After Bascot left the holding cell, he decided to go down into the town and call at the house of the merchant Reinbald. Nicolaa de la Haye had said there was a need to warn all of the people involved in the murders that they would be called as witnesses at Wilkin’s trial. Using that as a pretext to visit them would give him an opportunity to find out, from Reinbald’s family, more about Ivor Severtsson’s character. He went to where Gianni was sitting with Ernulf in the hall and told the boy he would be gone for a short time.
Gianni gave him a solemn nod, and Bascot, his concern for the boy deepening, left the hall and made his way down into the town.
The mood among the townspeople was more subdued than it had been the day before. The flesh markets were busy as goodwives bought meat, poultry or fish, and pedlars were once again hawking their wares among the throng. Some of the men, however, were still clustered in groups of two or three outside many of the alehouses and were speaking in angry tones together. The few snatches of conversation that Bascot overheard were of Wilkin and the need to bring him to a swift justice.
As he reached the end of Hungate Street, where Reinbald lived, he saw a horse tied to a hitching post near the merchant’s house. It seemed familiar to him, and after a moment or two he realised it was the one that Ivor Severtsson had been riding when he and Hamo had met the bailiff in Nettleham village.
He was admitted to the house by a young woman servant and was shown into the large room that served as the merchant’s hall. It was well appointed, with an ample fireplace, two oaken settles with padded tops and a large table around which were placed chairs with ladder backs. Reinbald was sitting in one of these, his younger nephew, Harald, beside him, while his wife was standing in front of the fireplace, speaking in soothing tones to Ivor. The bailiff’s face was sullen, and when he turned along with the others to see who was entering the room, Bascot saw that his mouth was set in lines of peevish irritation.
Reinbald rose immediately as the maid announced their visitor, and he offered Bascot a cup of wine from the flagon that was standing on the table. Bascot refused the merchant politely, saying his visit would not be a lengthy one, and that he had merely come to enquire if they had heard of the potter’s arrest. When Reinbald confirmed that they had, Bascot told them about the need for their attendance when Wilkin was brought to trial and that detailed evidence of the potter’s grievance against Ivor would be required.
His words brought an immediate outburst of speech from Helge, in which was mixed a word here and there of her native tongue. She was a large woman, heavy of frame and with thick hands that she waved angrily as she spoke. When the Templar had met her on the morning of her neighbours’ deaths, she had been distraught, her fair hair in disarray and tears streaming down her cheeks. Now she seemed recovered from her grief, and her manner was indignant. Her fat fingers moved in a cadence of angry punctuation as she spoke.
“That man,” she said, “he is not only a murderer but a logner, a liar. Only this morning Ivor was taken to task by Preceptor d’Arderon about the terrible falsehood that djevel spread and now you tell us that it must be repeated again before all those who attend the sheriff’s court. It is not to be borne, I tell you. It cannot be done.”
Reinbald reproved his wife. “It must be, Helge. The court will enquire if we know of any reason for the potter’s hatred of Ivor, and if we do not speak of it, we will be forsworn.”
“But it is not true,” Helge burst out.
“The potter believes it is,” Reinbald replied, “and that is why it must be told.”
Bascot studied the merchant’s wife for a moment; her ample bosom was heaving with outrage, and her fair skin, so like that of her two nephews, was covered in red blotches. “I was told by the potter, Mistress Helge, that nearly two years ago, after he made his allegation about your nephew, you refused Wilkin your custom and encouraged those who live nearby to do the same. What reason did you give your neighbours for your sudden disinclination to buy his wares?”
Her pale blue eyes flickered with sudden misgiving as she replied evasively, “I did not tell them of the lies he was spreading.”
“You must have given them a reason. What was it?”
She pursed her lips and glanced first at Ivor and then at her husband before she answered. “I told them he had tried to be familiar with my maidservant,” she said defiantly, “and that when I reprimanded him on her behalf, he had been insolent to me. I said that if they did not take care, he might take the same liberties in their households.”
Silence followed her words, and she immediately made an attempt to justify her actions. “I could not tell them the truth. People always want to gossip, and soon the story would have spread about the town.” Her head came up and she placed her hand on Ivor’s arm. “My nephew is a handsome man; there are many of my husband’s acquaintance that would be only too pleased to have him as a bridegroom for their daughters. Such a tale would have ruined his reputation.”
Bascot glanced at the faces of the rest of the family. Reinbald’s heavy face seemed to droop as he shook his head in exasperation, while Harald’s gaze was fastened downwards on the contents of his wine cup as though he wished it would swallow him up. Unlike the other two men, Ivor stared at the Templar boldly and placed his own hand over the one his aunt had laid on his forearm, as though in support of her actions.
