The Killer of Pilgrims (39 page)

‘She did not—’ began Heslarton uncomfortably.

‘Obviously, she could not overpower Gib, and toss him over the Great Bridge by herself,’ Cynric went on, ignoring Bartholomew’s
warning glance that he was pushing
Heslarton too far. ‘But you were there, ready to help with the dirty work.’

Heslarton’s expression was hard and cold. ‘I did what was necessary to protect my daughter. Like any loving father.’

‘So
she
is the yellow-headed thief,’ said Cynric with bitter satisfaction. Bartholomew closed his eyes, having reasoned the same,
but dismayed that Cynric should share such a conclusion with her fiercely devoted father. ‘And you helped her kill Gib, so
everyone would stop looking.’

‘No!’ declared Heslarton. ‘She would never … she is not …’

‘Your guilt was obvious when you failed to go out scouring the Fens for the thief the day Gib was found.’ Cynric pressed on
relentlessly. ‘You knew there was no point, because you learned the previous night that your beloved Odelina was the culprit.
You doubtless told Emma to say Gib was definitely the yellow-haired invader, too.’

‘Odelina is
not
a thief,’ cried Heslarton. ‘She wanted Gib blamed in order to protect another …’

Cynric waved a dismissive hand. ‘The next day, she was careful to remind everyone that Gib knew his way around your house
– that he had acted as Kendale’s messenger when Emma was thinking of funding a scholarship, so would know where to look for
valuables. She was very clever.’

‘I was right,’ said Heslarton coldly. ‘You know far too much. I am sorry for Emma – I would take the risk to save her if it
was just me you were accusing. But I will not let you harm Odelina.’

‘Do not worry, Father.’ Bartholomew looked up to see Odelina standing at the door. ‘Grandmother is too ill to listen to their
stories now. Doctor Bartholomew can save her without the slightest risk to ourselves. And if he fails, we will kill him
and
his servant.’

* * *

The prisoners were shoved out of the stable and into the yard. Bartholomew was not sure he was capable of surgery – even the
comparatively straightforward business of removing a tooth – because his vision was blurred, his legs were unsteady and his
hands shook. It would be irresponsible of him to attempt it, and he told Odelina so.

‘You will, or your book-bearer will die,’ she said coldly. She leaned close to him and lowered her voice, so her father would
not hear. ‘And if you try to say one word to my grandmother about what you have surmised, I will kill you where you stand.’

‘Odelina,’ said Bartholomew softly, hoping to appeal to the dreamy girl who had harboured a fancy for him. ‘You must see that
what you are doing is wrong.’

Odelina pulled a disagreeable face. ‘Celia told me I was stupid to see you as one of my heroes, and I should have listened.
She said you cast a spell on me, to make me adore you, but you did not love me back. Well, I am wiser now. Your gentle manners
will not beguile me again.’

‘I accept your anger with me,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But Cynric—’

‘You will both be released as soon as my grandmother is well,’ snapped Odelina. ‘So you can stop your begging. I do not want
to hear it.’

‘Do not trust her,’ said Cynric. ‘The moment you fulfil your end of the bargain, she will—’

‘I will certainly kill you if you annoy me,’ blazed Odelina, whipping around to glare at him. ‘But Isnard has a barge leaving
for France tomorrow, and I will arrange for you both to be locked in its hold. You will be released – unharmed – when it reaches
the coast. By the time you return, we will be gone.’

‘How do you know the schedules of Isnard’s barges?’
asked Bartholomew, rubbing his aching head. He knew he was off on a tangent, but he could not help it.

‘The answer to that is obvious, boy,’ said Cynric, regarding Odelina with dislike. ‘Bargemen are not usually wealthy, but
Isnard can afford Yolande de Blaston, the town’s most expensive prostitute. Obviously, he supplements his income by sending
illegal cargos through the Fens.’

‘What illegal cargos?’ asked Bartholomew dully.

‘Good-quality tiles, window frames and timber,’ explained Cynric. ‘Which Emma gets from places like Michaelhouse. In other
words, Yffi was hired to take the decent stuff from us and replace it with rubbish. Emma’s beneficence was nothing of the
kind.’

‘Never mind this.’ Odelina made no effort to deny the accusation. ‘You have a choice, Doctor. You either help my grandmother,
or we kill your servant. Then, when you are released later, you will have his death on your conscience.’

