‘Perhaps he ordered them because you declared them your favourites the last time you were here,’ said Langelee. ‘Word has spread that you might be the next Abbot, so he doubtless aims to win your favour. But I had better go and try again to reason with Cynric.’
‘I will come with you,’ said Bartholomew. He stood, but was obliged to rest a hand on the wall to steady himself: the salty leeks had encouraged him to drink too much of Piel’s powerful wine. Michael, who had imbibed twice as much, was perfectly sober, of course.
‘The best thing you can do is help find the Abbot,’ said Langelee. ‘But do not worry about Cynric – he will come home with us, even if I have to tie him in a sack and carry him there.’
It was a measure of Michael’s concern for the book-bearer that he did not even look at the Lombard slices as he left the tavern. Bartholomew took one and ate it as he followed, hoping it would mop up some of the wine sloshing around in his stomach.
Outside, it was a cloudy night with no moon, which made walking difficult, especially along unfamiliar streets and – for Bartholomew – on legs that were embarrassingly wobbly. At one point, he reeled into a wall, scraping his elbow painfully. Then Michael gave a sharp hiss of alarm before grabbing the physician’s arm and hauling him towards the abbey.
‘What are you doing?’ slurred Bartholomew, trying to free himself.
‘Someone is muttering in French,’ replied the monk, hammering urgently on the door to be let in. ‘Just like the robbers who ambushed us on our way here.’
Bartholomew had heard no muttering in French, but even so, he was relieved when they were inside the monastery with the gate closed behind them. He jumped when a figure materialised suddenly out of the gloom. It was Yvo, with Lullington and Henry behind him. He peered at them warily, wondering why they should be so far from their beds at such an hour of the night, particularly as they seemed unlikely companions.
‘Is anything wrong, Brother Michael?’ asked the Prior.
‘Yes – someone was about to attack us,’ declared Michael, fear turning to anger now he was safe. ‘I saw shadows milling about, and I heard them speaking French.’
Yvo regarded him askance. ‘Peterborough is a busy place, Brother, and shadows “mill about” all the time. Moreover, many folk speak French. Indeed, we are using it now.’
‘So we are,’ said Michael pointedly. ‘And there would have been enough time for you to reach the monastery before us – just.’
‘I assure you, no one from the abbey–’ Yvo’s angry denial was interrupted by a rap on the door. The guard opened it, and the Unholy Trinity walked in, four defensores at their heels. All were armed.
‘I have been looking for you three all evening,’ snapped the Prior, promptly turning his back on the two scholars. ‘I did not give you permission to go out.’
Welbyrn shrugged with calculated insolence. ‘We went to visit the town’s merchants, to discuss the problem that Spalling has become. It was Ramseye’s idea – and a good one, too.’
‘I know how I would deal with the man, left to my own devices,’ muttered Nonton darkly.
‘Why did you want us, Father Prior?’ asked Ramseye. He smiled unpleasantly. ‘To help you prepare for your next public appearance, given that the last one was less than impressive?’
‘No, he wanted Welbyrn to unlock the treasury for me.’ Lullington spoke before the Prior could defend himself. ‘My wife kept her jewellery there, and I intend to sell it tomorrow.’
‘But not before I have selected a piece for the abbey, as stipulated in her will,’ interposed Yvo sharply, treating him to a scowl. ‘Henry is going to choose it, given that he has the best eye for such things.’
‘Does he?’ Bartholomew was astonished that his principled friend should possess such a worldly talent.
‘You are thinking of hawking your wife’s possessions already, Sir John?’ asked Ramseye in distaste, sparing Henry the need to reply. ‘She is barely cold.’
‘I need the money,’ said Lullington stiffly. ‘Her jewels should have been mine years ago, rightfully speaking, but her sly father slipped a clause into our marriage contract, which kept them in her hands all these years. Well, that changes now.’
‘He has been making purchases since her death,’ explained Yvo. ‘And we do not want it said that abbey residents decline to pay their bills.’ He addressed Welbyrn. ‘So are you going to open the treasury, or do we stand here all night?’
Still sniping at each other, the monastics and Lullington moved away, although Henry paused long enough to shoot Bartholomew an amiable smile. The physician watched them go, aware of two things: that Yvo had avoided returning to Michael’s accusation, and that the Unholy Trinity had been very heavily armed for a meeting with merchants. Meanwhile, Michael was angrily indignant that his claim of ambushers had been so summarily dismissed. He stalked to the guest house, where he told Clippesby and William what had happened.
‘But no one actually assaulted you?’ asked William. ‘You just saw people lurking and heard them speak French?’
‘I could read their intentions,’ snapped Michael, annoyed that even his own colleagues seemed to be doubting his word. ‘They would have been on us had we not fled. And look at Matt’s arm – we did not escape unscathed from the affair.’
‘Does it hurt?’ asked Clippesby sympathetically.
‘I do not trust any of them,’ Michael stormed on before Bartholomew could say that his stumble against a wall could hardly be blamed on someone else. ‘Welbyrn, Nonton, Ramseye, Lullington, Yvo and Henry. All six are on my list of suspects for dispatching Robert.’
‘Not Henry,’ said Bartholomew doggedly. ‘Besides, his lame leg means he is unlikely to have reached the abbey before us.’
Michael ignored him. ‘Then we must remember that the incident took place near St Thomas’s Chapel, where the bedeswomen live and where Reginald has his shop. Meanwhile, Aurifabro and Spalling cannot have gone far.’
He continued in this vein while Bartholomew, still queasy from the wine and salty leeks, went to lie down. The physician sat on the bed and was about to sink back and close his eyes when there was a knock on the door. He stood hastily when the Unholy Trinity trooped in.
‘Yvo has just told us what happened to you,’ declared Ramseye, all righteous indignation. ‘And while he may not be interested in attacks on the Bishop’s Commissioners, we are appalled.’
‘We are,’ said Welbyrn. It was impossible to tell whether he was sincere. ‘Especially as he mentioned that you thought the culprits might hail from the abbey.’
‘I hope you do not think our defensores are to blame,’ said Nonton, going to the table for wine. ‘Did we not lend you some when you went to Torpe the other day? If they had meant you harm, they would have assaulted you then – on a lonely road, miles from help.’
‘Those defensores could not have assaulted anyone,’ William murmured to his colleagues. ‘Nonton detailed the most feeble ones to protect you, and kept the best ones back for himself. He spent the day putting them through various training exercises.’
‘Of course, tonight’s affair was your own fault,’ said Welbyrn, frowning as he tried to hear what the Franciscan was muttering. ‘You should not have been out after dark.’
‘We were on official business,’ retorted Michael. ‘For the Bishop.’
‘In a tavern?’ smirked Ramseye. ‘I shall have to remember that one!’
‘We shall discuss it in the morning,’ said Clippesby, as Michael drew breath to make a scathing rejoinder. ‘It is late, and we are all tired.’