Susanna GREGORY - A Summer of Discontent

‘Roger is deaf,’ explained Henry as they walked. ‘Two of the others are blind, and most have lost their wits. They are our permanent residents. Usually, we have half a dozen monks who are recovering from being bled, but the Prior has suspended bleeding for this month.’

‘Why is that?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Is it because he is aware of new evidence from French and Italian medical faculties that indicates bleeding is not always healthy?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Henry stiffly, indicating that he disapproved of such notions. ‘It is because Blanche is coming, and we will be too busy to have monks resting in the infirmary. But I believe bleeding is a very healthy thing to do. You only need to compare the monks, who are bled regularly, to the townsfolk, who are not, to see the difference.’

‘That is because the monks’ food is better than that of the townsfolk,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘And they probably have more sleep, better beds, cleaner water–’

Henry grinned in delight, and slapped Bartholomew’s shoulders. ‘You are quite wrong, but I can see we shall enjoy some lively debates on the subject. It is always refreshing to converse with another medical man. And I anticipate we shall learn a great deal from each other.’

‘I am sure you will,’ said Michael. ‘But I do not want to be present when you do it. Julian and Welles are right: you can keep your pustules and your flasks of urine to yourselves!’

Michael found it impossible to drag Bartholomew away from Henry once the two physicians had started to talk. Seeing he would be unable to prise them apart until they had been granted at least some time to exchange opinions, he left them to their own devices, while he wandered around the priory renewing acquaintances and listening to the latest gossip. When the afternoon faded to early evening, and the sun was more saffron than the hot silver-gold of midday, he brought his socialising to an end and turned his mind to the Bishop’s problem.

Daylight in August lasted from about five-thirty in the morning until around eight o’clock at night, and Michael sensed there was probably a little more than two hours of good light left in which to inspect bodies. Since he had no desire to do it in the dark, he hurried towards the infirmary, intending to remove Bartholomew from his discussion with Henry and complete the unpleasant task of corpse-inspecting as soon as possible. Briefly, he entertained the notion of going alone, but, despite his blustering confidence when he had spoken to Bartholomew earlier that day, he knew he would miss vital clues that would be obvious at a mere glance to his friend. Reluctant though he was to involve him in the enquiry, Michael knew he needed the physician’s help.

‘Perhaps I should come, too,’ offered Henry uneasily. ‘I have little experience with corpses – as a physician I prefer to deal with the living – but I may be able to help.’

‘No,’ said Michael immediately. ‘I do not want both my friends involved in this. And anyway, although you know nothing about corpses, Matt is very good with them. He peels away their secrets as one might the layers of an onion.’

‘Hardly,’ began Bartholomew in protest, not liking the way Michael made him sound so sinister. Although he had discovered that he and Henry disagreed about many aspects of medicine, he liked the man and wanted to make a good impression on him. This description of his skill with corpses would be unlikely to raise him in anyone’s estimation.

‘Come on,’ said Michael, taking his arm and steering him towards the door. ‘The sooner we examine this body, the sooner we shall have this case resolved and the Bishop’s name cleared.’

‘Then God go with you,’ said Henry, sketching a benediction at him. ‘If I cannot persuade you to leave Ely, then I urge you to prove de Lisle’s innocence quickly, so that we can all be done with this unpleasant situation.’

Promising to bring Bartholomew back as soon as they had finished with the body of Glovere, Michael set off to the Bone House, where Prior Alan had said the corpse was being stored until Lady Blanche came to bury it.

‘We have been told that de Lisle was accused of this murder two days ago,’ said Bartholomew, walking with Michael along the path that wound through the monks’ cemetery towards the cathedral. ‘But when did the victim die? I thought the Bishop said ten days, but that cannot be right – if he died that long ago, he would have been buried by now, and we would not be going to look at his body.’

‘Luckily for us, Glovere is still above ground, or we would have found ourselves obliged to do a little midnight digging.’

‘We did that once, and I have no intention of doing it again,’ said Bartholomew shortly. ‘But why so long between Glovere’s death and this accusation against de Lisle?’

‘Lady Blanche was at her other estates near Huntingdon, and it took some time for the news to reach her about her servant’s death. When she did hear what had happened, she sent a missive to Alan, informing him that de Lisle was responsible for Glovere’s death. It arrived on Friday.’

‘So, de Lisle summoned you the day he was accused – Friday – and then sent a second summons the following day,’ said Bartholomew, trying to understand the order of events as they had occurred.

Michael nodded. ‘It was the second death by drowning – Haywarde, on Saturday morning – that really alarmed him. He is afraid Blanche will accuse him of that, too, and while the good citizens of Ely may overlook one suspicious death, they will certainly not disregard two of them.’

‘What was Glovere doing here without Blanche anyway?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘If he was her steward, why was he not with her in Huntingdon?’

‘I asked Prior Alan that when you were gossiping about boils to Henry. Apparently, Glovere was employed to protect Blanche’s Ely estates – she owns farms nearby, and he oversaw them for her. By all accounts, he was a proficient steward, but not likeable, and she was always relieved to be away from him when she left Ely.’

‘Ten days is a long time for a corpse to be above ground in this hot weather,’ said Bartholomew disapprovingly. ‘Why was he not buried a week ago – before Blanche made her accusation?’

‘Apparently, no one was willing to pay. His requiem mass is Blanche’s responsibility, so I suppose she will provide the necessary funds when she arrives.’

‘It does not cost much to dig a hole.’ Bartholomew was still disgusted. ‘It would have been better to bury him immediately, rather than leave him lying around until Blanche deigns to arrive. Supposing she refuses to pay? Then what happens?’

Michael waved a dismissive hand, uninterested in the logistics of burial. He felt it was fortunate that Glovere was still above ground, given the circumstances, and was hopeful that Bartholomew would be able to produce a verdict of death by drowning while drunk, and thus put an end to Blanche’s machinations. He thought about what he had learned from talking to his brethren that afternoon.

‘According to Alan, Glovere was universally disliked because he was a gossip. When he and de Lisle had that very public argument two weeks ago, it did wonders for de Lisle’s popularity – everyone was delighted to see Glovere on the receiving end of some eloquently vicious insults. Now it seems that very same disagreement is leading people to believe de Lisle guilty of murder.’

‘It is not just the public row, Brother,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘Even you think he may have done it, and you were not even a witness to this squabble.’

‘Whatever,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘But suffice to say that Glovere was loathed by all, and no one is prepared to pay a few pennies for a hole for his corpse.’