Maureen Ash - A Plague of Poison

“There is much danger in this enterprise. We will both be laying ourselves open to a sudden attack and may not have time to defend ourselves,” he said.

Harald turned to him and said, “Is it not worth the risk, Brother? I do not want to live under the shadow of this man’s threat any longer than I have to, and even less do I wish our aunt and uncle to be subjected to the threat he poses. Are not a few moments of peril preferable to days, or perhaps weeks, of waiting for him to make another attempt on our lives? If you have not the courage for it, say so, and we will try to trap him without your assistance.”

Ivor flushed red at the rebuke in his brother’s words, and Harald said to Bascot, “You may tell Lady Nicolaa that I am ready to do as she asks, and willingly.”

“And you?” Bascot challenged Ivor.

The older Severtsson brother made no answer, only giving the Templar a grudging nod of assent.

Bascot rose to take his leave, and as Harald accompanied him to the door, the young merchant said, “Tell Lady Nicolaa she need have no fear that Ivor will participate in the scheme.”

“How can you be sure?” Bascot asked doubtfully.

An ironic smile appeared on Harald’s face as he said, “I have only to threaten Ivor that I will tell our aunt the true reason he was relieved of his post by Preceptor d’Arderon. My brother will not be able to lie his way out of that, for while it might be easy to convince Tante Helge that a potter would tell a falsehood, she will never believe it of a Templar knight.”

Ivor and Harald Severtsson came to the castle that afternoon as had been arranged, timing their visit to coincide with the end of the last meal of the day. Members of the castle retinue were still in their places at the tables, and Nicolaa sat on the dais in company with the prior of All Saints and Brother Andrew. The two monks had been invited to attend the meal in order to discuss the part the church would play in the festivities the following morning. The prior would bless the procession of castle servants before it left to go out into the countryside, and Andrew and two other monks would sing psalms as the cavalcade left the ward, reminding all of those present that the festival was of Christian significance, honouring two saints, and not in praise of the pagan entity that had been associated with the festival in heathen times. Gerard and Richard Camville were absent.

Noticing Harald and Ivor’s arrival, Nicolaa gave a nod of sanction to her steward for their admission, and they made their way up the central aisle between the tables and came to a halt below the dais. Harald bowed and removed the cap he was wearing, his brother standing behind him. The attire of both was somber; tunics and hose of dark grey, the only item of ornamentation a badge bearing an image of St. Amandus, patron saint of vintners and merchants, affixed to Harald’s sleeve.

After introducing his brother and telling the castellan that Ivor had left his post as bailiff and was assisting him in Reinbald’s business while his uncle was away, Harald came to the purpose of his visit.

“Lady Nicolaa,” he said, “I am come to offer my apologies for not being able to deliver the order of Granarde wine that you placed with me a few days ago. I have just received word from the merchant in London who was to supply it that he will not be able to do so. It will be some weeks before I can obtain more.”

“That is sad news, Master Severtsson,” Nicolaa said.

“My son had a particular fancy to try it. He will be disappointed.”

“So I thought, lady,” Harald said smoothly, “and, to make up for the loss, my brother and I have brought with us tonight a small tun of another wine that is very similar but, I believe, even finer of taste. I would like to offer it to you free of payment, in the hopes that you will enjoy it and be encouraged to order more.”

He bowed low as he said this last, looking exactly like a merchant touting for business. Bascot, watching his performance from his seat among the household knights, admired Harald’s steady nerve. No one listening to his conversation with Nicolaa de la Haye would have realised that he was acting a part, just like a mummer in a play. As for Ivor, he stood silently by, and although there was a hint of defiant nervousness in his manner, it could be construed by onlookers as embarrassment for having to take a secondary role to his younger brother.

Nicolaa considered the merchant’s words for a moment and then nodded her head. “I would be a foolish woman to refuse such a generous offer,” she said. “While my husband does not have a taste for sweetened wine, both my son and I are very fond of it. We will sample it at our leisure and let you know our judgement.”

Harald took a step forward. “Lady,” he said, “the wine is a strong one and is at its best when mixed with honey and spices that come from the region where the grapes are grown. We have also brought these with us. The preparation must be made with a delicate hand, and if it is your pleasure, I would show your butler how to do it for your first sampling. I had hoped to have the honour of doing that for you tonight, for I have need to leave Lincoln town on urgent business as soon as the May Day festivities are over.” He gestured to Ivor. “My brother, unfortunately, has not yet sufficient skill to take my place.”

Nicolaa frowned, making a pretence of considering the suggestion. “Tonight is not a good time, Master Harald,” she said. “My son is not here and, as I said, it was for his delectation that I ordered the Granarde. Besides,” she gestured to the cup that sat beside her trencher, “I have already taken my fill of wine for this evening. I do not have a fancy for more, no matter how excellent the taste.”

“Then may I proffer my services for tomorrow, instead?” Harald said. “I would gladly rearrange the schedule for my departure to accommodate you.”

Nicolaa laughed. “I see you hope that a good order will follow this wine sampling.”

“Since I know the excellence of the wine, lady, I think my hope is fully justified,” Harald said with assurance.

Nicolaa rose from her seat. “Very well. Make it mid-morning, after the procession is under way. If the wine proves to be as palatable as you say, I may even extend you an invitation to share in the feast that will be held in the evening and, of course, to share in the wine. You have my permission for both of you to attend us here tomorrow for the purpose of this tasting.”

As she began to descend from the dais, Harald thanked her and then added, with a show of obsequiousness, “Lady, may I ask one more boon?”

“You may ask, merchant, but it remains to be seen if I will grant it,” Nicolaa said impatiently.

“The tun of wine I brought tonight, and the spices and honey with which to serve it-I have left them outside in the ward. May they remain here overnight, in your safe-keeping, until the morrow? It will save us the task of taking them away and bringing them back again.”

Nicolaa waved her hand dismissively. “Of course. Give them into the charge of my butler. He will see to their storage.”

Harald bowed once again as she left the room, then he and Ivor went to the back of the hall and spoke to Eudo. The steward had heard his mistress’s command and quickly summoned the castle butler to direct the placing of the wine, honey and spices in the buttery. Bascot gave a secret smile of satisfaction. Just as in the staging of a mystery play, the scene was now set. Would Mauger take the bait they had dangled before him?

Later that evening, Mauger gave thought AS to whether or not he should take advantage of the opportunity that had presented itself that afternoon. He recalled the moment that Ivor Severtsson had walked into the hall and how he had been almost blinded with hate for the man. He had listened to the ensuing conversation between Nicolaa de la Haye and Severtsson’s merchant brother with distraction, the intensity of his rage overcoming his ability to focus on anything other than the bailiff.