A Summer of Discontent

Julian was breathless, and his face was flushed with excitement. He faltered when he saw the vast form of Thomas motionless on the bed, and took a sharp intake of breath when he realised why Henry had asked such a question.

‘What happened to him?’ he asked with fiendish fascination. ‘He was fit and hearty the last time I saw him — before I was dispatched like a servant to fetch Robert and William.’

‘The sub-prior was taken ill,’ replied Henry shortly.

‘Oh,’ said Julian, sounding disappointed at such a mundane answer. ‘Is that all? No one tried to kill him? He was not stabbed or struck with some heavy object.’

Henry gazed at him, and Bartholomew saw dislike creep across the infirmarian’s usually placid expression. Julian’s unsavoury interest in the macabre had gone too far.

‘Why should you be interested in such things?’ Henry asked, distaste clear in his voice. ‘Here is a man ill and in need of help that you might be able to provide — I taught you about seizures last week — but you ask about sharp knives and blunt instruments.’

‘Your obsession with weapons and their application is unseemly, Julian,’ reprimanded Alan. ‘I have warned you about your unnatural love of violence before, and if you persist, I shall have no choice but to ask you to leave this priory and make your own way in the world outside.’

‘Then I will join the Knights Hospitallers,’ declared Julian defiantly. With barely concealed loathing he stared at his Prior. ‘They will find a place for a man like me, who is prepared to fight and kill for what he believes.’

‘No!’ cried Henry in alarm, appealing to Alan. ‘Do not let him go to an Order of soldier-monks. He would be uncontrollable, and would commit all manner of atrocities in the name of God. Give me a few more weeks to work with him.’

Alan regarded Julian coldly. ‘You are lucky to have a friend like Henry, although I can see from your sneering that you do not appreciate him. But I sent you to fetch Robert and William some time ago. Where are they? Why have you not carried out my orders?’

‘William has gone!’ said Julian, his voice ringing through the infirmary. Roger and Ynys twisted uneasily in their beds as Julian’s shout penetrated their confused dreams. Meanwhile, Julian’s gloating gaze passed from Alan to Henry, and then to Michael. ‘He is not here.’

‘Do not yell,’ snapped Alan sharply. ‘This is not a tavern. It is a cathedral-priory and a place sacred to God. And what do you mean by “gone”?’

‘He is not in the guest halls, the chapter house or any of the outbuildings,’ said Julian, enunciating each word slowly, as though Alan were a half-wit who needed to be addressed like a child. Bartholomew felt a strong urge to box the lad’s ears, and thought Henry was a saint that he had so far kept his hands to himself. ‘So, I went to see if he was in his cell, but some of his belongings are missing.’

‘You mean someone has stolen them?’ asked Alan in confusion.

‘No, I mean that someone has carefully removed items from his cell — his spare habit and his cloak have gone.’

‘So he has left the priory?’ asked Alan aghast. ‘But how? When?’

Bukton stepped forward and cleared his throat nervously, still holding the mop. ‘I saw Brother William leave the priory near dusk last night, but I assumed he was just taking some short trip on the priory’s behalf. He rode Odin, the black gelding.’

‘He may well have taken a short trip,’ Alan pointed out hopefully. ‘He probably returned later. I want to know where he is now.’

Bukton shook his head. ‘Odin was not in his stall this morning when I fed the other horses. I assumed William had left him somewhere else, or perhaps he had thrown a shoe and was with the blacksmith. But now it seems that Odin’s absence and William’s disappearance are connected.’

‘Did William have any baggage with him when he left?’ asked Michael.

Bukton nodded. ‘Two saddlebags. I thought nothing of it then, but now I see they must have been crammed with his possessions. He has probably taken that ten marks from the hosteller’s fund, too.’

‘He probably has,’ said Alan wearily. ‘It would not be the first time a greedy monk has made off with his priory’s treasure.’

‘But I find it curious that he should choose now to do so,’ said Michael, puzzled. He was about to add something more, when the door opened a second time, and Symon the librarian stood there, his chest heaving from a brisk run and his eyes wild with fright.

‘I have just seen him,’ he babbled. ‘It can only just have happened — we all saw him not long ago.’

‘Who?’ snapped Alan, becoming tired of his monks’ eccentric ways of breaking news. ‘What are you talking about? Take a deep breath and tell us what has happened in a coherent manner. We have had more than enough hysteria for one day: look at what it has done to poor Thomas.’

‘Robert,’ gasped Symon. ‘You sent him to search for William, if you recall. When I was in the library helping Henry, I glanced out of the window and saw him making off towards the vineyards, presumably as part of his hunt.’