They had been fetched from the cells by two guards and made to stand in the hall before the earl and Bascot while they were questioned. De Ponte had been vociferous in his protest at their arrest, his red beard bristling with indignation as he had declared that as an influential burgess of the town, and one whose family had lived in Canterbury since a decade after the conquest of England by King William I, he should not have been subjected to such treatment. “There are not, and never have been, any lawbreakers in my family,” he had said stoutly, “and I demand to know on what grounds you ordered the incarceration of myself and my men.” Marshal had answered him mildly, undisturbed by the outburst. Tapping the note from a local apothecary that Criel had handed him that morning, he said, “Your employees had access to a room in the royal townhouse where a deadly poison was discovered.” His words brought a gasp of dismay from the merchant, and the earl leaned forward and read the words in front of him.
