A Plague of Poison tk-3 Read online

  “There’s been more poisonings-in the town. A spice merchant and his family. They’re all dead. Captain Roget sent me to inform Lady Nicolaa and request her orders. He’s put the house under guard, but some of the neighbours are becoming fearful for their own safety.”

  “I’ll go down there, de Laubrec,” Bascot said to the marshal. “Inform Lady Nicolaa of what has happened. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Leaving Gianni with Ernulf, the Templar accompanied the guard back through the gate and out into Ermine Street. They followed it down into the town, passing through Bailgate and onto the deep incline of Steep Hill, moving as quickly as they could on the slick cobblestones that were still wet from a shower of rain that had fallen during the night. The guard led Bascot down past the Skin Market and the Church of St. John and into the upper end of a street called Hungate, which was mainly inhabited by merchants, with the more affluent of the residents living in houses at the far end of the thorough-fare, at the point where it intersected with Brancegate. The guard led Bascot towards the intersection, and they had almost reached it when he stopped and pointed to a dwelling near the corner.

  “That’s the spice merchant’s house, over there,” he said.

  Despite the earliness of the hour, a crowd was gathered in the street, most of them in various stages of undress, wearing cloaks and hats that looked as though they had been hastily thrown on. They were muttering amongst themselves and giving anxious glances at the door to the spice merchant’s home.

  Roget came forward as Bascot and the guard pushed through the group of spectators. The captain was a fearsome-looking man, black visaged and with the scar of an old sword slash running down the side of his face from temple to chin. His dark brown eyes were alight with anger as he yelled at the crowd to move back, and the copper rings that were threaded through his beard danced with the movement.

  His greeting to Bascot was terse. “It seems this cursed empoisonneur has struck again. The spice merchant and his wife are both dead, as well as their little girl. She was only a child, de Marins, barely six years old.”

  “How long since their deaths, Roget?” Bascot asked.

  “A couple of hours. Their old cook came running out into the street just after midnight, screaming that her master and his family had become violently ill and needed help. One of the neighbours fetched an apothecary who sent for Alaric, the physician. That’s him over there. He can probably tell you more about the manner of their deaths than I can.”

  The man that the captain had indicated was garbed in a flowing black gown and was engaged in earnest conversation with one of the bystanders, a well-built fellow wearing an expensive cloak trimmed with fur that had been carelessly tossed over his shoulders.

  A man of middle years, with an unlined countenance and bushy eyebrows, the physician came forward when Bascot beckoned to him. A scholar’s cap sat firmly on top of his thatch of sandy-coloured hair.

  “Are you sure the deaths in this household are due to poison?” Bascot asked.

  The physician nodded solemnly. “I am. The whole town has heard of the two recent deaths in the castle and that it is believed they were due to ingesting a poison that is commonly used to exterminate vermin. The symptoms that Master le Breve and his family suffered are exactly those that such a poison would cause.”

  “Were you with any of them before they died?”

  “Yes. All were still breathing when I first came, but purging dreadfully. There is no antidote for this type of venom. I could only make them as comfortable as possible and wait for them to die.”

  “How was the poison administered?”

  “It seems the old woman who is the household cook made a dish of stewed plums and covered them with a custard that had been sweetened with honey. It would appear that the honey she used had been, as it was at the castle, liberally laced with a poison made from the plant Helleborus niger.”

  The physician’s last words were pompous in tone. Bascot had never met him before but had heard him spoken of as a man of great learning, one of the few who had completed a rigorous course of nine years’ study at the great medical school at Montpelier and had his licence to practice granted in the name of the pope.

  “Where is the pot that contained the poisoned honey?” Bascot asked tersely, disliking the man for his overweening pedantry.

  “It is still inside. I thought it best not to remove it for examination until Lady Nicolaa had been informed of the deaths.”

