Chapter Five
A cacophony of voices, shouts, and protests heralded Bronwyn’s entrance as she entered the main hall. Men and women stood, some shouting and wringing their hands, pointing and pulling each other back from the table.
Drinks had been knocked over, food flung about. The table still bore the platters of meat, bread, sauces, and fish, but wine had been spilled, lords and ladies stood around the benches whilst one man tried to help Agatha, who was coughing in fits on the floor.
In a moment, Agatha coughed again and sat up, staring at a piece of meat on the floor. Her voice weak, she uttered, “The chicken. It’s poisoned.”
Bronwyn tensed. She dashed over and said, “What happened?”
The empress’s face was pale. Her eyes had dark shadows beneath them and her expression was pinched. “Bring the head cook here immediately.” Empress Maud’s voice was icy.
Bronwyn sent one of the pages to fetch Master Hugh.
Lady Alice turned to her. “Oh, Bronwyn, it’s horrible. We sat down to dine and—”
“I’ll tell her, Alice. It was me being sick, after all,” Agatha said, leaning heavily on a knight’s arm to stand.
Once brought to her feet, Agatha wavered slightly.
She wiped her mouth and said, “I tasted the empress’s food as normal, but as soon as I smelled the chicken, I thought something might be wrong.
It didn’t smell right. I wondered if the seasoning was off.
I don’t like hot food, or any food with too much seasoning or salt.
” She looked at Bronwyn accusingly. “Then when I bit into it, I began to cough and choke. It felt like my throat was going to close up and steal my breath away. Can someone bring me a drink please?”
A cup of wine was pushed into her hands. Agatha drank deeply and exhaled, affecting a weariness at the people watching her. “It was the chicken. Don’t touch it.”
Bronwyn looked at the wooden trenchers that bore the chicken carcasses.
There weren’t many chickens left, thanks to the siege.
The chicken coop they kept on site had dozens, but without new supplies, their food stores were dwindling.
The cooks simply could not afford to take any risks with the food at this time, not when there were so many mouths to feed and limited supply.
Bronwyn’s heart felt heavy as she looked at the platters of barely touched chicken decorating the tables.
Her shoulders slumped as she looked around and saw people looking at her for direction.
A stray thought occurred to her. What if the chicken wasn’t actually poisoned, but perhaps underseasoned or even undercooked? Not that Master Hugh would allow such a thing in his kitchen, but still. Mistakes could happen. Could Mistress Agatha simply have been unlucky?
Seeing as dozens of pairs of eyes were on her, Bronwyn said to the pages, “Remove the chicken. Bring it back to the kitchen and we’ll dispose of it. All of it.” She looked at Agatha. “Was the rest of the food all right?”
“Yes, the rest was safe.” Agatha’s voice carried, and she allowed the knight to help her sit back at the table, at the left hand of the empress.
Word of the poisoned chicken spread through the room like wildfire, as Bronwyn helped clear the platters, directing pages to bring them back and out of the room. She was just leaving as Master Hugh entered the room, drying his hands on his apron.
He was a big man, with red cheeks and a sweaty brow, his dark-black curls glistening in the candlelight. He marched over to the empress like a criminal awaiting judgment. “Empress, I—”
“I am shocked at you, Master Hugh,” the empress snapped. “Shocked. You let soiled food leave your kitchen. It could have poisoned me. It already made Mistress Agatha ill. If she dies, I will blame you for this.”
Hugh’s face turned a shade paler. “Please, Empress. I don’t know what happened. This has never happened before.”
“Well, it has now, and I want answers. Find out which one of your servants is a traitor and bring them to me. I want to know who would dare.” The empress’s voice was cutting.
“Yes, Empress.” Hugh bowed low and backed away.
Bronwyn curtsied and began to leave, when the empress beckoned her forward.
In her ear, she whispered, “Mistress Blakenhale. Find out who did this. You have some experience with these matters, but my patience is not endless. You have not informed me of who upturned their chamber pot on my bed from days ago and now this. I cannot have this sort of incident happen under my roof. Find out now, or I’ll find someone who can.
” Despite her voice being low, the empress’s French accent came out strong.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Bronwyn curtsied again and finished supervising the removal of the chicken.
People whispered and talked behind their hands in low voices as she walked out, her shoes shuffling against the wooden floorboards.
She held her head high and yet couldn’t miss the guests’ suspicious glances and darting looks, as if she were the one in trouble.
