‘About ten years, when his madness reached the point where he was no longer able to work. There are those who blame Oxforde for his lunacy, but the truth is that Simon was fey-witted long before he witnessed the blinding light in St Thomas’s cemetery.’
‘Kirwell was knocked from his feet – or so he said.’
‘He was, and a number of folk saw it happen. It was the morning after Oxforde’s execution. Can you can cure Simon, by the way? Pyk said it was impossible.’
‘Pyk was right. You are doing all that can be done already – treating Simon with kindness, and ensuring that his needs are met.’
‘He is no trouble.’ Inges led the way down the stairs to the chapel. ‘I like a tiger in the house, anyway – it keeps those damned bedeswomen out. Hey, you!’
The last words were delivered in a stentorian bellow that had the slumbering residents upstairs whimpering in alarm. Welbyrn, who had been in the process of sneaking through the chapel door, stopped dead in his tracks, and Bartholomew did not think he had ever seen a more furtive expression. Inges stalked towards him.
‘You damned fool!’ the Prior snapped. ‘You have done it again.’
‘Do not address me in that insolent manner,’ snarled Welbyrn, masking his discomfiture with aggression. ‘I am Brother Treasurer to you.’
‘You left the door unlocked and Simon escaped, Brother Treasurer.’ Inges’s tone was acidic. ‘For the third time this month.’
‘Not me,’ claimed Welbyrn, although the guilty flash in his eyes suggested otherwise. ‘I saw the door ajar as I was passing and came to investigate. Someone else must have done it.’
‘Passing on the way to where?’ demanded Inges. ‘There is nothing else on this road except Torpe, and I am sure you were not going there at this time of day. Simon might have reached the town if Doctor Bartholomew had not stopped him. And the last time that happened, he came home covered in honey and we had to pay the bill.’
‘How is he?’ enquired Welbyrn, transparently changing the subject. ‘Any better?’
‘No,’ said Inges shortly. ‘Why do you keep asking? He is incurably insane. Pyk declared him so, and Doctor Bartholomew agrees.’
Welbyrn scowled at the physician. ‘What are you doing here? The hospital is closed from dusk until dawn.’
Bartholomew could hardly tell him the truth. ‘Just taking the air. And you?’
‘That is none of your business,’ snarled Welbyrn, clenching his fists angrily.
‘You seem unwell,’ said Bartholomew gently, noting the dark rings under the treasurer’s eyes and the unhealthy blotchiness of his skin. ‘Would you like me to–’
‘No, I am not,’ yelled Welbyrn with explosive fury. ‘How dare you!’
Bartholomew stepped back in surprise as spittle flew from Welbyrn’s mouth and the treasurer’s face turned from pale to mottled red. ‘I was only trying to–’
‘I am not ill,’ Welbyrn screamed. ‘And if you ever mention it again – to me or to anyone else – I will thrash you to within an inch of your life. Do you understand?’
Bartholomew watched him stamp away, astonished that his well-meaning concern should have sparked such an outburst. Next to him, Inges was glowering.
‘His unholy racket will have woken my bedesmen,’ he said, overlooking the fact that it had been his own bellow that had sparked the row. ‘And the elderly need their rest.’
‘Is Welbyrn often like that?’ asked Bartholomew, still bemused.
‘He has been of late. Moreover, he never used to be concerned about Simon, but now he asks after him constantly. I have no idea why. However, as you are here, would you see to my bunions again? The potion you smeared on them yesterday afforded me such relief.’
When Bartholomew returned to the guest house, it was to learn that he had been invited to another sumptuous breakfast with the monks. He declined, having no desire to encounter Welbyrn again, but Michael muttered that he needed him there to make observations on the behaviour of potential suspects. Reluctantly, the physician trailed after him to the refectory.
As it was a meat day, the repast included an obscene number of cold cuts from, it seemed, any creature that had had the misfortune to stray into the Benedictines’ range – ox, rabbit, hare, duck, venison, quail, capon, lamb, goat and goose. Michael and William chomped through them all, although Clippesby regarded the carnage in dismay.
That morning, the scholars found themselves elevated to the exalted company on the dais, and Bartholomew’s heart sank when he was placed between Welbyrn and Ramseye. He glanced into the body of the hall, where Henry shot him a sympathetic smile.
‘If you say one word about this morning,’ Welbyrn breathed in the physician’s ear, under the pretence of passing him the eggs, ‘you will be sorry. You may have escaped justice when you broke my nose, but it will not happen a second time.’
Bartholomew regarded him in surprise. Surely Welbyrn was not still vexed over the outcome of their childhood fisticuffs, especially as the mishap had been largely his own fault? If he had not been trying to land such a hard punch, he would not have lost his balance and fallen over.
‘It is delightful to see you again after so many years, Matt,’ Ramseye was saying on his other side. ‘And you have done better than your shabby appearance would have us believe. William tells me that you are now the University’s Corpse Examiner. Such a lofty achievement!’
‘The University’s what?’ asked Welbyrn, regarding Bartholomew as though he had just sprouted horns. ‘What in God’s name is a Corpse Examiner?’
‘Nothing in God’s name,’ drawled Ramseye. ‘I suspect it involves dissection, although William assures me that it is no more than inspired poking and prodding.’
‘Well, you had better not try it here or you will spend the rest of your stay in prison,’ growled Welbyrn. ‘I am not having that sort of thing going on. This is a respectable place.’
‘A respectable place that does nothing to find its missing Abbot,’ retorted Bartholomew, irritated enough to indulge in a rejoinder. ‘Or the town’s only physician.’
‘We searched,’ objected Ramseye, cutting across the more colourful response Welbyrn started to make. ‘But there was no sign of them, and with outlaws at large, it would have been irresponsible to keep the defensores out any longer. We do not want more deaths at their hands.’
‘More deaths at their hands?’ echoed Bartholomew. ‘You think Robert and Pyk might have been killed by outlaws? Why did you not say so before?’
‘I did not think it was necessary to state the obvious,’ replied Ramseye smoothly. ‘Nor to explain that by “outlaw” I mean villains who rob and steal to order – men who are in the pay of rogues like Aurifabro and Spalling.’
‘Robert is not dead,’ said Welbyrn between gritted teeth. ‘He will return when he sees fit.’
‘Then let us hope it is before Yvo or Ramseye is elected to take his place,’ remarked Bartholomew, unable to help himself. ‘I doubt either will relinquish what he has won, and Robert will have a fight on his hands.’
‘That is why I support Ramseye,’ said Welbyrn tightly. ‘He has agreed to step aside when Robert returns, whereas Yvo maintains that any Abbot who abandons his post should be replaced with someone more reliable.’
Ramseye inclined his head, although Bartholomew thought Welbyrn was insane if he believed it. Welbyrn turned his attention to his food, and Bartholomew noted that whatever had been bothering him earlier had not affected his appetite.