‘Lombard slices!’ whooped Michael in delight, making a grab for the plate that was being carried past by a servant. ‘My favourite. How very civilised to serve them for breakfast.’
As it was a Lenten day, meat was forbidden, but there were plenty of alternatives in the form of eggs, cheese, and fish. Bartholomew was somewhat startled to note that there were also kidneys, small balls of spiced minced liver and roasted chicken.
‘Those are not meat,’ explained Michael, his words almost indecipherable through his bulging cheeks. Meals were usually taken in silence, but an exception had been made that day in deference to the presence of the Bishop’s Commissioners.
‘No?’ asked Bartholomew archly. ‘What are they then? Vegetables?’
‘Of course not. What I meant was they are not meat for the purposes of our diet. The Rule of St Benedict prohibits eating the flesh-meat of quadrupeds on Lenten days. Well, chickens are not quadrupeds, and liver and kidneys are not flesh-meat.’
‘I see,’ said Bartholomew, thinking this a rather liberal interpretation. Offal and chicken were meat as far as he was concerned, and the medical authorities he respected would agree. He watched the brethren tuck in. ‘Regardless, it is not healthy to consume so much at breakfast. The Greek physician Galen says–’
‘Galen was a miserable old ascetic who probably lived a long but very unhappy life,’ interrupted Michael, snatching up an egg and inserting it whole into his mouth, as an act of defiance. ‘I would rather die young and happy.’
‘Then you are going the right way about it. You will never be an abbot or a bishop if–’
‘What are you two discussing down there?’ called Prior Yvo affably. The scholars had been allocated places at a table in the body of the hall, but near the dais, a ploy which meant that the obedientiaries loomed over them, symbolically asserting their superiority over mere Bishop’s Commissioners.
‘Spalling has put about a tale that the executed criminal Oxforde gave all his stolen money to the poor,’ replied Clippesby, assuming the remark was addressed to him. He held an enormous grass snake in the air. ‘This gentleman has just told me. It explains why none of his hoard has ever been found. Yet I am scepticaclass="underline" felons are not usually generous.’
There was immediate consternation as the monks, not unreasonably, objected to the presence of a serpent at their breakfast table. Some thought it was an adder and flew into a panic, while others simply did not like creatures that slithered. Clippesby was bewildered by the fuss, as his Michaelhouse colleagues had grown used to him producing animals when the fancy took him, and no longer reacted. Bartholomew watched the commotion thoughtfully, finding the various responses revealing.
Welbyrn and Nonton surged forward with daggers, proclaiming their intention to kill the creature; as monks were supposed to forswear violence, Bartholomew wondered why they had armed themselves, particularly in a refectory. Yvo climbed on the table wailing about the snake crawling up his habit, while Lullington grabbed the sacrist and forcibly placed the man between himself and the source of danger. Appletre and the lesser officials struggled to restore calm, and Henry’s head was bowed in prayer. Meanwhile, Ramseye looked on with an expression that was difficult to gauge.
When Nonton seized Clippesby roughly in his determination to reach the snake, Bartholomew intervened. He helped the Dominican carry the now-agitated reptile outside, aware that Welbyrn and Nonton were watching its release with eagle eyes, no doubt with a view to dispatching it later.
‘It is a good thing he is holy,’ said Yvo, when everyone was back in his place and peace reigned once more. ‘Because otherwise I would have to ask you to find other lodgings.’
‘He is holy,’ asserted William, loath to lose the Benedictines’ luxurious hospitality quite so soon. ‘And his eccentricity is proof of it.’
‘I am not–’ began Clippesby in alarm.
‘There is a barn owl looking for you,’ interrupted William quickly. ‘Outside. You had better go and see what it wants. Hurry now.’
Clippesby regarded him askance. ‘Are you sun-touched, Father? A barn owl would not be looking for me. What a peculiar notion!’
‘Oh,’ said William, painfully aware that he was now the one who looked addled.
‘Not at this time of year and in daylight,’ Clippesby went on, to William’s profound relief. ‘It must have been some other bird. A hawk, perhaps. They often have things to say about excessive gluttony at the breakfast table.’
At an urgent nod from Michael, William took the Dominican’s arm and hustled him away before any other remarks about their hosts’ lifestyle could be made.
‘Your Clippesby is an unusual man,’ said Yvo, pursing his lips as he watched them go. ‘Our own saint-in-the-making – a fellow named Kirwell – does not commune with serpents.’
‘Tell me about the election you plan to hold,’ said Michael, partly for information, but mostly to prevent questions being asked about their colleague that could not truthfully be answered. ‘Why are you determined to do it so quickly?’
‘Because it is not good for an abbey to be without a leader in this day and age,’ replied Yvo. ‘And the sooner I am in office … I mean the sooner we have a replacement, the better.’
‘But why?’ pressed Michael. ‘Some abbeys manage for years without a titular head.’
‘It is a dangerous time for us. Aurifabro is a deadly enemy, while Spalling urges our peasants to rebel. Why do you think Robert told Nonton to recruit the defensores?’
‘Spalling,’ mused Michael. ‘You should not allow him to air such radical views. He will have the whole shire ablaze if he continues unchecked.’
‘He has always held controversial opinions,’ said Yvo unhappily. ‘And we did excommunicate him for them, but the Bishop pardoned him. All was calm for a while, but he started up again when Robert vanished. Unfortunately, I cannot excommunicate him a second time – the Bishop would not like it.’
‘He would not like his diocese inflamed by rebellion either,’ Michael pointed out.
‘That will not happen. Nonton and Welbyrn visit Lincoln a lot, and they say the rest of the See is calm. It is only Peterborough that is unsettled.’
‘Unfortunately, that is untrue. Cambridge is also full of treasonous talk, especially in the taverns after dark. Matt’s book-bearer predicts a national uprising, and I fear he is right.’
‘Why did Gynewell pardon Spalling?’ asked Bartholomew, unwilling to discuss Cynric’s revolutionary politics in a place where they might cause him trouble. ‘Bishops do not normally take the side of rabble-rousers against fellow clerics.’
Yvo sighed. ‘He said excommunication was an inappropriate punishment, and we should have put him in prison instead. Unfortunately, the common folk now think that Gynewell approves of Spalling, and any attempt to silence him meets with public protest. It is an awkward situation.’
‘Awkward indeed,’ agreed Michael.
The meal went on much longer than the ones in Michaelhouse for the simple reason that there was far more to eat. Michael grew restless, eager to visit Torpe before more of the day was lost. Sensing his impatience, Appletre came to sit with him, taking his mind off the wasted moments by asking about the Michaelhouse Choir, a subject dear to the monk’s heart. Ramseye abandoned his exalted spot on the dais to provide the same service for Bartholomew.
‘So you really did become a physician,’ the almoner said, indicating that Bartholomew was to make room for him on the bench. ‘I thought you would have seen sense and studied law instead. That is where the money lies.’
‘And you stayed in Peterborough.’ Bartholomew declined to explain that he had never been interested in making himself rich, suspecting that Ramseye would not understand.