A Summer of Discontent

‘I know him!’ exclaimed Bartholomew, as a slightly hunched figure dismounted carefully from a donkey and brushed himself down fastidiously. When he took the cup of wine that was offered by the ever-ready Robert, he sniffed suspiciously at it and then wiped the rim with his sleeve before deigning to put it to his lips. ‘He was at St John’s Hospital in Cambridge when I was last there. He asked me if there was any hope of discovering a cure for death.’

Michael chuckled. ‘That is Roger de Northburgh, Bishop of Coventry and Lichfield — the man Prior Alan has appointed to investigate the charges against de Lisle. And you see that fellow behind him, with his hair cut like a mercenary and the face of an ape? That is Canon Stretton, whom Blanche has chosen as her agent.’

‘I know appearances may be deceptive,’ mused Bartholomew, regarding the canon’s pugilistic features uncertainly, ‘but Stretton does not look very astute to me.’

‘Look,’ said Michael gleefully, pointing as Alan and de Lisle emerged from the Prior’s house and Blanche strode purposefully from the direction of the Outer Hostry, all coming to greet the new arrivals. ‘And listen. This should be entertaining, just as long as I am not seen and dragged into it.’

He pulled Bartholomew behind a buttress at the sacristy, and proceeded to observe the meeting of the protagonists with unconcealed merriment.

‘Bishop Northburgh,’ said Alan formally, his voice carrying across the yard. ‘Welcome to our cathedral priory. I have asked you to come because a grave charge has been laid against Thomas de Lisle, and you were the closest prelate to hand. I hope my summons has not inconvenienced you.’

‘It has, actually,’ replied Northburgh peevishly. ‘The priests at St John’s Hospital were treating me for a debilitating disease.’

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ said Alan, sounding genuinely concerned. ‘But we have an excellent infirmary here, should you need our medical services.’

‘Oh, I shall,’ vowed Northburgh, making it sound like a threat. ‘I am a dying man. My heart beats quickly if I exert myself, my limbs are not strong, and my hair is brittle and dry.’

‘That sounds serious,’ said Alan sympathetically.

‘It sounds like old age,’ remarked Bartholomew to Michael. ‘You said he is ninety, but he looks much younger. For his years, he appears to be in excellent health.’

Michael nodded. ‘It is said that he has never had a moment of genuine illness in his life, although he has enjoyed a good many imagined ones.’

Northburgh had moved away from Alan and was gazing at de Lisle. ‘So, Ely,’ he said, looking his fellow Bishop up and down contemptuously. ‘I am informed that Lady Blanche de Wake thinks you killed her servant. Did you?’

‘Of course not,’ snapped de Lisle, treating Blanche to a hostile glower. ‘She is deranged if she imagines me to be the kind of man to commit so base a crime as murder.’

‘That was badly worded,’ muttered Bartholomew to Michael. ‘It sounds as though he is quite happy to commit crimes that he does not consider to be base.’

Blanche bristled with indignation, heaving her skirts up under her mighty bosom, as if girding herself for a fight. But before she could begin what promised to be an entertaining verbal assault on the haughty Bishop, Northburgh turned to her.

‘There you have it, madam. Ely tells me he is innocent of this crime. The matter is resolved.’

Even Michael was startled by this assertion, and the wind was taken out of Blanche’s outraged sails in an instant.

‘Is that it?’ she asked, aghast. ‘That one question is the full extent of your investigation?’

‘That one question is all I have been charged to find an answer to,’ retorted Northburgh briskly. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I must visit the infirmary. I am a sick man, and it is not good for me to stand around for hours in draughty courtyards.’

There was a stunned silence as he stalked away. Even de Lisle seemed unsettled by the brevity of Northburgh’s examination, and Bartholomew saw him looking around, obviously for Michael. The monk eased further into the shadows of the buttress, not wanting to play an active role in the uncomfortable scene that was unravelling in front of them.

‘Well!’ exclaimed Blanche, watching Northburgh stride across the yard with an agility men half his age would envy. ‘I am glad I did not rely on your choice of investigators, Father Prior.’

‘I will have a word with him,’ said Alan nervously. ‘Doubtless he was playing games with us when he claimed he had finished with the matter. Northburgh is noted for his sense of humour.’

Michael snorted with laughter. ‘That is true! He is noted for being completely without one.’

‘It does not matter, actually,’ said Blanche smugly. ‘I have no need of your ailing Bishop to investigate my accusation. As I told you, I invited Canon Stretton to act on my behalf.’ She turned to the hulking figure who stood uncertainly to one side, regarding the proceedings with a puzzled expression on his thick features.