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glaze at all. Thorey’s little terrier dogs were still watching the proceedings from a short distance away, their gaze never wavering from their master’s actions.

    Bascot walked up to Ernulf, who was standing with a couple of the men-at-arms near Thorey and watching as the catcher fed a piece of honey-soaked bread to each of the rodents in turn. Gianni ran to his master when he saw him emerge from the keep. The boy’s eyes were still a little fearful, but the excitement caused by the discovery of the poison and the catcher’s testing of the honey had gone a small way to alleviate his concern.

    “Had to send to town for more rats,” Ernulf told Bascot. “There’s too many pots of honey and not enough rats to test them all. Thorey’s vermin are already so sated with bait that they’re refusing to take any more.”

    As he spoke, they heard the guard on the eastern gate give a shout and turned to see another rat catcher stride through the huge portal. He was a much bigger man than Thorey, resplendent in a cape and peaked hat made completely of rat skins, and was carrying a long ratting pole set with sharp metal barbs. Alongside him trotted another, much younger man, dressed more conventionally in plain tunic and hose, carrying two cages, each containing half a dozen rats. The rodents were huddled close together and squeaking with fear.

    “Serjeant Ernulf,” the catcher said as he came up to where they stood. “I have come as you directed.”

    “This is Germagan,” the serjeant informed Bascot. “He’s the premier rat catcher in Lincoln town.”

    The catcher bowed in the Templar’s direction, sweeping his cape aside as he did so. “My lord,” he said, “I am pleased to be of service.”

    Gianni’s eyes grew big with wonder as he looked at the cape and hat the catcher wore. The skins at the edges of both still had the heads of the rodents attached, and beneath the multitude of whiskered noses, small, sharp teeth gleamed ferociously as the catcher moved to take a place beside Thorey. His assistant set the cages down alongside the others, and Germagan listened intently as Thorey explained the purpose of the honey baiting. Soon, more pots had been opened and pieces of bread smeared with a spoonful of the contents before being fed to each of the caged vermin in turn. Once that was done, both catchers sat down on the ground to await the results.

    “This will take some time, Ernulf,” Bascot said, “and most of the day will be gone before all those pots have been tested. I am going to question Gosbert. Lady Nicolaa is not convinced that he is guilty, and if she is correct, he may have information that will help us discover who else had an opportunity to poison the honey.”

    “I didn’t reckon it was the cook, either,” the serjeant replied, his face grim. “But you can tell Gosbert from me that if it’s proved he did try to poison milady I’ll make him rue the day he was born. By the time I get through with him he’ll be begging for an easy death from a hang-man’s noose.”

    Bascot made no reply; he merely left the serjeant to overseeing the testing of the honey and made his way to the holding cells.

Four

    B ASCOT’S INTERROGATION OF THE COOK PROVIDED no indication of any person who, other than the cook himself, might have been responsible for placing the poison in the honey. Gosbert was relieved to hear that his mistress was not convinced of his guilt and once again adamantly denied his culpability. “Lady Nicolaa has always had a fondness for marchpane, and when I heard that her appetite was failing, I thought that if I put some atop the simnel cake, it might tempt her into eating,” he said. “Had I known the honey was tainted I would have eaten the marchpane myself rather than send it to her.”

    There was outrage in the cook’s eyes as he spoke and no trace of evasion as he answered the questions the Templar put to him. He had not noticed anyone touching the honey pot that had