‘She might have murdered Joan,’ Michael said in a low voice, watching her poke the knight in the chest when he started to argue. ‘There is a chilling ruthlessness in her.’
‘The same can be said about a lot of the people we have met since arriving here,’ replied Bartholomew soberly.
As the ceremony still showed no signs of beginning, Bartholomew and Michael went to find out why. The reason soon became clear: Ramseye was asking questions that had Yvo reaching anxiously for his prayer book to assure himself that he knew what he was doing. Welbyrn was with them, smirking at the Prior’s increasing discomfiture.
‘Ramseye is undermining his confidence,’ murmured Michael. ‘So he will appear the better candidate when the election comes. A sly tactic, but an effective one.’
Yvo’s voice was shrill with agitation as he responded to Ramseye’s latest query. ‘But I cannot stamp my Writ of Cleansing with the abbey’s seal, because I do not have it. Robert took it with him, if you recall.’
‘So he did,’ sighed Ramseye. ‘Never mind. People will probably accept the writ without it. Just state that you do hold the Bishop’s authority, and I am sure they will believe you.’
The tone of his voice made it abundantly clear that he thought they would not.
‘Are you sure there is not another purple cope in the vestments chest?’ asked Welbyrn before Yvo could respond. ‘I thought we had one that fitted you.’
‘This one will suffice,’ said Ramseye with a patently false smile, as the Prior looked down at himself in dismay. ‘Just remember not to turn your back on the congregation.’
Bartholomew had no particular liking for the Prior, but he thought that what Ramseye and Welbyrn were doing was cruel. He was about to say so to Michael when Welbyrn spotted him. The treasurer’s thick features creased into an ugly scowl.
‘Bartholomew! You will leave before the ceremony begins. I do not want you here.’
Ramseye started at his crony’s outburst. ‘He can stay if he likes.’
‘No! He will criticise our theology, just as he did years ago.’
‘Nonsense! We are obedientiaries now, while he is just a physician.’
‘A physician with opinions about me,’ spat Welbyrn angrily. ‘He–’
‘We should make sure there are enough candles,’ interrupted Ramseye briskly. ‘I do not trust Trentham to do it, as his distress over Lady Lullington means he is not very reliable at the moment. Come, Brother.’
He hustled Welbyrn away before the treasurer could say anything else, leaving Bartholomew perplexed by the depth of his old tutor’s dislike.
‘He is bellicose with everyone these days, so do not take him amiss,’ said Yvo, watching them go with a sullen expression. ‘I suspect he finds the post of treasurer too onerous. I shall relieve him of it when I am Abbot, so that he can become a simple monk again. But never mind him. Help me with this cope.’
It was a fine vestment, and its exquisite quality was another indication of the abbey’s wealth. Unfortunately, Welbyrn had been right to remark that it did not fit: it was far too big, and trailed rather ridiculously on the floor. From its ample size, Bartholomew assumed it had been made for Robert.
‘I wish I had not consented to do this,’ said Yvo wretchedly, clearly aware that he did not cut as majestic a figure as his predecessor. ‘I know we are losing pilgrim-money while the chapel is out of action, but I would sooner have waited for the Bishop.’
‘So why did you agree?’ asked Michael.
Yvo’s misery intensified. ‘Prioress Hagar is a very persuasive woman.’
He shuffled away despondently, and Bartholomew wondered whether it would be the absurdly oversized cope or his painful nervousness that would underline the fact that Yvo was wholly incapable of filling Robert’s shoes.
‘Hagar has her arm around Trentham,’ remarked Michael, ‘but whatever she is whispering in his ear is of no comfort, because he has started to cry again. We had better intervene. He has important duties to perform in a moment.’
‘I have just informed him that Joan’s will stipulates she is to be buried next to Oxforde,’ explained Hagar. ‘Indeed, it says we cannot have any of her belongings unless this wish is carried out. However, we cannot have common workmen rooting about near our shrine, so I have just told Trentham that he must dig her grave. He is our chaplain, after all.’
‘But I do not know how,’ sobbed Trentham. ‘I am a priest, not a sexton.’
‘We shall bury her on Thursday,’ said Hagar breezily, ‘so you have five days to master the skill. I am sure you will not let us down.’
And with that she bustled off to her next prey, leaving Trentham staring after her tearfully. Gratefully, he accepted the scrap of clean linen that Bartholomew offered, to wipe his face and blow his nose.
‘I am sorry for what I said,’ he snuffled. ‘About you failing to help Lady Lullington. I know it was not your fault, but I was upset. She was my friend, you see.’
‘You can make up for your unkind words by answering a few questions,’ said Michael, before Bartholomew could say he understood. ‘Start by telling us what you thought of Robert.’
‘He was not very nice,’ obliged Trentham, dabbing at his eyes. ‘Lady Lullington asked him to visit shortly after she was taken ill, but he never bothered. And he was horrible to Henry – he taunted him about being lame and the amount of time he likes to pray.’
‘What had Henry done to attract his ire?’ asked Michael, while Bartholomew groaned, suspecting this ‘evidence’ would be used to promote his old classmate as a suspect for murder.
‘He is pious, which made Robert look irreligious,’ explained Trentham. ‘But I miss Pyk much more than the Abbot. He was kind to my old people, and he often “forgot” to charge the paupers in my parish for his services. He was a wonderful man.’
‘He was not friends with Spalling, was he?’ asked Michael wryly.
‘Spalling is right to draw attention to the plight of the poor,’ said Trentham with youthful intensity. ‘A family of beggars live near my church, and they suffered horribly last winter. It should not have happened when the abbey drips with riches.’
‘Then why did you not make Robert aware of their plight?’
‘I did, several times, and he said he would arrange for alms, but they never came. I do not know whether it slipped his mind or if he instructed Ramseye not to pay. Regardless, his heartlessness did not endear him to me or to my parishioners.’
‘Are these beggars the kind to bear a grudge?’ asked Michael keenly. ‘Or can you name anyone else who might have wanted to make an end of Robert?’
Trentham shook his head. ‘None of my flock are killers. Personally, I think the culprit was the enormous meal Robert devoured before he left. Pyk could not save him, so he rolled him in a ditch and fled before he could be accused of malpractice.’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘Physicians are not–’
‘I do not blame him,’ interrupted Trentham. ‘Indeed, if you are ever in a similar situation, I recommend you do it yourself. The abbey can be viciously vengeful.’
The reconsecration ceremony did not last long. Yvo gabbled through it so fast that even William was impressed – and he was famous for the brevity of his offices. Bartholomew could only assume that Yvo thought a speedy service would not give his critics time to pick holes in his performance. All the while, he sprayed holy water around with such unrestrained generosity that those standing at the front were dripping by the time he had finished.
The rite ended with a procession around the chapel, but when Yvo reached the door that led to the abbey, he kept on going, leaving the congregation to stand uncertainly, sure there must be more to come. Once they realised there was not, Hagar announced that applications could now be made for visiting Oxforde’s shrine. The bedeswomen were on hand to collect donations, and those who did not offer enough were invited to return another day.