Aurifabro watched in silence, and Bartholomew took the opportunity to put a question to him. The goldsmith regarded him suspiciously at first, but Udela indicated with a nod that he should reply. He obliged, then turned away to snap orders for the road to be guarded day and night until it was certain that the trouble was over.
‘What did you say to him?’ asked Michael, as Bartholomew took a corner of Kirwell’s litter. The bedesmen were incapable of lugging it home, and the townsfolk were too shamefaced to approach a man they considered holy, so the task had fallen to the scholars. Kirwell muttered venomously at the inadvertent jostling.
‘I asked if he had been charged to melt gold into a bar recently – like the one we found in Lullington’s quarters. He told me that Robert had paid him to consolidate a number of rings and bracelets last spring – gifts made to the shrines by pilgrims. It is common practice, apparently.’
‘It is,’ nodded Langelee. ‘My Archbishop often did it, as ingots are portable and more easily stored than handfuls of lumpy jewellery.’
‘Be careful!’ snapped Kirwell, when the Master shifted his grip, and the whole litter tilted.
‘I am eager for Robert to tell us about Lullington’s role in his abduction,’ said Michael. ‘I would ask him now, but an open road is no place for such a discussion, so we shall have it in his solar, where we can enjoy a restorative cup of wine.’
‘He will need it,’ smirked Langelee. ‘Spalling’s throng and the bedesfolk are pawing him relentlessly, and I doubt he is used to such liberties.’
‘He should try being me,’ muttered Kirwell bitterly. ‘Then he would know.’
Ahead, the Abbot was indeed the subject of intense attention. People grabbed his clothes, patted his hair, and poked his limbs to see whether he had been injured. He assured them that he was not, but they were indignant on his behalf and muttered all manner of revenge against the culprits.
‘I thought no one liked him,’ remarked Cynric. ‘Yet here he is, being fawned over.’
‘Because he is dishevelled,’ explained Michael. ‘They feel sorry for him. They would have been less sympathetic if he had appeared sleek and groomed.’
‘I wonder how many of his monks will be pleased to see him,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘I know two who will not: Ramseye and Yvo.’
‘What about you, Brother?’ asked Cynric. ‘Are you horribly disappointed?’
‘No,’ replied Michael. ‘On reflection, I think I would rather be a bishop than an abbot.’
‘Gynewell had better watch himself, then,’ grinned Langelee.
Bartholomew was still thinking about Robert. ‘So who kidnapped him, given that neither Spalling nor Aurifabro claim responsibility? Unless the defensores did it – which I think you will agree is unlikely – it means there is yet another band on the loose.’
‘Can we walk a little faster?’ Michael picked up the pace. ‘There are a lot of questions still to be answered, and time is short. We leave Peterborough today – now Robert is home, my duty to Gynewell is discharged. I am sorry we have not exposed the rogue who killed Joan and Welbyrn, but we can stay no longer.’
They walked in silence the rest of the way, concentrating on the balance between speed and not joggling the litter. When they reached St Leonard’s, Botilbrig was waiting to say there had been a change of plan: Kirwell was to be taken to St Thomas’s instead.
‘I am not a pack animal,’ grumbled Michael. ‘And besides, I thought you were at war with St Thomas’s. Why would you want him carted there?’
‘Because the women are going to hold a feast to celebrate our victory,’ explained Botilbrig. ‘Us bedesmen are invited, including him.’
‘A feast?’ asked Kirwell with eager greed. ‘Very well, then, but tell these Commissioners to be careful with me. Being carried by them is akin to lying on a bucking stallion.’
‘We do not have time for this,’ Michael fretted. ‘We still have Lullington to confront and the Abbot to question – and I had hoped to be riding home by now.’
The town was oddly deserted as they approached, and the few market stalls that were open drew scant trade. Bartholomew could only suppose that people were either sleeping off their night of rebellion, or were telling the tale to those who had not taken part.
While the others waited, Michael none too patiently, Bartholomew carried Kirwell into St Thomas’s. Once inside, he saw that Botilbrig had not been exaggerating when he had said that the women intended to celebrate: the hall adjoining the chapel was packed, not only with bedesfolk, but with Benedictines and abbey servants. The place reeked of ale, and despite the early hour, more than one face was already flushed with over-indulgence.
‘Inges has gone to fetch the rest of the monks,’ said Hagar, revelling in her role as one of those who had averted a crisis.
‘I doubt they will come,’ cautioned Bartholomew. ‘They will be too busy with Robert.’
‘They will be grateful for an opportunity to elude him,’ countered Hagar. She turned as the door opened. ‘See? Here they are now. Besides, Robert will be more concerned with putting his own affairs in order than with his flock today.’
From what he had been told about the Abbot, Bartholomew suspected she was right. He left Kirwell in Inges’s care, and hurried towards the door, eager now to be going home. Julitta would be waiting, and although his feelings were still in terrible turmoil, he did know that he was looking forward to seeing her again.
‘Join us!’ cried Marion, as the physician weaved his way through the throng. Her long teeth gleamed. ‘Elene is making cakes, and Henry is fetching another cask of wine.’
‘There is water, too,’ added Botilbrig, aiming to entice. ‘From the well.’
‘Really?’ Bartholomew hoped it was not the stuff in which Welbyrn had spent the night.
‘And Walter the cook has provided some nuts,’ added Appletre, bustling up to join them. His plump face was pink with happiness. ‘It is a veritable feast! Moreover, I plan to lead a little impromptu singing soon, because Robert has made me precentor again. Please stay.’
‘I cannot,’ said Bartholomew, edging away.
‘Why?’ asked Appletre, dismayed. ‘There cannot be anything more pressing to do, not now Robert is home. And you deserve some reward for all your efforts.’
‘There will not be time.’ Bartholomew saw the disappointment on the precentor’s face and was sorry. ‘But perhaps we can spare a few moments later.’
‘Very well,’ said Appletre. ‘But come via the abbey door – Hagar is going to lock the one that leads to the market, to exclude interlopers. I can see her point: the townsfolk should not see us letting our hair down. Yet we all need to unwind – it has been a trying time.’
‘It certainly has,’ agreed Bartholomew fervently.
Outside, Langelee was yawning hugely. ‘I will collect our bags from Spalling’s home, Cynric. You go to the guest house, and start packing for the others. We leave this morning, whether Michael has finished with Robert or not.’
There were no guards on the Abbey Gate, and the monastery appeared to be abandoned as Bartholomew, Michael and Cynric hurried through it. The only people in evidence were Henry and four lay brothers, who were toting barrels of wine towards the hospital.
‘Robert said it was too early for claret,’ Henry explained with a grin. ‘But this is a special occasion, so I defied him and raided the cellars anyway. It will mean trouble later, but the bedesfolk deserve their reward.’
‘The whole abbey is invited,’ added one of the servants gleefully. ‘Monks and lay brethren alike. We all want to hear how the relics defeated Aurifabro.’
‘Join us,’ urged Henry. ‘Much as I enjoyed hearing Inges’s account, I would sooner have it from someone less inclined to exaggerate.’