Bronwyn met any gaze that looked her way, and once outside the hall, let out a large sigh of relief. Once the last servant had borne the questionable chicken away, she stood outside the entrance.
Agatha said, “Oh, I must go. I’m going to be sick.” she burped and rushed past, pushing by Bronwyn and darting toward the privy.
Bronwyn watched her go and then excused herself. Back in the kitchen, Hugh surveyed the platters of chicken left on a worktable. The room was quiet as he scratched his head. “I can’t figure it out. We sent it out and there was nothing wrong with it. How could it have been disturbed?”
A few of the cooks had suggestions, but in the end, no one had any useful ideas. Bronwyn said, “It could have been done by a page, when they were serving it to the empress.”
“But Agatha takes her portion from the trenchers like everyone else. Whoever toyed with the chicken would have had to risk everyone she shared a serving platter with getting sick. It’s a big risk to take.”
But not so great for a person who wanted the empress dead, Bronwyn thought.
Her mind went back to a time a few months ago, when she had first entered a castle’s kitchen, and a nobleman had died from poisoned mushrooms. The poisoner had meant for the king and queen to be harmed, but the nobleman had gotten in the way.
Could someone be trying to kill the empress?
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Be my guest. No one here has any good ideas,” Hugh said.
Bronwyn sniffed the chicken on each platter and asked one of the pages standing by, “Do you know which one was served to the empress?”
“I think it was that one.” The boy pointed.
Bronwyn looked at the disturbed chicken carcass on the wooden platter. The smells of rich chicken made her mouth water. It looked fine, if messy. She sniffed it but couldn’t discern any strange smell.
“Well?” Hugh asked.
“I can’t tell yet.” Bronwyn looked over the chicken closely, searching for any suspicious toppings or herbs that might have been added.
But there was nothing. The chicken on that platter and all the others looked perfectly fine.
They all looked delicious. And it was odd.
What were the chances that someone would have managed to poison exactly the right platter of chicken the empress would dine on?
It would have to be someone close to the empress, who either knew her and could add something to the chicken quickly, or a servant.
But who? It seemed unlikely one of the ladies-in-waiting would have done such a thing; the risk would be too great and they would be found out immediately.
That left one of the servants. Or one of the ladies who’d sat by the empress, such as Agatha herself.
Bronwyn had a thought. What if…
She popped a piece of chicken into her mouth, just a small piece, and nibbled it.
“Bronwyn, what are you doing?” Hugh asked, his eyes wide. “Don’t be foolish, girl. It’s not worth it.”
The other cooks stared as she chewed and swallowed. “It tastes fine.”
“You say that now, but you’ll be sick in no time, just like Agatha was. Boys, get her a bucket to spew her guts in.”
The servants looked askance at each other, none wanting to get too close.
“I’m fine,” Bronwyn said. She waited.
“What possessed you to do such a thing?” Hugh asked.
“I’m testing an idea.” She tapped her foot. Her stomach felt fine.
“Are you mad? You could die. You’ll be sick.”
Bronwyn helped herself to another piece. The cooks were watching her now. One of the cooks’ mouths had dropped open.
Master Hugh’s expression grew angry. “If this is your idea of a prank to try to get out of work, you’ve got another think coming.” He took her arm and pulled her away.
Once they stood away from the cooks, he said in a hushed whisper, “Just what do you think you are doing? You’re frightening the others. Why on earth would you eat poisoned meat?”
“Because it’s not poisoned.”
“How do you know?” he asked.
“I don’t. But I think it’s a ruse. It’s a ploy to take revenge and scare the empress, to make her fear for her life.”
He put a hand over his eyes. “Lord save me from courtly schemes. What if you’re wrong?”
“Then you won’t have to worry about me for very long,” Bronwyn quipped.
“That’s a horrible thing to say, girl.”
“I know. Sorry.” She looked him in the eye. “Watch me for the next few minutes. If I get sick, we’ll know I was wrong.”
“And if not?”
“Then I want to know why Agatha was lying.”
They watched and waited. The minutes rolled by.
The servants kept an eye on her, but when she didn’t get sick or fall over, they started to return to their tasks, until just Hugh watched her.
He gave her a cup of beer and sat on one of the two benches that stood beneath the long table where they ate their meals and prepared food.
“I don’t understand,” Hugh said. “Why would Agatha fake getting ill? Could she just have had a sour stomach? Something she ate or drank earlier?”