A Summer of Discontent (53 page)

‘You already have at least three copies of that,’ said Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘Why do you want another?’

Symon glowered at Bartholomew, who assumed the librarian had not known about the existence of duplicates. ‘This one was illustrated,’
he growled. ‘My readers prefer books with pictures. But suffice to say that I was engaged with priory business, and that I
have only recently returned.’

‘I see,’ said Michael, clearly not believing a word. ‘What were you doing at midnight on Friday? Were you here, trying to
avoid leaning on the walls, or were you out and about? Near the Bone House, for example?’

‘I certainly was not,’ said Symon indignantly. ‘And I was in my library on Friday night, cleaning up the mess your friend
left with his reading. Henry may have heard me from the infirmary, so you can ask him.’

‘We will ask him,’ said Michael, releasing the librarian’s
arm. ‘And if he does not support your claim, we will be back to talk to you again. Do not think that you will evade me: I
know this priory as well as you do, and there is nowhere you can go that I will not find you.’

Symon scuttled away as fast as he could when released from Michael’s interrogation, leaving the monk staring thoughtfully
after him. Michael and Bartholomew began to walk back up the hill together, away from the odorous latrines. Michael professed
himself unconvinced by Symon’s story, and said he was going to ask Henry about the library’s creaking floorboards. Meanwhile,
the physician was concerned about the sudden presence of Agnes Fitzpayne in the monastery, and intended to do something about
it. Prior Alan had been kind to him, and he did not want to repay the man’s hospitality by allowing a theft to take place
that might see some of the cathedral-priory’s treasures permanently lost. He decided to ask his book-bearer to help him catch
the thieves.

Cynric was more than willing to assist, claiming that he was bored in Ely with nothing to do other than help the cooks in
the kitchen or wander the town’s taverns. Meadowman was with him, and also readily agreed to a little thief-taking.

‘What is the plan?’ asked Cynric keenly, walking next to Bartholomew as they headed towards the Prior’s House. ‘Agnes Fitzpayne
is already inside, you say?’

‘I do not know the details,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I only know that it is already in action.’

‘Not
their
plan,’ said Cynric impatiently. ‘Ours. What do you intend to do?’

Bartholomew regarded his book-bearer uneasily. ‘How can we have a plan? We do not know what is going to happen.’

Cynric sighed in exasperation. ‘But you have to have some idea as to what you want us to do! We cannot stand in a row outside
Alan’s house and wait for Leycestre to walk past.
Obviously our presence there would warn him that something was amiss.’

‘We will hide, then,’ determined Bartholomew. ‘You can take the trees in the garden opposite Alan’s house, Meadowman can stay
near the end of the refectory, and I will find somewhere to disappear near the Prior’s Great Hall.’

‘And what are we looking for, exactly?’ asked Cynric. ‘Do you anticipate that Leycestre and his nephews will slip into the
monastery unnoticed, creep up to Alan’s solar, and help Agnes demand all his money? Now? Before all the monks have gone to
bed?’

‘Most of them have,’ said Meadowman pedantically. ‘I can see their lights in the dormitory and most of the precinct is deserted.’

Cynric sighed, ‘But a few have not – Symon, Alan and Henry, to name but three. My point remains.’

‘I suppose an evening crime would be a new venture for them,’ admitted Bartholomew. ‘Previously, they have entered and left
their victims’ property in the depths of the night. I do not know why Agnes asked for an interview with the Prior, but I am
certain it is all part of their plot.’

‘Perhaps she is aware that the rebels have been exposed, and she is asking Alan for his forgiveness while she still can,’
suggested Meadowman charitably.

Bartholomew shook his head. ‘They will be angry and desperate. They have worked hard and taken a lot of chances to burgle
those houses over these last three weeks, but today saw them lose every last penny when their hoard was discovered in the
transept. Leycestre has already bribed the gypsies to leave before tomorrow – to take the blame for the theft he plans to
commit – so they have no choice but to act tonight.’

‘But I thought you said that all the treasure Leycestre stole has been recovered,’ Meadowman pointed out, always one to see
flaws in the details. ‘How will he pay the gypsies for their part of the bargain?’

‘I do not know,’ replied Bartholomew, becoming exasperated with the fact that the servants seemed more inclined to talk than
to act. ‘Perhaps they have already received their reward. Or perhaps he plans to pay them with some of whatever he takes tonight.’

