Maureen Ash - A Plague of Poison

“But that does not give him a reason to harm anyone in the castle,” Bascot said doubtfully.

“Not unless it occurred by accident,” de Laubrec surmised. “Perhaps the honey pot he poisoned was accidentally put in with those that were destined for the castle kitchen and he had need to prepare another to include with those that Severtsson was taking to his uncle.”

“If that is so, then we must conclude that both of the pots were poisoned last autumn and the fact that they were opened at almost the same time was just by chance,” Nicolaa said. “That would be a rare coincidence indeed.”

“It would, lady,” Bascot replied. “I think that the honey in both places was tampered with recently. It would be a simple matter to acquire one or more empty pots, fill them with poisoned honey and then exchange them for ones that are pure. And Gosbert has told me that Wilkin is often in the castle kitchen and would have reason to pass the place where the cook keeps the honey. As for the merchant’s home, the kitchen is of easy access to anyone who seeks entry through the lane at the back of the house. The potter could have done it, and my only reservation for not thinking that he did is that he has no reason that I can find to wish the deaths of anyone within the bail.”

Nicolaa considered the matter. “Is it possible that the potter may have thought that more than one death would cloud the reason he wished to harm Severtsson? That his aim was for all to think, just as we are doing, that he could not be guilty because he had no wish to harm anyone other than the bailiff?”

Bascot admitted that could be possible. “If that is so, he was foolish not to hide his anger at Severtsson in front of Hamo and myself. His open enmity was the reason I thought to look further into the matter.”

“Or crafty enough to believe such honesty would remove him from any taint of suspicion,” Nicolaa said. “Keep looking, de Marins. You may yet uncover a reason for his wishing the death of myself or some other person within the bail, and if you do, then-”

She broke off as a tall figure came rushing through the door of the hall. Pushing past the servant that was on duty there, he came hurrying up towards the dais. It was Brother Andrew from the Priory of All Saints. The ring of light brown hair around his tonsure was in disarray and his demeanour was agitated as he exclaimed in breathless tones, “Lady, there has been another poisoning. A patient in the infirmary is dead.”

Two servants that had been laying cloths on trestle tables in preparation for the midday meal heard the monk’s words and started back in horror. Nicolaa spoke to them sharply, ordering one to bring Brother Andrew a cup of wine and the other to get on with his task.

As the servants hurried to obey, she returned her attention to the monk, who apologised for breaking the news in such a precipitate fashion. “It was understandable, Brother,” Nicolaa said, and asked who it was that had died.

“The patient was one of the lay brothers,” Andrew told them. “His duty is to attend the carp ponds that are on the priory grounds, and he came to us for help only yesterday, suffering from a fever and purulent ulcers in his throat. He was placed in one of the beds in the infirmary, and after bathing him with cooling cloths wrung out in water, Brother Jehan ordered that a decoction made from the flowers and dried seed capsules of the hawthorn bush be given to him every two hours. It was a simple task and, as I was busy lancing a nasty carbuncle on the leg of one of our brothers, was given to Eustace, a novice monk who has been helping us in the infirmary. He gave the medicant as had been ordered, but the patient was finding the medicine difficult to swallow because of the ulcers. Thinking to ease his discomfort, Eustace added some honey from a small pot that is kept on a shelf for the purpose and said that at first the addition of the honey seemed to help the lay brother and he left him resting comfortably, well wrapped in blankets, until it should be time for the next dosage.

“When Eustace returned, he found the patient tossing and turning in his bed and sweating profusely. He was also complaining that his tongue and gums felt as though they were on fire. Then he began to vomit. Eustace ran to fetch me, and I recognised the symptoms at once as being consistent with a poison derived from the Helleborus niger plant. Brother Jehan and I tried to save the man, but to no avail. He breathed his last just an hour ago. The prior thought you should be told at once and sent me to inform you.”

The monk shook his head in confusion. “I cannot understand it. Why would this devil wish to kill a man who is already lying in his sick bed? What purpose does it serve?”

“A good question, Brother, and one to which we must try to find an answer,” Nicolaa replied.

The servant came and gave Andrew the cup of wine Nicolaa had ordered. He sipped it slowly, becoming less agitated as he did so, but with a face that was still horror-stricken.

“It is my fault,” he said at last. “We had all the honey in the priory kitchen tested after the deaths in the castle, but this one pot was overlooked.” His eyes were bleak as he continued. “It is kept on a shelf just outside the door to the sickroom, along with other medicants of a benign nature. It is my duty to see that the shelf is kept stocked, and I should have remembered there was a jar of honey there. Now a man is dead because of my negligence.”

“And the pot of adulterated honey in the infirmary, does it come from the same apiary as the one that was found in the castle kitchen, from the beekeeper at Nettleham?” Nicolaa asked.

Andrew nodded his head. “It does. It has a glaze of the same colour and the cross pattee etched into the underside of the jar.”

Nicolaa gave Bascot and de Laubrec each a significant glance in turn before she asked her next question. “Brother Andrew, do you know if a potter, by the name of Wilkin, has lately been in the grounds of the priory?”

The monk struggled to focus his thoughts on a matter that seemed to bear no relation to what they were discussing, but finally said, “He may have been. I am not sure of the man’s name, but there is a potter that makes the stoppered flagons that we fill with hot water to warm the beds of our patients. They often get broken and he frequently comes with new ones. If he is this Wilkin, then he will have been at the priory during the last week or so.”

Nicolaa wasted no time in rapping out an order to the marshal. “De Laubrec, take two men-at-arms from the garrison and go immediately to the Nettleham apiary. If this Wilkin admits to being the potter that makes the flagons for the priory, bring him back here at once and place him in a holding cell.”

De Laubrec quickly rose from his seat and started down the steps of the dais. As he began to cross the hall, Brother Andrew looked after him in bafflement. “I do not understand. Do you suspect this potter of being the poisoner? What reason would he have for wishing the death of one of our brethren?”

“As yet, we do not know, Brother,” Nicolaa replied, “but I think it is more than likely that he has one.”

After the Marshal and Brother Adrew had left, Nicolaa expressed her satisfaction that the identity of the poisoner had been discovered and congratulated Bascot on his perspicacity in suspecting the potter. She was surprised to find that the Templar did not share her elation. “Are you not convinced of the potter’s guilt, de Marins?”

Bascot tried to explain the uncertainty he felt. “It is only that he seemed, on the one occasion I met him, to be an open and honest man. I find it difficult to believe he could harbour such evil in his heart and give no sign of it on his countenance.”