A Summer of Discontent (43 page)

‘The chalice was hidden in a sack in the barn,’ explained Michael. ‘Do you have any idea as to how it might have arrived there?’
He addressed his question to Blanche, although it was Tysilia at whom he looked.

‘No,’ said Blanche. ‘But my chalice was stolen. It is valuable, so I suppose some thief took a fancy to it. It was a foolish
thing to take, because it is not easy to sell church vessels for gold.’

This, too, was directed towards Tysilia, who seemed oblivious to their pointed comments. She stood clutching the doll to her
chest, swinging this way and that as she whispered to it. Her eyes, however, were fixed on Michael, and were dark and unreadable.

‘I imagine not,’ said Bartholomew, declining to ask how Blanche would know that selling stolen church silver was difficult.
‘But you noticed it gone on Wednesday, you say? That was when William disappeared.’

‘I dislike all the yelling and shrieking as the monks compete with the parish priest in the cathedral, and I decided to hear
mass from my own chaplain that evening. When he went to fetch the chalice, he found it gone. He assures me it was there at
dawn that day.’

‘So, it was stolen between Wednesday morning and dusk,’ surmised Michael thoughtfully. ‘Has anyone been lurking around here
who looks suspicious?’

‘Only de Lisle,’ said Blanche, unwilling to allow an opportunity to pass without attacking her enemy. ‘But I doubt he would
muddy his hands by stealing my silver. He prefers to use them for murder these days, and theft is a paltry crime compared
to that.’

‘My Bishop has killed no one, and he is not a thief,’ declared Ralph hotly, taking a menacing step towards her.
Immediately, there was the sound of daggers being whipped from sheaths and several of Blanche’s retainers rose quickly to
their feet. Ralph surveyed them and decided on a course of prudence, moving back towards the door. His face remained angry,
though, and if looks could kill, then Blanche and her entire household would have been buried that day.

‘The Lamb is a pleasant place for an ale,’ announced Tysilia in the silence that followed, clutching the doll as she made
her way towards Michael. She took hold of his arm. ‘We shall go there first, then to somewhere more relaxing.’

‘We shall not,’ said Michael firmly, disentangling himself. ‘I have not eaten yet, and I have no energy to romp with you.’

Bartholomew recalled that Michael had feasted handsomely in the refectory not more than an hour before. He supposed the sight
of Blanche’s repast had whetted the monk’s appetite again.

‘Do not expect me to give you any of this trout,’ said Blanche with her mouth full. ‘It is too good to be wasted on fuelling
a romp with the Bishop’s whore-child.’

‘I will be gentle,’ insisted Tysilia, reaching for Michael again, but missing when the monk side-stepped her with surprising
agility. She snatched at him yet again, and the exercise was repeated several times before she realised she would not catch
him. She gave a heavy sigh and folded her arms, pouting, while the courtiers and Ralph watched in open amusement.

‘It is time you went home to de Lisle,’ said Bartholomew, deciding to put an end to the spectacle. He took her arm and pulled
her towards the door. ‘He will be wondering where you are, and may be worried about you.’

‘He knows Ralph is with me,’ said Tysilia, trying to struggle away from him. ‘And Ralph will allow me to come to no harm.’

‘De Lisle would never forgive me if I did,’ muttered Ralph resentfully. ‘Although I do not think he has any idea about
the enormity of the task he has set me.’

‘Feign sickness tomorrow and let her spend a day in
his
company,’ advised Blanche. ‘That is all that will be necessary for her to be found floating face-down in the river at the
Monks’ Hythe.’

‘Come on,’ said Bartholomew, pushing Tysilia out of the chamber in front of him. She was thick-skinned and resilient and he
did not like her, but even he felt uncomfortable to hear her murder discussed in such earnest tones.

