A Summer of Discontent (23 page)

Bartholomew wondered what he should do, aware that anything Michael said would also be heard by the hosteller and Tysilia.
If Michael felt the need to meet de Lisle in the cemetery, rather than openly at his house or in the cathedral, then the monk
clearly wanted privacy. While he felt no particular allegiance to de Lisle, and cared little whether the Bishop revealed his
innermost secrets while William and Tysilia listened, Bartholomew did not want the discussion to incriminate Michael. He picked
up a small inkpot, and fingered it thoughtfully, seriously considering hurling it at Michael to warn the monk that he and
de Lisle were not alone.

‘I have learned very little, I am afraid,’ replied Michael. ‘A fellow named Mackerell spun some story about water-spirits
snatching the souls of the three dead men.’

The Bishop nodded. ‘Superstition is rife in the Fens, despite my attempts to try to teach otherwise. I am not surprised that
ghosts have been blamed – but better them than me, I say!’

‘True,’ agreed Michael. ‘Mackerell has agreed to meet me by the back door of the priory tonight, where he has promised to
reveal all.’

‘What could a man like Mackerell know?’ demanded de Lisle disparagingly. ‘He is a mere fisherman.’

‘He is a mere fisherman who gave the impression he knew something that frightened him,’ said Michael stiffly. ‘We should not
dismiss him without hearing his story.’

Bartholomew’s grip on the inkpot loosened. The Bishop and his agent were not discussing anything incriminating or dangerous.
He wondered why they had decided to meet in secret. Perhaps it was force of habit that encouraged them to be circumspect,
even when there was no need.

‘Very well,’ said de Lisle, although he did not sound
convinced. ‘You have more experience in these matters than I do, and I shall bow to your superior knowledge. What else have
you learned?’

‘I spoke to Haywarde’s family today,’ said Michael. ‘And I also ascertained that Chaloner and Glovere had no kin – at least,
no kin that would acknowledge them.’

‘No family would ever admit to owning Glovere,’ Bartholomew heard Tysilia whisper to William. ‘He always smelled of horse
dung, you see.’

‘What?’ William whispered back, evidently more interested in the conversation between Michael and de Lisle than in listening
to Tysilia’s deranged ramblings.

‘I think he rubbed it in his hair,’ explained Tysilia helpfully.

‘Be quiet,’ ordered William. ‘And keep your hands where I can see them.’

‘And?’ asked de Lisle of Michael. ‘What did the kinsmen of the unhappy Haywarde tell you?’

‘Nothing,’ Michael admitted. ‘I was hoping to find some connection between him and the other two victims, but nothing was
forthcoming. I thought they might be involved in the rebellion that seems to be fermenting in the town.’

‘Leycestre and his silly nephews,’ spat de Lisle in disgust. ‘Nothing
they
discuss can be of sufficient importance to warrant murder.’

‘Not everyone is as sanguine as you are,’ Michael pointed out. ‘Seditious talk may be considered treasonous.’

‘What salacious talk is this?’ demanded Tysilia in a hoarse whisper, sounding very interested.

De Lisle glanced sharply towards the tree in which she hid. ‘Are you sure you can hear nothing, Brother? That sounded like
a voice to me.’

‘It was probably squirrels,’ said Michael complacently. ‘There are a lot of them around at this time of year, looking for
nuts.’

‘What about Northburgh and Stretton?’ asked de Lisle, after a searching gaze revealed nothing amiss. Bartholomew
could almost hear William holding his breath. ‘Have they learned anything?’

‘Hardly!’ snorted Michael in disgust. ‘Stretton had to ask me how to begin his enquiries, while Northburgh declines to leave
the priory lest he contract some peasant ailment.’

‘This is not good,’ said de Lisle worriedly. ‘My name will never be cleared as long as that pair is supposed to be uncovering
the evidence. Everyone will merely assume I could not be proven guilty, rather than that I am innocent.’

‘But you have me,’ declared Michael, a little peevishly. ‘
I
will uncover the truth.’

De Lisle regarded him uneasily. ‘I know. But this investigation is proceeding a good deal more slowly than it should. I dislike
being accused of murder: it is not good for a bishop to be seen as the kind of man who commits earthly sins.’

