A Summer of Discontent (20 page)

‘Why would he be in any of those?’

‘Because he thinks you will not look in them,’ replied Michael. He started to walk towards the infirmary, and Bartholomew
fell into step beside him. ‘I am annoyed that we allowed Mackerell to escape from us so easily.’

‘You should not have stopped leaning on him. He could not have slipped away while he was pinned to the wall like a tapestry.’

‘Did he strike you as an honest man, Matt? Or did he seem the kind of person who might commit burglary?’

Bartholomew stared at him. ‘Do you think
he
is the man who is stealing from the merchants?’

‘Why not? And he killed Glovere, Chaloner and Haywarde when they caught him red-handed and threatened to tell.’

‘It is possible, I suppose,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Do you think he agreed to go to the Prior’s cells because matters are getting
out of hand? That what started as simple thefts have become murder, a far more serious crime? Or because he really does know
the identity of the killer, and thinks the prison is the only secure place for him?’

‘Well, I certainly do not believe in all that water-spirit nonsense. Still, we shall see when he appears tomorrow.’

‘
If
he appears tomorrow,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It seems to me that the interruption caused by that dog was very timely.’

‘What are you saying? That someone sent that wild mongrel into the inn to cause a disturbance and allow Mackerell to escape?’

Bartholomew thought it was possible. ‘We were beginning to break through his barrier of silence, and I think it would not
have been long before he told us what he knew – and he definitely knows something.’

‘But that implies the gypsies are involved,’ Michael pointed out. ‘The dog was with them.’

‘Their appearance may have been coincidental, and merely saved someone else the trouble of opening the door and ushering the
dog inside.’

‘But that means that this killer has eyes everywhere,’ said Michael uneasily. ‘I prefer to think of him slinking around the
streets after dark – when we are safely in our beds – than following us around in broad daylight and preventing us from speaking
to witnesses.’

‘There was something else odd about that encounter, too,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Eulalia has three brothers, but there were only
two of them with her in the Mermaid.’

‘No,’ said Michael immediately. ‘There were three –
Goran had his hood over his face. Perhaps he does not like the sun on his skin. I do not, either, although it did not seem
to bother him when we caught him poaching in the Fens.’

‘But I do not think that
was
Goran,’ said Bartholomew, frowning in thought. ‘Goran is a different shape, and why should he feel the need to keep his face
covered while he was inside?’

‘Perhaps because there is some truth to these rumours, and it was indeed Goran and his brothers who have been burgling their
way around the town,’ said Michael promptly. ‘He wore his hood so that he would not be recognised as the thief.’

‘Then why were his brothers bare-headed? The more I think about it, the more that hooded figure seems familiar: short and
squat, with a big chest …’

‘Like Goran,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘Come on, Matt. We are confused enough as it is. Do not make matters worse by imagining
things.’

‘Lady Blanche!’ exclaimed Bartholomew suddenly. ‘That is who it was. I
knew
that figure was familiar!’

Michael gazed at him with incredulity. ‘Blanche was in the Mermaid tavern with three gypsies? Yes, Matt. I can see why you
came to that conclusion. Lady Blanche de Wake, kinsman of the King and widow of the Earl of Lancaster, is certainly the kind
of woman who would enjoy an afternoon of rough company in Ely’s seediest tavern.’

‘It was her,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘I am certain.’

‘Then we shall have to agree to disagree on this. I do not want to argue with you, but I have never heard a more ludicrous
suggestion in all my days.’ Michael pushed open the door to the infirmary chapel and changed the subject. ‘I saw you enjoyed
meeting Eulalia again. I am surprised you noticed anything when your attention was so securely riveted on her.’

‘I did enjoy speaking to her,’ admitted Bartholomew, looking around him. The chapel was empty, but he walked
to the altar and peered behind it, just to ensure that Symon was not hiding there. ‘I should have stayed with her longer.
It would have been much more pleasant than wasting time chasing this silly librarian.’

‘She is an attractive woman,’ said Michael, regarding his friend slyly. ‘And she likes you.’