  Bascot gave him a curt nod and motioned for Roget to accompany him into the house. As they went in through the door, Roget said, “I have already been in here, de Marins. One of my men was on his rounds when the old cook’s commotion started. He sent for me immediately but they were already dead when I arrived.” His eyes darkened. “Sweet Jesu, it was terrible. The man and his wife were covered in vomit, their eyes open and staring as though they had witnessed the depths of hell, and the little girl…” His voice broke as he told Bascot of the child. “ La pauvre petite, she was curled up at her mother’s side, her little hands clutching at the arm of her ma-man, as though beseeching the poor woman to save her. I tell you, de Marins, this poisoner is more foul than an imp of Satan. Only a man without a soul would willingly cause the death of such an innocent.”

  The smell that invaded their nostrils when they entered the home was the same foul stench that had been in the scriptorium when Ralf died. The old servant who had raised the alarm was sitting on a stool just inside the entrance, her hands clasped together and tears streaming down her cheeks as she rocked herself to and fro and moaned in distress. The sleeves and front of her kirtle were stained with vomit and blood.

  “Her name is Nantie,” Roget said. “The neighbours told me she has been in the household many years and was wet nurse to the spice merchant’s wife at the time of her birth. When the wife grew up and married, Nantie came with the young bride to her new home and stayed on as maid and cook.” He lowered his voice as he added, “I fear that what has happened has unhinged her mind.

  After Alaric told her what had caused the deaths, she realised that it was she who had served the dish that killed them all and became as you see her now.”

  The Templar knelt down in front of the woman and spoke to her gently. Although old, her shoulders were unbowed and the hands that she was wringing together were large and strong. When she raised her ravaged face, he could see that her features were firm and her brow, under the plain white coif on her head, was wide and intelligent.

  “Nantie,” Bascot said softly, “I must ask you to show me the pot that contained the honey you mixed into the custard.”

  The old woman’s eyes struggled to focus, and Bascot repeated what he had said, keeping his voice low and calm. She slowly came to her senses and looked directly at him. “ ’Twas the honey that killed them, wasn’t it, lord? The physician said someone put poison in it.”

  “It seems likely, I’m afraid,” Bascot affirmed.

  Her eyes again flooded with tears. “I didn’t know it was poisoned. I didn’t eat any myself because I thought to save my portion for little Juliette to have tomorrow. Oh, Sweet Mother Mary, how can this have happened?”

  “Nantie,” Bascot said a little more firmly, “we need to see the honey pot. The markings on it will show which apiary it came from and might help us to find the person who did this terrible thing.”

  His words seem to penetrate her grief, and she wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve and answered him straightly. “Yes, lord. Whoever did this must be caught and the souls of that sweet baby and her parents avenged. I will show you the pot.” She got up from the stool and led them down a passage and out a door at the back to the small building that housed the kitchen. It contained a fireplace, a table on which were laid some cooking utensils with a solid three-legged stool beside it and an open-faced cupboard filled with pots and jars. On the floor, in front of the stool, a large bowl was upended with the half-plucked carcass of a chicken lying nearby. Feathers were st
rewn about as though the old woman had been engaged in the task when le Breve and his family had been taken ill.

  Nantie confirmed this, saying, “I was working late at my chores and preparing a chicken for stewing in the morning when I heard my mistress cry out. I ran into the hall and all three of them were purging. Poor little Juliette was the worst, she was clutching her bottom and crying because she had fouled herself and her gown was getting soiled.”

  The old woman stifled a sob as she said the last words. “I tried to aid them, but they just kept on being sick so I ran out into the street to get help. One of the neighbours came running to see what was the matter, and when he saw how ill they were, he sent for an apothecary.”

  She drew a deep breath and added, “Had I not foregone my own portion of the plums and custard I would be lying dead beside them. And I wish I was. When my own babby died and my husband not long after, I came to give my milk to the mistress and have cared for her ever since. She is the only one I have ever loved for all these years, except for little Juliette, who was just as precious to me.”

  Raising eyes filled with despair, she added, “I have no wish to live on without them.”