‘I imagine not,’ said Michael. ‘But this is not an easy case to solve, because there is very little for me to work on. I cannot
see any link between these three men, except for the fact that they were all killed by the same unusual method. We may have
to resort to using a tethered goat to draw the killer out – perhaps dangle some other malcontent in order to force him to
strike.’

‘As long as I am not the goat, you can do what you like,’ said de Lisle. ‘But do not linger over this, Michael. You have always
been my faithful servant, and I am in your debt for the loyalty you have shown me in the past. But now my very life is in
your hands. Prove me innocent of these charges, and I shall see you rewarded in ways that even you cannot imagine.’

Michael inclined his head in acknowledgement and the Bishop took his leave. Bartholomew was unable to prevent himself from
laughing aloud when de Lisle strode quickly away without making the slightest pretence of keeping himself hidden, and then
almost collided with Sub-prior Thomas and Almoner Robert, who just happened to be passing the end of the cemetery.

‘Watch where you are going,’ Bartholomew heard de Lisle snap.

‘Why, my Lord Bishop!’ exclaimed Robert in surprise, an unreadable expression on his foxy face. ‘What brings you to our humble
cemetery? It seems an odd place for a man like you to haunt.’

‘I haunt wherever I like,’ said de Lisle haughtily. ‘I am the Bishop of Ely, and this is my See. And what I was doing in the
cemetery is none of your affair.’

‘It is often used as a place for meetings we would rather no one else knew about,’ said Thomas, giving de Lisle a knowing
nudge in the ribs. The Bishop spluttered in indignant outrage, but Thomas was unperturbed and his salacious grin merely grew
wider. ‘I have caught many a young novice here among the graves with the kitchen maids.’

‘Well, I can assure you that you will find no kitchen maid here,’ said de Lisle, giving the two monks an icy glare before
strutting away, his bearing arrogant and determined.

Exchanging an amused smile, Thomas and Robert watched him go, then resumed their walk. When they had gone, Michael followed
the route his Bishop had taken, before ducking quickly around the corner and heading in the direction of the Black Hostry,
where a bell was ringing to announce that a meal was ready for any Benedictine guests who might be hungry. Bartholomew was
sure Michael was hungry.

Moments later, Tysilia emerged from the trees, brushing leaves from her clothes. She gave William a conspiratorial grin, and
announced in a loud voice that she hoped to hear from him very soon. Then she scampered away among the graves. As she reached
the place where de Lisle had met the two monks a few moments before, someone appeared out of nowhere and all but sent her
flying.

‘Be careful!’ she cried angrily, when she had regained her balance. ‘You cannot take up
all
the path, you know. You must leave some of it for others.’

‘I was not even on the path,’ replied a bemused Thomas defensively. ‘I was walking on the grass. Turf is easier on my ankles,
you see, so I always tread on it, rather than the beaten earth of a trackway.’

‘That is because you are fat,’ declared Tysilia uncompromisingly. Bartholomew winced, recalling that the young woman had an
unendearing habit of saying exactly what was in her mind.

She dashed on, leaving a startled Thomas gazing after her. Slowly, a grin of understanding spread across the sub-prior’s porcine
features, and Bartholomew could hear his delighted laughter. Clearly, Thomas had drawn his own conclusions about the sudden
appearance of a young woman making her escape from the cemetery moments after the Bishop had left. Bartholomew heard an amused
cackle from the tree below, as William also realised what the sub-prior had assumed.

William was the last to leave. He walked briskly among the graves, then peered around the corner to ensure that no one was
watching, before turning towards the cathedral. And then the graveyard was silent and empty again. Bartholomew set down his
pen and wondered what to make of it all.

The dinner served at the monastery that evening was excellent. It surpassed anything Michaelhouse was likely to produce, except
perhaps at feasts or other special occasions. Considering that it was just a normal day, Bartholomew could not begin to imagine
what was on offer when the priory had cause to celebrate. There was a pike in pear-flavoured jelly, the inevitable locally
caught eels, a dish of turnips that had been roasted slowly in butter, and a bowl of thick pea pottage. In addition, there
was bread made from the finest white flour, which was soft and delicious to eat with the creamy cheese from the priory’s own
dairy. Bartholomew ate his fill, and then retired to the infirmary to talk to Henry.