‘Probably because I am one of the few people who does not believe that she spends her evenings climbing through people’s windows
in order to burgle their houses. She knows a great deal about the curative properties of wild plants. She is fascinating to
talk to.’

‘I am sure she is, although I think you could have devised a more interesting topic of conversation with which to charm her
than weeds.’

‘She initiated it,’ said Bartholomew defensively. ‘And she said she would give me some black resin from the pine trees of
Scotland. She has invited me to visit her and collect it.’

‘Black resin!’ said Michael caustically. ‘I do not know how you can contain yourself with all the excitement.’

‘She gathered it herself when she was in the north,’ Bartholomew went on, ignoring his friend’s facetiousness and following
him out of the chapel and into the hospital’s main hall. ‘It is difficult to come by in England, but is a very good remedy
for fluid in the lungs. I can think of a number of my patients who will benefit from a tincture made from black resin.’

‘Henry?’ called Michael. ‘Where are you?’

‘Did you mention black resin?’ asked the priory’s infirmarian excitedly, appearing from his workroom at the end of the hall.
The sullen Julian was behind him. ‘Do you have some? Will there be any to spare for a syrup to ease old Brother Ynys’s cough?’

‘I have been promised some,’ said Bartholomew. ‘What else do you use in such a mixture? I always find that—’

‘Have you seen Symon?’ interrupted Michael hastily. ‘Matt is keen to begin his reading, but Symon has disappeared with the
library key.’

Henry’s mouth hardened. ‘That wretched man! He is always running away when we have visitors who want to read our books. It
is because he does not know where to find any of the tomes in his care, and he is afraid that Alan will deprive him of his
post if he is shown to be incompetent.’

‘He
is
incompetent!’ muttered Julian.

‘I have not seen him recently,’ Henry continued. ‘But I shall demand the key from him if I do, and send Julian to find you.’

‘It is too hot for me to be chasing people,’ complained Julian resentfully. ‘I should not even be here, anyway. It is the
time when us brethren are supposed to be enjoying a period of
rest
.’

Henry sighed. ‘I have already explained to you that our day does not follow the same pattern as that of everyone else. We
have patients to consider, and they are often uncomfortable and restless at this time of day. It would not do to sleep while
they need us.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Julian insolently. ‘You order me to read to them, but two cannot hear and the other three are too addled
in their wits even to know that I am there. It is a waste of time!’

‘It is
not
a waste of time,’ admonished Henry crossly. ‘They know you are close, even if they cannot understand what you are saying,
and the presence of a visitor gives them comfort. That is all that matters. Now, take your psalter and go to sit next to Roger.
He had bad dreams last night, and your reading may calm him.’

With very bad grace, Julian did as he was told, snatching up his book and marching down the hall to flop on to a stool by
Roger’s bedside. The old man smiled a toothless grin of welcome, which Julian ignored as he began to read in a bored voice,
deliberately low, so that the old man was obliged to lean forward uncomfortably in a futile attempt to catch some of the words.

‘He is a nasty youth,’ remarked Michael, watching Julian’s behaviour with distaste. ‘I do not know how you have the
patience to deal with him without boxing his ears.’

‘That would not help,’ said Henry tiredly, ‘although I confess he tries my patience sometimes. He is in disgrace at the moment
for putting worms in Brother Ynys’s bed.’

‘Why did he do that?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘Sheer malice,’ said Henry. ‘Roger, who is not as addled as Julian believes, saw him do it and told me, but not before poor
Ynys became aware of the wretched things and threw himself into a panic. I do not understand this streak of cruelty in Julian.’

‘Some people are just not very nice,’ said Michael preachily. ‘But if anyone can turn the lad into a saint, and save the town
from having him set loose to follow his own devices, it is you.’

‘I am a physician, not a miracle worker,’ said Henry, although he seemed pleased by the compliment. ‘But given a choice, there
are others I would change before Julian.’

‘There are?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘They must be vile!’

‘They are,’ agreed Michael fervently. ‘I would do something about that selfish Robert for a start, and that great fat Sub-prior
Thomas, not to mention William.’

‘William is not a bad man,’ said Henry generously. ‘He cares about the poor and he sold his gold cross last winter, so that
I could buy expensive medicine for a novice with a fever. You must have noticed that the cross he wears is made of base metal?’