Bartholomew could see the bowmen were ready to do as she threatened, so raised his hands in surrender, ignoring Cynric’s grimace
of disapproval. Odelina allowed herself a small grin of satisfaction, and there was a glitter in her eyes that was uncannily
like her grandmother’s. Bartholomew was disgusted at himself for underestimating her: with forebears like Emma and Heslarton,
he should have known there would be more to her than just someone who liked romantic ballads.

‘Everyone said you are clever,’ she said gloatingly, as they began to walk across the yard. Cynric trailed behind with Heslarton.
‘But you are not. We have outwitted you at every turn, and you are only now beginning to put the pieces together. You are
a fool!’

‘Yes,’ agreed Bartholomew ruefully. ‘But at least I know why you picked on Gib. You developed an affection for
him when he was carrying messages between Kendale and Emma. But he kept a prostitute, which disappointed your idealistic
visions—’

‘It was sordid!’ Odelina declared, grabbing Bartholomew’s arm when he stumbled. She was very strong. ‘But he just laughed
when I challenged him about it. When he turned his back on me, I hit him over the head with a stone. I thought I had killed
him.’

‘So you raced to your father for help, then decided to use his corpse to your advantage. You tied a yellow wig on his head.
But he was not dead, was he? He recovered, and you had a serious struggle on his hands when he fought back.’

Odelina did not reply, and they walked in silence the rest of the way to the door. Bartholomew thought about what he had learned,
aware that he still did not have the whole story. The culprit
had
been clever, but he was not sure Odelina was sufficiently sly to have outwitted Michael for the best part of nine days, and
he doubted Heslarton would be much help on that front. He recalled her precise words.

‘You said
we
outwitted you,’ he said, climbing slowly and unsteadily up the stairs towards the old lady’s bedchamber. ‘You and your father
killed Drax, Alice, Poynton, Yffi and Gib, but neither of you were the yellow-headed man I chased. You have an accomplice.
He is bold and quick, able to steal Emma’s box, snatch Poynton’s
signaculum
from—’

‘Enough of this nonsense,’ snapped Odelina curtly. ‘I am tired of it.’

‘Your poor father,’ said Bartholomew softly. ‘He knew nothing of your association with the thief until recently, did he? If
he had, he would not have tried so hard to catch him. He helped you with Gib and Drax, because he loves
you and did not want to see you in trouble. But he had no idea that you are in league with a felon. When did you tell him?
After you made him a gift of Edith’s stolen cloak?’

‘I said stop!’ hissed Odelina.

‘Who is he?’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘A scholar? A townsman?’

‘Someone who is better than you,’ she snarled. ‘And I did
not
kill Drax, by the way. I admit to dispatching my mother and Gib, but I never touched Drax. I found him dead in Physwick’s
dairy – I went there to give him a piece of my mind about how he was treating Celia – and I put him in Michaelhouse to … But no. I shall not talk about that.’

‘It was your accomplice’s idea,’ surmised Bartholomew. ‘Doubtless he also told you how to make use of Gib and Yffi’s bodies.
Who is he, Odelina? You cannot protect such a rogue.’

‘Stop! I am not talking about it any more, so unless you want to be shot, you had better shut up.’

She clearly meant it, so Bartholomew tried to work out the fellow’s identity for himself. Fen? One of his medical colleagues?
Thelnetham? All were self-assured and intelligent, and might well secure the affections of a lonely, gullible woman desperate
for a champion.

Or, more likely than any of them, was it Celia, who had an eye for valuable jewellery and was Odelina’s good friend? And Celia
was a liar, as evidenced by the fact that she had denied being able to read, claiming the books in her house belonged to her
husband. But according to Kendale’s testimony, Drax was illiterate. The more Bartholomew thought about it, the more he was
sure he was right. Celia was the villain.

Emma had indeed taken a turn for the worse. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were bright with fever. She
moaned in pain, and when Bartholomew and Cynric were shoved unceremoniously into the room, she reached out a gnarled hand
towards them.

‘Make me well again, Meryfeld,’ she breathed. ‘Or I will cast a spell on you, and God will turn His face from you for ever.
It will not be the first time I have done it.’

‘Perhaps she has already put one on you, boy,’ Cynric whispered. ‘It would explain a lot.’

