Wilkin fell onto his knees. “I swear to you, lord, I am not. I was angry, yes, when I told the others about the bailiff raping Rosamunde, and should have kept a still tongue in my head, but it is the truth.” The potter lifted his head and looked at Bascot directly. “The bailiff has never denied the charge. He has never even spoken to me of it, for all that he must have known what I said. Would an innocent man not defend himself against such an accusation? He must be guilty, else he would have taken me to task, perhaps even dismissed me from the apiary.” His words held a ring of triumph.
Bascot walked back to him and bent his head down low so that his own face was only inches from Wilkin’s. “It is not Severtsson’s guilt or innocence that is in question here, potter, it is yours.”
Wilkin fell silent, and Bascot straightened up and walked back across the room. Having once been a prisoner himself, after his capture by the Saracens, he knew only too well what it was to suffer the degradation that came from being at the mercy of others. Although he had little liking for inflicting the same humiliation on another human being, it might be the only way to get the man in front of him to admit the truth.
“You deliver your wares to the castle kitchen and the Priory of All Saints, and poisoned pots of honey were found in both places,” he said to Wilkin accusingly. “How has anyone at either place offended you? Did Gosbert make some complaint about the quality of the pots you supply? Or did he, perhaps, make a jest about your daughter and her bastard child? Did one of the monks at the priory rebuke you for siring a girl who is so wayward, or shun you because of her sin?”
Wilkin struggled up from the ground on which he lay and pushed himself into a sitting position, holding his injured arm carefully to his chest. His eyes were filled with anguish, but an expression of calmness had come over his countenance and he was suddenly infused with a humble dignity. “Lord, I admit that I hate Severtsson and would gladly see him come to harm, but I am not guilty of these crimes, nor do I have any reason to hurt those who live in the castle or the priory. But I have no way to prove my innocence. I can only throw myself on the mercy of God, and trust that He will come to my rescue.”
Sixteen
Late that night, after Bascot and Gianni had retired to the chamber at the top of the old keep, the Templar once again tossed on his pallet, finding sleep elusive. His thoughts kept going back over the conversation he had with Nicolaa de la Haye after he finished questioning Wilkin.
“He made no attempt to deny his loathing of Ivor Severtsson,” Bascot had told the castellan, “but he swears he is innocent, and despite the evidence, his voice had the ring of truth. The grudge against the bailiff is an old one, and I could not find any reason for him to wish hurt to anyone in our own household or the priory.”
Nicolaa gave him a wry smile and said, “I think it is possible, de Marins, that your instinct has led you astray.” She then went on to tell him that, while he had been engaged in interrogating Wilkin, she had spoken to Eudo, her steward, and asked if he knew of any reason for the potter to hold a grudge against those who lived in the castle.
“Eudo said that two weeks ago he told Wilkin that a potter from the village of Burton had come to the castle and made an offer to supply vessels of the same type as Wilkin’s at a more advantageous price. Wilkin was greatly dismayed by the news and said that he could not sell his wares any more cheaply than he already did, for he would not make a profit. Eudo sympathised with him but said he had no choice other than to buy our vessels from the Burton potter and would not be ordering any more from Wilkin. Eudo also told me that he had heard from the refectorer at the priory that this other potter had made the same offer to him, and with the same result. Wilkin is about to lose his commission from both places.”
She had looked at the Templar with sad eyes. “Wilkin’s hatred of Severtsson may stem from an occurrence that he believes happened two years ago, but malice is like a wound that does not heal; it festers and gets worse with time. Any additional blow makes the pain unbearable. You have just told me that the potter lost customers in the town when the bailiff’s aunt became aware of his accusation against her nephew. Now the custom of our household and that of the priory has been denied to him, and I would think that a substantial portion of the small income he makes comes from these two patronages. He is now faced not only with bearing the continual burden of his daughter’s shame but also with the prospect of deprivation for himself and his family. Such an appalling set of circumstances could easily have made him wish to strike out at those he believes to have caused them, however dire the consequences might prove to be.”
Bascot made no answer, and she then tapped a small wooden box that lay on the table in front of her. “This contains the roots that de Laubrec found in the potter’s shed. I sent one of the servants with it to the priory as soon as it was given to me. Jehan confirmed that it is Helleborus niger.”
She lifted the lid and revealed the black roots inside. They were evil looking; long, thin and straggly at the ends. “It would seem to me there cannot be any doubt of his guilt.”
Bascot had to admit that her conclusion was a logical one. “As you say, lady, this additional evidence seems irrefutable.”
Nicolaa saw the lingering uncertainty in Bascot’s eye. She had a great regard for the Templar knight but knew that he was prone to niceties of conscience that sometimes were counterproductive to his well-being. His empathy for those who found themselves in distress was to be lauded, as was the case with his young servant, but she feared that, because of it, he had allowed himself to be deceived by the potter’s false protestations. “We are all prey to letting our sensibilities cloud our judgement, de Marins,” she said, not unkindly. “Only God has the ability to be infallible.”
Bascot reluctantly nodded his acceptance of her statement, and the castellan then said it might be prudent to give some consideration as to whether the beekeeper or his daughter may have had any complicity in the crimes or, at least, knowledge of them. “Even though the potter has been apprehended, if any of his family were in accordance with his actions, they may try to continue the vendetta he has begun. You have met his wife and her father-do you think it possible they were involved?”
Bascot thought back to his trip to Nettleham with Hamo. Old Adam’s manner had been strange, but he had seemed honest in his adamant denial that poison had been placed in the honey while it was in his care. Margot, however, had seemed anxious. Was it because she knew what her husband had done and feared the two Templars had come to take him into custody? Or was she merely afraid that Wilkin would once again blurt out his accusation that Severtsson had raped their daughter?
“Neither of them could have been involved in placing the pots of honey where they were found,” he said. “They would have been noticed by Gosbert or Eric if one of them had entered the castle kitchen, and while the old man may have entered the priory under guise of a patient seeking medical help, his daughter would most certainly not have been admitted to a place where females are not allowed.” He paused. “As to knowledge of Wilkin’s intent-I think the old man could not have been involved. His attitude to his bees is that of a mother towards her children. He would have considered poisoning his honey to be a breach of trust between himself and the insects.”
“And the potter’s wife, Margot?” Nicolaa asked.
“I do not like to think that any woman would willingly give her assistance to bringing about such terrible deaths, especially to a young girl like Juliette le Breve, but Margot seemed very apprehensive on the day that I went there. That could be explained by the presence of Severtsson and the worry that reprisal was about to be taken for the charge her husband had made against him, but it could also be attributed to fear that Wilkin was about to be arrested for poisoning the honey.”