‘Flaunting his good deeds,’ said Michael in disapproval. ‘Making the rest of us feel guilty for not doing something similar.
But I do not want to spend a fine summer day talking about the likes of the Brother Hosteller. We have a librarian to locate.’

They took their leave of the physician and looked in the Black Hostry, where Michael had his lodgings. Northburgh and Stretton
were there, lying next to each other and both snoring loudly, but there was no sign of Symon. Next, they walked along a pleasant
path called Oyster Lane, heading
for the beautiful chapel that had been erected for Prior Crauden, Alan’s predecessor. It was a glorious building, with long,
delicate windows that allowed the light to flood inside. The stained glass was exquisite, because the glazier had abandoned
the popular reds and greens in favour of blues and golds. The result was a cool, restful light that lent the chapel an appropriate
atmosphere of sanctity.

But Symon was not kneeling at the altar, nor was he crouching behind it. He was also not at the prie-dieu, or sitting in the
vestibule. Bartholomew was beginning to despair of ever finding the man – or of finding him so late that the sun would have
set and the light would be too poor for reading. But Michael was not ready to concede defeat, and together they made their
way to the almonry, checking the refectory and dormitory a second time as they did so. The dormitory rang with the snores
and whistles of monks taking their naps.

On their way, they saw Sub-prior Thomas, who was walking slowly towards the infirmary and looking as though the stroll in
the heat of the afternoon was not something he was enjoying.

‘Take this, will you, Brother?’ he asked breathlessly of Michael, passing a cloth-covered basket to the monk. ‘Give it to
young Julian in the infirmary.’ He closed his eyes and fanned himself with one fat hand. In another man, Bartholomew would
have been concerned, but in the obese Thomas the cause of his distress was obvious, and there was nothing the physician could
do to alleviate it – other than to recommend a serious diet.

‘What is it?’ asked Michael, picking up a corner of the cloth to peer at the basket’s contents. ‘A few pieces of stale bread
and a rind of cheese. Why would Julian want this?’

‘It is for the old men,’ explained Thomas. ‘Julian always prepares their dinner.’

‘Is this what the priory provides for them to eat?’ asked Bartholomew, horrified. ‘They have no teeth. How do you expect them
to cope with this? They need food like oatmeal made with milk, or bean soup.’

‘Their meals are none of your affair,’ snapped Thomas angrily. ‘They will eat what they are given, if they are hungry. If
they are not, they can go without.’

‘I am sure Henry does not know that his patients are being fed inferior fare,’ mused Michael. ‘But Julian is the kind of lad
who would see old men starved in their beds.’

‘The ancients give nothing back to the priory, so why should they have the best of everything?’ demanded Thomas, still fanning
himself vigorously. ‘And they had a decent meal this morning, anyway. If we give too much away, there will not be enough left
for those of us who work.’

‘I do not think you need to worry on that score,’ said Bartholomew dryly. ‘No one at
your
table is likely to starve – only the poor old men who are no longer able to feed themselves at the communal trough are in
danger of that.’

‘There is no need to be abusive,’ said Thomas indignantly. ‘But it is too hot to stand around here arguing with you. I have
important business to attend to.’

‘Like dozing in the dormitory,’ muttered Bartholomew, watching the man wobble away. He walked carefully, as though his ankles
pained him. Bartholomew was sure they did.

‘I will ensure Henry hears about this,’ determined Michael. ‘Those old men will have their oatmeal or bean soup from now on,
do not worry, Matt. But let us search the almonry for Symon. Unless he is so desperate to avoid you that he is in the vineyard,
squatting among the vines, there is nowhere else he can be.’

The spiteful Robert was leaving his domain as they approached. He had spent the morning outside, on some unspecified business
he claimed would benefit the priory, and his naturally dark skin was more swarthy than ever. He saw that Michael carried a
basket, and plucked away the cover to reveal its meagre contents.

‘What are you doing with this?’ he asked curiously. ‘You, of all people, know that the kitchens are always open. The cooks
will provide you with
fresh
bread and
new
cheese.’