A Summer of Discontent

‘That should be easy to check,’ said Bartholomew to Michael. ‘We can ask the lay-brother on gate duty when he saw him.’

Welles lost some colour from his face and swallowed nervously. ‘But he was not there. I suppose he was either dozing or had gone to the latrines. I let myself out.’

‘Really,’ said Michael, sounding interested. ‘How convenient. What about when you came back?’

‘The same,’ replied Welles, a curious mixture of defiant and fearful. ‘He will deny leaving his post, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Michael expressionlessly. He glanced around, and his eyes lit on another monk in the milling throng awaiting dinner. The novices were temporarily forgotten. ‘Brother Symon! Just the man I wanted to see.’

‘It is too late to use the library today,’ said Symon, edging away from Michael in alarm. ‘Apply in writing and I shall see what I can do.’

‘It is not the library I want.’ One powerful arm shot out to prevent the librarian’s escape. ‘It is you. Am I mistaken, or did I spot you entering the infirmary after breakfast this morning?’

‘You just said that was Julian and Welles,’ said Bukton, confused.

‘I saw several people,’ said Michael meaningfully. ‘One of whom was the Brother Librarian.’ He waited expectantly for Symon’s answer.

Symon blustered and coughed for a moment as he collected his thoughts. ‘I did cut through the infirmary hall,’ he admitted. ‘But I did not see any killers. I saw Henry dozing and Thomas fast asleep on his sickbed, but nothing else.’

‘How do you know Thomas was fast asleep?’ pounced Michael. ‘How do you know he was not dead?’

Symon blustered even more. ‘I suppose he may have been. The old men were watching me, so I did not go and prod him.’ His reply made it sound as though he might have done if no one had been looking.

‘Why did you go into the infirmary at all?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘You have been haunting it like a ghost ever since Thomas was taken ill, although you never set foot in it normally.’

‘I was concerned for the welfare of my sub-prior,’ replied Symon, looking pleased with himself for thinking up this reply. ‘Is that all? I have other business to attend …’

‘Just a moment,’ snapped Michael, tightening his grip on the slippery librarian’s arm. ‘I have not finished with you yet. I want your expertise.’

‘My what?’ asked Symon nervously.

‘Quite,’ muttered Michael grimly. ‘Bukton — run to the Prior’s House and ask him for the contents of the granary sack I discovered yesterday. He will know what I mean.’

Bukton did not take long. He handed the bag to Michael, who withdrew the book of hours from its parchment wrappings. ‘I found this recently. Do you recognise it?’

Symon regarded the tome suspiciously, then turned to Bartholomew. ‘Is this a trick? Have you removed it from my shelves, and are testing to see whether I am able to identify it?’

‘Of course not,’ said Bartholomew scornfully. ‘We merely want to know whether you have seen it before.’

‘If I say yes, will you give it to me for my collection?’ asked Symon craftily.

‘No, I will not,’ said Michael irritably. ‘And I want you to tell the truth, not some lie that you think will earn you a gift. Do you recognise it?’ He gave a hearty sigh when Symon glanced down and then away. ‘You will not be able to give me your considered opinion if you do not inspect it closely, man! Take it and leaf through it.’

Symon opened the book, and even he could see that here was a script of considerable value. He turned the pages carefully, almost reverently, but then handed it back to Michael with clear reluctance. ‘I am afraid I have never seen it before.’

‘What about this chalice?’ asked Michael, producing the fine cup that had also been hidden in the granary.

Symon shook his head a second time, although he seemed considerably more interested in the silver than he had been in the book. ‘No, but it is very fine and should be in the Prior’s coffers.’ He took it from Michael, then held it and the book up to show the monks who stood in a curious circle around him. ‘Do any of you know these?’

There was a chorus of denials and several shaken heads, although Julian said nothing. His silence did not go unobserved. Michael immediately homed in on him.

‘Which of these is familiar to you?’ he demanded.

Julian was startled to find himself suddenly the centre of attention again. ‘Neither,’ he said, nervously raising one hand to scratch at the smattering of spots around his mouth.

‘Do not lie,’ ordered Michael coldly. ‘It is clear to me that you have seen one or more of these items before, and I want to know which one and where.’

‘It cannot be clear to you,’ blustered Julian. He had scratched one pimple enough to make it bleed. ‘I have said nothing to give you that impression.’