Susanna GREGORY - The Hand of Justice

Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «Susanna GREGORY - The Hand of Justice» весь текст электронной книги совершенно бесплатно (целиком полную версию без сокращений). В некоторых случаях можно слушать аудио, скачать через торрент в формате fb2 и присутствует краткое содержание. Год выпуска: 2010, ISBN: 2010, Издательство: Sphere, Жанр: Исторический детектив, на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале библиотеки ЛибКат.

The Hand of Justice: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «The Hand of Justice»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.

The Tenth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew. Cambridge, February 1355 As the temperature gradually rises in the Fenland town, the passions of its citizens also emerge from the winter chill. A skeletal hand has become an object of veneration, viewed by some as a holy relic and capable of curing all ills, but thought by others to have come from a local simpleton. Meanwhile, two well-born citizens, who had been convicted of murder, have received the King’s Pardon, and have now returned to Cambridge showing no remorse for their actions, but ready to confront those who helped to convict them.
And there is a dispute between the local mills, regarding which should have the right to distribute the King’s corn. When Matthew Bartholomew is summoned to one of the mills where two people have been killed by nails rammed into their mouths, he and Brother Michael know exactly who to question. But as so often in the University city, nothing is as straightforward as it seems …

The Hand of Justice — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком

Ниже представлен текст книги, разбитый по страницам. Система сохранения места последней прочитанной страницы, позволяет с удобством читать онлайн бесплатно книгу «The Hand of Justice», без необходимости каждый раз заново искать на чём Вы остановились. Поставьте закладку, и сможете в любой момент перейти на страницу, на которой закончили чтение.

Тёмная тема
Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

It was not just farmers in homespun browns or brightly clad merchants who wanted access to the town that day. The sober hues of academic tabards and monastic habits – the blacks, browns and whites of Dominicans, Carmelites, Franciscans and the occasional Benedictine – were present, too. Scholars from Michaelhouse, Valence Marie, Bene’t College and countless other institutions were pouring out of Merton Hall to join the press, all anxious to be home in time for their midday meal.

As people pushed in their haste to be across the bridge, the crush intensified. A pair of tinkers with handcarts became jammed at the narrow entrance, and their irritable altercation was soon joined by others, who just wanted them to shut up and move on. Bartholomew watched the unfolding scene uneasily. The Great Bridge was not the most stable structure in the town, and collapses were not unknown. It was in desperate need of renovation, and he wished the burgesses would stop discussing how expensive it would be and just mend the thing.

‘We will be late,’ said Michael loudly, annoyed by the delay. ‘And Gonville Hall might start eating without us.’

‘The bridge should not be subjected to this level of strain,’ said Bartholomew. His attention was fixed on the central arch, which he was certain was bowing under the weight of a brewer’s dray and its heavy barrels of ale. ‘It is not strong enough.’

‘Rougham told me that the meal at Gonville today will cost a whole groat for each person,’ fretted Michael, thinking about what he stood to lose if they took much longer to cross. ‘He says there is a side of beef to be shared between just ten of us, not to mention roast duck, fat bacon and half a dozen chickens. And there will be Lombard slices to finish.’

‘Did you see that?’ exclaimed Bartholomew, pointing in alarm. ‘A spar just dropped from the left-hand arch and fell into the water!’

‘One of the carts knocked it off,’ said Michael dismissively. He reconsidered uneasily. ‘However, if it is going to tumble down, I hope it does not do so until we are over. I do not want to walk all the way around to the Small Bridges in order to reach Gonville. There will be nothing left to eat by the time we get there.’

Bartholomew regarded his friend askance, amazed that the monk could think about his stomach when they might be about to witness a disaster. Michael had always been big – tall, as well as fat – but his girth had expanded considerably over the last five years. Satisfaction with his lot as Senior Proctor – he was, by virtue of his own machinations, one of the most powerful men in the University – had occasioned a good deal of contented feeding. This meant that the tassels on the girdle around his waist hung a good deal shorter than they should have done, owing to the ever-expanding circumference they were obliged to encompass.

Michael had been to some trouble with his appearance that day, in honour of the debate and the meal that was to follow. His dark Benedictine habit was immaculate, and he wore a silver cross around his neck, in place of the wooden one he usually favoured. His plump fingers were adorned with jewelled rings, and his lank brown hair had been carefully brushed around his perfectly round tonsure.

By contrast, Bartholomew’s black curls had recently been shorn to an uncompromising shortness by an overenthusiastic barber, so he looked like one of the many mercenaries – relics of the King’s endless wars with France – who plagued Cambridge in search of work. His clothes were patched and frayed, but of reasonable quality, thanks to the generosity of a doting older sister. His hands were clean, his fingernails trimmed, and frequent College feasts had not yet provided him with a paunch like the ones sported by so many of his colleagues. His profession as a physician saw to that, giving him plenty of exercise as he hurried around the town to visit patients.