‘Why does Brother Michael not want to spend an evening with me?’ pouted Tysilia, as she stood with Bartholomew outside the
Outer Hostry. Ralph was with them, although he kept his distance, evidently deciding that every moment she was speaking to
Bartholomew was a moment less he would have to deal with her. Sensibly, Michael remained inside with Blanche, asking more
questions about the stolen cup and her knowledge of the monks who had been murdered. Bartholomew could hear Blanche declaring
that she despised Robert for his obsequiousness, Thomas for his selfishness and gluttony, and William for his secret ways.
Blanche, it seemed, had little good to say about anyone.

‘Well?’ demanded Tysilia, when Bartholomew did not reply. ‘I am beautiful, so Michael has no reason to resist me. Why does
he?’

‘He is a monk,’ said Bartholomew gently. ‘Monks do not form liaisons with women; they swore sacred vows not to do so.’

‘Michael swore such a vow?’ asked Tysilia, wide-eyed, as if she had never encountered the notion of celibacy before. ‘What
is wrong with him? Does he have some disease that prevents him from enjoying himself with women? Or some physical difficulty?’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew, who was sure Michael had no problems whatsoever in that area. ‘But you should not pursue him so brazenly.
He does not like it.’

‘How could he not like being pursued by me?’ asked
Tysilia. ‘I am a goddess: my body is perfect and I have a good mind. Blanche also says I am easy, which must also be a good
thing.’

‘Oh,’ said Bartholomew, at a loss for words. He hated conversations with Tysilia: they rambled in whatever direction she chose
and left him wary and bewildered.

Tysilia turned doe eyes on him, great black pools with no spark of life in them at all. ‘Being easy is better than being difficult.
My uncle says Blanche is difficult and no one likes her. Therefore, being easy is a virtue.’ She smiled proudly, pleased with
her reasoning.

‘Did you take Blanche’s chalice?’ asked Bartholomew, feeling the need to take control of the discussion.

‘Me?’ asked Tysilia innocently. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘To give to William, in exchange for a promise that he would take you away from Blanche. Who told you he was your brother?
Him?’

‘Yes,’ said Tysilia. ‘But he has no reason to lie, and I have always wanted a brother.’

‘He is not related to you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He is too old, for a start.’

‘He said that his family were obliged to part with me when I was infantile. He told me that de Lisle is not my uncle at all
– just a family friend.’

‘And why would a wealthy family like William’s be obliged to pass one of its daughters to a family friend?’ asked Bartholomew
warily.

Tysilia sighed. ‘I cannot remember the details now. He told me all this when we first arrived in Ely – days ago now – and
facts slip from my mind after a while. I think he said it was because de Lisle was lonely. I forget why. Perhaps he has sworn
one of these vows, like Michael.’

‘He has,’ said Bartholomew, feeling a surge of anger against William for taking advantage of someone so clearly short of wits.
The only good thing was that it would not take Tysilia long to forget her fictitious brother, and that she would soon go back
to her normal life – being placed with
someone who tried hard to look after her while she made plans to escape that would never work. He wondered whether her sojourn
in Ely would result in yet another pregnancy. To his knowledge, she had already been through three, and could not be made
to understand the connection between inconvenient children and her promiscuous lifestyle. He was only grateful that Michael
had taken fright at her determined wooing.

‘Let us go back to the cup,’ said Bartholomew, changing the subject. He knew he would not make Tysilia believe that she and
William were not related when she had decided that they were.

‘What cup?’ she asked, looking around her as though she expected one to materialise.

‘The cup Blanche claims was stolen,’ he said, trying not to become exasperated. ‘The one you stole to give to William. Did
he ask you to take that particular item?’

‘Of course not,’ she said indignantly. ‘But it was pretty and I thought he would like it.’

‘Where is he? You were very worried about him yesterday, and now you do not seem concerned at all. Has he fled this area and
gone somewhere safe?’

She clutched her doll tightly, as if she gained strength from it. ‘I do not know where he is, but he has not fled, because
he said he would take me with him. I am still here, so he must be nearby.’

‘So, did you give the cup to William?’

‘I
was
going to give it to him to prove my affection, but he did not arrive to meet me as he promised, so I hid it in the cemetery.
But you know that, because you found me there.’

