A Summer of Discontent

When Bartholomew arrived, Michael was already there, rolling up his sleeves in anticipation of some serious snatching and grabbing, although the competition had been severely reduced at the high table that morning. Empty spaces gaped where Thomas, Robert and William usually sat, while Henry had asked to be excused so that he could remain with his patients. Alan presided, but was distracted and careworn, and ate little of the sumptuous meal provided by the kitchens.

‘Is Thomas awake?’ the Prior asked anxiously, seeing that Bartholomew was to join them for the meal. ‘Has he regained his speech yet?’

‘Not yet,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘Although he rested well last night, which is a good sign.’

‘But he has not spoken?’ pressed Symon, very interested. ‘He remains mute?’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘But he may regain that power today. Why do you ask?’

‘No particular reason,’ said Symon, with a careless shrug. ‘I was merely voicing concern for one of my brethren.’

Alan mumbled a hasty grace, and Bartholomew turned his attention to some of the best oatmeal he had ever consumed, despite the fact that the cooks seemed to have ladled salt into it with a shovel. He wondered whether the monks liked it salty because it made them want to drink more ale.

In contrast to the unease and awkwardness among the few remaining occupants of the high table, the main body of the refectory exuded an atmosphere of relaxed jollity. It was not only the novices who appeared to be happy and hopeful, but many of the older monks, too, and Bartholomew sensed that the trio of sub-prior, almoner and hosteller had done little to create a pleasant environment in the monastery and much to repress one. Welles and Bukton smiled and laughed, while Julian was positively jubilant. Bartholomew watched Julian closely as he ate, thinking that there was something unsettling about the lad’s bright eyes and flushed cheeks. He wondered whether it had anything to do with the incident regarding the paring knife, or whether Julian, like the other monks, was merely grateful to be free of Thomas’s looming presence for a while.

After the meal, which seemed unusually protracted that morning — mostly because he wanted to escape the uncomfortable company at the high table — Bartholomew walked with Michael back to the infirmary, to see whether Thomas was awake. Now that the day was wearing on, Michael was anxious to ask him about the contents of the grain sack they had discovered the night before.

Symon had left the refectory before them, and set off in the direction of his domain, arms swinging and feet stamping with military precision. Because Bartholomew had spent some time over the past few days tracking Symon in order to be admitted to the library, he was familiar with the man’s habits. He knew Symon always took the longer path, through the gardens and around the eastern end of the hospital chapel. This route was invariably deserted, and he guessed that Symon preferred it because he was unlikely to run into anyone who might ask him for a book.

However, that morning Symon’s ghoulish fascination with Thomas led him to abandon custom and stride instead towards the Dark Cloister, which would mean a diversion through the infirmary itself. Bartholomew saw him disappear inside, presumably to walk through the hall and then leave via the rear door in order to reach the library from the cemetery.

Michael grimaced. ‘There is nothing like the downfall of an unpopular man to bring out the worst in people. Symon never uses the infirmary as a shortcut to the library, and is only doing so today so that he can gloat over Thomas’s predicament.’

‘I hope no one ever views any illness of mine as an excuse for entertainment and celebration,’ said Bartholomew distastefully.

‘You would have to go a long way before you attained Thomas’s standards,’ replied Michael. He stopped suddenly, and Bartholomew saw that de Lisle was hurrying towards them from the chapter house, his steward at his heels like a faithful hound. He sighed. ‘Damn! I hope he does not detain us for long. I want to question Thomas as soon as possible.’

‘Then you can deal with de Lisle and I will talk to Thomas,’ said Bartholomew, starting to walk away. De Lisle, however, had other ideas, and his haughty summons clearly included the physician, and well as his agent.

‘Any news?’ asked the Bishop immediately. ‘What do you plan to do today to bring about my release from these charges?’