‘Here we are,’ said Michael, grabbing Bartholomew’s arm as their part of the crowd suddenly surged forward, much to the chagrin of people who were waiting on the other side. There were indignant yells and a considerable amount of vicious shoving that saw more than one bloodied nose. The monk thrust the toll-fee into the hand of a grubby soldier without breaking his stride.

‘Walk near the edge, Brother,’ advised the soldier, assessing the monk’s bulk with a critical eye. ‘You are less likely to drop through there, than in the middle.’

‘Lord!’ muttered Bartholomew, not liking the unnatural rocking motion under his feet as they began their traverse. ‘We should have hired a boat.’

‘They are all engaged,’ replied Michael, nodding to where the rivermen were running a brisk trade below. Even boys with home-made skiffs were busy, ferrying small animals and light packs across the green, filthy water.

The Great Bridge was not very big, despite its grand name, and it did not take long to cross it, as they were forced to move quickly by the press from behind. Once on the other side, most people continued straight down Bridge Street, aiming for the Market Square, although some went to homes in the maze of alleys and streets that radiated out from the town’s main thoroughfares. Bartholomew glanced behind him, still half expecting to see the bridge crumble beneath the mass of humanity. He noticed some folk entering the nearby Church of St Clement, and wondered whether they were going to offer thanks for a safe crossing.

‘There is Thomas Mortimer again,’ he said, as the miller’s cart clattered towards them at a speed that was far from safe. He leapt back as it passed uncomfortably close before lurching towards the High Street. ‘It is not yet noon. I know the Lilypot is popular with men who love their ale, but even they tend not to be drunk this early.’

‘It is because the Mortimer family is so prosperous at the moment,’ said Michael, aiming for Gonville Hall with single-minded purpose. ‘Thomas owns the only fulling mill this side of Ely and his brother runs the town’s biggest bakery. They are making a fortune, and Thomas has good cause to celebrate. Still, their success will cause trouble eventually: the other burgesses will resent their riches and there will be all manner of jealous rivalries. I am just glad it is not I who will be called upon to sort them out. I have my hands full with the upcoming debate.’

‘The one on Saturday?’ asked Bartholomew, increasing his pace to keep up with him. The monk did not usually walk fast, but was evidently prepared to make an exception when good food was waiting. ‘When Michaelhouse will compete with Gonville Hall in the end-of-term debate – the Disputatio de quodlibet ? Why should that take your time?’

‘Because any large gathering of scholars means trouble for a proctor, as you well know. Even a serious academic occasion, like the Disputatio , may give rise to rioting or just plain bad behaviour.’ Michael grinned, pushing his concerns aside for a moment as he considered another aspect of the occasion. ‘Michaelhouse has not been invited to take part in a quodlibetical debate of this magnitude since the Death, and defeating Gonville will give me a good deal of pleasure. They are excellent scholars, and I shall enjoy pitting my wits against equal minds.’

‘God’s blood!’ exclaimed Bartholomew, ignoring the monk’s arrogant confidence. ‘Mortimer has just driven into Master Warde from the Hall of Valence Marie. He cannot control his cart in that state. You must say something before he kills someone, Brother – regardless of jurisdiction.’

‘It is my jurisdiction now a scholar is involved,’ declared Michael grimly, hurrying towards Mortimer’s horses, which had been startled by the sudden and unexpected presence of a scholar under their feet, and were rearing and bucking.

Читать дальше
Тёмная тема
Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

Похожие книги на «The Hand of Justice»

Представляем Вашему вниманию похожие книги на «The Hand of Justice» списком для выбора. Мы отобрали схожую по названию и смыслу литературу в надежде предоставить читателям больше вариантов отыскать новые, интересные, ещё непрочитанные произведения.


Susanna GREGORY - The Lost Abbot
Susanna GREGORY
Susanna GREGORY - Murder by the Book
Susanna GREGORY
Susanna Gregory - The Westminster Poisoner
Susanna Gregory
Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot
Susanna Gregory
Susanna GREGORY - Mystery in the Minster
Susanna GREGORY
Susanna GREGORY - The Killer of Pilgrims
Susanna GREGORY
Susanna GREGORY - The Devil's Disciples
Susanna GREGORY
Susanna GREGORY - The Tarnished Chalice
Susanna GREGORY
Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer
Susanna GREGORY
Susanna GREGORY - A Killer in Winter
Susanna GREGORY
Susanna Gregory - The Sacred stone
Susanna Gregory
Отзывы о книге «The Hand of Justice»

Обсуждение, отзывы о книге «The Hand of Justice» и просто собственные мнения читателей. Оставьте ваши комментарии, напишите, что Вы думаете о произведении, его смысле или главных героях. Укажите что конкретно понравилось, а что нет, и почему Вы так считаете.

x