‘I did not know you were hiding stolen property,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Did you tell William that you would secrete anything
there that you managed to steal?’

‘I was not stealing,’ said Tysilia crossly. ‘I took what
she
owed me for my company over the last few months. The good things in life are not cheap, as my uncle says.’

‘Then someone must have seen you putting it there,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘I suppose it is possible that it was William – that
he did not approach you because I was there, and he could not afford to be seen with you.’

He gazed at her vacant face as he thought about what she had told him. Was William the kind of man to relieve a silly woman
of her property and then flee with it to save himself from the killer? Had he put the cup in the bag in the granary, along
with the book and the gold? But then why had he left it? Did he plan to return, and take not only the treasure, but Tysilia,
too? Or was he already dead, yet another victim of the killer’s slim blade? Or could he be the one with the blade, who was
even now fingering it as he considered his next victim?

‘Is there any more you can tell me about William or Blanche – or anyone at all – that may help Brother Michael to help catch
this killer?’

He did not hold much hope that any significant facts had lodged themselves in the peculiar mess of ideas and fantasies that
passed as her mind, and was surprised to see her nod. ‘I know a good deal. But I will only tell Brother Michael, since it
is
he
who is looking for this killer.’

‘We must go,’ said Ralph, tired of waiting for her. ‘I do not want to lose my job because you have kept me out all day. I
like working for the Bishop.’

‘What were you going to tell me?’ asked Bartholomew of Tysilia. ‘I promise to pass any information to Brother Michael.’

‘I do not trust you,’ said Tysilia. ‘I will tell Michael or no one. Tell him to meet me here, at this door, at midnight tonight.’

‘How do you think you will gain access to the priory at that hour?’ asked Bartholomew, smiling at the ludicrous nature of
her proposal. ‘And what do you think the Bishop will say when he learns you wander the town at night meeting men?’

‘He will not know,’ said Tysilia confidently. ‘My chamber
is on the ground floor, and I only need to climb out of the window. And I will do what William told me to do when I met
him
late at night. I will borrow my uncle’s cloak, raise the hood and join the end of the procession of monks as they leave the
cathedral after the midnight mass.’

Bartholomew considered her suggestion. Was Tysilia the cloaked figure who had wandered into the hospital and murdered Thomas
while Henry dozed within hearing distance? He shook his head impatiently. He knew perfectly well that she was not sufficiently
clever to carry out a careful and meticulous murder and leave no clues. But could she have done it if William had told her
how? He rubbed a hand through his hair, but then decided that he could not be more wrong. Tysilia was exactly what she appeared
to be, and she did not have the wits to pretend otherwise.

‘Michael will not come unless he knows you have something useful to tell him,’ he said. ‘And I see nothing to suggest that
is the case.’

‘I will tell him about William,’ said Tysilia.

Bartholomew gazed at her. People tended to dismiss her as a lunatic, and to ignore her presence when they were up to no good.
Therefore, she often saw or heard things that were important and, occasionally, she even recalled some of it. It was just
possible that she had something relevant to say about the hosteller.

‘Midnight,’ she whispered again, her breath hot on his cheek. ‘Tell Brother Michael to come and meet me right here.’ She paused,
and then treated Bartholomew to a smile that was mostly leer, so that the physician was sure she had more in mind than an
innocent exchange of information. ‘And tell him to come alone.’

‘T
HE LAST TIME WE ARRANGED TO MEET SOMEONE AFTER
dark in a quiet place, he never appeared, and we have seen neither hide nor hair of him since,’ grumbled Michael, as he and
Bartholomew sat together in the priory refectory later that evening. ‘I cannot believe you allowed Tysilia to make the same
arrangement with you. Especially on my behalf.’