‘Very well, then,’ said Cynric, apparently deciding the time was ripe for action. ‘It is now dark, so I suppose they will
be making their move soon. It is a pity for them that the night is clear and that there is a moon. Stay still and quiet, and
be aware that they may carry weapons.’

They took up their posts, and Bartholomew watched the night settle cool and dark across the Fenland town. He was anticipating
a lengthy wait, and was just moving into a comfortable position against the sun-warmed wall when he saw the familiar shape
of Leycestre moving through the shadows created by the moonlight. The man was walking quickly towards the Prior’s House from
the direction of the vineyard. He was not alone; Brother Symon was with him, still limping from his aching back, and Leycestre’s
nephews were in their customary vanguard position. Bartholomew watched them in surprise. Surely Leycestre had not persuaded
the librarian to rally to his cause?

The four men ducked among the trees of the Prior’s garden, dangerously close to where Bartholomew knew Cynric was hiding.
The physician was not unduly concerned. His wily book-bearer would not be caught by the likes of the rebel leader and the
librarian.

Within a few moments, Agnes Fitzpayne emerged from the Prior’s solar and stood speaking with Alan outside. Immediately, Symon
left his hiding place and walked towards them, his casual saunter making it appear as though he had just happened to be passing.
Bartholomew eased a little closer, so that he could hear what was being said.

‘Good evening, Mistress Fitzpayne,’ said Symon pleasantly. ‘What brings you here?’

‘I came to warn Prior Alan that some misguided people intend to break into the priory and rob it tonight,’ she
replied. ‘They will be looking for gold and silver. I suggested that everything of value should be locked somewhere safe.’

‘This is grave news,’ said Symon, sounding concerned. ‘But it was good of you to warn us.’ He turned to Alan. ‘I am sure her
fears are valid, Father, because a number of houses have been burgled recently. We should secure all our treasure in a place
they will not think to look.’

‘But where?’ asked Alan worriedly. ‘My chapel is the obvious place, but there are no good locks on the doors – and I do not
want to be responsible for the violent fight between monks and thieves that will surely ensue if I leave guards with it.’

‘I quite agree,’ said Symon, rather too quickly. ‘Bloodshed must be avoided at all costs.’

‘I would rather we just put the treasure somewhere they will not think of looking,’ Alan went on. ‘It would avoid a lot of
unpleasantness – I have no grudge against desperate people, and do not want to antagonise our peasants by being forced to
hang the leaders of this silly rebellion.’

‘What about the library?’ suggested Symon, as if the idea had just occurred to him. ‘It has strong locks, and only you and
I have the keys.’

Alan’s worry evaporated. ‘That is an excellent idea! No one would ever think of raiding the library. We shall leave one or
two paltry items lying around to pacify these thieves, so they will leave peacefully, but the valuable items we shall hide
away.’

‘Good,’ said Symon, sounding pleased. ‘I shall make an immediate start in moving it.’

‘I will see Mistress Fitzpayne safely to the gate, then come to help you,’ said Alan. ‘It is best that only you and I know
about this if we want to avoid trouble.’

Symon bowed to his Prior, then headed for the chapel. Alan offered his arm to Agnes and walked away with her.

‘Shall I fetch Brother Michael?’ came a low voice at Bartholomew’s elbow. The physician jumped in alarm, horrified that Cynric
could sneak up behind him and take him
unawares when he thought he was being watchful. He nodded, and the Welshman disappeared silently into the darkness.

Meanwhile, Symon emerged from the Prior’s chapel staggering under a substantial armful of silver candlesticks, jewelled patens
and heavy gold crosses. The moonlight illuminated him quite clearly, almost as clearly as if it were day. He could barely
walk, but somehow managed to reach the library without dropping anything. Bartholomew followed cautiously, aware that he was
not the only one dogging Symon’s footsteps: Leycestre and his nephews had also left their hiding places, and intercepted the
librarian near the infirmary. Fortunately, they were too intent on the treasure they anticipated would soon be theirs to notice
Bartholomew behind them.

While the thieves made their way around the east end of the hospital to reach the library door via the cemetery, the physician
ducked into the Dark Cloister and trotted quickly through the infirmary hall, aiming to slip through the back door, where
he could creep through the bushes without being seen. The old men were dozing, but Henry watched his antics in bemusement.

