A Summer of Discontent

‘Release him!’ repeated Agnes, this time more forcefully. ‘He wants to speak to Father John.’

Bartholomew disengaged his arm from the bemused Clymme, and saw that his supposition had been right: the nephews and Agnes were indeed a sort of rearguard, whose duty was to prevent the discussion taking place between labourer and priest from being overheard. John, who had turned as soon as Bartholomew called his name, saw exactly what Bartholomew had deduced.

‘Leycestre and I were just talking about what could be done for poor Robert,’ he gabbled unconvincingly. ‘The violent death of a monk is a terrible thing.’

‘But no one liked Robert,’ Michael pointed out immediately. ‘And why should you do anything for him? You have done little enough for the other victims.’

‘That was before a fellow cleric had died,’ said John defensively. ‘We will do something now. Flowers, perhaps. Or candles. We have some candles left over from Haywarde’s mass.’

‘Then they belong to me,’ declared Agnes immediately. ‘I paid for his mass, God rot his soul, and any candles remaining are mine. They will not be used for Robert.’

‘You would give one for the cause,’ wheedled John, his eyes uneasy. Bartholomew had seldom seen behaviour that was more indicative that its perpetrator was up to no good.

‘“Cause”?’ Michael pounced immediately. ‘And what “cause” would that be? Inciting the populace to riot?’

‘No!’ declared John, a little too quickly. ‘But I am on my way to the cathedral to pray with de Lisle and cannot stand here talking all day. What did you want from me?’

‘I wanted to make sure that the other bodies had been buried,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But Agnes said she paid for Haywarde’s mass, which means that he, at least, is below ground, where he should be.’

‘So are the others,’ said John. ‘Blanche gave me sixpence for Glovere, which only left Chaloner. And Bishop de Lisle provided the funds to get rid of him.’

‘De Lisle?’ asked Michael. ‘Why did he do that? It is not his concern.’

‘Blanche has been telling folk that he wanted his victims underground before the next new moon rises,’ said Leycestre. ‘Murdered folk walk abroad then, if there is no layer of soil to keep them down. But I think de Lisle was just being charitable.’

‘He was being charitable,’ insisted John. ‘He has no ties to Chaloner, but no one else came forward and offered to take responsibility for his body, so the Bishop gave me a shilling.’

‘Did you ask him for it?’ said Michael.

‘He was praying in St Mary’s — it is quieter than the cathedral these days, which tends to be full of angry pilgrims who cannot pay Robert’s entrance fee to St Etheldreda’s shrine — when he became aware of the smell of Chaloner’s corpse. He said a mass there and then, and we had the man buried in an hour.’

Leycestre smiled. ‘De Lisle is often maligned because he is proud, but he has more goodness in his little finger than any of those wicked monks — present company excepted, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Michael dryly.

‘His kindness was a great relief,’ said John. ‘I was beginning to think that the parish would have to pay, and I am trying to save all our money to buy bread for the poor when winter comes.’

‘John should be careful,’ said Bartholomew, as the priest ushered his seditious parishioners away. ‘He is terrified of being accused of fuelling this rebellion, but he does nothing to calm troubled waters.’

‘No,’ said Michael thoughtfully. ‘Indeed, it seems to me that he is doing a good deal of splashing.’

Robert lay in some splendour in the cathedral’s Lady Chapel, and by the time Bartholomew and Michael arrived the wet habit had been stripped from him and he had been covered with a clean white sheet. A coffin was ready, leaning against one wall, but Robert still dripped, and the lay-brothers did not want to spoil a fine box by having water leaking in it. So, Robert was draining: he lay on two boards balanced on a pair of trestles with several bowls underneath him. In the nave, the part of the cathedral that was deemed the town’s, de Lisle was busy with his mass. Michael’s prediction was right: the Bishop was praying with considerable conviction.

Michael dismissed the lay-brothers who had been charged with laying out the body, then indicated to Bartholomew that he should begin his examination. The physician leaned hard on Robert’s chest, to see whether water bubbled from his lungs. It did not, so he deduced that Robert had been dead when he had entered the water: the wound on the back of his neck had killed him, not the river. Next, he rolled the body to one side and examined the small injury that was visible just above the line of the almoner’s hair. It was slightly larger than that on the others, and had evidently bled, for the silken pillow under the corpse’s head was stained red. Bartholomew supposed that either the killer had been in a hurry and had not been as careful as he might, or Robert had struggled, despite being held still with a foot or a knee on his head.