They had missed the evening meal – Michael because he had been questioning the monks about Thomas’s death, and Bartholomew
because he had been in the library and had lost track of time – but Michael had learned that Symon had been inaugurated as
temporary hosteller in the absence of William, and had hunted him out to provide him with a list of items he would consider
devouring at a privately served meal. Too inexperienced to know how to deal with a demanding glutton like Michael, Symon had
obliged to the smallest detail, and the repast that was set out in front of them was intimidating.

‘This is enough to feed King Edward’s entire army,’ said Bartholomew, eyeing the spread in dismay. ‘How do you imagine we
will ever finish it?’

‘Experience tells me that we shall make a respectable impact,’ said Michael comfortably, tucking a piece of linen under his
chin, and rubbing his hands together. He looked like Blanche, so sure she would make a mess that she took precautions before
she began. ‘And what we do not finish will be given to the poor, so we are doing them a favour, in a way.’

It seemed a peculiar way of viewing matters, but Bartholomew was in no mood for an argument. His mind
was still fixed on Thomas, and how the killer had waited until the sick man had been left alone before slipping unseen into
the hospital to do his deadly work. It did not make him feel easy, and a chilling sensation ran down the back of his neck.
He glanced behind him, half expecting to see someone with a thin blade in his hand. He almost jumped out of his skin when
he saw Bishop Northburgh there, with Canon Stretton at his heels.

‘God’s teeth!’ he exclaimed. ‘It is not wise to sneak up behind men when there is a killer on the loose, my Lord Bishop. You
will cause them to have seizures, like Sub-prior Thomas.’

‘I am not the kind of man to have seizures,’ said Northburgh with a vague smile. Bartholomew stared at him. The Bishop of
Coventry and Lichfield was persistently fluttery and irritable, and the mere mention of a disease induced him to imagine its
symptoms, but now he seemed unnaturally calm. In fact, Bartholomew thought there was something not quite right about the man.
He glanced at Stretton, whose heavy features were creased into a curiously beatific grin, and wondered what they had been
doing together.

‘How is your investigation coming along?’ Northburgh asked pleasantly of Michael. ‘Discovered anything new?’

‘But
you
resolved the case the moment you arrived, Northburgh,’ said Stretton fawningly to his companion, his voice rather slurred.
‘De Lisle said he did not kill Glovere.’

‘True, but someone did,’ said Northburgh. ‘And that is why we are here, Brother Michael. We are enjoying our sojourn in Ely,
and Henry is working to find a cure for wrinkled skin for me, but I feel we should be doing something
more
about these charges laid against poor de Lisle.’

‘You should not drive Henry to pursue pointless remedies,’ said Bartholomew, nettled by the man’s insensitivity. ‘He is exhausted
from looking after his old men and distressed by the death of Thomas. He needs to rest, not scour the library for literature
on your behalf.’

‘I have promised Ely Cathedral a chapel if Henry can oblige me,’ said Northburgh, strangely unperturbed by Bartholomew’s sharp
reprimand. ‘Alan will ensure he succeeds.’

‘So, what do you want from us?’ asked Michael warily. ‘I know of no cure for gizzard neck, and Matt is too busy to start experimenting
with animal grease and nut juice.’

‘We have decided that we want
you
to investigate these murders, Brother,’ said Stretton, sounding rather surprised by Michael’s question. ‘Northburgh thinks
we should not leave until we have a culprit hanged, and we thought we should allow
you
to find us one.’

‘Too many men making enquiries could cause problems,’ elaborated Northburgh. ‘So, Stretton and I have elected to let you do
it.’

Michael regarded them through narrowed eyes. ‘That is what I have been doing – while you have been pestering Henry or enjoying
the ale in the city’s taverns. What has changed?’

‘There is no need to be defensive,’ said Northburgh with a dreamy smile. ‘We are only offering to stand back and give you
full rein to do as you please. But I am weary. I think I shall retire to bed.’

He turned and walked away, with Stretton lumbering behind him. He tripped over the doorstep, and Stretton made a clumsy lunge
to save him that had them both staggering. Their chuckles echoed across the courtyard as they made their way to the Black
Hostry, arm in arm. Michael stared after them in amazement. Bartholomew laughed.

