A Summer of Discontent

‘And that someone may well have been Thomas,’ said Michael. ‘Damn the man! Why did he have to choose now to have his seizure? Had he remained healthy for a few more moments, we might have prised enough information from him to catch this killer — and Thomas himself would still be alive.’

‘I am not sure Thomas put that sack in the granary,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The ladder broke when I climbed it, and I am a good deal lighter than Thomas.’

‘Perhaps it was Thomas’s weight that rendered the rungs weak in the first place,’ suggested Michael.

Bartholomew frowned. ‘I doubt a man of Thomas’s girth could have hauled himself up those steps. I am not sure his arms would have been strong enough.’

‘You would probably say the same about me,’ said Michael, pushing back a black sleeve to reveal a meaty white arm, which he flexed proudly. ‘But my strength has saved your life on numerous occasions.’

‘But you do more than stroll between cathedral and refectory all day,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘You wrestle with students, and you ride. Thomas did nothing more strenuous than raise a spoon to his lips.’

Michael gave him an reproachful glance. ‘That is unfair. He raised goblets, too. But, although we have a good deal of confusing information about the book, we know nothing about the chalice. England is a large country, and there are churches all across it that own attractive silver, so I suppose there is no reason for us to have heard if it was stolen from some distant place, like Peterborough or Huntingdon.’

‘Is there any particular reason why you mention Huntingdon, Brother?’

Michael looked sharply at him. ‘None. Why?’

‘Because Blanche is from Huntingdon.’

‘I was selecting places at random,’ Michael said dismissively. ‘However, you may have a point, and we must make sure we ask someone from her household whether they recognise it. A positive identification in that direction would give us something to work on.’

‘But, as you have already pointed out, we do not need any more disjointed clues,’ said Bartholomew. ‘That has been our problem all along: we have a mass of small facts and scraps of information, but we are unable to make any sense out of them. The last thing we need is more.’

When they reached the infirmary, Bartholomew thought Henry did not look well. His face was pale, and his eyes were watery. He appeared to be on the verge of exhaustion, and Bartholomew decided he had better agree to sit with Roger that night, or Thomas might not be the only one to have a seizure.

‘You should rest,’ said Michael gently, when he saw the state the kindly physician was in.

‘I feel responsible for what happened to Thomas,’ said Henry in a low voice. ‘If I had been more vigilant, then he would be with us now.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Michael brusquely. ‘As I told you earlier, if you had been more vigilant, you might well be lying next to Thomas in a coffin. The murderer killed him because it was obvious that he was about to reveal information that would help us.’

‘You did all you could,’ said Bartholomew, seeing Henry was not much comforted by Michael’s words. ‘You made Thomas’s last moments comfortable, and his death was probably quick and painless.’

‘It is the “probably” that worries me, Matthew,’ said Henry miserably. ‘I have lost patients before, of course, but I have never had one murdered while I slept.’

‘Just be thankful that you were not awake,’ said Bartholomew. ‘There is no one else in the priory with your expertise. What would happen to Roger and the other elderly men if the killer had taken you, too?’

‘More to the point, what would have happened to the rest of us?’ added Julian. ‘You bleed us quickly and painlessly. If you were dead, then we would have to go to Barbour of the Lamb, and he makes a terrible mess.’

Julian’s brazen self-interest brought a smile to Henry’s face. ‘You are a wicked boy,’ he said mildly. ‘I despair of ever filling you with compassion.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Michael. ‘Since you will not rest, then you can answer my questions. Alan said you occasionally use the library. Do you recognise this book?’

Henry glanced at it, but then said, ‘I am always too busy to read anything except medical texts on the rare occasions that I persuade Symon to allow me into his domain.’

‘Could you have seen it outside the library?’ pressed Michael.

Henry looked puzzled. ‘Of course not. All the priory’s books are locked up and Symon does not allow them out. Books are far too valuable to be left lying around, as I am sure you know.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Michael loftily. ‘I am a University scholar and well aware of the value of books. But could this particular tome have been in the dormitory, among the personal possessions of any of your fellow brethren?’

‘I would not know that, either,’ said Henry helplessly. ‘I sleep here, with my patients, not in the dormitory. And I am not in the habit of rooting through my colleagues’ belongings, anyway.’

‘We are Benedictines,’ said Julian piously. ‘We do not have many possessions.’