A Summer of Discontent

‘But she has no evidence to prove I did it, and Ralph was very careful,’ de Lisle continued. ‘The case came to the courts, and the King ordered me to pay a fine of ninety shillings. He listened with great care to his kinswoman, but refused to hear my side of the story at all.’

‘He would,’ said Michael sympathetically. ‘He is well known for showing partiality to his favourites. Did you pay the money?’

‘I did, even though I can scarce afford such a monstrous fine, but worse was to come. About ten days ago, Lady Blanche’s steward died here, in Ely, and she has accused me of killing him!’

Michael gazed at his Bishop, and Bartholomew held his breath, half expecting the monk to demand to know whether de Lisle had added murder to the crime of arson. But Michael merely regarded the prelate with sombre green eyes, rubbing the bristles on his chin as he did so.

‘And the Bishop had nothing to do with the death, before you ask,’ put in Ralph nastily, apparently believing that Michael hesitated only because he was searching for the right words to phrase the question. ‘In fact, there is no evidence that Glovere met his end by violence at all. It is obvious to me that he was in his cups and he fell in the river.’

‘He drowned, then?’ asked Michael. ‘Did anyone see him drunk or walking near the water?’

‘That is what I want you to find out,’ said de Lisle. ‘And then, at dawn yesterday, another man was found dead, floating near the hythes in the same river.’

‘Haywarde,’ muttered Bartholomew, recalling what the malcontent Leycestre had told them. ‘A suicide.’

‘Quite. But it is only a matter of time before that vile-minded rabble in the city claim that my Bishop killed him, too,’ said Ralph indignantly. ‘That is why he sent word for you to come yesterday.’ His stress indicated that he strongly disapproved of Michael’s tardiness.

‘Your task is to exonerate me from these malicious and wholly untrue charges,’ said de Lisle to Michael. ‘You must begin immediately; there is not a moment to lose.’

‘Very well,’ said Michael. ‘But is there anything else I should know about this case? Have you and Blanche’s steward argued in public at any time? Did any of your household issue threats against the man?’

‘Glovere was a vile specimen of humanity,’ said de Lisle with distaste. ‘I have never known such a misery. All he did was complain; he was even unpopular among Blanche’s retinue.’

‘That is true,’ agreed Ralph. ‘He was hated intensely by anyone who knew him. Blanche loathed him, too, and she is only showing concern for him because he is dead.’

‘I see,’ said Michael. ‘But neither of you has answered my question. Was Glovere the subject of threats from the Bishop’s household?’

‘I doubt we were any more hostile to him than the unfortunates in Blanche’s employ who were obliged to work closely with the fellow,’ said de Lisle ambiguously.

‘So, you did threaten him,’ surmised Michael thoughtfully. ‘That could prove awkward. What did you say, exactly?’

De Lisle gave a sigh. ‘It all happened two weeks ago — four days before his death. I happened to meet Blanche, here in the priory — she stays here when she visits her Ely estates, because it is more comfortable than the shabby manor house Glovere maintained for her. Naturally, I told her that I was disappointed with the King’s verdict over the burning of her tenants’ houses, and we started to argue.’

‘Glovere took part in the disagreement, even though it was none of his affair,’ elaborated Ralph. ‘He became abusive, and claimed that my Lord Bishop was the kind of man to father children and then abandon the mothers.’

‘Really,’ said Michael flatly. He kept his voice neutral, as though he did not know for a fact that the Bishop had indeed fathered children, and that Michael and Bartholomew had encountered one of them fairly recently.

‘I wonder what gave him that impression.’

‘The monks were appalled, both by the foulness of Glovere’s language and by his unfounded accusations,’ continued Ralph hotly, outraged on de Lisle’s behalf. ‘The only way my Bishop could shut him up was to threaten him with dire consequences if he did not.’

‘So, the entire priory heard you promising him harm,’ mused Michael, regarding the prelate gloomily. ‘This is not looking good at all.’

‘Even the most dim-witted Benedictine must have seen that the threat was made purely to silence him,’ said de Lisle testily. ‘No sane person could imagine it was issued in earnest.’

‘It is not the dim-witted and the sane I am worried about,’ said Michael. ‘It is the sharp-witted and the insane, who may well use this nasty little incident against you. Not all the monks here like you, and one may well have capitalised on the enmity between you and Blanche to have you accused of this crime.’

‘If it is a crime,’ suggested Bartholomew tentatively. ‘Ralph said that Glovere had simply fallen in the river. If that is true, then any threats to kill him are irrelevant.’