A Plague of Poison by Maureen Ash Page B

b’aint no need. Even if someone was of a mind to steal some, the bees wouldn’t let any but us ‘uns near their honey. ‘Twould be right dangerous for any who tried to pilfer it.”

    Seeing Bascot’s impatience with Adam’s curious manner of speaking about his bees, Wilkin hastened to justify the beekeeper’s claim. “We have two dogs here, lord, and both of them keep a good guard. If anyone tried to come onto the property, they would soon alert us. They made no disturbance while the honey was in the shed.”

    Bascot nodded his thanks to the potter for the clarity of his reply and said to the beekeeper, “Did you take the honey to the autumn fair yourself last year?”

    “No, I never does,” Adam replied. “I hasn’t been in Lincoln for nigh on ten years. Wilkin allus takes it, and Margot goes along to keep the tally.”

    Bascot turned his attention to the potter. “After you left here to go to the fair, was the honey left unattended by either you or your wife for any length of time?”

    “No, lord,” Wilkin replied. “We did deliver some to the Priory of All Saints, but Margot stayed with the wain all the time that I unloaded the honey and took it inside.

    Then we went straight to the fairgrounds and my wife set up our stall.”

    “And when did you take the order to the castle, before or after the fair?”

    “Before, lord. I took them while Margot was setting up the stall. One of us was with the pots all the time until they were either delivered or sold.”

    Bascot then asked the potter if he made all the containers that were used for the apiary’s honey.

    “Aye, lord, I do,” was the response.

    “And where are the pots kept after you have fired them and before they are filled?” Bascot asked, trying to determine if there could be a chance that the poison had been placed in the adulterated jars before the honey was poured in.

    “In the same shed as they’re kept in after they have been filled and stoppered,” Wilkin told him.

    “You told me your dogs gave no alarm of any intruder while the filled pots were in the shed. Was there any alert from them before that, while it contained only the empty ones?”

    Both Adam and Wilkin shook their heads. Unless the beekeeper or one of his family was guilty, it seemed unlikely that any of the honey had been adulterated before it left the apiary, or while it was in transit. To be sure, he asked them if the honey was overseen at all times once it had been harvested from the combs and poured into the pots.

    “The best grade is,” Adam said. “That be the one we gets from the first gleanin’. It be ready right away, so after we pours it into honey bags it goes straight from the bags into the jars. Then we leaves the bags to drip overnight on their own before wringin’ ‘em out for the second gleanin’ and then we washes ‘em out with water for the third.”

    Bascot nodded absently. He was only interested in the best grade, for it was the type that had been poisoned, and it appeared that it could not have been tampered with while under the beekeeper’s care. The second grade, which was cheaper and usually purchased by people with lesser means, was of no interest to him, and neither was the last type, which was very thin and used mainly to make mead. He resumed his questioning of the potter and the vessels he made.

    “Do you make any of the amber-glazed honey pots for another apiary’s use?” he asked.

    “No, lord,” Wilkin told him. “I fashion many other vessels that I sell in Lincoln town, but not that kind.”

    “I understand it is the practice for the pots, once they have been emptied by your customers, to be returned to the apiary so they can be reused. Are you the one that collects them?”

    “Yes, but I only take back those that are not chipped or broken,” Wilkin explained. “We pay the customers a fourthing of a penny for each. I collect the empty pots once a year, in the late summer, so as to have ‘em ready for