A Summer of Discontent

‘Not just in the monastery, Brother,’ said Bartholomew. ‘There are townsfolk who may have heard of Thomas’s vulnerable state, too. There are at least a hundred layfolk employed here — one of them may be the killer, or may have helped the killer gain access to Thomas. And do not forget that the Outer Hostry is bulging at the seams with visitors, too.’

He stopped speaking when Alan entered the chapel, his sandalled feet tapping softly on the worn flagstones. The Prior genuflected in front of the altar, and gazed at it for a moment, his thin face haggard.

‘Tell us what happened, exactly,’ said Michael, watching him. ‘Did you see Thomas dead and go to rouse the slumbering Henry?’

‘Good gracious, no!’ exclaimed Alan, seeming appalled by that notion. ‘I glimpsed Thomas lying still and silent through the open door of his chamber, but assumed he was sleeping. I was actually looking for Henry — to ask him for a report on Thomas’s health. When I saw Henry dozing in the room next door, I went to shake his shoulder. I did not think he had fallen asleep intentionally, and imagined he would prefer to be awake when Thomas was so ill.’

‘It is that cure for wrinkles you promised Bishop Northburgh,’ said Bartholomew, rather accusingly. ‘Henry is working feverishly on it, and it is too much for him with his other duties, too.’

‘Perhaps you are right,’ acknowledged Alan sheepishly. ‘I thought he could manage — he is an excellent physician, after all. Anyway, I touched him on the shoulder and he jolted upright, looking as confused and startled as a scalded cat. He sat for a moment blinking and staring, then seemed to recall that he was supposed to be caring for a sick patient. He all but shoved me out of the way in his haste to reach the next room. It was clear he had been dozing for some time.’

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Bartholomew curiously. ‘Because it took him a few moments to gather his wits once you had woken him?’

‘Because there was a sizeable puddle of drool on the table, where his head had rested,’ replied Alan, rather proud of his powers of observation. ‘It is still there, actually. You know how that happens when you doze heavily in an awkward position.’

‘I do not,’ said Michael primly. ‘I never drool. But what happened after that?’

‘Henry fussed around with Thomas’s bedclothes for a moment, and wiped his face with a cloth. Then it seemed to occur to him that all was not well. He held a glass in front of Thomas’s mouth, then put his ear to Thomas’s chest.’

‘And Thomas was dead,’ concluded Michael.

‘But still warm to the touch. Henry told me that was because Thomas had only just died, combined with the facts that he has a large body for retaining heat, and because the weather is hot.’

‘He is right,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘Those factors would combine in making a corpse cool more slowly.’

‘I started to pray,’ continued Alan. ‘There was no reason to assume Thomas had not slipped away in his sleep at that point. Meanwhile, poor Henry stumbled to the door for some fresh air. He hates to lose a patient. Then you came in.’

‘Was there anything unusual about the sickroom that you noticed?’ asked Michael hopefully. ‘Anything that might suggest the identity of the killer?’

Alan shook his head. ‘I saw Symon enter the infirmary a little while before I did; you might want to ask him whether he saw anything strange. You can also question Julian and Welles: they were also in the vicinity.’

‘We shall,’ determined Michael. He rubbed his hands across his flabby cheeks, making a rasping sound that was loud in the peaceful chapel. He was about to add something else when there was a commotion in the hall, and he poked his head around the door to see that de Lisle had arrived, demanding to know what had happened. It seemed that bad news spread quickly.

‘This will reflect badly on me,’ the Bishop declared, marching into the chapel and addressing his agent. ‘People will say that I had the sub-prior murdered, as well as a couple of peasants and the servant of a woman I detest.’

‘And that would never do,’ said Alan, watching de Lisle with some dislike. Bartholomew noted that the prelate was unusually mercurial in his moods. The previous day, many people had been impressed by his graciousness and poise, and by his genuine compassion for Robert, but now he was back to the selfishness that made him so unpopular. It was all very well for Michael to say he found his Bishop remarkable, but for a good part of the time the Bishop was remarkable only for his arrogance, self-interest and ambition.

‘People will say no such thing about you,’ said Michael soothingly, if probably untruthfully. ‘If anything, they will begin to see that you had nothing to do with the death of Glovere, because you have no reason to wish any of these other people harm.’