Bartholomew did not want to think about it. He tried to inspect Emma’s mouth, but the light was poor and his vision swam.
He blinked several times, but it made no difference, and he knew it was wrong to try to treat her.

‘I cannot do this,’ he said, backing away, hand to his head. ‘Send for Gyseburne—’

‘You
will
do it,’ Odelina hissed. ‘Or your book-bearer will die.’

Bartholomew looked at Cynric, who was shaking his head, urging him to refuse. He blinked again, and the blurriness eased.
He took the lamp, and peered inside Emma’s mouth, then tapped very softly on the infected tooth with a metal probe. Emma released
a howl that made his ears ring. It also had Odelina wincing and Heslarton surging forward.

‘Hurt her again, and you are dead,’ he snarled furiously.

‘But it
will
hurt,’ said Bartholomew helplessly. ‘That is why she has always refused to let me do it before. And it will be worse now,
because of the delay.’

Heslarton scowled, but indicated that he should continue. Servants brought hot water and bandages, then were dismissed, although
one archer was ordered to stay, bow at the ready. Father and daughter held long daggers, and it was clear they would use them
if an attempt was made to escape.

Bartholomew turned his attention to medicine, and
began cleaning the implements he would need. He took his time, hoping the delay would ease the throbbing in his head. Heslarton
soon became impatient.

‘Why are you wasting time?’ he snapped. ‘She is becoming worse while you dither, and you have polished those pliers at least
twice. Get on with it.’

Reluctantly, Bartholomew bathed Emma’s gums with a numbing potion, and asked Cynric to hold open her jaws. The book-bearer
was not very happy about it, but Bartholomew had a plan of sorts. He laid a number of little knives on the cloth at the side
of the bed. Cynric saw what he was expected to do, and palmed a couple when Bartholomew ‘accidentally’ upset a basin of water.

‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked, speaking so low the physician struggled to hear him. ‘What happens if Emma dies during
the …’ He waved his hand, not sure how to describe it.

‘She might, so be ready to act: lob the blade at the archer, then run for help. I will deal with Heslarton and Odelina.’ Bartholomew
turned to their captors before Cynric could point out that help for him would probably come far too late. ‘You two will have
to hold her down.’

‘Us?’ asked Heslarton uncomfortably. ‘I do not want to see what you are doing, thank you. And you have your servant to assist.’

‘He is not enough. This is going to be painful, and you must keep Emma still.’

With a muttered oath, Heslarton positioned himself across his mother-in-law’s chest, pinioning her arms to her sides, while
Odelina took her legs. Bartholomew blinked hard, then gripped the offending tooth with a pair of pliers. As hauling would
leave the rotten root in the gum, it had to be twisted out gently with his left hand, while the right held back the inflamed
tissue. It would not be
easy, and he hoped the thing would not drop to pieces on him.

Immediately, Emma began to buck and writhe. Cynric looked away as blood welled, and Bartholomew heard him swallow, audible
even over the wails of agony emanating from the patient. He wondered whether the effort of making such a racket alone would
kill Emma, and then what would happen to him and Cynric? He blinked again as Emma’s bleeding maw swam in and out of focus,
then took a deep breath and continued, ignoring both the screams and the thrashing. Cynric was doing a good job of keeping
the head still, for which he was grateful.

Unfortunately, the tooth was malformed, and refused to come out, so he took a knife and began to cut away the bone that held
it. Emma’s shrieks intensified, and Bartholomew experienced a great wave of dizziness as the din seared through his pounding
head. But then there was a click, and the tooth was free. He watched pus well out of the resulting cavity – a lot of it –
and was not surprised she had been in agony.

‘Two stitches,’ he said, more to himself than his reluctant assistants. ‘To hold the flap over the exposed bone. Then it is
done.’

Straining to see in the unsteady gleam of the lamp, he inserted first one suture, and then a second, careful to leave a gap
for the wound to drain. Then he packed it with pieces of boiled cloth. Emma was silent at last, her face white and bathed
in sweat.

‘Now what?’ asked Heslarton. His voice shook: the procedure had upset him. Odelina was made of sterner stuff, and went to
sit by the window, while Cynric edged towards the door. Bartholomew could tell by the way the book-bearer stood that a knife
was concealed in each hand.

‘We wait,’ he replied, leaning against the wall and wiping
his forehead with his sleeve. ‘She needs to be monitored, to ensure the wound stops bleeding.’