As sunset approached, Michael came to find him to ask if he wanted to take an evening stroll, carefully not mentioning the
fact that it was almost time for their meeting with Mackerell. The monk was rubbing the sleep from his
eyes, and Bartholomew assumed he had followed his own repast with a pleasant nap.

‘What have you been doing today?’ Bartholomew asked, as they walked towards the vineyards and the priory’s back gate. ‘Did
you have a useful meeting with de Lisle?’

Michael smiled. ‘I am glad you were not too engrossed in your studies to have missed that.’

‘You mean you
wanted
me to eavesdrop on it?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘Why?’

‘Because I hoped he might say something important, and I wanted you to hear. But in the event, he said nothing of interest
at all.’

‘Perhaps he knew the discussion was not quite as private as it appeared,’ suggested Bartholomew.

‘No. We have met in the cemetery before. And although he is aware that you are working in the library, it would not have occurred
to him that you might overhear anything he said.’

‘But it did, Brother,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘He knew that someone might be spying on him, and kept gazing at the undergrowth
below my window.’

‘Then you should not have made all that noise. You were giggling and whispering to yourself like some half-mad crone. I was
lucky he believed me when I said the racket was caused by birds or squirrels.’

‘That was not me. William and Tysilia were already in the midst of their own meeting when you arrived. It was Tysilia you
heard chattering.’

‘Was it indeed?’ said Michael, raising his eyebrows. ‘Then it is just as well de Lisle said nothing incriminating. That William
is a cold man, and I would not like him to be after the Bishop’s blood. What were they talking about?’

‘William has apparently charged Tysilia to discover whether Blanche was responsible for Glovere’s murder. Needless to say,
she was not a wise choice of accomplice.’

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Michael, amused. ‘Did she march up to Blanche and demand to know whether she
killed her own steward?’ He chortled at the notion.

‘Yes, actually. It is difficult to gauge Blanche’s reaction from Tysilia’s description of it, but she warned Tysilia that
to probe further might be dangerous. However, it is not clear whether the harm would come from Blanche or someone else.’

‘I wonder why William is meddling in this,’ mused Michael. ‘What can he have to gain from discovering who murdered Glovere?’

‘A good deal. If he proves de Lisle guilty, he will be able to demand a high price for his silence. If he proves de Lisle
innocent, then he will earn the Bishop’s undying gratitude.’

‘If he thinks that, then he is a fool. De Lisle will not take kindly to being blackmailed, and he gives his undying gratitude
to those he trusts, not to those who interfere in his affairs. But this is all very revealing.’

‘It is?’ asked Bartholomew doubtfully.

Michael nodded. ‘It means that William may have discovered something I have not.’ He rubbed his hands in sudden glee. ‘Now
this is more like it! I was afraid I might be obliged to deal with some mindless butcher, who kills because the fancy takes
him. Such a person might prove impossible to find – unless he grows so bold that he reveals himself by accident. But now I
learn that no less a person than the hosteller – one of the priory’s most important officers – is recruiting spies and asking
questions.’

‘I do not know why you consider that good news, Brother. William may be asking questions because he is the culprit, and his
enquiries are merely to allow him to gloat as people speculate about his identity.’

‘He will not outwit
me
,’ boasted Michael. ‘A clever man will have a certain method in his actions, which a man who kills by instinct will not. Patterns
are revealing clues for us: we will be able to use them to trap him.’

Bartholomew laughed softly. ‘A few moments after you left, Sub-prior Thomas doubled back on himself and bumped into Tysilia.
I saw from his face that he thought
she
was the reason why the Bishop was in the cemetery.’

Michael’s green eyes grew huge and round. ‘Really?’ he chuckled. ‘It is not common knowledge that de Lisle has a “niece”,
and no one is likely to believe him if he conveniently produces one now. And no one will accept that it was William she was
meeting, either. That sly, treacherous dog will never own up to meeting his doxy in the bushes.’

‘There is nothing to suggest she is his doxy, Brother,’ said Bartholomew. ‘They stood chastely side by side, and the only
physical contact was when William dragged her out of sight when you arrived. Anyway, Tysilia has set her heart on you.’

Michael glanced sharply at him. ‘What are you talking about? She barely knows me, and I can assure you that I have done nothing
to encourage her attentions.’