‘Ely’s bona cervisia is powerful stuff indeed, if it can turn that ill-matched pair into friends.’

Michael grimaced. ‘Alan and Blanche were insane to hire either of them. That de Lisle chose
me
shows him to be a man of impeccable judgement. Unlike you. What were you thinking of by agreeing for me to meet Tysilia at
midnight?’

‘I am sorry, Brother, but she was intractable. I do not want to wander the priory in the dead of night with a killer
on the loose, either, but she said she would only tell
you
what she knows.’

‘What she knows!’ snorted Michael in disgust. ‘She knows nothing!’

‘You cannot be sure,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘William may have let something slip about his plans. She will not know she possesses
this important information, of course. It will have to be prised from her by someone who is an experienced and gifted investigator.’

‘Perhaps,’ admitted Michael, succumbing to the flattery as he reached for a dish of stewed onions. ‘But I would be happier
doing it tomorrow, in daylight. You should have tried harder to dissuade her from insisting on such an hour. How will you
feel if someone murders us?’

‘Dead, I imagine,’ replied Bartholomew.

Michael ignored him. ‘We have assumed the killer is a man, but what if it is a woman? It may be Tysilia herself, and here
we are meeting her in a remote place at the witching hour!’

‘First, there are two of us, and I am sure we can manage Tysilia. Second, the door to the Outer Hostry is not a remote place.
It is relatively public.’

‘Not at that time of night,’ complained Michael. He finished the stew and snatched up a jellied eel and a slice of cheese,
eating alternate bites. ‘But what do you think of Tysilia as our killer, Matt? There is plenty of evidence to incriminate
her.’

Bartholomew laughed in astonishment. ‘There is not! I suppose you think that her clandestine meetings with William count against
her?’

‘They do,’ agreed Michael. ‘William disappeared after curious assignations with this woman. Meanwhile, she claims he is her
brother, while we know perfectly well he is not. And you do not steal valuable chalices to give to your sibling, Matt: you
steal them to give to your paramour.’

‘You seem to know a lot about this,’ remarked Bartholomew. ‘What has she brought
you
?’

Michael made an irritable sound at the back of his throat. ‘This is no joking matter. We questioned Tysilia’s involvement
in a case once before, unless you have forgotten. It is possible she is imbued with a certain animal cunning behind all that
empty-headed prattling.’

‘She is certainly imbued with feral emotions, but cunning is not one of them. She is an innocent, Brother, not capable of
carrying out complex murders. William spun her some tale about kinship, and she believed it because she longs to escape from
people who keep her wild behaviour under control.’

‘Imagine what she would be like if they did not,’ muttered Michael with a shudder.

‘She is gullible and vulnerable, and easy prey for a clever man like William. He doubtless saw that seducing her would be
far too simple—’

‘It would not!’ interrupted Michael fervently. ‘He would never manage to seduce her before she had seduced him!’

‘—and so he decided to adopt a different approach. By claiming kinship, he demanded a loyalty that she would never have afforded
a mere lover. She spied on Blanche, and she stole for someone she thought was her brother. But that is all. She is not our
killer, and if you think so, then you are as addled as she is.’

‘You are the addled one – for agreeing to meet her in the dead of night. It is just an excuse to entice me out alone, so that
she can force her attentions on me.’

‘I am sure you can look after yourself,’ said Bartholomew, trying not to laugh at the image of Michael as the besieged virgin.

‘You suggested that William was the killer, and now you make arrangements for us to meet his accomplice in the dark,’ Michael
went on, unwilling to let matters lie. ‘How do you know she has not been given the task of luring us out, so that he can kill
us both?’

‘It would be hard to kill two people at the same time. We will not lie down obediently while William murders one in
front of the other. And it was only a passing suggestion as regards William as the culprit, anyway. I suspect he is already
dead.’

‘You have no evidence to support that,’ warned Michael.

‘No,’ admitted Bartholomew.

‘If I had any sense, I would send
you
to meet her alone. And then we will see how you feel.’

