A Plague of Poison (12 page)
“That would be Dido,” Germagan replied. “He is my cousin and now lodges with me, and plies his trade within the town walls.” Waving his hand at his assistant, who was busy pushing a bit of bread smeared with apricot conserve through the bars of one of the cages, the catcher added, “As you can see, the fear of poison has made the services of those who ply my trade in much demand. Dido went this morning to the premises of a baker in Baxtergate who asked him to test the honey he uses in his pastries. Do you wish me to send him to the castle to attend you?”
Bascot shook his head. “No, I want to speak to him as soon as possible. And privily.”
Germagan looked up at the Templar with dark, intelligent eyes, very like those of the rats he caught. ” ‘Tis not my place to ask, sir, but I would reckon this is to do with the poisoner that’s brought our fair town to the depths of such misery. If that is so, both myself and Dido will be right pleased to help you.”
When no reply from Bascot was forthcoming, just a tightening of the Templar’s mouth that the catcher took for confirmation of his statement, Germagan said, “My lodgings are near Baxtergate, sir, close by the baker’s house where my cousin is at work. I would be honoured to offer my home for your use. You may be as private as you wish within my walls, for there is only my wife at home, and she will absent herself if I tell her to. I can take you there immediately and collect Dido on the way.”
“That will do admirably, Germagan,” Bascot replied. As they left the silversmith’s house, the catcher strode ahead of the Templar and Gianni, cleaving a path through the people that were gathered on the street by waving his ratting pole so that the bells affixed to its tip crashed together noisily as he walked. Bascot smiled inwardly. Germagan, he thought, was a man who was not averse to making any potential customers aware that he was in the confidence of a person of such high rank as a Templar knight.
Twelve
D
IDO WAS A SHORT, THIN MAN Of ABOUT FORTY years of age with a shock of carrot-coloured hair. He came at once when Germagan knocked at the door of the baker’s home and asked to speak to him, hastily stuffing the two ferrets he used in his work into one of the large pockets of his rough tunic. Telling the baker he would return as soon as he could, Dido came out into the street, and the two catchers led Bascot and Gianni to a small dwelling place near the Witham River. The house was sturdily built of strong wooden timbers with an interior that was clean and had sweet-smelling rushes strewn on the floor. There were only two rooms, but both were a fair size, and Germagan led Bascot and Gianni, bowing as he did so, into the larger chamber of the two, which contained four comfortable chairs and an oaken table. The catcher’s wife, a broad-hipped woman with a large bosom, greeted the guests with a low curtsey and hastened, at her husband’s bidding, to bring tankards of ale for them all.
IDO WAS A SHORT, THIN MAN Of ABOUT FORTY years of age with a shock of carrot-coloured hair. He came at once when Germagan knocked at the door of the baker’s home and asked to speak to him, hastily stuffing the two ferrets he used in his work into one of the large pockets of his rough tunic. Telling the baker he would return as soon as he could, Dido came out into the street, and the two catchers led Bascot and Gianni to a small dwelling place near the Witham River. The house was sturdily built of strong wooden timbers with an interior that was clean and had sweet-smelling rushes strewn on the floor. There were only two rooms, but both were a fair size, and Germagan led Bascot and Gianni, bowing as he did so, into the larger chamber of the two, which contained four comfortable chairs and an oaken table. The catcher’s wife, a broad-hipped woman with a large bosom, greeted the guests with a low curtsey and hastened, at her husband’s bidding, to bring tankards of ale for them all.
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.”
Bascot mused over what he had just been told. The potter had good reason to hate the bailiff, and it was entirely possible he would wish to harm him, deeming it a justifiable retribution for the shame he believed Severtsson had inflicted on his daughter.
He asked Dido if he knew whether any rat poison was kept at the Nettleham apiary. Dido had shaken his head. “Not the poison itself, lord. I asked special before I turned my ferrets loose in case my little creatures should eat some of the stuff by mistake. Old Adam told me his bees wouldn’t stand for such a substance being kept where they lived, and he was so upset at the notion that I believed him.
“But,” he added, “despite the old man’s words, he did allow Margot to keep some of the root of that there hell herb to treat their cow in case it should be taken with a cough. She cuts a little slit in the dewlap of the beast and pushes a bit of the root through and leaves it for a day or two. It’s an old remedy and works right well. When I asked about the poison, she showed me the pot where she kept the roots. It was tightly sealed and I knew I needn’t have any fear that my beauties would get near it.”
Dido again patted one of the pockets on his coat and the ferret, as before, popped its head out. Gianni was entranced with the inquisitive little creature, and the catcher took it out and gave it to the boy to hold. The ferret immediately dived inside Gianni’s tunic, causing the boy to jump in alarm, but Dido laughed and reached inside the garment to retrieve the tiny animal. “He won’t hurt you, boy, not unless you hurts him,” he said, stroking the ferret. “Just likes to be where it’s dark and secret, same as the rats he hunts.”
What Bascot had learned seemed to point to Wilkin as a most likely suspect for putting the pot of poisoned honey in the merchant’s house, since he not only had a reason to hate Reinbald’s nephew but also had access to the herb that was used to make the poison. But Bascot had still not discovered a reason for the potter to have adulterated the pot that was found in the castle kitchen. The Templar felt his frustration mount as he and Gianni left the rat catcher’s home.
Other books
Insurgent by Veronica Roth
Jernigan by David Gates
Ashes - Book 1 by Johnson, Leslie
All Yours by Translated By Miranda France By (author) Pineiro Claudia
What She Saw by Roberts, Mark
Paris Times Eight by Deirdre Kelly
Southern Discomfort by Margaret Maron
Guardian of the Abyss by Shannon Phoenix
Junie B. Jones Is a Beauty Shop Guy by Barbara Park
Battle of Hastings, The by Harvey Wood, Harriet; Wood, Harriet Harvey
