Susanna GREGORY: A Bone of Contention

‘Was he planning to write his own version of the events of the last few weeks, do you think?’ asked Bartholomew.

Heppel nodded. ‘It would seem so, although the parchment in front of him was blank.’

Michael gave a snort of disbelief. ‘Was it, now? That I find hard to believe.’

Heppel gave him a cold look. ‘The parchment was blank. Anyway, the body was very decayed, and I think he must have died within a day or two of his escape: he had no time to embark on a lengthy treatise before he died. Perhaps the shock of seeing his plans fail so completely made him lose the will to live. Perhaps the stress of that day gave him a fatal seizure. We will never know.’

‘Where is he now?’ asked Bartholomew.

Heppel smiled pleasantly. ‘I thought you might ask that. Come.’

They followed him through the dark church and into the graveyard. Heppel picked his way around the mounds to where Wilson’s grave had been, before he had been installed in his permanent tomb in the church. Next to the yawning hole, shivering in the cold, knelt Meadowman, guarding something wrapped in a winding sheet.

Bartholomew crouched next to him and pulled the sheet away to reveal the face. D’Ambrey’s beatific features loomed out at him, and Bartholomew judged that Heppel’s estimation of the time of his death was probably right – two or three weeks. He covered the face again and looked up at Heppel.

‘So now all the loose ends are tied, and you can return to your King with a complete story,’ he said.

Heppel nodded. ‘The excavation of Master Wilson’s grave was most timely. Now, only the four of us will know it did not remain empty.’

He gestured to Meadowman, who rolled d’Ambrey’s body into the yawning hole, where it landed with a soft thump. The steward shovelled the earth back into place, until only a dark mound remained.

‘There. It is done,’ said Heppel, rubbing his hands on his robe, even though it was Meadowman who had done the shovelling. ‘And now I should go. Father Philius tells me my stars are favourable for travelling tonight, so I should take advantage of them.’

‘I hope we will not have mysterious accidents,’ said Michael, eyeing Heppel distrustfully, ‘to ensure our silence on these matters.’

Heppel gave his sickly smile. ‘Do not be ridiculous, Brother. You are the Master of a respected College.’

He shook hands with them and melted away into the darkness, Meadowman following.

Bartholomew watched them go. ‘So were Thorpe and Bigod,’ he said softly.

As Heppel slipped out through the trees of the churchyard on to the High Street, they saw him wiping his hands on the sides of his robe, as if trying to clean them.