‘Father William told me yesterday that the villains who ambushed you on your way here spoke French,’ said Appletre, who was sitting on Ramseye’s other side. ‘Aurifabro’s men are foreigners…’
‘What our Brother Precentor is trying to say is that the robbers and the men who murdered Abbot Robert are probably one and the same.’ Ramseye spoke in a low voice, so that Welbyrn would not hear. ‘He is too tactful to say so outright, but I believe in plain speaking. If I were in your position, I would concentrate my enquiries on Aurifabro. And Spalling.’
‘Not Spalling,’ argued Appletre. ‘I doubt his horde knows anything other than English.’
‘The men who attacked us did speak French,’ acknowledged Bartholomew. ‘But so did we at times, so I am not sure it is significant.’
‘William claims that the raids turned what should have been a journey of a couple of days into an ordeal lasting almost a fortnight,’ said Appletre. ‘What happened, exactly?’
‘We lost two horses to arrows,’ explained Bartholomew. ‘Then William was knocked senseless by a stone that was thrown at us. Not long after, Michael suffered a bruised shoulder, and Clippesby lost his saddlebag. It contained the psalter he was given at his ordination, so we had to go back to look for it. And on top of all that, there were violent rainstorms and flooded streams.’
He did not include the fact that two tumbles from his horse had delayed them as well – once when he had been trampled and had been unable to ride for a day, and another when the animal had bolted and it had taken them hours to find it.
‘Nasty!’ said Ramseye with a shudder. ‘But travelling is dangerous, which is why I never do it myself. However, we shall lend you a few defensores when you leave. We do not want you to stay longer than necessary because you are too frightened to go.’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew dryly. ‘I imagine you do not.’
Yvo stood to say grace at that point, leaving Bartholomew relieved that the ordeal of his old teachers’ company was at an end. They disappeared about their duties without another word, so he went to pass the time of day with Henry. It was not long before they were joined by Michael, Appletre positively dancing at his heels.
‘We have a treat in store for you, Henry,’ the precentor said, his round cheeks flushed with pleasure. ‘I have just persuaded Brother Michael to sing one of our offices later.’
‘I thought we would be riding to Torpe again, Brother,’ said Bartholomew, surprised. ‘In the hope that Aurifabro will be home this morning.’
Michael grimaced. ‘I am hoping that will not be necessary – that we will uncover enough clues here to obviate the need to trek out there a second time.’
‘You are right to be wary of public highways,’ said Henry. ‘Especially after what happened to Robert and Pyk. However, if you do go, I shall pray for your safe return.’
‘Well, then,’ said Michael, ‘if we come to harm, I shall know who to blame.’
‘I wish everyone would lay aside their differences and live in peace,’ sighed Appletre, cutting across the irritable retort Henry started to make. ‘I am sure some of Aurifabro’s men have lovely voices, and my town choir is currently rather short of basses.’
‘You would do better recruiting from among the clergy, Appletre,’ said Henry sternly. ‘It is not right for seculars to sing in our holy church.’
‘I plan to question the monks this morning,’ said Michael, while Bartholomew stared at his old friend, surprised to hear such a sentiment from him. ‘I shall need your help, Matt.’
‘I am afraid you cannot have him,’ said Henry with a smile that held a faint trace of triumph. ‘There are abbey residents who need his services. They could not see him yesterday, as he was busy with bedesmen and townsfolk, so they would like a consultation today.’
‘Then they are going to be disappointed,’ objected Michael indignantly. ‘He is here to help me find out what happened to Robert, not to play physician for the entire region.’
‘We will pay him.’ Henry’s expression turned a little sly. ‘And as he owes the apothecary rather a lot of money, he has little choice in the matter.’
He was right: Bartholomew could not leave Peterborough until he had discharged his debts, and his Michaelhouse colleagues had no spare funds to lend him. Michael opened his mouth to argue, but then a cunning gleam flashed in his eyes.
‘Of course he cannot refuse to help the sick,’ he said, suddenly all gracious charm. ‘I shall help him by collecting the fees he earns – and use the opportunity to ask a few questions at the same time.’
Henry’s smile grew stiff when he saw he had been outmanoeuvred, although Appletre beamed happily at the example of compromise and cooperation.
‘Incidentally,’ the precentor said to Michael, ‘I have been thinking about what you asked me yesterday: how Abbot Robert spent the morning before he took his fateful journey to Torpe. And I have remembered something.’
‘What?’ asked Michael, when Appletre only looked pleased with himself.
‘Well, it is not much, but I was standing at the Abbey Gate that day, waiting for a new trumpet to be delivered, when I happened to overhear Robert talking to Aurifabro. The Abbot was insisting on seeing the paten that afternoon, and Aurifabro was trying to put him off.’
‘Aurifabro did not want him to visit?’ asked Michael keenly. ‘Did he say why?’
‘Yes, but I did not hear the reason, so I am afraid you will have to ask Aurifabro himself.’
‘I have remembered something, too,’ added Henry. The serene expression was back in place. ‘Abbot Robert also visited Reginald the cutler that morning.’
‘Why is that odd?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘There is good in Reginald, no matter what everyone says,’ said Henry. ‘Yet I always thought his friendship with Robert was curious. They are two very different men.’
‘Robert was different from Pyk, too, but no one ever questions their friendship,’ said Appletre, regarding Henry reproachfully. ‘Or Robert’s association with Lullington.’
‘I suppose not,’ said Henry, although his face indicated that he thought otherwise.
It was another brutally exhausting day for Bartholomew, who was convinced that every monk, lay brother and servant in the abbey had contrived to develop aches, fevers, rashes, boils, coughs, stiff joints or pains in the innards for him to treat. Even Ramseye came, complaining of persistent indigestion. Welbyrn was conspicuous by his absence, although Bartholomew felt he might actually have benefited from medical advice.
At noon, when Michael had gone to sing sext in the church, Bartholomew went for a walk around the marketplace, a brief respite from the long line of demanding patients. While he was out, he met Cynric, who was with Spalling.
‘So, you see,’ Spalling was informing the book-bearer, ‘it is only a matter of time before the natural order establishes itself at last. There are more poor than rich, so it is only right that their voices should be heard before anyone else’s.’
‘The rich will not like it,’ warned Cynric, although Bartholomew could tell from his bright eyes that he wholly approved of what Spalling was saying.
‘No,’ agreed Spalling. ‘But that should not stop us. I advocate rule by the people, which means men like us, not wealthy barons who are more French than English. Ah, Bartholomew. You have a good man here; you should be proud of him.’
‘I am,’ said Bartholomew, watching Cynric flush with pleasure at the rebel’s praise. ‘But it is unwise to discuss this sort of thing in public places. There are–’
‘Cynric has decent, noble opinions.’ Spalling cut across him. ‘Ones that match my own, and I am honoured to call him a friend.’