  “I understand your sorrow, Nantie,” Bascot said compassionately, and Roget murmured his agreement. The two men waited a moment to give the old woman time to compose herself, then Bascot again asked her to show them the pot that had contained the poisoned honey.

  She went over to the open-faced cupboard and removed a jar. It had the same bright amber glaze as the one that had been adulterated in the castle, and when Bascot tipped it on its side, the cross pattee of the Templar Order could be clearly seen.

  Seven

  Themidday hour was fast approching by the time Bascot and Roget returned to the castle to give their report to Nicolaa de la Haye.

  “Three deaths, lady,” Roget told her once he and Bascot were in her presence. “A spice merchant named Robert le Breve, his wife and their little daughter. They were all poisoned by tainted honey that was contained in this pot.” He laid the jar carefully on the table at which Nicolaa sat; it was wrapped in a clean cloth he had taken from the spice merchant’s kitchen. “We tested it on a rat. It had the same effect as the honey that killed Sir Simon and the clerk. The rodent was dead soon after he had eaten it.”

  “The old woman who is a servant in le Breve’s household used it to make a dish of spiced custard,” Bascot added. “It is marked on the bottom with the Templar insignia and must have come from the same apiary as the one in the castle kitchen.”

  “Did the servant know when her master bought it?” Nicolaa asked.

  “He did not buy it,” Bascot told her. “It was given to him by a neighbour, Reinbald of Hungate.” The Templar paused for a moment, recalling his meeting with the man in the fur-trimmed cloak he had seen talking to the physician before he and Roget had gone into the spice merchant’s house. The man had waited outside until Bascot had emerged then explained to him that it had been his wife who had given the honey to her neighbour and had, by doing so, caused the death of le Breve and his family.

  “Reinbald is a wine merchant, and he often had dealings with le Breve in the course of business. He and the spice seller were good friends, apparently, as were their wives. Le Breve’s wife, Maud, had said she would like to try some of the honey from Nettleham, for she had heard how flavoursome it was, and so Reinbald’s wife exchanged the jar for a bag of cinnamon from the spice merchant’s store.”

  “Did you speak to Reinbald’s wife and ask her where she bought the honey?” Nicolaa asked.

  “We did,” Bascot replied. “It was one of eight pots obtained for her by her nephew, a man named Ivor Severtsson. He is a Templar bailiff and oversees a property at Wragby, which includes the apiary at Nettleham.”

  Nicolaa dabbed at her nose with the square of linen, but the congestion from which she had been suffering seemed to be abating. Her voice was no longer hoarse, and her eyes were clear. “Did she have any other pots left in her kitchen?”

  “There were three,” Roget informed her, “and we had them all tested. Only the one that she gave to Maud le Breve contained poison.”

  “Reinbald’s wife, whose name is Helge, told me that all of the pots have been in her store since last autumn,” Bascot added. “It seems to me most strange that these poisonings have occurred within days of each other. If the honey was poisoned during the months since it was harvested, or even before it left the apiary, then it is a rare chance that both pots should be opened at almost the same time.”

  “You think, then, that both of the poisonings were done recently, while the pots were in their respective kitchens?” Nicolaa asked.

  “I do,” Bascot affirmed. “Reinbald’s wife showed me the place where she kept the honey. The pots are on a shelf in the cookhouse, just as they are in the castle kitchen, and they are arranged with containers of other condiments so that one of each type is to the front. She told me the one she gave to le Breve’s wife was the next to hand. If someone placed a poisoned pot there, it was in the most likely place for it to be used within a short space of time.”

  Bascot’s voice was filled with irritation as he continued. “Reinbald’s kitchen is much like the one in the castle, of easy access to many people. He is an affluent man and has a large number of visitors to his home, including customers who come to select the wines they wish to purchase from his store. As well as these, there are also the carters who deliver the wine and a number of tradesmen who bring a variety of other supplies to the house.

  “And it might not even have been one of the people who were legitimate callers that placed the poisoned honey in the kitchen,” he added. “At the back of the property, behind the building where he keeps his tuns of wine, there is a fence and, beyond that, a lane that leads to Brancegate at one end and Spring Hill at the other.