‘I would not mind,’ said Bartholomew with a shrug. ‘But it would be a waste of time. She wants to speak to you, not me. But
I do not think there is anything to fear in meeting her.’

Michael regarded his friend sombrely. ‘I hope you are right, Matt. I really do.’

Bartholomew fell asleep while they waited to go out, and was woken some hours later by Michael shaking his shoulder. Blearily,
not quite understanding why he was being pulled from a deep sleep, he reached instinctively for his medicine bag. Michael
chuckled.

‘I do not think you will be needing that, although you can bring those birthing forceps if you like. They are a formidable
weapon, and we can always knock this woman over the head if she attempts to lay hands on my person.’

Bartholomew slipped the handle of his medicine bag over his shoulder. He did not feel quite dressed without it, and it seemed
that he always wanted it if he did not have it with him. He followed Michael out of the refectory, and across the dark grass
towards the Outer Hostry. Evidently, Lady Blanche and her household did not like early nights, because lights still blazed
in one or two rooms. Laughter drifted across the courtyard, too; it seemed that she and her courtiers were enjoying themselves.
It sounded to Bartholomew as though they were playing dice or some other gambling game, and Bartholomew wondered what Alan
would say if he knew such activities were being carried out on the sacred grounds of his cathedral priory. On reflection,
he supposed that Alan would say very little. Blanche
was a generous patron, and Alan would never risk losing funds for his beloved buildings.

The hour candle had burned past midnight when Bartholomew and Michael reached the Outer Hostry. There was no moon and a film
of clouds drifted across the sky, making the faint light from the stars patchy and unreliable. The clouds had turned the evening
humid and thick; the still air stank of the fetid odour of marshes and carried the distinctive smell of sewage from the river.

Bartholomew led the way to the gate, and pulled Michael into the shadows when he detected a movement out of the corner of
his eye. There was a soft murmur of voices, as those monks who had attended the midnight mass made their way to the dormitory.
There were not many of them: the majority preferred a good night’s sleep, and Alan did not insist on attendance at the midnight
service. The other seven offices were a different matter, and Bartholomew had seen Thomas taking the names of anyone absent
from those without a valid excuse.

‘She is not here,’ whispered Michael crossly, peering around him. ‘Damned woman! She is probably tucked up in her bed enjoying
her sleep – which is where we should be.’

Bartholomew called Tysilia’s name softly, and was rather surprised when she suddenly materialised out of the darkness. Michael
jumped violently and edged away in alarm.

‘What are you doing?’ he demanded, pressing a fat hand to his pounding heart. ‘It is not nice to loom out of the darkness
and startle innocent men.’

‘Are you innocent, Brother?’ breathed Tysilia huskily. ‘Shall we find out?’

‘We shall not!’ said Michael firmly, and Bartholomew heard the distinctive sound of a hand being slapped away. ‘Behave yourself!
What would Blanche say if she found you here unescorted with two men in the middle of the night?’

‘I imagine she would be rather jealous when she saw that one of the men was you,’ gushed Tysilia. ‘I think she has
taken a liking to you herself. And anyway, she met a lot of young men alone in the dark when she was young. She told me so
herself.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Michael, interested, despite his nervousness.

‘I mean that she had lots of lovers before her marriage,’ explained Tysilia patiently. ‘She told me about a churchman she
wooed, because she said she did not want me to fall into the same pit. She said he gave her a child, and that it had almost
ruined her life.’

‘And what did you think of that?’ asked Michael curiously.

‘I told her that my lovers had already given me three children, but that the brats either died before I ever saw them, or
someone kindly took them off my hands. She seemed rather shocked. I cannot imagine why, when all I did was tell her that we
had shared the same experiment.’

‘Experience,’ corrected Bartholomew before he could stop himself. ‘What else did she say?’

‘She gave me lots of meaningful looks and kept holding my hands. I had no idea what she was trying to tell me. I do not know
why she did not just come out and say whatever it was.’