Maureen Ash - A Plague of Poison

Germagan offered Bascot the most comfortable chair in the room, which, to the Templar’s surprise, had both arms and a padded seat. He had not realised that exterminating rats was such a profitable business. Gianni stood behind him, gazing in awe at the draught-excluding cloths of rat skins that hung from the walls and the marvellous pewter bowlful of rats’ claws that sat in the middle of the table.

Bascot took a sip of his ale and regarded the two catchers. “I would have you stay with us, Germagan, while I ask my questions of your cousin. It may be that where his knowledge fails, you are able to fill in the gaps.”

Motioning to both of the men to be seated, he asked Dido how long it had been since he left the service of the Templars at Wragby.

“Five months since, lord,” Dido replied. “ ’Twas a good post, but I am town born and bred and I missed Lincoln.” He paused for a moment and then elaborated on his reason for returning to the town. “There is also a maid that I wish to wed. I was married once afore, but my wife took sick and died after she had our first babby. Not long after, the child became ill as well and followed his mother to her grave. At the time, I was glad to get out of Lincoln and leave the memory behind me, but now I’ve a fancy to make a home again and perhaps raise another family. The girl I would like to marry has told me she might be willing but she is reluctant to move out into the countryside and away from her parents. She said if I plied my trade within the city walls there was a chance she would look on me with favour. So I come back here, and Germagan kindly offered to give me a bed until she says yea or nay.”

Bascot nodded. “Did you ever have occasion to go to the Nettleham apiary while you were employed at Wragby?”

“Only once,” was the reply. “That was in the old bailiff’s time. There was a nest of rats in the beekeeper’s barn and his dogs couldn’t lodge them. I stayed there for two days and a night and sent my ferrets in.” He patted his pocket and one of the tiny animals poked its nose out, bright eyes shining as it looked around the company before disappearing back into its hiding place. “They got rid of them soon enough. Found their nest as quick as lightning, and between them and the beekeeper’s dogs the vermin was all dead within the space of a few heartbeats.”

“And you stayed at Wragby after the former bailiff died, didn’t you?”

“Aye, I did. Terrible time that was, when his son was hanged. Went right out of his senses with grief, did Rivelar. One morning he came out into the yard and called for his horse, but before it could be brought he’d dropped down stone-cold dead as though he’d been hit with a poleax. ’Twas a quick death, but a sorry one.”

“And Ivor Severtsson was employed there before he took over the post of bailiff after Rivelar’s death?”

“He was, lord,” Dido said, his face clearly showing that he did not understand the import of the Templar’s questions.

Bascot leaned forward. “During all the time you were there, Dido, did you ever have knowledge of any animosity between the potter at Nettleham and Severtsson, either before he became bailiff or afterwards?”

For the first time, Dido dropped his gaze. When he looked up, he glanced at Germagan, who said, “Cousin, the purpose of our trade is to keep the dwellings of Lincoln clean and free of vermin. Sir Bascot’s aim is the same as ours, but the two-legged rat that he is after is far more dangerous than any of those we catch. It is your bounden duty to assist him, no matter if it needs that you speak ill of others.”

Dido listened to his cousin’s words and gave his answer slowly and with a show of disinclination. “ ’Tis not an easy thing to tell tales of another’s affairs, but I reckon Germagan’s right. ’Tis my duty.” He gave a sigh. “You are right, lord. There is bad feeling between Wilkin and Severtsson, and has been for a long time.”

“Do you know the reason?”

Dido nodded. “Wilkin’s daughter, Rosamunde-the potter thinks Severtsson raped her and is the father of her baby. When it was first noticed in the village in Nettleham that the girl was pregnant, the potter accused the bailiff of ravishing her to anyone who would listen.”

Having already thought it was possible that Severtsson might be the father of the child he had seen playing at Rosamunde’s feet, Bascot was nonetheless startled by the additional accusation of rape. Here, indeed, was cause for the potter to have a deep hatred against the bailiff, and a fervent desire for revenge on the man who had defiled his daughter’s body. Had the potter tried to extract his retribution by attempting to poison the bailiff while he dined at his uncle’s house in Lincoln? But if so, why had he also placed a pot of the same poison in the castle kitchen?

The Templar returned his attention to Dido. “Do you believe the potter’s accusation?”

Dido reflected before he gave his answer. “I suppose it might be true, but I don’t think so. Wilkin’s daughter is beautiful, and always was, even before she became mazed. There were quite a few who came after her alongside the bailiff, and I heard many a tale of how a hopeful swain would have a sudden urge to stop and linger in Nettleham in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her. And she was aware of it, for she often took walks in the woods nearby, even though I heard tell her father beat her more than once for doing so.”

“So it could have been anyone that raped her, not just Severtsson?”

A shadow of reluctance came over Dido’s face again as he said, “That’s if she was actually raped, lord, and didn’t give herself willingly.”

Bascot became a little impatient with Dido’s reticence and said, “I have no time for niceties, catcher. Tell me all you know, and tell it now, without prompting.”

Germagan added his own exhortation to Bascot, saying angrily, “Get on with it, Cousin, and do as you are bid.”

The older catcher’s words prodded Dido into continuing his tale, albeit in a resigned fashion. “It is said that Rosamunde was enamoured of Rivelar’s son, the man that became a brigand and was taken by the sheriff and hanged. His name was Drue. I saw him with her myself once, in the woods near Wragby when I was out looking for a rat’s nest near an old well there. They were lying in the grass entwined together-nearly stepped on them I did, but saw them just in time-and she didn’t give no appearance of being there against her will. If anyone’s the father of that babe, it’s Drue Rivelar, not Ivor Severtsson.”

“Did you know this Drue well? He must have been on the property at Wragby before he became an outlaw, while he was growing up.”

“Aye. He was just a young lad when I went there about six years ago. He was a bit of a hellion and didn’t take kindly to his father’s harsh ways. Many a time I saw Rivelar give his son a thrashing for some wrongdoing, but the boy took all his father gave without so much as a whimper and then went out and did what he’d just been told not to do all over again. He was a merry lad, and, I suppose, well-favoured to a woman’s eyes. Seems to me that he and Rosamunde were two of a kind, both wayward, but with a joy in them that no amount of punishment would ever quench.”

“And yet Wilkin insists that it is Severtsson who impregnated his daughter-was he not aware of her liaison with Rivelar’s son?”

Dido wrinkled up his face in thought. “Wilkin may not have known about Drue. All of us at Wragby did, but the potter never had no cause to come there and the villagers in Nettleham may not have felt easy with telling him about his daughter’s love games in the greenwood. And Severtsson would have taken Drue’s place if he could. I used to see him look at his master’s son with envy in his eyes.” He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s all I know of the matter, lord. As I said, there were many men for Rosamunde to choose from. Only she knows who she gave her favours to, or how many.”