‘Did the two of us storm the church and attempt to tackle fifty cloaked satanists? No, Father, we did not. They were not doing anything terrible, anyway – just chanting spells they hoped would cure Margery Sewale. It was all rather sad, actually; most were in tears. She was a popular lady.’
‘But you saw the Sorcerer?’ asked Michael eagerly. ‘Can you describe him?’
‘Not really.’ Wynewyk looked apologetic. ‘He kept his face hidden. He was taller than average, and looked bulky, although that could have been because of his cloak. And his Latin was dismal.’
‘I am going to bring him down,’ vowed William. His eyes were fierce, and his jaw set in a determined line that said he meant it. ‘Mildenale and I will see this heretic–’
‘Item three on the agenda,’ interrupted Langelee briskly. ‘We have already dealt with Carton and the houses. All that remains is the Bishop. Have you heard from him, Brother?’
Michael looked pained. ‘He has not written to me since he left England last year.’
‘I can tell you about the evil de Lisle,’ said William viciously. The Bishop was a Dominican, so naturally William did not like him. ‘He has been indicted for sixteen separate crimes, which include murder, extortion, abduction, assault and theft. But he fled overseas before the King could find him guilty and seize all his assets.’
‘You should learn the facts before you make that sort of statement,’ said Michael coldly. ‘My Bishop did not commit those crimes – they were perpetrated by men in his retinue, and he cannot be held responsible for what stewards, reeves and bailiffs do.’
‘Actually, he can,’ countered Langelee. ‘When I committed crimes for the Archbishop of York, he would have been held accountable, had I been caught. Fortunately, I never was. De Lisle, however, hires inferior men to do his work, and now he must bear the consequences.’
His Fellows regarded him uneasily. None were comfortable when their Master confided details of his colourful former life.
‘Well, I am glad you did not break the law for de Lisle, Brother,’ said Suttone after a brief but awkward silence. ‘Or you might be languishing in prison, like his other spies.’
‘I am not his spy,’ objected Michael. ‘I am his agent. And all I do is furnish him with news about the University. It is part of his See, so of course he should be kept informed of what is happening.’
‘Well, whatever the truth, we do not need to worry about him any more,’ said Langelee. ‘I have it on good authority that he will never come home. The King is too angry with him, and his fellow bishops do not want him as their friend. He is an outcast.’
Suttone was shocked. ‘But what will happen to his See?’
‘He has able deputies for that,’ said Wynewyk. ‘Priests – not the reeves and bailiffs who race around setting houses alight and stealing cattle. There is nothing wrong with the way he manages the episcopal side of things – he is just a bit of a brute when it comes to secular business.’
Michael sighed wearily. ‘De Lisle is not a criminal–’
‘You should keep that opinion to yourself,’ advised Langelee. ‘It is unwise to side with a man who is ostracised by the King. Futile, too, because de Lisle will never be in a position to reciprocate.’
‘The Master is right,’ said Wynewyk. ‘Remember how the Bishop was accused of murdering one of Lady Blanche de Wake’s servants some years back? Well, Blanche is the King’s cousin, and His Majesty still holds the incident against him.’
‘Lord!’ exclaimed Bartholomew, regarding the monk in alarm. ‘I had forgotten all about that. You asked him openly about his involvement in the killing, but he never did give you a straight answer.’
‘That does not mean he is guilty,’ persisted Michael stubbornly.
‘Dozens of people have presented the King with evidence of de Lisle’s misdeeds,’ said Wynewyk. ‘And while I appreciate that some may have done it out of spite, they cannot all be lying. Incidentally, did you know that Spynk is one of them? So was Danyell.’
Langelee shook his head in disgust. ‘Prelates are always short of money, and it is common practice to raise revenues by theft, extortion, blackmail and abduction. But the real crime here is that de Lisle let himself be caught. The man is a damned fool! I only hope it does not result in other high-ranking churchmen being forced to answer for their actions.’
‘The things you say, Master,’ said Suttone, regarding Langelee with round eyes. Bartholomew suspected he expressed what all the Fellows were thinking, even William. Everyone was relieved when a knock on the door brought a merciful end to the discussion. It was Cynric, with Beadle Meadowman at his heels; Meadowman was one of the army of men Michael employed to help him keep order among the scholars. The beadle pushed past Cynric, and made directly for Michael, bending to whisper in his ear. Bartholomew’s heart sank. He could tell from the man’s pale face and agitated manner that he had something unpleasant to report.
‘There has been another one,’ said Michael in a low voice, looking sombrely at his colleagues. ‘I am summoned by Master Heltisle and Eyton the vicar. A second corpse has been removed from its grave, this time in St Bene’t’s churchyard.’
Bartholomew knew he was dragging his heels as he followed Michael and Cynric along the High Street towards St Bene’t’s Church, but he could not help it. Images of Margery Sewale’s body kept flashing in his mind, and he did not want to see another like it. As the University’s Corpse Examiner, he had seen more than his share of the dead, and had grown inured to such sights over the years. But there was something about exhumations that bothered him profoundly.
‘Superstition,’ said Michael dismissively, when the physician tried to explain his misgivings – his sense that he was being watched by the disapproving dead. ‘I am surprised at you, Matt. You are a man of learning, and your scientific mind should reject such notions for the rubbish they are. Of course the souls of these poor cadavers will not be paying attention to you; they will be in Heaven, Hell or Purgatory, depending on how they fared when they were weighed.’
‘I know,’ said Bartholomew tiredly, realising he should not have expected the monk to understand. ‘But that does not stop me feeling uneasy about it. And seeing Margery like that …’
‘Margery was your patient, and you had known her for years,’ said Michael, his voice a little kinder. ‘Of course you disliked seeing her out of her grave. But none of your patients are buried in St Bene’t’s churchyard, so you are unlikely to know the victim this time.’
‘That cemetery is used by the scholars of Bene’t College, members of the Guild of Corpus Christi, and the people who live nearby. I have a lot of patients buried there.’
‘Lower your voice,’ advised Michael dryly. ‘That is not a good thing for a physician to be yelling – it may make your surviving clients nervous.’
‘It is not a joke, Michael,’ snapped Bartholomew, beginning to wishing he had not started the discussion.
‘It is, if you start thinking these ravaged corpses might take umbrage at you for doing your job. You sound like Cynric, man. Pull yourself together!’
Bartholomew glanced behind him, to where his book-bearer was walking with Meadowman. There was no real need for Cynric to have accompanied them, but the Welshman enjoyed being out at night and had insisted on coming. Bartholomew was glad he had, and found comfort in the knowledge that Cynric’s sword was to hand, should there be trouble. He tried to ignore his sense of foreboding, and think about the monk’s investigations instead.
‘I did not have time to give you this earlier,’ he said, removing the talisman from his bag. ‘It was found in Barnwell’s chapel. Norton says it belongs either to Carton or his killer.’