A Summer of Discontent (54 page)

‘It was not like that,’ said Symon unsteadily. ‘I would have given my share back to the priory.’

‘Then why steal it at all?’ asked Alan, as unconvinced by Symon’s desperate lies as everyone else who heard them.

‘Because of you,’ said Symon, taking a step closer to Alan and still smiling ingratiatingly. ‘The Bishop is unpopular in the
town, and men like him will be the first to go when the rebellion gets under way. Then
you
will be elected Bishop, and we will all be very much happier.’

‘And I suppose you imagine
you
will be elected Prior in my place,’ said Alan coolly. ‘You will not. I would never appoint a man who spends half of his time
devising ways to shirk his duties and the other half putting his ideas into practice. I had no idea you had allowed our precious
library to sink to such an appalling state. What will our visitors think when they see it?’

‘They do not think anything,’ said Henry softly. ‘They are seldom permitted past its portals – and now you know why.’

‘And what do you think will happen to a cathedral-priory if this rebellion ever gains momentum?’ asked Michael of Symon in
disgust. ‘It will not only be landowners like de Lisle who will suffer, but our monastery, too. You would never have been
appointed Prior, because there would be no priory for you to rule.’

‘We have no grudge against the Benedictines,’ began Leycestre uneasily, trying to salvage what he could from the mess he had
created.

Michael rounded on him. ‘Do you not? That is not what you told me the first day I arrived in this miserable city, and I suggest
that you have not been entirely honest with Symon about who will be safe and who will be attacked.’

‘You promised me that the priory would not be harmed,’ said Symon, taking a menacing step towards Leycestre, when the expression
on the rebel’s face proved that Michael was right. ‘You promised that I would be Prior, and that Alan
would be deposed because he would be held responsible for losing the treasure.’

‘That sounds more like the truth,’ said Alan bitterly. ‘You did not intend to rid yourself of me by making me Bishop. You
intended to have me disgraced.’

Symon glared at him. ‘This is
your
fault.’

‘Mine?’ asked Alan, startled. ‘Why?’

‘I came to confess my role in this two days ago, and to warn you. But you were too busy dealing with your precious cathedral
to have time for me. In fact, no one was available to hear my confession, so I decided to continue after all.’

‘I was available,’ said Henry. ‘My doors are never closed to a monk in need, as you know.’

‘And you cannot blame Prior Alan for your crime, just because he was out when you happened to want him,’ Michael pointed out.
‘You could have followed your own conscience with this: you do not need a confessor to tell you what is right and what is
wrong.’

‘This is a sorry mess,’ said Henry, looking in disgust at the faces of the men who stood in a circle around the library door.
‘I have never seen such treachery and lies. I am ashamed of and disappointed with you all.’

‘It
is
a sorry mess,’ agreed Michael. He looked at Alan. ‘What do you want us to do, Father? Your librarian is a thief and a conspirator,
while these others are plotting to rise up against the King himself.’

‘Put them in the prison,’ said Alan tiredly. ‘I shall give the matter some thought and decide tomorrow what shall be done
with them. I knew Leycestre and his kinsmen held rebellious beliefs, but I did not know they ran to burglary and the despoiling
of monasteries, and I certainly did not imagine that one of my monks would stoop to consorting with them.’

‘And arranging for others to be blamed,’ said Bartholomew, thinking about Leycestre’s agreement with Guido. ‘Leycestre even
apologised for fighting with the gypsies in the Heyrow, because he realised he needed them
to remain in Ely long enough to play their part in his plot.’

Leycestre said nothing, knowing that any excuse would not be believed, and might even incriminate him further. His nephew
was less sanguine about the accusations that were being levied.

‘Yes, we did intend to have the gypsies blamed,’ he declared defiantly. ‘But their fate is irrelevant in the scheme of things,
and God is on our side. Father John said so.’

‘Did he now?’ asked Michael coolly. ‘And I suppose John allowed you to keep your stolen goods in the cathedral, too, in a
place where no one would think to look?’

‘It was John who convinced me to take up the battle against oppression,’ said Leycestre wearily. ‘He is an inspiration to
us all.’

