A Summer of Discontent

Within a few moments, Agnes Fitzpayne emerged from the Prior’s solar and stood speaking with Alan outside. Immediately, Symon left his hiding place and walked towards them, his casual saunter making it appear as though he had just happened to be passing. Bartholomew eased a little closer, so that he could hear what was being said.

‘Good evening, Mistress Fitzpayne,’ said Symon pleasantly. ‘What brings you here?’

‘I came to warn Prior Alan that some misguided people intend to break into the priory and rob it tonight,’ she replied. ‘They will be looking for gold and silver. I suggested that everything of value should be locked somewhere safe.’

‘This is grave news,’ said Symon, sounding concerned. ‘But it was good of you to warn us.’ He turned to Alan. ‘I am sure her fears are valid, Father, because a number of houses have been burgled recently. We should secure all our treasure in a place they will not think to look.’

‘But where?’ asked Alan worriedly. ‘My chapel is the obvious place, but there are no good locks on the doors — and I do not want to be responsible for the violent fight between monks and thieves that will surely ensue if I leave guards with it.’

‘I quite agree,’ said Symon, rather too quickly. ‘Bloodshed must be avoided at all costs.’

‘I would rather we just put the treasure somewhere they will not think of looking,’ Alan went on. ‘It would avoid a lot of unpleasantness — I have no grudge against desperate people, and do not want to antagonise our peasants by being forced to hang the leaders of this silly rebellion.’

‘What about the library?’ suggested Symon, as if the idea had just occurred to him. ‘It has strong locks, and only you and I have the keys.’

Alan’s worry evaporated. ‘That is an excellent idea! No one would ever think of raiding the library. We shall leave one or two paltry items lying around to pacify these thieves, so they will leave peacefully, but the valuable items we shall hide away.’

‘Good,’ said Symon, sounding pleased. ‘I shall make an immediate start in moving it.’

‘I will see Mistress Fitzpayne safely to the gate, then come to help you,’ said Alan. ‘It is best that only you and I know about this if we want to avoid trouble.’

Symon bowed to his Prior, then headed for the chapel. Alan offered his arm to Agnes and walked away with her.

‘Shall I fetch Brother Michael?’ came a low voice at Bartholomew’s elbow. The physician jumped in alarm, horrified that Cynric could sneak up behind him and take him unawares when he thought he was being watchful. He nodded, and the Welshman disappeared silently into the darkness.

Meanwhile, Symon emerged from the Prior’s chapel staggering under a substantial armful of silver candlesticks, jewelled patens and heavy gold crosses. The moonlight illuminated him quite clearly, almost as clearly as if it were day. He could barely walk, but somehow managed to reach the library without dropping anything. Bartholomew followed cautiously, aware that he was not the only one dogging Symon’s footsteps: Leycestre and his nephews had also left their hiding places, and intercepted the librarian near the infirmary. Fortunately, they were too intent on the treasure they anticipated would soon be theirs to notice Bartholomew behind them.

While the thieves made their way around the east end of the hospital to reach the library door via the cemetery, the physician ducked into the Dark Cloister and trotted quickly through the infirmary hall, aiming to slip through the back door, where he could creep through the bushes without being seen. The old men were dozing, but Henry watched his antics in bemusement.

‘What are you doing?’ he whispered, so as not to disturb his sleeping patients.

‘Leycestre and his nephews are about to make off with the priory’s silver,’ Bartholomew explained, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Symon is helping them.’

‘Symon?’ whispered Henry, aghast. ‘You are mistaken!’

‘Come and see for yourself,’ Bartholomew invited. ‘There is no mistake.’

Henry followed him through the rear door, then through the undergrowth that extended as far as the library entrance — near where Tysilia had met William. The infirmarian said nothing, but Bartholomew sensed his unease and distaste at what they were doing. Obviously Henry had not had much cause in the past to scramble among bushes in the dark to spy on his colleagues.

‘Give it to me now,’ Leycestre was saying to Symon. ‘There is no point in taking it all up the stairs, only to carry it down again later.’

‘True,’ agreed Symon. ‘But take half: I will have to put some in the library, or Alan will wonder what I am doing with it.’

There were clanks as the treasure exchanged hands, and moments later one of the nephews could be seen running away with it, aiming for the vineyard.

‘I do not believe this,’ whispered Henry, his voice cracked with distress. ‘That is Symon, and I have just seen him pass the Lancaster Chalice — one of our most prized possessions — to Leycestre’s nephew!’