“But, mistress,” Bascot said softly, “was not the tale you invented for your neighbours just as much a lie as the one you claim the potter told?”
“ Nei,” she said firmly. “No. I said it only to protect my nephew from that djevel ’s scurrilous tongue. I would never have said it otherwise. It is my duty to protect my dead sister’s sons and that is what I was doing.”
Finally, Harald spoke. “ Tante, do you not realise that the potter was doing just the same thing? Even though Ivor says it is not true, Wilkin most assuredly believes it is. He said what he did in a righteous attempt to defend his daughter’s virtue.”
“Virtue?” Ivor burst out. “The girl had no virtue left to defend, Harald. She had taken a brigand for a lover. What girl of modesty would do that?”
Bascot looked at the two brothers, so alike in appearance but so different in nature. Harald made no reply to Ivor’s statement but merely resumed his contemplation of his wine cup.
“Why did you not speak to the potter at the time he made the accusation against you, bailiff?” Bascot asked. “It is now almost two years since he first made the charge. Why did you not refute it?”
“That is what Preceptor d’Arderon asked me,” Ivor replied, his eyes hot with anger. “And I will tell you, Sir Bascot, the same as I told him. The potter is a peasant and has the clod-like mind of one. I did not think his lies, or the opinions of the other landless villeins he repeated them to, worthy of my attention.”
When Bascot left the merchant’s home a few minutes later, Reinbald accompanied him to the door and apologised for his wife’s discourtesy. “Please assure Lady Nicolaa that both I and my wife will comply with her request to attend the sheriff’s court and that we will give our evidence without reservation.”
As he walked back up Hungate towards the castle, the Templar reflected on how personalities within a family, despite similarities in appearance, could be so very different. The physical resemblance between Ivor and his brother Harald was strong, but their outlooks on life were almost diametrically opposed. Bascot did not think that Ivor, with his overwhelming sense of self-importance, had given one moment’s thought to the poverty-stricken state that awaited Maud le Breve’s old nurse, Nantie, but Harald had enough compassion to be concerned about her future homelessness and was doing his best to forestall it.
As he neared the castle, and was walking up Spring Hill in the direction of Bailgate, Bascot saw Roget standing by the corner of the fish market, talking to one of his guards. When the former mercenary saw the Templar approaching, he hailed him and asked if there was any news of when the sheriff might return.
“I will be glad to see him back, de Marins,” Roget said. “It is a little quieter in the town now that the potter has been arrested, but the citizens are anxious for him to be punished and are becoming unruly in their impatience.”
The captain rubbed his hand across his thick beard, causing the copper rings threaded in its strands to tinkle with a musical sound as they pushed together. “I must admit I would like to gut that batard myself. Even if it is my duty to keep him safe from those who would punish him, I have more than a little sympathy with them.”
Bascot understood the captain’s acrimony, especially after seeing the little body of Juliette le Breve and hearing Nantie’s witness of how the child had died. He felt the same way himself.
It occurred to the Templar that Roget might be able to help him discover whether Ivor Severtsson had been guilty of assaulting Rosamunde, and he asked the captain if he knew the bailiff.
Roget shook his head. “I have seen him about the town once or twice, but I have never spoken to him,” he replied.
“I would like to find out if there is any truth to the potter’s charge that Severtsson raped his daughter,” Bascot said. “Whether he did or not has no bearing on Wilkin’s guilt, for the potter believed it was so whether it is true or not, but I promised the preceptor I would look into the matter.”
Roget nodded his head in agreement. The captain was an unabashed lecher, but Bascot knew that, like himself and d’Arderon, he had little regard for any man who would sexually assault a woman.
“I would be interested to know if any women of the town are acquainted with him and have an opinion of his… proclivities,” Bascot said.
The captain gave him a straight look. “You mean you want me to ask the bawds in Butwerk if he is capable of rape, do you not?”
“Or any other women of the town who are known to give their favours lightly,” Bascot replied. “I am sure you are acquainted with more than one or two of that sort.”
Roget gave a wry grin. “That is true,” he admitted. “I will do as you ask, de Marins. Any man who would force a woman to his will needs to be revealed as the cochon he is.”
Bascot thanked Roget and resumed his walk back to the castle. The Templar knew it was a sin to harbour a desire to bring discredit to another, but if Ivor Severtsson was guilty of rape, it would give him great satisfaction to prove it.