Susanna GREGORY - A Summer of Discontent

‘Yes. When Mackerell came to sell Henry fish, Roger asked him how and where to dispose of corpses in the river. This resulted in Mackerell assuming that Roger – not Henry – was the killer.’

‘That explains why Mackerell was afraid,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He probably wanted to tell you what he knew, but suspected that you would not believe that a frail old man like Roger had killed strong and fit men like Glovere, Chaloner and Haywarde.’

‘I would not have done,’ said Michael. ‘And neither did Mackerell, at first. Then he jumped to the conclusion that Roger was possessed by water-spirits, who have the strength to do whatever they like.’

‘I suppose Mackerell thought Roger – and the water-spirits – would be unlikely to hunt for him in the Prior’s prison, and so he asked Henry to lock him in. That was what Mackerell was doing when Symon spotted him in the monastery grounds.’

‘Henry did as Mackerell asked, then murdered him at the same time as he killed Symon. Mackerell called out in terror when he realised that he had gone for help to the one person he should not have done. And that was the end of him.’

‘What will happen to the old men?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Roger and Ynys?’

‘Nothing,’ said Michael heavily. ‘When Alan tried to speak to them, they went back to pretending they were blind, deaf and senile. He has decided to allow them to live out the rest of their lives in the infirmary. Henry did most of the killing, and I do not think they will resume where he has left off.’

‘I am not so sure,’ said Bartholomew, who thought Alan foolish to dismiss the determined old men who had allied themselves so readily to such a cause. They were soldiers, when all was said and done, and had wielded their weapons efficiently enough. However, he supposed that Ynys’s damaged hip would keep him in bed a while at least.

‘Nor am I,’ said Michael. ‘It was Roger who killed Thomas, after all, and who poisoned William, whose only crime was trying to fetch an independent investigator. But Alan thinks that spending their days being cared for by Bukton and Welles is punishment enough. They are good lads, but they will not coddle the inmates as Henry did.’

‘Well, if I break a leg, please do not consign me to the priory’s infirmary,’ said Bartholomew vehemently. ‘Roger or Ynys would have a knife in me the instant I closed my eyes to sleep. I only hope any other monk sent there knows the danger he might be in.’

‘Blanche left this morning,’ said Michael, after a moment of silence. ‘Her “appearance” in the Heyrow a few nights ago with a lighted torch is causing a good deal of speculation. People claim they do not believe that a lady would do such a thing, but there remains a lingering doubt, and that is enough to have driven her away.’

‘Has she dropped her charges against de Lisle?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘Yes. She now believes that Henry killed Glovere, because we proved he killed the others.’

‘You did not tell her that Ralph did it?’

Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘I did not. She would have accused de Lisle of ordering Glovere’s death, and we would have been back to where we started.’

‘But de Lisle may well have ordered Ralph to kill Glovere,’ said Bartholomew.

‘If my Bishop had known Ralph was guilty, then he would not have appointed me to investigate.’

‘Not necessarily. He appointed you after Chaloner and Haywarde had died, remember? Perhaps he knew that Ralph killed Glovere, but did not want him blamed for the other two, as well.’

Michael declined to answer. He rubbed his chin, then rummaged in his scrip to produce a thin piece of parchment. ‘When I was going through Henry’s possessions yesterday I found this missive addressed to me, describing his murderous rampage over the last few days. Everything we reasoned is essentially correct. It concludes by admitting that Ralph had given him the idea, when he came to be absolved from Glovere’s murder.’

‘Why did he write this letter?’ asked Bartholomew curiously. ‘Was he planning to send it to you in Cambridge?’

‘He had compiled a list of victims,’ said Michael tiredly. ‘When everyone on the list had been “removed”, he was going to leave Ely, to retire to some remote corner of the country. He wrote that his work at Ely would have been completed.’

‘And how far through this list was he?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking that composing such an agenda was a rather cold and calculating thing to do.

‘Almost at the end. I suppose that was why the last few victims were killed in such rapid succession – he wanted to finish. The only one left was Father John. I thought Tysilia might be on it, but I am fairly sure her experience in the crumbling transept was just an accident.’

‘Tysilia?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Why would she be on such a list? She is not evil.’

‘De Lisle thought someone had deliberately caused the fall, and with so many deaths it did seem suspicious for there to be a sudden accident. But I think that was all it was.’

‘And why John?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘He has compassion for the poor, and is not one of those priests who cares only for his personal gain.’

‘Henry believed that John is responsible for men like Leycestre plotting rebellion. He thought no good could come of it, and wanted to remove John before matters grew out of hand. He may have been right, but John has disappeared from Ely anyway. Doubtless he is being hidden by fellow rebels in the Fens.’

‘John had a lucky escape, then,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Not only has he eluded Henry’s sharp knives, but he has evaded justice for stealing the priory’s grain and giving it to the gypsies.’

‘It is ironic,’ mused Michael. ‘But one of the things that made Glovere unpopular in the town was his claim that one of Ely’s citizens was the burglar. In the event, he was right: it was Leycestre.’

‘But Leycestre and his thefts had nothing to do with the murders. They were separate and unrelated events. The burglaries were just that – and no one was killed when they were carried out.’

‘So,’ concluded Michael. ‘We now know everything about this case: Ralph killed Glovere; Henry slew Chaloner, Haywarde, Symon the librarian, Almoner Robert – who was every bit as dishonest as his rival William believed – Mackerell the fish-man, and Julian the lout; Roger dispatched Sub-prior Thomas; and William’s death was a combination of Henry’s poison and Guido’s aggression.’

‘And Goran killed Ralph,’ added Bartholomew. ‘Do not forget that.’

‘There is de Lisle,’ said Michael, pointing to the Bishop, who was surrounded by his scurrying retinue, all rushing to pack their belongings on to the impressive herd of horses waiting in the courtyard. ‘He plans to travel with us to Cambridge today, before heading south to give the Archbishop of Canterbury an account of the events that led to a prelate being accused of murder.’

‘I hope he has his excuses all worked out,’ said Bartholomew caustically. ‘He would be wise to avoid the truth, given that it was his own servant who precipitated all this mayhem.’

‘Are you ready to leave Ely?’ Michael asked him, wisely ignoring the comment, since de Lisle was probably close enough to hear any response he might make. ‘Tonight, you will sleep in your own room at Michaelhouse, and can rest assured that you are not in the same building as a killer.’

Bartholomew had lived in Cambridge long enough not to be so sanguine, but followed Michael to where the Bishop’s household was packed and ready to go. Cynric and Meadowman also had ponies loaded with the few possessions the scholars had brought, and were mounted and waiting.

‘Did you finish your reading in the library?’ asked Cynric as Bartholomew scrambled inelegantly on to his mount. ‘You did not spend much time there.’