Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood

it?"
    "Yes," said Cadfael, "I can swear to it. The traces left are small, but even so minute a smear of the sauce, if you put it to your lips, would bring out a hot prickling some minutes later. I have confirmed it for myself. There is no doubt."
    "And Prior Robert, who ate the remainder of the bird, is live and well, God be praised. Therefore somewhere between the abbot's kitchen and yonder table, poison was added to the dish. It is not a great distance, or a great time. You, fellow, you fetch the meals from the kitchen to this house? And did so today? Did you halt anywhere by the way? Speak to any? Set down your tray anywhere?"
    "I did not," said Aelfric defensively. "If I delay, or the food is cold, I have to answer for it. I do to the letter what I am supposed to do, and so I did today."
    "And here? What did you do with the dishes when you came in?"
    "He delivered them to me," said Aldith, so quickly and firmly that Cadfael looked at her with new interest. "He put down the tray on the bench by the brazier, and I myself set the small dish on the hob to keep warm, while we two served the main dish to our lord and lady. He told me the prior had kindly sent it for the master. When I had served them within, we sat down in the kitchen to eat our own meal."
    "And none of you noticed anything wrong with the partridge? In odour or appearance?"
    "It was a very rich, spiced sauce, it had a fine smell. No, there was nothing to notice. The master ate it and found nothing wrong until his mouth began to prick and burn, and that was afterwards."
    "Both scent and savour," confirmed Cadfael, consulted with a rapid glance, "could well be covered by such a sauce. And the amount needed would not be so great."
    "And you ..." The sergeant turned to Meurig. "You were also here? You belong to the household?"
    "Not now," said Meurig readily. "I come from Master Bonel's manor, but I'm working now for the master-carpenter Martin Bellecote, in the town. I came here today to visit an old great-uncle of mine in the infirmary, as Brother Infirmarer will tell you, and being about the abbey I came to visit here also. I came into the kitchen just when Aldith and Aelfric were about to share out their own meal, and they bade me join them, and I did."
    "There was enough," said Aldith. "The abbot's cook is generous-handed."
    "So you were the three eating here together. And giving the little dish a stir now and then? And within ..." He passed through the doorway and looked a second time about the debris of the table. "Master Bonel and the lady, naturally." No, he was not a stupid man, he could count, and he had noted the absence of one person both from the house and from their talk, as if they were all united to smooth the sixth trencherman out of sight. "Here are three places laid. Who was the third?"
    There was no help for it, someone had to answer. Richildis made the best of it. With apparently ingenuous readiness, rather as though surprised at the introduction of an irrelevancy, she said: "My son. But he left well before my husband was taken ill."
    "Without finishing his dinner! If this was his place?"
    "It was," she said with dignity, and volunteered nothing more.
    "I think, madam," said the sergeant, with a darkly patient smile, "you had better sit down and tell me more about this son of yours. As I have heard from Prior Robert, your husband was by way of granting his lands to the abbey in return for this house and guest status for the rest of his life and yours. After what has happened here, that agreement would seem to be forcibly in abeyance, since it is not yet sealed. Now, it would be greatly to the advantage of an heir to those lands, supposing such to be living, to have your husband removed from this world before the charter was ratified. Yet if there was a son of your marriage, his consent would have been required before any such agreement could have been drawn up. Read me this riddle. How did he succeed in disinheriting his son?"
    Plainly she did not want to volunteer anything more than she must, but she was wise enough to know that too stubborn reticence would only arouse suspicion. Resignedly she replied: "Edwin is my son by my first marriage. Gervase had no paternal obligation to him. He could dispose of his lands as he wished." There was more, and if she left it to be ferreted out through others it would sound far worse. "Though he had previously made a will making Edwin his heir, there was nothing to prevent him from changing his