‘John?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘But he ran away at the first sign of trouble, and claimed he would only choose which
side to support once the outcome was already decided.’

‘John would never say that,’ said Leycestre. ‘He said God will help us when we finally lift the yoke from the shoulders of
the people.’

‘You will not be lifting any yokes,’ said Michael firmly. ‘Take them away, Cynric. I am weary of all this treasonous talk.’

When Cynric and Meadowman had gone, prodding their prisoners forward with the tips of their swords, Henry looked at Alan with
sombre eyes. Bartholomew knew how the infirmarian felt. It was not pleasant to know that a monk had been responsible for attempting
to strip the priory of its sacred vessels and crosses, and it was worse to think that the man had also conspired to have Alan
deposed. While Alan might not be an ideal Prior, and often put his architectural projects above his other responsibilities,
he had dedicated most of his life to the Church, and he deserved better than Symon.

‘There is far too much evil in this world,’ Henry sighed. ‘Everywhere I turn it is staring me in the face. It is bad
enough in the town, but I thought matters would be better here, in the sacred confines of a priory.’

‘There will be sin where there are people,’ said Alan pragmatically. ‘And it will always be so.’

‘I thought things would change after the Death,’ Henry went on. ‘The city saw God’s displeasure when He sent a terrible pestilence,
and I heard many confessions during those black times. But as soon as the disease loosened its hold, people went back to their
old ways.’

‘As I said,’ replied Alan wearily. ‘It will always be so. But this is no place to be. Come to my solar for a cup of wine,
and we shall pray for the souls of these misguided people.’

Bartholomew declined, not wanting to talk any more about it, while Henry claimed that his patients needed him in the infirmary.
Michael went, however, never one to refuse the offer of a goblet of wine. Since one of Leycestre’s nephews had escaped with
a decent portion of the monastic silver, Bartholomew decided to track him down before it was lost for good. He met Cynric
and Meadowman near the prison. Meadowman was carrying a heavy sack.

‘That looks like the treasure that went missing,’ said Bartholomew, realising that he had been too slow and that the servants
had already acted.

Cynric nodded. ‘The other lad made off with it. He is in a cell, and this sack is about to be returned to the Prior.’

Bartholomew was amazed. ‘Not much passes you, does it! The Prior owes you a casket of wine for your work tonight.’

Cynric grinned. ‘Then just make sure he pays up. We have locked Symon in one cell, and Leycestre and his boys in the other.
They were blaming each other for their predicament, and I did not want them to murder each other during the night.’

‘They cannot escape?’ confirmed Bartholomew.

‘The doors are locked with a key and bolted from the outside.’

‘Then you should deliver your treasure to Alan. I am sure he will be suitably grateful.’

Cynric and Meadowman walked away, leaving Bartholomew aimless and certainly not ready for bed. He saw the servants leave the
Prior’s solar a short while later, and the glitter of a coin that Cynric was tossing in the air. Alan had evidently paid them
well for their troubles. They headed for the Steeple Gate, then crossed the road towards the taverns.

Bartholomew was half tempted to join them, but did not feel like sitting in a humid inn drinking copious quantities of ale.
He wanted to do something active that would dispel the restlessness that was dogging him. He left the priory through the Steeple
Gate, and began to walk towards the marketplace without much thought as to where he was going. The night had brought cooler
air, and the fierce heat of the day had eased. Had he not been unsettled by the business with the burglars, he might have
enjoyed the stroll in the velvety darkness of night from the cathedral to the quayside, past houses where candles gleamed
in the windows and delicious smells still emanated from the kitchens.

More people thronged the streets than he had expected so long past dusk on a Sunday, and there was an atmosphere of anticipation.
Some people were running, while others were chattering in excitement. Bartholomew wondered whether the news had already spread
that their main rabble rouser was in the Prior’s cells. He recognised the bulky form of Master Barbour of the Lamb, and went
to talk to him.

‘I trust your stolen gold was returned safely to you,’ he said.

‘Most of it,’ said Barbour with a grimace. ‘The thieves had already spent about a quarter, but better most back than none.
The Bishop shall have my prayers for finding it, even if he did do so at the expense of a gargoyle landing on his niece’s
head.’

