Maureen Ash - A Plague of Poison

The women, jostling each other as they vied to be nearest the front, gathered in front of the table. On it had been placed an earthenware jar with a neck that was only a hand’s span wide. It was full of pebbles. All of the small stones had been left as nature made them except for one, which had been painted blue. One by one, each of the unmarried women among the household staff would come up and place her hand into the jar and retrieve a stone. The girl who had the good fortune to grasp the hidden blue one would be declared queen of May. Nicolaa stepped up to the table and instructed Eudo to stir the contents of the jar with a long wooden spoon, and when he had done so, she bade the first girl come forward.

There were forty-odd women who hoped to be the finder of the blue-painted pebble, and the order of their turns was dictated by length of service. Nearly half of their number had pushed their hands excitedly into the jar and been disappointed before one of the younger girls, the daughter of one of the castle washerwomen, held her hand aloft and gave a cry of victory. She was a full-figured girl of about fourteen, and her rosy cheeks blushed even redder as Eudo stepped forward, looked at the stone she held clutched in her hand and proclaimed her the winner.

Even though the rest of the women were disappointed, they took their loss in good part and gave the lucky girl smiles of congratulation. Nicolaa signalled that it was now time for the wardrobe mistress to present the girl’s prize, a chaplet which was, by custom, worn every year by the servant proclaimed queen of May. It was a dainty headdress, with flowers embroidered on a length of silk woven about a circlet of bronze. It was a treasure to be coveted, for the girl who was elected would be allowed to retain the delicate piece of material as her own once the celebrations were over.

As the rest of the female servants gathered about the girl and her prize, Nicolaa called for a cask of ale to be broached and joined the company in watching the queen choose her attendants. On the periphery of her vision she had seen the figure of the man they believed to be Mauger join the spectators. He had been well behind the others, and she felt a small shiver of hope mingled with fear for her own and Richard’s safety sweep through her as the prior began to intone the blessing for the day and the chanting of the psalms began. Heads were bowed in reverence as the two saints, Philip and Jacob, were remembered for their selfless piety and martyred deaths. Once the service was completed, heads came up swiftly in joyous anticipation and the celebrants left the bail, walking behind the queen and her ladies in the wain, raising their voices in accompaniment to the half dozen servants playing the merry lilt of a Maying song on slender reed pipes.

Nicolaa led the remaining castle staff Of upper servants, knights and the two monks back into the hall. Mauger was among them. He was elated at his success. When Nicolaa had led everyone outside to watch the election of the May queen, it had been an easy matter to announce to the people closest to him that he had need to visit the jakes before he went outside. Waiting in the confines of the latrine until he was assured the hall was clear of people, he had then gone quickly into the buttery and exchanged the jar of honey that Harald Severtsson had brought for the adulterated one he had retrieved late last night and carried into the hall secreted in a bag under his cloak. A quick revisit to the jakes had allowed him to dispose of the untainted jar by dropping it through one of the holes in the wooden board that covered the deep shaft leading to the midden. He had heard a satisfying plop as it hit the bottom. The deed had been done almost before the drawing of the pebbles had started.

Now he watched with anticipation as Nicolaa de la Haye ordered her butler to set up a small table in preparation for the tasting of Harald Severtsson’s wine. The merchant and his brother appeared at the door while this was being done, and Harald hastened up to the front of the hall to join the butler in his duty, inspecting the flagons into which the wine had been decanted and asking that a shallow bowl be brought along with one of the small braziers that stood, lighted, in the corners of the hall. Ivor stood at the edge of the group that was gathered and watched his brother in a disdainful manner. As Harald waited for his instructions to be carried out, he stood alongside Richard and Nicolaa, extolling the merits of the wine and assuring them that they would find it to be the best they had ever tasted.

Mauger looked at Ivor Severtsson. The man had obviously been removed by the Templars from his post as bailiff due, no doubt, to rumours that he had raped the potter’s daughter. Now he was reduced to the status of a menial, assisting his younger brother in the tedious business of selling wine. He was already miserable; soon grief would be added to his conniving soul when he saw his brother either die or be charged with the murder of the sheriff’s wife and son. Mauger hoped that Harald would be cut down where he stood by the truculent sheriff. If he was not, Mauger would gut him later, just as he had done with Fland Cooper, and just as slowly.

His eyes swivelled to Gerard Camville, who was standing a little apart from the rest. This was the man who had ordered the hanging of Drue. Soon sorrow would descend on his brutal heart and he, too, would be alone in his misery, his world shattered by the deaths of his loved ones.

Harald had commenced the preparation of the wine, making a great fuss of pouring a little into the bowl and adding the spices before heating the contents with a small poker that had been resting in the embers of the brazier. After allowing the spices to simmer for a few moments, he used a loosely woven cloth to strain the mixture into a beaker and then poured a little into the bottom of two silver goblets Eudo had placed in readiness on the table. A heady aroma filled the air, comprised mainly of the sharp tang of cinnamon but with hints of other spices, such as tarragon and rosemary, mixed in.

“Now, the wine itself must be poured and heated,” the merchant said, plunging the red-hot poker, which had been reheating while the spices were simmering, into a decanted flagon of the wine he had brought. Then he filled both of the goblets to about an inch from the brim. “It is most important that the wine be well heated, for the warmth enhances the taste of the honey.”

So saying, he tipped up the honey pot and poured a good measure into each of the wine cups, stirring the contents of both as he did so with a silver spoon hanging from a chain about his neck. The honey poured out in a thick golden flow, glistening lusciously in the light of the flaring torches that illuminated the hall. There was a murmur of approval from the spectators.

“Now, lord and lady,” Severtsson said as he handed a goblet each to Nicolaa and her son, “tell me truly if you have ever tasted a more flavoursome wine.”

As they both drank from the wine cups, Mauger felt a surge of elation. He edged his way closer to the front of the group near the table, the better to see the effects of the poison. It should not be long before the symptoms began to show themselves.

As he gained a place near the table, he gloated with satisfaction as Nicolaa said to her son, “It is most certainly toothsome, Richard, but I fear, even with the addition of the honey, it is a little too strong. My throat is tingling.”

“That is as it should be, Mother,” Richard replied with a smile. “A good vintage arouses the senses, and who amongst us does not enjoy that?”

The ambiguity of this remark with its salacious overtones was greeted by chuckles from the crowd gathered around the table, but Nicolaa made light of her son’s lewdity and persisted in her uncertainty about the merit of the wine.