A Summer of Discontent

He listened intently while Michael described their findings in the granary and their plans to walk upriver to see whether they could find the place where Glovere and the others were murdered. He seemed disappointed by the lack of progress, while Ralph was openly disgusted by it. He bared his blackened teeth in a sneer of contempt, and Bartholomew turned away, so that he would not have to look at the man. As he did so, he saw Julian slinking into the infirmary, dragging his heels and evidently reluctant to resume his daily duties. Welles was not long in following, although he seemed more enthusiastic than his friend. He waved cheerfully to Bartholomew as he disappeared inside.

De Lisle had no more idea how to speed up the investigation than did Michael, but that did not prevent him from making all manner of impractical suggestions. Michael listened patiently while the Bishop recommended arresting Blanche’s entire household and holding them until one of them confessed, followed by an illogical analysis of the reasons why the missing William was at the heart of everything, aided and abetted by the now-dead Robert.

The interview came to an end when the agitated prelate abruptly spun around and began to stalk towards the cathedral, muttering under his breath that since Michael did not seem able to prove his innocence, he would have to petition the help of St Etheldreda. A handsome ruby ring, he claimed, would be hers if she came to his rescue. Prior Alan overheard as he passed them on his way to the infirmary, and shook his head to show what he thought of the notion that saints could be bribed with baubles. Bartholomew and Michael were about to follow Alan, when the monk became aware that Ralph had fastened his dirty claw on to the fine fabric of his habit.

‘You need to do more than stroll up the river today,’ said the steward unpleasantly, not relinquishing his hold even though Michael glared angrily at him. ‘My Bishop is not a wealthy man, and he cannot afford to stay in Ely much longer. He needs to visit other people, so that they are obliged to house and feed his retinue. You must dismiss this case so he can go about his business before he is bankrupt.’

‘I assure you, I know that,’ said Michael, knocking the filthy hand from his sleeve in distaste. ‘And I am doing the best I can. He — and you — must be patient. The truth is not something you can just summon to appear. It must be teased out carefully, and each fact properly analysed.’

‘Bugger the truth,’ said Ralph vehemently. ‘I said you should dismiss the case, not mess around with irrelevant details.’

Michael regarded the steward disapprovingly. ‘You are an ignorant man, and so you cannot know what you are saying. The Bishop must be totally exonerated from these charges, or they will haunt him for the rest of his life. The verdict must be the truth. Nothing else will do.’

He turned away, but Ralph was not so easily dismissed. He delivered his own little lecture about loyalty and trust, to which Michael listened with barely concealed astonishment at such impudence. When Ralph saw that his homily was not inspiring Michael to go out and declare the Bishop’s innocence by any means necessary, he gave up in disgust and followed his master to the cathedral.

‘He is a nasty little man,’ said Michael, watching him go. ‘He thinks he is the only one capable of serving de Lisle, just because he has done it for longer than anyone else.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘He must be a saint.’

‘Which of them?’ asked Michael. ‘De Lisle for putting up with that horrid little worm, or Ralph for selling his soul to de Lisle? But come, Matt. We cannot stand here all day chatting to whoever happens to come past. We have a killer to catch.’

But before they reached the door of the infirmary, Henry emerged and started to walk towards the cathedral. His shoulders slumped with tiredness, and he grimaced at the brightness of the sun in his eyes.

‘How is Thomas?’ asked Bartholomew, puzzled that the infirmarian should leave when he had a seriously ill patient to tend.

‘He slipped away in his sleep — between the time you left and a few moments ago,’ said Henry with a catch in his voice. He saw Michael’s face fall, and mistook the monk’s dismay for grief. ‘I am sorry, Michael. Bartholomew and I did all we could, but old, fat men are prone to such attacks, and death is not infrequent. In my experience this appeared to be a serious episode, and I doubt he would ever have recovered his faculties fully. It is better this way.’

‘Damn!’ swore Michael vehemently. ‘If we had not dawdled here, listening to de Lisle and Ralph ranting on about nothing, we might have been able to talk to Thomas before he died.’

‘I do not think he ever woke,’ said Henry wearily. ‘And even though you are my friend, and I know how hard de Lisle is pushing you to prove him innocent of murder, I would not have allowed you to disturb Thomas with potentially distressing questions.’