Susanna GREGORY - A Summer of Discontent

‘No,’ said Bartholomew shortly. ‘I have decided I would rather work at home. Prior Alan has given me two particularly valuable medical books as a donation to Michaelhouse, and I shall have to be content with what I learn in those.’

‘And you have Henry’s notes,’ said Michael, pointing to a saddlebag that bulged with parchment.

‘Right,’ said Bartholomew, not sure whether he could bring himself to use them. It crossed his mind that, in addition to the cures the infirmarian had developed over the years, he might discover a list of good ways to kill people.

‘Are you ready to go?’ asked de Lisle, trotting up to them. His horse was a splendid black beast that had been groomed until its coat shone. Nearby, Tysilia slouched on a pony, a sullen expression on her face.

‘What is wrong with her?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘She looks furious.’

‘She is going back to the nuns at St Radegund’s Convent,’ said de Lisle. ‘I cannot have her with me when I visit the Archbishop later this month; I do not think they would see eye to eye. And anyway, I do not have time to give her the constant attention she needs now that Ralph is gone.’

‘I am sorry you lost such a faithful retainer,’ said Michael insincerely.

‘So am I. Tysilia let the gypsy into my house, thinking that she was being helpful. When Goran told her he had come to kill Ralph, she thought he was speaking metaphorically.’

‘I doubt it,’ mumbled Bartholomew. ‘She would have taken Goran quite literally, and seen Ralph’s death as an opportunity to escape from his protection for a night.’

De Lisle did not hear him, or gave no sign that he did. He continued. ‘She found herself with hours to do as she pleased. She visited a number of taverns, and made various sorties to the stables, but I found her in the north-west transept the following morning.’

‘I imagined her experiences with a certain gargoyle would have put her off that particular place,’ said Bartholomew, surprised.

‘She has already forgotten about that. I caught her tampering with the scaffolding. I have no idea what she did exactly, but I cannot help but wonder whether it might have been more stable before she got to it.’

Bartholomew gazed at him. ‘What are you saying? That Henry may have died because that woman fiddled around with things she did not understand?’

De Lisle nodded slowly. ‘I cannot be certain, but I know she had undone some knots and retied others wrongly. She told me it was like embroidery with large threads.’

‘Are you sure she should be set loose on the nuns?’ asked Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘She is a danger to have around – as I have told you before. Look what she did to the lepers.’

‘The nuns need the money,’ said de Lisle, as if that was all that mattered. ‘They will take her. But we should go, or we will be travelling after dark.’ He grimaced. ‘Damn! I was about to call for Ralph. I shall miss that man. He obeyed my orders without question, and I doubt I will ever find another servant like him.’

‘Henry’s letter said that Ralph was blackmailing him because he had guessed that Henry was the killer,’ said Michael. ‘So Ralph was not a good man for you to employ. You are better without him.’

Bartholomew was aware that de Lisle was looking at Michael strangely. ‘ Ralph was blackmailing Henry ?’ he asked. ‘Not the other way around?’

‘Why should Henry blackmail Ralph?’ asked Bartholomew, bewildered.

‘For his silence, after Ralph was foolish enough to confess,’ said de Lisle. ‘At least, that is what Ralph told me. Clever old Ralph! He took money from me – which he said he was going to give Henry – and now I learn that he also took money from Henry. Both for the same thing. It just goes to show that you never know people as well as you think.’ He gave them an absent smile, and spurred his horse away, down the road that led to Cambridge.

‘He knew!’ exclaimed Bartholomew, regarding the proud prelate in horror. ‘He knew Ralph killed Glovere! He was even paying Ralph to ensure that Henry kept silent.’

‘You are right,’ whispered Michael, staring at the elegant figure of the Bishop astride his black horse as he rode away from Ely. ‘De Lisle was guilty all along!’