  Anyone who wished to enter the premises unseen could simply come down the lane and climb over the fence, or through the gate that is set into it, for the portal is only locked at night just before curfew. They had only to wait until the cook had left the kitchen to go on an errand and then slip inside.”

  Nicolaa got up from her seat and paced the length of the room and back, the skirt of her plain grey gown swishing back and forth as she did so. Never had either Bascot or Roget seen her so perturbed. It was evident her chagrin was as great as their own. Finally, she said, “These additional deaths reinforce my belief that Gosbert is innocent. He is rarely in town and it is certain that he would not be acquainted with a merchant of Reinbald’s standing. Only the fact that he, like the old cook in le Breve’s household, opened the jar containing the poison made suspicion be cast upon him. He is no more likely to be guilty of this crime than she is. But who can it be? What is the evil purpose of the person who has caused these deaths? First, our own castle kitchen is contaminated, and then one in the household of an affluent merchant within the town. What is the connection between these two places, and the intended victims? This grade of honey is costly and would only be used by persons with the means to buy it. Has the poisoner some grievance against those of higher station? Is the fact that both of these pots came from the same apiary of significance? Has poison been placed in other households about the town, and if so, where?”

  “If these poisonings were done recently,” Bascot said, “then the person who did it must be a man or a woman who is often within the city walls, perhaps lives here in the castle or in the town. If that is so, then our only hope of discovering his or her identity is to keep searching until we find some evidence that links the person to both of these crimes. If it is the poisoner’s intention to kill again, we must act with as much haste as possible.

  “If we can confirm our impression that the honey was tampered with recently, lady,” Bascot said, “then we can be fairly sure that there is need only to interrogate those who had recent access to the honey pots. If it was done during the months since the honey was delivered to both the castle kitchen and the merchant’s h
ome, questioning those who were only lately in either place will be futile. We might be able to narrow our search by questioning the beekeeper at Nettleham. If the jars were not made secure while they awaited delivery, it is possible they were adulterated either at the apiary or somewhere in transit. I would also like to speak to the bailiff, Severtsson. Since it was he who took the honey to his uncle’s home, it may be that someone tampered with one of the pots while they were in his possession. He may even be able to give us the name of a person who could have done so.”

  Nicolaa agreed. “The answer to these questions may well give us a clearer guide of the direction our search should take. De Marins, go to Preceptor d’Arderon. Tell him what has happened and that you are requesting permission, on my behalf, to speak to the beekeeper and the bailiff. I do not think he will object.”

  “I am sure he will not, lady,” Bascot said. “It might also be worthwhile to ascertain how many pots of this grade were harvested and to whom they were sold. If they were tampered with before they were delivered, there may be others in the town that are poisoned.”

  Nicolaa acknowledged, regretfully, that such a possibility might be the case and then, turning to Roget, gave the captain his orders. “There will be unrest in the town once news of these latest deaths spreads. I shall send for the town bailiff and ask for his support in keeping all of Lincoln’s citizens calm, but it may prove a difficult task. Tell your men to deal gently with any who create a disturbance. This situation is bound to frighten the townspeople, and we must try to assuage their disquietude, not aggravate it. If you find there is a need for more men to patrol the streets, you may ask Ernulf to send some of the castle men-at-arms to your assistance.”

  When she had finished, both men rose to leave, and Nicolaa said, “Let us pray that God will guide our efforts and enable us to snare this knave before anyone else dies.”

  When Bascot arrived at the templar enclave, Everard d’Arderon was standing at the edge of the practice ground watching a serjeant put a couple of newly initiated men-at-arms through a drill with short swords. The preceptor listened with a grave countenance as he was told of the deaths that had taken place in the town, and how it was subsequently found that the second pot which had contained the poisoned honey had, like the jar in the castle kitchen, come from the Nettleham apiary. He quickly gave his permission for Bascot to go to Nettleham and also to elicit the help of Ivor Severtsson, the bailiff.