A Summer of Discontent

‘And the gargoyle had fallen in such a way as to leave her completely unharmed?’

‘More or less. De Lisle thinks St Etheldreda intervened. But what shall we do about Leycestre? Shall we lie in wait and catch him red-handed as he relieves Alan of the monastic silver tonight?’

‘Given our performance in the Bone House, I am not sure that is wise,’ said Michael. ‘And Leycestre’s crimes are irrelevant to us anyway. It is the killer I want to catch, not a man with a penchant for other people’s property.’

‘But it is still possible they are one and the same,’ said Bartholomew. ‘John said Glovere, Chaloner and Haywarde all expressed no interest in Leycestre’s rebellion, and it occurred to him that Leycestre had murdered them.’

‘But he has no evidence,’ Michael pointed out. ‘John is a frightened man who realises that he cannot follow his conscience and the law at the same time. He is afraid of everyone. And how do you know he has not already told Leycestre that you have guessed what he intends to do tonight?’

‘I think John will be halfway to Lincoln by now,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He was so terrified by his discussion with me that he will snatch the advantage he has been given and run away.’

‘I am not so sure,’ said Michael. ‘He will have warned Leycestre, and there will be no theft from Prior Alan or anyone else.’ He gave a sudden chuckle and changed the subject. ‘De Lisle is a popular man at the moment. He took all that treasure to his house and displayed it for the merchants to identify and collect. It had all been returned to its owners in less than an hour.’

‘Was everyone’s property there?’

‘Almost. Agnes Fitzpayne had listed various items that were not recovered.’

‘I told you,’ said Bartholomew triumphantly. ‘There was nothing for her to claim, because nothing was stolen from her. And the fact that she was the only “victim” whose property did not reappear affirms it.’

‘She was not the only one, though,’ said Michael. ‘A certain number of coins also remain missing, although all the jewellery was accounted for.’

‘You should know where they went,’ said Bartholomew, thinking that de Lisle would be very pleased with his unexpected windfall. No one would accuse him of keeping a small profit for himself when he had been to such pains to return the bulk of it to its rightful owners.

‘I have had enough of the rebels and their petty crimes,’ said Michael, obviously not wanting to hear that de Lisle was less than honest. ‘But while you were busy pulling Tysilia from under pigs by her legs, I was also busy. I happen to know that Symon the librarian is currently lurking in his favourite hiding place — the latrines. He thinks he will avoid an awkward interrogation from me regarding the state of his back.’

‘Then we should talk to him immediately,’ said Bartholomew, taking the monk’s sleeve and tugging it to make him finish his meal and leave. ‘He is an elusive fellow, and if you have him pinned down, we should take the opportunity to speak to him before he disappears again.’

‘He is an unpleasant piece of work,’ said Michael, shaking Bartholomew off and returning to his food. ‘I was thinking that if we left it long enough, the killer might come and relieve us of the bother of talking to the man.’

‘I thought we were going to talk to him because he has a bad back, and we think he might be the one you hit with a spade.’

Michael shook his head. ‘The killer is a clever man, and the only thing Symon is clever at doing is eluding people who want to see him. He blusters and brags, but when you press him it is obvious that he is nothing but hot air, and his knowledge is superficial and often erroneous.’

‘But we should talk to him anyway,’ said Bartholomew. ‘We should at least learn how he came by his ailment. And do not forget he is one of our main suspects for the death of Thomas.’

Seeing that Bartholomew would not let matters rest until they had interrogated the elusive librarian, Michael sighed and stood, wiping the crumbs from his mouth as he followed the physician out of the refectory and into the soft gloom of a late summer evening. They walked to the latrines, looking at the monks who were still out for signs of limps or twinges. They passed Henry who emerged from his infirmary. He stretched both arms above his head, then clutched his back to give it a vigorous massage.

‘How are you?’ he asked of Bartholomew. ‘What did you think of my tonic?’

‘It worked well,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But I think it would be dangerous if taken too often.’

Henry nodded. ‘I keep it only for emergencies. You will not take another dose, then? To see you through this unpleasant investigation?’

‘He will not,’ said Michael shortly. ‘I do not want him exhausting me with excessive energy.’