A Summer of Discontent

‘Presumably,’ said Alan dryly. ‘He had orders to do so. But then I learned that he, too, had questions to answer, and so I sent Julian to fetch him back.’

‘I know,’ said Symon, agitation making him verge on the insubordinate. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself and tell his story slowly. ‘I was present when you issued that order. And it occurred to me, as I stood in the library and watched Robert striking out towards the vineyard, that Julian might have missed him, and that he had no idea he was wanted-’

‘I did miss him,’ declared Julian resentfully. ‘I looked everywhere for him and William both. In the heat of the day, too!’

‘Do not interrupt!’ snapped Symon. He turned back to Alan and adopted a less cantankerous tone. ‘When I finished providing Henry with the books he requested, I left the library and went straight away to the vineyard, intending to tell Robert to attend you in your solar with all due haste. Well, almost straight away.’

‘You “provided” me with no books!’ said Henry indignantly. ‘We were obliged to sift through random piles in search for them.’

‘What do you mean by “almost straight away”?’ asked Alan, ignoring Henry.

Symon looked sheepish. ‘Well, I made a detour first. In all the excitement at the refectory that morning, I did not drink sufficient breakfast ale, and it was a hot day. So, I stopped at the kitchens to slake my thirst.’

‘How long?’ demanded Alan, making it clear that he disapproved of this dereliction of duty.

Symon shrugged. ‘I was obliged to pass the time of day with the brewer — it is not polite to down your ale and leave without exchanging pleasantries. Then his assistant arrived …’

‘So you were there for some time,’ surmised Alan heavily. ‘Very well. You eventually prised yourself from the congenial company of the brewer, and you went to the vineyard. Then what happened?’

Symon coughed to hide his embarrassment. ‘Unfortunately, Robert was no longer there.’ He ignored the exasperated sound Alan made and went on. ‘So, I decided I had better expand my search to the Quay.’ He paused, whether for dramatic effect or because he did not know how to continue, Bartholomew could not say.

‘And?’ demanded Alan testily, when the delay stretched to an unreasonable length of time.

‘And I am sickened to say that I found him, but he will not be answering any questions from you or Michael or anyone else — except perhaps God as he knocks on the Gates of Heaven.’

‘What in God’s name are you saying?’ demanded Alan. ‘Where is Robert?’

‘Dead,’ replied Symon. ‘He is floating in the river near the Monks’ Hythe.’

Chapter 7

Once Symon had announced the news that Robert was dead, there was a concerted dash to the hythes. Alan was first, running in a lithe, sprightly manner that did not seem appropriate in a high-ranking cleric. Julian and Symon bounded after him with Henry hurrying at their side, although the older monk soon lagged behind. Michael huffed along with him, sweating and panting in the searing heat of the midday sun. Bartholomew was easily able to keep up with Alan, but was surprised when someone caught up with them and started to pass. It was de Lisle.

‘I heard what happened,’ the Bishop gasped to the Prior, as they sprinted past the castle ruins and Alan grappled with the gate that led through the wall and out on to Broad Lane. ‘Your librarian told me.’

‘He had no right,’ muttered Alan, casting a venomous glance at Symon, who was bending over to try to catch his breath. ‘It is priory business, and not for outsiders to meddle in.’

‘I will not meddle,’ said de Lisle breathlessly. ‘I came to offer support and spiritual guidance, should you need it.’

‘I will not,’ said Alan firmly. ‘And it is better that you are not seen with us. I do not want it said that my priory consorts with killers.’

‘I am not a killer,’ said de Lisle angrily, following him through the gate. ‘I am your Bishop. And anyway, the man you appointed to investigate Glovere’s murder has declared me innocent. You heard him yourself.’

‘Northburgh!’ spat Alan in disgust. ‘I had not realised he had grown so eccentric, or I would never have asked him to come.’

‘Then what about the venerable Canon of Lincoln?’ demanded de Lisle archly. ‘He has also failed to find any evidence of my guilt — and he represents my most bitter enemy.’

‘Stretton is worse than Northburgh,’ snapped Alan. ‘The man could not even name the four gospels last night, yet he hopes to be a prelate one day.’ He pushed past de Lisle and dashed out into Broad Lane. Bartholomew and the Bishop were at his heels, while Michael, Henry and the others followed more sedately.