‘What are you doing?’ he whispered, so as not to disturb his sleeping patients.

‘Leycestre and his nephews are about to make off with the priory’s silver,’ Bartholomew explained, glancing over his shoulder.
‘Symon is helping them.’

‘Symon?’ whispered Henry, aghast. ‘You are mistaken!’

‘Come and see for yourself,’ Bartholomew invited. ‘There is no mistake.’

Henry followed him through the rear door, then through the undergrowth that extended as far as the library entrance – near
where Tysilia had met William. The infirmarian said nothing, but Bartholomew sensed his unease and distaste at what they were
doing. Obviously Henry had not had much cause in the past to scramble among bushes in the dark to spy on his colleagues.

‘Give it to me now,’ Leycestre was saying to Symon. ‘There is no point in taking it all up the stairs, only to carry it down
again later.’

‘True,’ agreed Symon. ‘But take half: I will have to put some in the library, or Alan will wonder what I am doing with it.’

There were clanks as the treasure exchanged hands, and moments later one of the nephews could be seen running away with it,
aiming for the vineyard.

‘I do not believe this,’ whispered Henry, his voice cracked with distress. ‘That is Symon, and I have just seen him pass the
Lancaster Chalice – one of our most prized possessions – to Leycestre’s nephew!’

‘Here comes Alan,’ said Bartholomew, as the Prior staggered towards them, laden down under a substantial chest.

‘Do not tell me
he
is involved, too!’ exclaimed Henry. ‘He always seemed relatively honest.’

‘Another trip each should see most of the treasure secure,’ panted Alan, all but dropping the chest at Symon’s feet. ‘This
is probably the most valuable thing, because it contains all our gold pieces and some precious stones. Some of them are worth
a small fortune. Be sure to hide it well. Pile some books around it, so it is properly disguised.’

They disappeared up the library stairs together, the chest between them, and moments later came the sound of tomes being shifted
around. Bartholomew also heard a cry of dismay from Alan, as he saw for the first time the state of the library; this was
followed by Symon’s loudly defensive claims that the mess was temporary. Leycestre and his remaining nephew stood patiently
in the shadows, and did not move until Alan and Symon had left for the Prior’s House to collect the last of the treasure,
and had returned with it. Then Alan bade Symon a breathless good night, informing him that he had warned the guards to be
on the alert for intruders without being specific.

‘Not that it will do much good,’ he added ruefully. ‘The
guards tonight are lay-brothers – townsfolk – whose sympathies lie with the people they believe are being oppressed. That
is another reason why it would be better for everyone if this plan to rob us were thwarted, and did not result in a physical
confrontation. The guards might well fight on the side of the thieves.’

‘I will make sure this door is locked,’ said Symon. ‘Go to your bed, Father. The priory’s treasure will be safe with me.’

‘It will not!’ Michael’s loud voice and the sudden flare of light as torches were lit made everyone jump. The flames immediately
revealed Leycestre and his remaining nephew, who turned to melt away into the bushes but found themselves facing the tip of
Cynric’s sword. They regarded each other in alarm, and Leycestre turned accusingly to Symon, who was gazing around him in
open-mouthed horror.

‘You betrayed us, Symon! You promised to help, and now you have betrayed us!’

‘He has done nothing of the sort,’ said Michael tartly. ‘He is every bit as guilty of this dreadful crime as you are.’

‘This is not how it seems,’ began Symon, appealing to Alan with a sickly smile. ‘It is all a terrible misunderstanding.’

‘You were assisting these men to steal our treasure?’ asked Alan, bewildered and trying to make sense of the scene that was
unfolding before him.

Symon glanced around surreptitiously, apparently considering possible escape routes. His eyes lingered on the dark cemetery,
but Bartholomew and Henry climbed from among the undergrowth and blocked his path, and Meadowman and the imposing presence
of Michael guarded the only other possible way out. The librarian’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

‘They made me do it,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I did not want to.’

‘Yes, we made him,’ said Leycestre harshly. ‘We promised him a share of any treasure he helped us steal, and so placed him
under indescribable pressure as he was forced to choose
between loyalty to his priory and his natural greed. As you can see, greed won the day.’