A Summer of Discontent (29 page)

Henry shot Alan a resentful glance that made the Prior shuffle uncomfortably.

‘You must try, Henry,’ said Alan. ‘Northburgh said he would pay for a new chapel if you were successful.’

‘I see I shall be joining you in the library, Matt,’ said
Henry ruefully. ‘My knowledge of remedies is unparalleled in the Fens, but even
I
know of no treatment for an ageing skin. Agnes Fitzpayne told me she uses a paste made from raw sparrows’ livers and the
grease of boiled frogs, but she does not look especially youthful to me.’

‘You could try—’ began Bartholomew, feeling he had misjudged Henry by assuming the man was confident of success. The quest
was an impossible one, and Bartholomew saw that Henry would need all the advice he could get.

‘No!’ said Michael firmly. ‘No medicine while I am eating, please. You can discuss pastes and powders in the infirmary when
you are alone. Meanwhile, we were talking about Mackerell.’

‘That is not much of an improvement,’ said Robert laconically.

‘Mackerell is always wandering off alone,’ offered Sub-prior Thomas. ‘He knows the Fens better than he does the city streets,
and he often takes himself away. I doubt his disappearance is significant – and it will certainly have nothing to do with
William’s absence.’

‘I thought I saw Mackerell this morning,’ said Symon, frowning thoughtfully, as he speared a lump of bread with military precision.
‘I am certain it was his cod-like features and scaly clothes that I spotted near the castle.’

‘What were you doing all the way down there?’ demanded Robert immediately. ‘Hiding from someone who wanted to use the library?’

‘Checking the locks on the tithe barn,’ snapped Symon huffily. ‘I want wheat for bread this winter, even if you do not care
whether the peasants steal it all because we are lax with our security.’

‘I care,’ said Thomas vehemently, helping himself to a loaf.

‘Are you sure it was Mackerell you saw?’ asked Michael of Symon. ‘It would be good to know he is alive.’

Symon shook his head apologetically. ‘Not really. In fact, I am almost certainly mistaken. Why would an eel fisherman
be inside our grounds at all? He would have no business here.’

‘Mackerell is a miserable soul,’ said Thomas irrelevantly, stabbing half a cheese and hauling it across the table towards
him. ‘I am always under the impression that he finds the presence of his fellow men as taxing as we find his.’

‘I do not like him, either,’ agreed Robert, ever ready to say something unpleasant. ‘He charges too much for his eels, when
most of them are all bone and no meat.’

‘Like me,’ said Michael, piling his trencher high with nuts. ‘I have become little more than skin and bone since I have been
in Cambridge.’

‘True,’ agreed Thomas, assessing Michael’s girth with an experienced eye. Next to his massive form, Michael appeared almost
sylph-like. ‘I pray to God that I will never be dispatched to such a place, if it means near-starvation.’

‘You can rest assured that will never happen,’ said Robert maliciously. ‘I hear that the University likes its scholars able
to read, and since you are all but illiterate, it would have no cause to extend any invitations to you.’

‘I am
not
illiterate,’ sighed Thomas, in a weary tone that indicated this argument was not a new one. ‘I just find small words difficult
to make out. It is a fault with the eyes, not the mind. Is that not so, Father Prior?’

‘Have you discovered who killed these men yet, Michael?’ asked Alan, apparently preferring to change the subject than to lie.
‘You have had four days now, and I would prefer this murderer to be under lock and key, not free in our city.’

‘Me too,’ said Michael bitterly. ‘But everyone I approach for information lies to me. I cannot catch a killer when I cannot
sort out what is fact and what is fiction.’

‘Who has been lying to you?’ asked Alan in surprise. ‘No one should have cause to tell you untruths. We all want this killer
caught.’

‘I am not so sure,’ said Michael, eyeing his brethren meaningfully. ‘Three detested men have been slain, and virtually everyone
in Ely seems to have a motive for wanting them
dead. Thus, there is little incentive for people to want to help me: they are all hoping that this killer will strike again,
and rid them of someone else they do not like.’

‘That is not a nice thing to say,’ admonished Henry. ‘You make it sound as though the whole city is looking forward to the
next person’s death.’

‘I imagine a few of them will be fearing for their own safety,’ said Robert gleefully. ‘There are a number of people who are
good candidates, if the killer is selecting his victims on the basis of their unpopularity. There is that seditious Leycestre
and his two lazy nephews; there is that rude Agnes Fitzpayne; and there is that nasty Father John, whose Latin alone is good
cause for
his
murder.’

