however, and the woman finally died after a great outpouring of blood from her mouth. There was now no doubt in the retrospective minds of the townspeople that she had been a victim of the poisoner.
Another case that, with hindsight, was viewed with suspicion was the death of a tanner who practiced his trade near the banks of the Witham River. He had been strong and fit one day, and dropped down dead the next, seemingly taken by a stoppage of his heart. Only his wife knew that he had, for some time, been drinking a pint of bull’s urine every day, hoping that the potency of the animal from which it came would prove to be an antidote for his own sad lack of performance. She never considered that the urine had been in any way connected with his death, for it had been recommended by a local apothecary who had sworn that many of his clients had benefited greatly from drinking it. After the death of le Breve and his family, however, and since her husband had complained of a stomachache a few days before he died, she began to wonder if the poisoner had somehow adulterated the honey her spouse had mixed with the urine to make it palatable. She did not hesitate to voice her opinion to her neighbours, and this story, too, soon became fact instead of conjecture.
The most recent fatality, and perhaps the one that most convinced the people of Lincoln that the poisoner had been killing victims over the last few weeks, was the death of a boy of about sixteen years. The young man had suffered almost identical symptoms to that of all of the recent victims, for he had been taken with great bouts of vomiting and a looseness in his bowels, but unlike in the others, these had been milder and had lasted for two days before he finally succumbed. It had been thought at the time that his illness had been due to eating an eel pie he had bought from a roving vendor. The pie seller had suffered great damage to his reputation and much loss of trade from the accusation and, as soon as he heard the news of the poisoning of le Breve’s family, quickly claimed that his young customer’s death had not been due to the staleness of his pie, but that the boy had, instead, been a victim of the villain that was murdering the people of Lincoln.
As morning crept towards afternoon, suspicion, like a malignant condiment, was mixed into the brew of rising terror, and fingers were pointed in accusation. Neighbour turned on neighbour, some out of spite for an old dispute, a few out of envy for another’s more lavish possessions and even a couple out of resentment because a would-be lover had spurned his or her amorous advances. Little knots of people began to gather along the streets in the town, and not a few arguments broke out, many of which ended in physical violence. The worst were outside the alehouses, where drink had loosened tongues and made people reckless. Roget and his men were finding it difficult to comply with Nicolaa de la Haye’s directive to treat the townspeople gently and had no choice but to incarcerate some of the worst offenders in the town gaol.
A few citizens believed that the safety of themselves and their families could only be ensured by leaving the confines of the town, and within hours, wains laden with household goods began to trundle their way through the streets towards the exits of Newport Arch at the north end of Lincoln, and Stonebow in the south.
As the day progressed, Roget found himself more weary than he could recall having ever been before, even on those many occasions when it had been necessary to fight all day long on a bloody battlefield. As he paced the streets in an attempt to maintain order, he promised himself that never again would he drink wine flavoured with honey, even if he was sure it was untainted. The remembrance of this day would make its sweetness turn sour in his mouth.
B
y THE TIME BASCOT And GIANNI LEFT GERMAGAN’S house, it was almost midday and they were both getting hungry. The Templar purchased a loaf of bread from one of the bakers in Baxtergate, and they munched on pieces of it as they walked back into the town, passing through Stonebow Gate and going up Mikelgate Street in the direction of the castle. As earlier in the day, people were still gathered in the streets, and some of the groups Bascot and Gianni passed were engaged in passionate argument. A few of those who had decided to leave Lincoln had wains or packhorses outside their doors and were in the process of piling them high with panniers containing clothing and other personal possessions.
y THE TIME BASCOT And GIANNI LEFT GERMAGAN’S house, it was almost midday and they were both getting hungry. The Templar purchased a loaf of bread from one of the bakers in Baxtergate, and they munched on pieces of it as they walked back into the town, passing through Stonebow Gate and going up Mikelgate Street in the direction of the castle. As earlier in the day, people were still gathered in the streets, and some of the groups Bascot and Gianni passed were engaged in passionate argument. A few of those who had decided to leave Lincoln had wains or packhorses outside their doors and were in the process of piling them high with panniers containing clothing and other personal possessions.
As the Templar and his servant neared the intersection of Brancegate, Bascot saw the merchant, Reinbald, accompanied by a younger man who had enough resemblance to Ivor Severtsson to be his brother, coming towards them. The merchant hailed the Templar and, after introducing him to his companion—who proved to be, as Bascot had suspected, Ivor’s brother, Harald—asked if the search for the poisoner had made any progress.
“Not yet, I am afraid,” Bascot replied. “But it is to be hoped that will change soon.”
Reinbald shook his head, the heavy jowls on his face quivering with the movement. “I fear these deaths are causing much alarm amongst all of those in the town. My poor wife is very distraught, not only at the thought that she was the means by which her good friend, Maud le Breve, and her family died, but also that it could have been us that are lying on our biers in their stead.”
