A Summer of Discontent

‘We have helped you all we can, Brother,’ began Henry, offended.

‘Yes,’ said Michael, turning to smile at him. ‘You have been both helpful and encouraging. But not everyone is as public spirited. Sub-prior Thomas is one such example.’

‘Me?’ asked Thomas, surprised to be singled out for such an accusation. ‘I have not been obstructive. Indeed, I have taken some pains not to come anywhere near you.’

‘I can well imagine why,’ said Michael. ‘There is clearly a great deal that you do not want me to know.’

‘Such as what?’ demanded Thomas, peevishness creeping into his voice. Michael’s accusations were not disturbing enough to put him off his food, however; his jaws did not stop working for an instant.

‘Such as what that person in the orchard gave you last night,’ snapped Michael. ‘And do not tell me false stories about alms for the poor. You carried no bread with you, and you were the recipient — not the giver — of a small white package.’

Thomas cast an agitated glance at the Prior. ‘I do not see that it is Brother Michael’s business to interrogate me,’ he began.

‘No, it is not,’ agreed Alan, regarding his sub-prior uneasily. ‘But these are unusual times, and something peculiar is happening. The Bishop is obliged to remain in Ely until this murder charge is resolved, and I would just as soon he resumed his travels. Therefore, you will answer Michael’s questions, so that we can be done with this business and be back to normal.’

‘But my actions have nothing to do with the Bishop’s affairs,’ protested Thomas. His face was now white, and his breakfast forgotten. ‘You should ask others, not me.’

‘Such as whom?’ demanded Michael.

Thomas licked nervous lips, aware that the refectory was silent and that everyone was listening to what he had to say. ‘I did not mean … I did not-’

‘No lies,’ snapped Michael impatiently. ‘What did you mean when you said we should ask others? What others? What do you know that you have not told me?’

Thomas was growing increasingly flummoxed, and his jowls were trembling and twitching in agitation. He ran a thick finger around the neckline of his habit, as if it were suddenly too tight. Bartholomew exchanged a quick glance of concern with Henry, aware that a grossly fat man like Thomas was the kind of person who might have a seizure if stressed too severely. ‘It was a slip of the tongue. I will make no accusations against my fellow brethren-’

‘They would doubtless make accusations against you,’ warned Michael, giving the dark-faced Robert a sour glance. ‘And I will learn what I want to know sooner or later anyway — with or without your help. But it will be quicker and easier if you are honest with me now.’

‘I have instructed you to be of assistance to Michael,’ said Alan, fixing his stern gaze on the hapless sub-prior. ‘You will answer his questions. Who should he ask for information about this matter?’

‘I do not know for certain,’ said Thomas in a voice that was suddenly frail and breathless. He pulled at his habit again and swallowed hard, as though his throat was bothering him. ‘I am basing what I say on speculation and rumour, but William has been regularly missing his offices for the past two weeks or so.’

‘Two weeks ago,’ mused Michael. ‘That is about the time when the first murder took place.’

Thomas gave a sickly, ingratiating smile. ‘That is the connection I made, too. He has also been drawing heavily on priory funds. In fact, he has taken more in the last eighteen days than he has spent in the rest of the year put together.’

‘Has he really?’ asked Robert with unconcealed glee. ‘He has been dogging my every move recently, trying to assemble “proof” that I have not been distributing our alms to the poor. Now we learn that the hypocrite has been stealing priory money for himself!’

‘We have learned no such thing,’ said Henry sternly, unimpressed by the way the almoner was so ready to believe the worst in people. ‘We have been told that he has drawn on the hosteller’s fund recently, but that is easily explained. Blanche is here: it is expensive to house her and her retinue, so of course he drew moneys to meet the costs.’

‘William is not a thief,’ said Alan. ‘Self-righteous and irritating, yes; but dishonest, no.’

‘The evidence speaks for itself,’ said Robert smugly, sitting back and resting his swarthy hands across his paunch.

‘How much has he had?’ asked Henry reasonably. ‘The amount will tell us whether he wanted this gold for funding Blanche’s stay, or for other purposes.’

‘About ten marks,’ said Thomas unsteadily.

‘Ten marks?’ squeaked Alan in alarm. ‘But that is a fortune! What has he been doing with it? And why did you not tell me this before?’

‘Because, as hosteller, he is entitled to draw twelve marks a year,’ said Thomas hoarsely. ‘He has not actually done anything wrong — at least, as far as I know.’

‘Where is he?’ asked Alan, looking around the table, as if he expected William to be sitting in someone else’s place. ‘Why is he not here?’