A Summer of Discontent

‘He did,’ said Michael tiredly. ‘He knows perfectly well that telling Alan about this will do no good, because Alan will never believe anything unpleasant about any of his officers. He will no more accept that Robert is stealing the alms for the poor than he would accept that William is a sly power-monger who wants to be Prior himself, or that Thomas is an illiterate dictator who has no business being in charge of novices. William’s anger was not directed at me — but at his frustration with Alan.’

‘William is not a bad man,’ said Bartholomew, leaning on the windowsill to watch the hosteller storm towards the cathedral. It seemed Michael had predicted correctly, because William was not going immediately to the Prior’s House as he had threatened. ‘He is not someone I would choose as a friend, but he has compassion, and he is able to see beyond his own selfish interests — which is more than I can say for most of your brethren.’

‘Except Henry, of course.’

‘Even Henry has his moments. He is a kind man and a decent physician, but there is a core of arrogance in him that means he is unable to accept that he is occasionally wrong.’

‘I suppose you have been enlightening him with some of your controversial theories. You cannot say people are arrogant, Matt, just because they are not prepared to abandon their years of experience and learning to embrace your novel, and sometimes peculiar, ideas.’

‘You should know me better than that,’ said Bartholomew, a little offended. ‘My assessment of Henry has nothing to do with the fact that we disagree about many fundamental aspects of medicine. He thinks his gentleness and compassion will eventually rub off on Julian — but he is overestimating his ability to influence people. He could keep company with Julian for a lifetime and it would make no difference. The boy is irredeemable.’

‘You cannot criticise Henry for trying, though,’ Michael pointed out reasonably.

‘I am not. I am merely giving you an example of his arrogance in predicting that he will bring about a favourable outcome. Another example would be his assumption that he is a superb physician because dozens of people come to seek his medical advice each day. The reality is that he has lots of patients because he is the only physician available. His expertise, skill or even his success rates have nothing to do with it.’

Michael gave him a sidelong glance. ‘I do not think this priory is a good place for you, Matt. You are already losing your powers of judgement. You see goodness in the reprehensible William and imagine faults in poor, dear Henry.’

‘What shall we do about Symon?’ Bartholomew asked, seeing that he and Michael were unlikely to agree and changing the subject. ‘Has he left the city, do you think? Just to avoid lending me a book?’

‘There is one more place we can look, although it is not somewhere I would linger, personally.’

‘Where?’

‘The latrines,’ said Michael. ‘Perhaps Symon has taken one of his books and is spending the afternoon in a place where he can be guaranteed solitude.’

Chapter 5

Michael was right: Symon had secured himself in one of the wooden cubicles that formed the priory’s latrines. He claimed he had only just arrived, but Julian, who happened to be passing, announced with malicious glee that he had seen the librarian entering the place long before terce. Symon was slightly green around the gills, indicating that Julian was probably telling the truth, and that the librarian had indeed been hiding for several hours. Bartholomew thought the state of the library must be dire indeed to induce the man to resort to such extreme measures.

As it transpired, it was all Bartholomew could do not to exclaim aloud in horror when he entered the library and saw the careless stacks of texts, placed where leaks from the window would surely damage the parchment, and the overloaded shelves that were thick with dust and neglect. Some shelves had collapsed under the weight, precipitating their contents on to the floor in chaotic mounds, while fragments of parchment scattered everywhere suggested that mice were allowed to enjoy the abused volumes, even if scholars were not. Books were precious and expensive, and how anyone could violate one was completely beyond the physician; it was beyond Michael, too: he surveyed the scene with large round eyes, then left without a word.

Symon’s unique way of arranging the books with no regard for their content meant that medical texts rubbed shoulders with Arabic lexicons, and religious tracts were liberally sprinkled among collections of wills. Books with soft leather covers or scrolls, which did not stand neatly on shelves, were relegated to the floor, where they stood in unsteady, top-heavy pillars. Triumphantly Symon produced a copy of Theophilus’s De Urinis, which chance had placed on the top of one of his unstable piles, and then quickly slunk away before Bartholomew could ask him to find anything else.