Reaching Augustus's little chamber, he opened the door, and stopped dead.
Aelfrith, his back to Bartholomew, was squatting in the middle of the floor, vigorously scratching at the floorboards by the light of a single candle. Augustus's body lay next to him in a tangle of bedclothes and strewn pieces of parchment. In the dim light, Bartholomew could see that, here and there, parts of the plaster covering the walls had been chipped away.
Bartholomew took a step backwards, but shock made his movements clumsy, and he bumped into the door. Aelfrith jumped to his feet, spinning round to face him. Bartholomew was only aware of his dark robes, and the light was too weak to allow him to make out any expression on the face, enveloped as it was in a deep hood.
'Aelfrith!' Bartholomew exclaimed in a horrified whisper. 'What are you doing?'
Aelfrith turned to point at something, and then, before Bartholomew had time to react, dived forward, slamming him backwards into the door. Bartholomew felt all the breath rush out of him, and scrabbled at the billowing robes ineffectually as Aelfrith grabbed a handful of his hair. Bartholomew, numb with disbelief, saw the silhouette of something sharp in Aelfrith's free hand. The sight of it jolted him out of his shock, and he twisted out of Aelfrith's grip so that the knife screeched harmlessly against the wall.
Bartholomew grasped the hand holding the knife, and, for a few seconds, the struggle was at a stalemate.
Then Aelfrith, perhaps made strong by panic, gave an almighty heave that sent Bartholomew sprawling backwards down the stairs. For a few moments, Bartholomew's world spun in all directions, until a sharp ache from a knee twisted in the fall brought everything back into focus. He was dimly aware of footsteps, although he had no idea from where they came. He picked himself up slowly, wincing at the pain in his leg. His fall had wedged him against the door, and so Aelfrith could not have left the building.
Cautiously, he hobbled up the stairs with as much silence as he could manage. The door to Augustus's room was still open, and the body still lay on the floor entangled in the blankets. Beyond, the door to the commoners' room was also ajar. Bartholomew swallowed, and began to inch forward. Aelfrith had to be in the commoners' room: there was no way out of this part of the building other than the door against which Bartholomew had fallen. He pushed the commoners' door so that it lay flat against the wall, and edged his way along it.
The commoners' room was lighter than Augustus's, because all the shutters had been thrown open to keep the room cool through the summer night. The commoners slept on pallets, simple mattresses of straw, that could be piled up on top of each other during the day to make more room. Bartholomew could see that all the commoners were there, and all asleep. He could see enough of their faces or bodies to know that none of them was Aelfrith, and there were no alcoves or garderobes in which to hide. Aelfrith was not there.
He backed out, and went to Augustus's room. He was totally mystified. There was nowhere for Aelfrith to hide, and he could not have left the building without passing Bartholomew on the stairs. Bartholomew leaned against the wall. Now that the first danger appeared to be over, he was beginning to shake with the shock, and his knee ached viciously. Legs trembling, he sank down onto the bed.
His heart leapt into his mouth as Augustus gave a long, low groan. Bartholomew stared at the body in horror.
With a shaking hand, he reached out slowly, and grasped the bedcovers that had wrapped themselves around the corpse, easing them off the face.
He recoiled in confusion as the unmistakable bristly tonsure of Aelfrith emerged from under the tangle of blankets. For a few seconds, Bartholomew sat stupefied, just staring at the inert form on the floor. If this was Aelfrith, who was the man who had attacked him? And more to the point, where was Augustus? He crouched down beside the man on the floor. Gently, he eased him onto his side, noting the deep gash on the side of his head.
Aelfrith's eyes fluttered open, and Bartholomew helped him to a sitting position. For a few minutes, all Aelfrith did was to hold his head in his hands and moan. Bartholomew limped to the table, and soaked a napkin in water from the nightstand to press against the swelling. Eventually, Aelfrith squinted up at him.
'What happened?' he croaked.
Bartholomew stared at him, trying to make sense out of the happenings of the last few minutes. 'You tell me,' he said finally, easing himself back down onto the bed. 'Where is Augustus?'
Aelfrith turned his head sharply to look at the bed, wincing at the quickness of the movement. He gazed at the empty bed, and then peered underneath it. He looked back at Bartholomew, his eyes wide with shock.
'Where is Augustus?' he repeated.
Bartholomew watched as Aelfrith hauled himself to his feet and threw open the shutters. Both men looked around the small room in the better light. It was a mess.
Augustus's few possessions had been scattered, his spare clothes pulled from the shelf and hurled to the ground, and a small box on the table ransacked so that odd bits of parchment lay everywhere. Bartholomew recalled that his attacker had been doing something in the middle of the floor, and leaned forward to see that the floorboards had been prised up in places. The sharp knife that had almost been the end of Bartholomew had evidently been used to scratch loose plaster from the walls, for small piles of dust and rubble lay all around the room.
'Tell me what happened,' said Bartholomew.
Aelfrith shook his head, and sank down onto the bed next to him. "I do not know. I was kneeling, facing the crucifix next to the window, when I heard a sound.
I thought it might be Brother Paul; he has taken a turn for the worse recently, so I went to make sure he was sleeping. He was curled up under his blanket fast asleep, so I came back here. I knelt down again, and that is all I can remember. The next thing I knew was that you were helping me up from the floor, and that Augustus was gone.' He turned suddenly, and gripped Bartholomew's arm. 'Matthew, are you sure that Augustus was…' he faltered.
Bartholomew nodded, remembering the extensive examination he had made. Not only was Augustus dead, but rigor mortis had begun to set in, and no drugs or poisons, however sophisticated, could mimic that.
'But who would do this?' Aelfrith blurted out. 'What could anyone want to gain from poor old Augustus? And where is the man who attacked me?'
Bartholomew leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He thought about Augustus's previous claims and the burnt bed; about the unexpected death of Sir John; about Brother Michael's strange behaviour; and about the other Fellows' reactions — Wilson's lack of emotion when told that Augustus was dead, Swynford's dismissal of Augustus as a senile old man, and even Aelfrith's expressionless acceptance.
He began to feel sick in the pit of his stomach. All his suspicions of the night before came clamouring back to him. There were too many questions, and too many unexplained details. Suddenly, he had no doubts about the validity of Augustus's statements, and that, because of them, someone had wanted him out of the way. But who?
And why? And even more urgent, where was Augustus's body? Why would anyone want to remove the body of an old man? 'Matthew?' Bartholomew opened his eyes. Father Aelfrith's austere face was regarding him sombrely, his normally neat grey hair sticking up in all directions around his tonsure. 'Look in the commoners' room to see if Augustus was moved there, then look down the stairs…'
Bartholomew sighed. 'Whoever attacked you also attacked me. I was knocked down the stairs, and I know Augustus is not there. I looked in the commoners' room and know that he is not there either. We will check again together, but whoever attacked us also seems to have taken Augustus.'