Bartholomew smiled, thinking that de Lisle had done well if he had taken that sort of percentage for himself. He nodded to
the noisy streets. ‘What has happened to make
people leave their homes so late?’

‘The Bishop’s house was set alight,’ said Barbour disapprovingly. ‘That was an evil deed.’

‘Was there any damage? Was anyone hurt?’

‘No,’ said Barbour. ‘The alarm was raised by the gypsy folk before the blaze took hold, and there is only a scorch mark to
show for her efforts. As you can see, the excitement is over and most people have gone home now.’

‘Whose efforts?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Tysilia’s?’

‘There are some who say they saw Lady Blanche,’ said Barbour, puzzlement creasing his face. ‘But she does not seem like the
kind of woman who would sneak around at night and set light to people’s homes.’

‘She thinks de Lisle did exactly that to her cottages at Colne,’ said Bartholomew.

‘But she does not think he did it himself,’ Barbour pointed out. She thinks he arranged for someone else – Ralph, probably
– to do it for him. Anyway, that is what people are saying. But I must be back to my tavern, or I shall miss the pleasure
of discussing this with my regular customers. They will be all but ready for their beds by now. Few linger in taverns too
late when there is the harvest to be gathered at daybreak.’

‘Except on Wednesdays, presumably,’ remarked Bartholomew, ‘when the men are paid. A good deal of late-night drinking takes
place then.’

Barbour grinned. ‘Wednesdays are different.’

Bemused by the story about the fire, Bartholomew watched him hurry away. He knew Blanche harboured a strong dislike for the
Bishop, but he still could not see her setting light to his house personally. It seemed altogether an odd story. He turned
to be on his way, but one of the buckles on his shoe had worked loose, so he stepped to one side and knelt to adjust it.

Moments later, he looked up to see Guido approaching, walking briskly as though he had business to attend. He wore his yellow
hat, despite the fact that the evening was
warm and that it must be uncomfortably hot. Straightening quickly, Bartholomew intercepted him and wished him goodnight.
Guido glared at him.

‘For some who never work, maybe,’ he said, shoving past the physician to continue walking down the hill towards the Quay.
‘Some of us are too busy to waste time looking at whether an evening is pretty.’

‘Why are you busy?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Do you plan to leave tonight after all?’

Guido rounded on him suddenly, seizing a handful of his shirt and almost lifting him off his feet. ‘Stay away from my sister!’

Releasing Bartholomew with such abruptness that the physician stumbled, the scowling gypsy king went on his way. Bartholomew
watched him go thoughtfully. The brief encounter had told him all he had wanted to learn from the man: Guido’s hat was not
as pristine as it had been. It was slightly muddy, and a peculiar bunching at one side indicated that a thread had been caught
on something sharp and been pulled out. He wondered whether the local sheriff would consider it evidence enough to charge
Guido with William’s murder.

Bartholomew felt a surge of disappointment with the gypsy clan. It was easy to blame crimes and mishaps on strangers. He did
not like Guido, but he had hoped the man’s claims of innocence were genuine, and that he would not prove the bigoted accusations
of narrow-minded townsfolk correct. The physician sighed, and wondered what to do. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more
to do with the city’s turmoils, but on the other, he suspected that Guido would not be an easy man to apprehend once he had
left Ely, despite Michael’s claims to the contrary. The monk would want to question Guido about William’s death now that there
was the evidence of the gold thread to consider.

He stared after the gypsy, noting again that the man was not walking for the pleasure of exercise, but striding along purposefully.
What had he meant when he said he was busy?
Was he planning his departure that night, when he would disappear into the maze of ditches and dykes and islets with his
people, never to be seen in the area again? After a few moments of hesitation, Bartholomew decided on a course of action:
he would follow Guido to see where he went, and then he would drag Cynric from his revels if it appeared that the gypsy king
intended to evade justice.

Taking a deep breath, not entirely convinced that he was doing the right thing, the physician followed Guido at a discreet
distance, edging in and out of doorways to avoid being spotted – not that it was necessary, for Guido never once looked behind
him.