‘There will be another death,’ warned Michael. ‘And since no one seems prepared to help me, there is little I can do to prevent
it, or to save my poor Bishop from these slanderous accusations.’

‘We have helped you all we can, Brother,’ began Henry, offended.

‘Yes,’ said Michael, turning to smile at him. ‘
You
have been both helpful and encouraging. But not everyone is as public spirited. Sub-prior Thomas is one such example.’

‘Me?’ asked Thomas, surprised to be singled out for such an accusation. ‘I have not been obstructive. Indeed, I have taken
some pains not to come anywhere near you.’

‘I can well imagine why,’ said Michael. ‘There is clearly a great deal that you do not want me to know.’

‘Such as what?’ demanded Thomas, peevishness creeping into his voice. Michael’s accusations were not disturbing enough to
put him off his food, however; his jaws did not stop working for an instant.

‘Such as what that person in the orchard gave you last night,’ snapped Michael. ‘And do not tell me false stories about alms
for the poor. You carried no bread with you, and you were the recipient – not the giver – of a small white package.’

Thomas cast an agitated glance at the Prior. ‘I do not see
that it is Brother Michael’s business to interrogate me,’ he began.

‘No, it is not,’ agreed Alan, regarding his sub-prior uneasily. ‘But these are unusual times, and something peculiar is happening.
The Bishop is obliged to remain in Ely until this murder charge is resolved, and I would just as soon he resumed his travels.
Therefore, you will answer Michael’s questions, so that we can be done with this business and be back to normal.’

‘But my actions have nothing to do with the Bishop’s affairs,’ protested Thomas. His face was now white, and his breakfast
forgotten. ‘You should ask others, not me.’

‘Such as whom?’ demanded Michael.

Thomas licked nervous lips, aware that the refectory was silent and that everyone was listening to what he had to say. ‘I
did not mean … I did not—’

‘No lies,’ snapped Michael impatiently. ‘What did you mean when you said we should ask others? What others? What do you know
that you have not told me?’

Thomas was growing increasingly flummoxed, and his jowls were trembling and twitching in agitation. He ran a thick finger
around the neckline of his habit, as if it were suddenly too tight. Bartholomew exchanged a quick glance of concern with Henry,
aware that a grossly fat man like Thomas was the kind of person who might have a seizure if stressed too severely. ‘It was
a slip of the tongue. I will make no accusations against my fellow brethren—’

‘They would doubtless make accusations against you,’ warned Michael, giving the dark-faced Robert a sour glance. ‘And I will
learn what I want to know sooner or later anyway – with or without your help. But it will be quicker and easier if you are
honest with me now.’

‘I have instructed you to be of assistance to Michael,’ said Alan, fixing his stern gaze on the hapless sub-prior. ‘You
will
answer his questions. Who should he ask for information about this matter?’

‘I do not know for certain,’ said Thomas in a voice that
was suddenly frail and breathless. He pulled at his habit again and swallowed hard, as though his throat was bothering him.
‘I am basing what I say on speculation and rumour, but William has been regularly missing his offices for the past two weeks
or so.’

‘Two weeks ago,’ mused Michael. ‘That is about the time when the first murder took place.’

Thomas gave a sickly, ingratiating smile. ‘That is the connection I made, too. He has also been drawing heavily on priory
funds. In fact, he has taken more in the last eighteen days than he has spent in the rest of the year put together.’

‘Has he really?’ asked Robert with unconcealed glee. ‘He has been dogging my every move recently, trying to assemble “proof”
that I have not been distributing our alms to the poor. Now we learn that the hypocrite has been stealing priory money for
himself!’

‘We have learned no such thing,’ said Henry sternly, unimpressed by the way the almoner was so ready to believe the worst
in people. ‘We have been told that he has drawn on the hosteller’s fund recently, but that is easily explained. Blanche is
here: it is expensive to house her and her retinue, so of course he drew moneys to meet the costs.’

‘William is not a thief,’ said Alan. ‘Self-righteous and irritating, yes; but dishonest, no.’

‘The evidence speaks for itself,’ said Robert smugly, sitting back and resting his swarthy hands across his paunch.

‘How much has he had?’ asked Henry reasonably. ‘The amount will tell us whether he wanted this gold for funding Blanche’s
stay, or for other purposes.’

