Thomas’s voice faltered slightly as he said the last words, but he kept his composure and turned to face the cook and his assistant. “I have been thinking about it ever since. If, as the leech says, it was something Sir Simon ate or drank that killed him, it could only have been the wine. And he was the one,” the squire pointed an accusing finger at Eric, “who gave me the flagon.”

A murmur rose amongst the spectators, and Eric stepped back a pace in stunned surprise. “But… but, it could not have been the wine,” he protested. “The cask was one that had been broached two days before. It has been served to Sir Simon, and others, throughout all the meals that have been prepared.”

“It was only after he drank the wine that he complained of pains in his stomach and began to purge,” the squire maintained stubbornly.

“Even if the wine had soured, Thomas,” Bascot said patiently, “it is unlikely it would have done more than make Sir Simon queasy. It certainly would not have caused his death.”

“Besides, Thomas,” de Laubrec interjected, “I drank the same wine as Haukwell, and as you can see, it did not make me ill.”

The squire’s response was quick. “But, Sir Gilles, you had wine that had not been sweetened. I brought Sir Simon the honeyed wine in a separate flagon from the others.” Again he pointed at Eric. “That scullion could have poured the wine into a filthy jug or mixed it with honey that had turned putrid.” As he spoke, Thomas was growing more and more heated, frustrated by the obvious scepticism of Bascot and de Laubrec, but he drew a deep breath and continued doggedly. “Sir Simon was in good health and spirits until he drank the wine,” he insisted, “so it must have been the cause of his sickness.”