Bascot asked how le Breve’s old servant, Nantie, was faring. It was Harald Severtsson who answered. He was very like his brother in appearance, but shorter and not so well-favoured in his features. His face had a more serious cast to it, and his eyes held a look of candour that was lacking in Ivor’s.
“We have just been to the guildhall, Sir Bascot, to arrange a collection of funds to assist her,” he said, his words touched with the slight Norse accent that Bascot had noticed in his brother. “As yet, she refuses to leave le Breve’s home and is keeping watch over their biers, but after they have been laid to their rest, she will be homeless. My uncle and I have proposed that a collection be made from those of affluence and used to sustain her for the rest of her days, perhaps in the guesthouse of a local nunnery.”
Bascot was very pleased to learn that the old servant would be provided for and then asked if the merchant had given any more consideration as to who could have had reason to place the poison in his kitchen.
“I have wracked my brain to think of any person who would bear me such malice,” Reinbald replied. “While there is sometimes a small rivalry between myself and another wine merchant, I can think of nothing of such severity that it would give rise to a wish for my death.”
“If this attack is not a random one,
Onkel
, then it would be a dull-witted person that would take revenge over an enmity that was well-known to you, for he would immediately be suspected of the crime,” Harald observed. “And, because of the boldness and cunning it must have taken to place the poison in
Tante
Helge’s kitchen, I do not believe this poisoner is lacking in intelligence.”
Onkel
, then it would be a dull-witted person that would take revenge over an enmity that was well-known to you, for he would immediately be suspected of the crime,” Harald observed. “And, because of the boldness and cunning it must have taken to place the poison in
Tante
Helge’s kitchen, I do not believe this poisoner is lacking in intelligence.”
As Bascot took his leave of the merchant and his nephew, Harald’s last words made the Templar take them into his consideration of the likelihood that Wilkin had committed the crimes. The potter was more well-spoken than the rest of his family, an influence, no doubt, of being often within the town and conversing with the customers he met while he plied his wares. But did such an asset denote the intelligence that Harald Severtsson believed the poisoner possessed? If Wilkin had truly been the person who had adulterated the honey, would he not have been devious enough to hide his dislike of the bailiff in front of himself and Hamo? The Templar would have thought so, but bitter experience had taught him that a person who commits secret murder often wears a guileless face. It could be that Wilkin was such a one.
Fourteen
W
HEN BASCOT RETURNED TO THE CASTLE, HE found Nicolaa de la HAYE in the hall where she had, up until a few moments before, been speaking to the town bailiff, Henry Stoyle. The official, an expression of disquietude on his face, was just leaving as Bascot came in.
HEN BASCOT RETURNED TO THE CASTLE, HE found Nicolaa de la HAYE in the hall where she had, up until a few moments before, been speaking to the town bailiff, Henry Stoyle. The official, an expression of disquietude on his face, was just leaving as Bascot came in.
When Bascot approached the dais, Nicolaa was discussing with Gilles de Laubrec the results of her meeting with Stoyle. Seeing the Templar, she immediately invited him to take a seat and sent a page scurrying for a cup of wine.
“I hope you have some good news for us, de Marins,” she said. “I am told that the townspeople are becoming very agitated. According to what I have just heard, every death that has taken place in Lincoln in the last few weeks has now been ascribed to have been the work of the poisoner. I do not doubt that if a corpse were found with a dagger through the heart, the death would still be deemed to have been caused by poisoned honey.”
She picked up her cup and took a sip. “The bailiff tells me that some of the citizens he spoke to are concerned, and rightly so, that rumours of this plague of poison in Lincoln will spread to other parts of the country and affect trade with the town. If it does, it will not only empty the coffers of our richer citizens, it will also mean less work for those they employ, and could cause great hardship among the poor. I have promised to meet tomorrow with some of the leaders of the guilds to discuss the situation. They would be pleased if I could tell them we had apprehended the culprit. Is there any likelihood I may be able to do so, de Marins?”
“I fear not, lady,” Bascot admitted. “I do have sight of a possible suspect, at least for poisoning the honey in Reinbald’s home, but I can find no reason for him to have done so in the castle.”
Other books
Raisin' Cain: The Wild and Raucous Story of Johnny Winter (Kindle Edition) by Sullivan, Mary Lou
Match This! (The UnSocial Dater#1) by MJ Fields
Before It Breaks by Dave Warner
Hot Wire by Carson, Gary
Desperate Times by Nicholas Antinozzi
79 Park Avenue by Harold Robbins
Wilder by Christina Dodd
In a Handful of Dust by Mindy McGinnis
A Princely Dilemma by Elizabeth Rolls
0748469001330321113 slavetoherdesires jillmyles by Jill Myles