‘About ten marks,’ said Thomas unsteadily.

‘Ten marks?’ squeaked Alan in alarm. ‘But that is a fortune! What has he been doing
with it? And why did you not tell me this before?’

‘Because, as hosteller, he is entitled to draw twelve marks a year,’ said Thomas hoarsely. ‘He has not actually done anything
wrong – at least, as far as I know.’

‘Where is he?’ asked Alan, looking around the table, as if he expected William to be sitting in someone else’s place. ‘Why
is he not here?’

‘I thought we had already been through this,’ said Michael wearily. ‘Everyone claims they do not know where he is.’

‘Brother Henry said it was not unusual for William to miss these additional meals,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘It is not surprising:
breakfast and the midday feast are amply sufficient for the needs of most normal men.’

‘True,’ agreed Henry immediately. ‘I do not believe that eating so much is healthy. It is why so many of us are large.’ His
gaze fell on Thomas.

‘We will discuss the medical shortcomings of our dining system another time,’ snapped Alan. ‘What I want to know now is where
my hosteller is. Robert! You and he seem to watch each other like hawks, waiting for the other to make a mistake that you
can report it to me, so you must know of his whereabouts. Where is he?’

‘He is probably in the Outer Hostry,’ said Robert sullenly, no more happy with this public criticism than Thomas had been.
‘He dines with the guests on occasion.’

‘Go and find him,’ Alan ordered. ‘Tell him that I want to see him immediately, and I do not care what he is doing. Bring him
here at once.’

‘Me?’ asked Robert in surprise. ‘But I am eating. Send a servant.’

‘
You
go,’ said Alan, the ice in his voice making it clear that Robert would be wise to do what he was told. Wordlessly, the spiteful
almoner left.

Thomas heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief, apparently believing that the search for William meant that he was safe from further
interrogation. He was mistaken: Michael rounded on him again, just as the sub-prior was in the act of raising a honey-drenched
slice of bread to his large lips.

‘Who else?’ Michael demanded of him. ‘You implied that there was more than one person who might know more than he is telling.’

‘Robert,’ said Thomas, as soon as the door had closed and he was certain the almoner would not be able to hear. Bartholomew
did not know whether Thomas was telling the truth, or merely picking on someone he did not like and who was no longer in the
room to defend himself. ‘He and William are the only ones whose habits and behaviour have been a little suspect of late.’

Alan sighed, and looked into the main body of the refectory for a suitable messenger. His gaze lit on Julian, who was watching
the scene with unabashed delight, his spotty jaw dangling open to reveal a pink tongue. ‘Go after Robert and bring him back.
And then
you
can search for William.’

‘Me?’ asked Julian in surprise, echoing Robert’s sentiments. ‘But I have work to do in the infirmary. Ask Brother Henry.’

‘He must clean the shelves and wash all the bottles in my storeroom today,’ explained Henry to Alan. ‘It is his punishment
for hiding Brother Ynys’s crutches last night.’

‘I wanted to see if he could walk without them,’ pouted Julian. ‘It was a medical experiment.’

‘It was malicious teasing,’ said Henry coolly. ‘And your additional duties today will warn you not to do it again. It is a
tedious task and will take you many hours.’

‘I do not care whether he is obliged to labour all night,’ said Alan testily. ‘Do as I tell you, boy. Fetch Robert back to
answer the charge Sub-prior Thomas has laid against him.’

Reluctantly, because he knew he would miss what promised to be the most interesting meal for a very long time, Julian left,
while Michael turned his angry glare on Thomas yet again. The sub-prior was sweating heavily, and his twitching jowls were
beaded with perspiration. He pushed his trencher away from him, his appetite clearly ruined. Bartholomew thought a little
abstinence would do him good, although he did not like the increasing pallor of the sub-prior’s face.

‘While we are waiting for Robert and William to appear, we will talk about you, Thomas,’ said Michael unrelentingly.
‘What were you doing in the orchard last night?’

Thomas swallowed, then glanced at the door. Bartholomew wondered whether the man imagined he could reach it and escape the
uncomfortable interrogation, although he was deluding himself if he thought he could move his bulk faster than Michael, or
even than some of the other monks who sat quietly eating but with their ears firmly trained on the happenings at high table.
The novices made no pretence at disinterest, however. They sat in open-mouthed fascination, riveted to the drama unfolding
before them, and Bartholomew saw they relished the opportunity to watch bullying seniors publicly castigated.