Susanna GREGORY - A Summer of Discontent

Michael was silent for a moment. ‘There is a flaw in your logic, Matt. You say Henry gave you poisoned wine to kill me, but then you claim that he considered killing you with a knife instead of chopping his garlic. The wine would not reach me if you were dead.’

‘I imagine that was what stayed his hand.’

‘If he poisoned the wine, I suppose you think he poisoned Thomas, too,’ said Michael flatly. ‘Bukton claimed that Thomas had been poisoned when he first fell ill.’

‘No, Thomas really did have a seizure. He had been on the verge of confessing something dreadful when he was stricken. But worse, as far as Henry was concerned, Thomas had been stealing the food from the old men. That is what sealed his fate.’

‘But Henry was very distressed when Thomas died,’ Michael pointed out. ‘And do not forget he was asleep when that particular murder took place. We proved that beyond the shadow of a doubt – with drool, if you recall.’

Bartholomew saw his argument take a serious knock. ‘Perhaps we were mistaken about that,’ he said lamely. ‘But, if I am right, then Henry’s grief, bad dreams and pallor over the following days were not because he had let a killer make an end of Thomas – they were signs of a guilty conscience.’

‘No, Matt,’ said Michael, determined that his friend was wrong. ‘Thomas was murdered in the infirmary the morning after Henry had spent a good portion of the night alone with him. Why would Henry kill the man during the day, when it would have been far safer and easier to do so during the night? Also, old Roger saw him sleeping when the cloaked intruder was prowling around.’

It was a valid point, and Bartholomew considered it for a moment. ‘Whoever killed Thomas left the weapon behind – which had not happened before. I said at the time that someone might have been mimicking the killer’s methods, and that may still be true. Perhaps Henry did not kill Thomas, but I am fairly sure he killed the others.’

Michael was unconvinced. ‘And what would his motive be, pray?’

‘The other victims were evil men who caused innocent people distress. As you have said many times, Henry is a man imbued with great compassion, and he looked around him and saw that wicked people were doing whatever they liked while God and His saints slept. He said as much when we caught Symon and his associates stealing the priory’s treasure. Remember? He talked about the evil in the world, and how he was disgusted by it all. He decided to redress the balance.’

Michael remained dubious. ‘In the past, you have often concocted unlikely solutions to various crimes, and I invariably dismiss them and later look foolish when it transpires that you were right. So, I do not want to abandon your theory completely. However, I must say that Henry is not only a good man, he is my friend. I have never known him do a selfish or an unkind thing, and this accusation of murder is so implausible that it is ludicrous.’

Bartholomew was well aware that the evidence he had presented was circumstantial, at best, but he was certain he was right. He pressed on with his argument. ‘Then think about Symon’s death. The librarian would not have been in a deep sleep – he had just been arrested, and no one sees time in prison as an opportunity for a good night’s rest. He would have been frightened and wakeful. Clymme said he heard mass being said; that involves things being eaten and drunk.’

‘You think Henry poisoned Symon with mercurial salts before kneeling on his head and cutting his neck?’ asked Michael incredulously.

‘He would not have used mercurial salts; they take some time to work, and death is painful and often noisy. I think he used a strong dose of hemp, which would have made Symon drowsy and relaxed. Then it would have been easy to take him by surprise, and cut his neck before he could do anything to prevent it. Bear in mind that the keys to the prison are in a place where any monk can take them – including Henry.’

‘That proves nothing,’ said Michael impatiently.

‘Then consider what we know about Mackerell. Do you remember Symon claiming he had seen Mackerell near the castle the morning after we were supposed to meet him? He was right.’

‘We discounted Symon’s claim, because he said he was not certain,’ Michael pointed out.

‘Mackerell wanted to be in the Prior’s prison, because he thought he would be safe there. The morning after he failed to meet us, he must have asked Henry to lock him in, and he has been hiding there ever since.’

‘But that makes no sense at all,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘Why would Mackerell ask Henry to lock in him the cells? And why was he safe only until last night?’

‘Because Henry had just killed Symon. Mackerell probably saw it happen.’

‘I am not convinced by this at all,’ warned Michael. ‘You cannot even prove that they knew each other.’

‘I can. Robert told us that Henry bought fish from Mackerell to make medicines. Henry is liked by everyone and universally trusted. I would have asked for his help, had I been Mackerell.’

‘I am still not convinced,’ said Michael, growing testy. ‘What other “evidence” do you have that will see dear, gentle Henry accused of these vile crimes?’

‘He owns a key to the back gate – he told us so himself – so could easily have slipped out at night to kill the townsfolk.’

‘Then how do you think he managed to kill Robert?’ asked Michael, his voice triumphant as he spotted another flaw in Bartholomew’s logic. ‘He was reading in the library when that happened. We saw him – and heard him – go there ourselves. Or, at least, I did.’

‘Think about the order of events that day: Henry was exhausted, and I suggested he rest. He declined, and instead went to the library to read about treatments for seizures. He went there with Symon, and we heard them talking together. Then we heard their footsteps on the wooden floor, and then it was silent.’

‘That was because Henry was sitting at a desk, reading. And Symon was with him, anyway.’

‘Symon was not. He told us himself that he was not in the library for long, because he looked out of the window and saw Robert slinking off to the vineyard. He said he left fairly promptly to go in search of him, if you recall. Henry probably also saw Robert, and so knew exactly where his next murder would take place.’

‘And how did he deal with the fact that Symon was also heading in that direction?’ demanded Michael archly. ‘Ask him to dally for a few moments, so that he could complete his grisly business undisturbed?’

Bartholomew sighed crossly, becoming irritated with Michael’s refusal to see the facts. ‘Think about what Symon told us, Brother. He did not go straight to the vineyard, did he? He went to the kitchens and spent some time chatting with the brewer and his assistant, probably telling them all that had happened in the refectory that morning. Doubtless he also mentioned to Henry that he was thirsty, and that he planned to visit the brewer before pursuing Robert.’

‘But I heard Henry in the library at the time of Robert’s death,’ insisted Michael. ‘He did not leave to go a-murdering in the vineyards.’

‘That is what he wanted us to think. He made sure we heard him, then, as soon as Symon left, he tiptoed out of the library and went to the vineyard. Robert had no need to be afraid and Henry was able to get close to him. Then Henry must have lunged, at which point Robert knew he was fighting for his life. But it was too late: Robert’s struggle was futile.’

‘It was a while before Symon came to announce that Robert was dead,’ acknowledged Michael grudgingly. ‘I suppose there was time for someone to kill Robert and dispose of his body.’