‘He died two weeks ago,’ said Michael, standing well back with a pomander pressed tightly against his nose. ‘Natural causes, you said. A quinsy.’
‘That is what Rougham told me. Goldynham was not my patient, so I cannot confirm it, but there is no reason to doubt the diagnosis. Quinsy is often fatal in the elderly.’
‘I cannot say I took to Refham and his wife,’ burbled the monk, hoping to take his mind off what was happening in the parish coffin. It did not work. ‘Lord, Matt! Is that really necessary? Perhaps Heltisle has a point when he claims you are overly interested in anatomy.’
Bartholomew glanced up at him. ‘Of course I am interested in anatomy – so is any physician with a desire to understand the human body. And yes, it is necessary to look down Goldynham’s throat if you want me to see whether he died of a quinsy. How else am I to do it?’
Michael did not rise to the challenge, and resumed his analysis of the Refhams instead. ‘I will not let my dislike interfere with us buying their property, but I shall not enjoy dealing with them.’
‘Really? I would have thought you would relish the opportunity to pit your wits against theirs – to find loopholes in the law that will see them the poorer.’
Michael’s eyes gleamed. ‘That is true – it will be fun to wipe those smug smiles from their faces with a bit of cunning. Have you finished now? Thank God! So what can you tell me? Is Goldynham mutilated? You said not earlier, but that was before you had a chance to assess him properly.’
‘There are marks to suggest he was handled roughly, but I imagine that was because the culprit was hurrying, not wanting to be caught.’
Michael pointed. ‘His rings are still on his fingers, so the thief did not benefit from his crime before Eyton arrived. All his hard work was for nothing.’
Bartholomew was not so sure. ‘The body was pulled right out of the ground, and it was buried deep, so that cannot have been an easy task to accomplish. It was the same with Margery. Why, when it would have been quicker to remove any jewellery in situ?’
Michael narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you saying? That the purpose of this atrocity was not theft?’
Bartholomew looked away. ‘We know corpses sometimes play a role in satanic rituals, so perhaps the Sorcerer is to blame. I know you just announced publicly that he is not, but you may be wrong.’
‘I cannot be wrong,’ argued Michael. ‘You have just told me nothing is missing. And do not say the culprit was disturbed before he could make off with anything, because no one disturbed him when he was with Margery, and nothing was missing from her, either.’
‘When she was defiled, you proposed that it might be the act of pulling a corpse into the open that is significant. Or perhaps the culprit needed soil from beneath a body for some specific ritual. I am afraid you will have to ask someone who knows about this sort of thing, because contrary to popular opinion, I do not. However, I shall be surprised if the culprit’s motive was not witchcraft.’
‘Damn!’ breathed Michael. ‘And your suggestion makes sense, of course, given the other odd things that have been happening. All anyone talks about is this wretched Sorcerer, so it probably is unreasonable to hope there is no connection between despoiled graves and a powerful warlock. We must discover his identity before he or his minions dig up anyone else.’
‘I would rather concentrate on catching Carton’s killer.’
‘I am beginning to think that once we have the Sorcerer, we may have the killer, too. After all, Carton spoke out against him, and now he is dead. Can we go home now? I do not like it here.’
Bartholomew rinsed his hands in a bucket of water that had been left in the porch, and followed the monk outside. He felt soiled all over, and could not shake the conviction that Goldynham would have deplored what he had just done. When Cynric slammed the door closed behind them, he almost jumped out of his skin. They began to walk through the churchyard, but stopped when they saw Eyton kneeling by the open grave. The priest grinned in a friendly manner.
‘I am just performing an exorcism,’ he said, sounding as though he was thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘But do not worry about me – I am quite safe. I am wearing three amulets around my neck.’
‘We are not worried,’ replied Michael ambiguously. He turned to Bartholomew. ‘His antics can do no harm, given that there is no one here to see him. Let him stay, if dark graveyards at the witching hour are the kinds of places he likes. We are going home.’
‘Good,’ said Bartholomew, not sure Michael was right about the priest being alone. He was sure someone was lurking in the trees at the back of the cemetery. While Michael briefed Beadle Meadowman about keeping ghoulish spectators away, he went to look, but there was no one there. However, the leaves rustled gently, even though there was no breeze.
He shivered, and went to rejoin the monk.
Chapter 6
There were two new cases of the flux that night, and Bartholomew trudged wearily from the castle as the night-watch called three o’clock, grateful it was half-term and there would be no teaching the following day. He could not quite bring himself to be grateful for the fact that there were no students to hound him with questions, though, because he missed their lively curiosity. In fact, he missed it enough to find he was in no hurry to return home, and decided to visit Mother Valeria instead. He was due to inspect her knee that day anyway, and to see her now would save him a walk later.
‘It will leave more time for finding out who stabbed Carton,’ he explained to Cynric, who had accompanied him on the grounds that he might need protection from restless corpses.
‘But Mother Valeria is a witch,’ the book-bearer pointed out uneasily. ‘A real one, not some sham pedlar of ineffective spells. You should not associate with her.’
‘You do – you bought one of her bat-eye charms,’ remarked Bartholomew, remembering it was in his bag. He still had the one to guard against wolves, too, and reminded himself again to throw them away later, when Cynric was not looking. It would not do for anyone to find them.
‘That is different,’ said the book-bearer in a tone of voice that told the physician disagreement was futile. ‘I went for a purpose, I paid my money, and I left when she gave me what I went for. You, on the other hand, talk to her and ask her questions. You fraternise.’
‘I ask after her health. I cannot help her unless I know how she feels.’
Cynric shot him the kind of glance that said he was not believed. ‘I had better get you another charm, then – one against witches.’
‘That might be difficult. Witches are unlikely to sell something that works against themselves.’
Cynric regarded him scornfully. ‘You get that kind from priests, boy, not witches. I will buy one from Eyton if he has any left – the rise of the Sorcerer means there has been a bit of a run on them lately. His are better than the rest, because he is generous with the holy water.’
‘Have you returned that witchcraft guide yet?’ asked Bartholomew, not liking to think of Cynric adding yet more to his already extensive body of knowledge on the subject.
‘I will do it this morning. I have finished with it anyway. It was interesting, but did not tell me much I did not know – except that June is an auspicious time for warlocks. As I said, it is why the Sorcerer is making his stand now.’
‘Yes,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘Here is Valeria’s lane.’
‘I am not going down there,’ said Cynric firmly. ‘I will do a good deal for you, as you know, but hobnobbing with powerful and dangerous witches is not one of them. I will see you later.’