A Summer of Discontent

Bartholomew looked to where the monk was pointing. At the rear of the shrine, in a place where they probably imagined they were invisible to the casual observer, John and Leycestre were involved in one of their low-voiced discussions. Bartholomew looked around for Leycestre’s nephews, and, sure enough, spotted them near the door, almost as though they were keeping guard. They were obviously unconcerned by the possibility that someone might enter from the priory side of the cathedral — or perhaps it was only townsfolk in whom they were interested.

‘They are always muttering to each other,’ said Bartholomew thoughtfully. ‘John claims he wants nothing to do with the rebellion-in-the-making, but he seems to spend a lot of time in conversation with Leycestre, who seems able to talk about nothing else. I think John is involved a good deal more deeply than he would have us believe — especially since Leycestre’s nephews seem to think these chats warrant privacy. Also, John ordered me not to speak to Leycestre when I first met him. He thought I might be a spy for the King.’

Michael agreed. ‘If you were, and if Leycestre told you exactly what he thinks of the local landowners, then Leycestre would be deemed guilty of treason. He would name his accomplices and John would hang with him.’

Bartholomew turned away from the seditious plotting in the corner. ‘We have done what we came to do, Brother. You will miss your meal if we wait here much longer.’

Michael started to follow him away, but footsteps striding resolutely down the nave caught his attention. As quick as lightning, he darted behind a pillar, so that Bartholomew suddenly found himself alone. Then he saw that the person who walked with such purpose was Tysilia, with Ralph scurrying in her wake. The steward did not seem pleased by the task of escort, and his red face and harried expression indicated that he was finding it a great deal of work.

‘I have three pennies,’ Tysilia announced happily, as she drew close enough to speak to Bartholomew. ‘I am going to pray to the saint.’

‘You no longer need your pennies,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Robert is dead, and the levy was his idea.’

‘I shall buy a new dress, then,’ she said, apparently unaware that she would need a good deal more than three grubby coins for that sort of item.

Next to her, Ralph sighed impatiently. ‘Hurry up, Tysilia. You said your prayers would only take a few moments, but we have been out for more than an hour and we have not even reached the shrine yet.’

‘I like to walk around the town,’ said Tysilia, unperturbed by Ralph’s bad temper. ‘I might meet Brother Michael there. Where is he, by the way?’ She began to look around eagerly, and Bartholomew saw a shadow easing further behind the stout pillar.

‘Ready for some food, I imagine,’ said Bartholomew ambiguously. ‘I told you he is never available at mealtimes.’

‘Yes, I suppose he would not like to miss his midday meal,’ said Tysilia thoughtfully. ‘He is a little fat, although it just lends him more charm, do you not think, Ralph?’

‘Oh, yes. Very charming,’ growled Ralph irritably. ‘Now, pray at this damned shrine, and then let us go home. I promised the Bishop I would have you back ages ago.’

‘I am going to ask St Earthdigger to give him to me,’ she said confidentially to Bartholomew, making no attempt to obey Ralph.

‘St Etheldreda,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And to give you who?’

‘Brother Michael, of course,’ said Tysilia. ‘I shall pray to the saint to let me have him. I am sure she will oblige. After all, Michael is a monk, and so he is a holy man. The saint will want to make a holy man happy.’

‘I do not think it works like that,’ said Bartholomew, trying not to laugh. ‘And Michael is a Benedictine. That means women are forbidden to him.’

‘I heard that,’ said Tysilia confidentially. ‘Ralph explained it to me. It all sounds very silly, and it will not apply to me, anyway. I am not an ordinary woman. I am special. My uncle told me so, and he is a bishop, so he must be right.’

‘Come on,’ said Ralph, finally losing patience and taking her arm to drag her roughly towards the shrine. She continued to chatter as he led her away, and Michael stepped out from his pillar with a sigh of relief. She was informing Ralph — and anyone else who happened to be within a mile of her — that Blanche wore a wig, and that her front teeth were tied in place each morning with two small pieces of twine.

‘That was close,’ said Michael, puffing out his cheeks in a sigh. ‘Come on, Matt. We will have to walk around the back of the building, to make sure she does not see us on our way out. It would be terrible to be accosted by her in a public place like this, and I do not think Ralph is strong enough to keep her under control.’