‘If you call out, I will kill you,’ said Christiana sharply and, for the first time, Bartholomew noticed that Spayne and his sister were bound hand and foot.
‘I must answer,’ said Spayne desperately. ‘It is probably Miller, and talking to him will give me another opportunity to urge him to stand down. And then you and I will discuss ancient history.’
‘It is not ancient,’ snapped Christiana. ‘It was six years ago. But I have finally obtained the evidence I need to convict you, Ursula. We all know you fed my mother cuckoo-pint – that was never in question – but we have never been able to prove you did it knowing it would kill her.’
‘That is because I am innocent of malicious intent,’ insisted Ursula. She licked dry lips.
‘Why have you waited so long to voice these vile accusations?’ asked Spayne. His strangely furtive expression suggested to Bartholomew that he had known exactly what his sister had done.
‘Because I had no proof before. I have it now, though. Matthew was the key, although he does not know it.’ The physician was startled, but then recalled the discussion he had had with Dame Eleanor. They had talked about wake-robin, and how it was used to expel afterbirth. Wake-robin was another name for cuckoo-pint. ‘He told Eleanor that all good midwives know to give cuckoo-pint in small amounts over a number of hours. However, you gave my mother her potion in one large dose. You knew exactly what you were doing.’
‘Prove it,’ challenged Ursula, but Bartholomew could see she was worried.
There was another knock, harder this time. Someone was becoming impatient.
Christiana ignored it. ‘Once I knew what to ask, I was able to go to midwives and apothecaries, and discuss with them the correct way to administer it. They all said the same: bit by bit. My mother was the only one who received hers all at once. Matilde was right after all.’
‘So what if she was?’ demanded Ursula, suddenly defensive. ‘No one cares about this now. And no jury will ever convict me.’
‘I was not thinking of going to a jury,’ said Christiana in a soft voice that made Bartholomew’s blood run cold. ‘I was thinking of dispensing my own justice. I tried with the milk, but that did not work, because I could not use a strong enough dose – you would have noticed.’
The hammering came a third time. ‘Spayne?’ came Michael’s voice. ‘I know you are in there, because I can see your lamps. We are looking for Matt. He is missing and I am worried.’
‘Lady Christiana might know where he is,’ shouted Ursula, before Christiana or Hugh could stop her. ‘Come in and ask her yourself–’
She fell silent when Hugh leapt towards her and placed a dagger under her chin. ‘That was stupid, lady,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘We asked you to keep quiet.’
‘It was not stupid at all,’ said Ursula defiantly. ‘It was extremely clever. Now the monk knows she is here, and if I come to any harm, she will be his prime suspect.’
‘Christiana is with you?’ With relief, Bartholomew recognised Dame Eleanor’s voice – the one person who could talk sense into her misguided friend.
‘Let them in,’ said Christiana to Hugh. ‘Ursula is right. We cannot let Michael go, having heard that. He is tenacious, and I do not want him investigating my affairs.’
‘We could kill him later,’ suggested Hugh. ‘After we have finished here.’
‘We will do it now,’ said Christiana. ‘We have already made two unsuccessful attempts to dispatch the fellow, and learned to our cost that he is not an easy target. Claypole’s arm is still bruised, and I was almost brained twice – once with the branch of a tree and once with a shoe-scraper.’
‘What about Dame Eleanor?’ asked Hugh nervously. ‘She might not like it.’
‘She will be no trouble,’ replied Christiana.
When Christiana moved towards the door, Bartholomew pushed away from his window and tried to run to the front of the building, to warn the monk. The snow had drifted, so it was knee deep and like wading through mud. He tried shouting, but there was too much racket on the main road, and he knew Michael would not hear him. He took only a few steps before realising it was futile, and struggled back to his vantage point, defeated.
It gave him no pleasure to know Michael would soon see he had made a dreadful mistake with the woman he had admired, and he was disgusted with himself for dismissing Hugh’s role with the letter so readily. He was a child, it was true, but one with an eye for mischief, and also one who was a talented archer, as Bartholomew himself had witnessed at the butts. And, like many other males at the cathedral, Hugh was captivated by Christiana.
By the time he reached the hole in the window again, Michael and Eleanor were inside the hall. The monk beamed at Christiana, and Bartholomew saw Hugh had hidden his weapon. He considered bursting through the shutter, but a bar had been placed across the inside that would seriously hamper any attempt to enter quickly. He had also lost his bag with its arsenal of surgical blades, and there was a limit to what an unarmed man could do against a bow.
‘I am glad you are here, Michael,’ said Christiana, indicating he should sit on the bench opposite Spayne and Ursula. ‘We have been discussing murder.’
‘Have you?’ asked Michael. Something in the tone of her voice had alerted him to the fact that all was not well. He was an astute man, and immediately became wary. ‘Well, in that case I shall leave you, and resume my hunt for Matt–’
Hugh moved quickly to block the door. ‘You must stay here.’
‘Why?’ asked Michael. He had noticed that the Spaynes were trussed up like chickens.
‘Because Hugh will shoot you if you try to leave,’ said Christiana, as the boy snatched up his bow. ‘And he is very good, as Simon and Tetford can attest. Now, sit down.’
‘Christiana?’ asked Eleanor, startled. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Ursula confessed,’ blurted Christiana, suddenly tearful. ‘She is proud of herself for eluding justice, and her brother feels no guilt at all for his role in my mother’s murder.’
‘That is not true,’ cried Spayne. ‘I am wracked with self-reproach. Why do you think I have never married? It is nothing to do with Matilde, but because I have a nagging sense that I will be damned in the sight of God if I find wedded bliss with another woman.’
‘I do not know what is happening, but I am sure it can be resolved peacefully,’ said Michael, edging towards the door. ‘And I cannot stay here. I need to find Matt before–’
Hugh aimed his bow, and Michael flopped hastily on the bench when he saw the determined gleam in the child’s eye. Christiana moved forward, and Bartholomew was impressed by the speed with which she secured the monk’s hands. She left his feet free, though, and Bartholomew was under the impression she did not intend to wait long before making her move. He looked at Dame Eleanor, willing the old lady to bring the confrontation to an end, trusting her quiet saintliness would make Christiana see reason.
‘What is happening here?’ asked Michael with quiet calm. ‘If it involves violence, I beg you to reconsider. Too many men have lost their lives already.’
‘We are working to the glory of God,’ replied Christiana, moving away from him. ‘And it is time to avenge my mother’s murder at last.’
‘Hugh,’ said Dame Eleanor, turning to the boy. ‘You know what to do.’
Bartholomew watched aghast, as the boy raised his bow and shot Ursula in the chest. She made no sound as she slumped to one side. Christiana and Eleanor glanced at each other, and smiled.
‘I doubt St Hugh will be very impressed by that,’ said Michael in the shocked silence that followed. ‘Your actions will have him weeping in Heaven.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Dame Eleanor. Bartholomew’s heart sank when he saw the old lady’s eyes fill with the light of religious fervour. ‘I have served him for sixty years, and I know what he wants.’
‘He wants this?’ asked Michael, nodding towards Ursula.
‘He wants justice,’ said Eleanor coldly. ‘And he sent Christiana and Hugh to help me in my quest. That is how I know I am doing what he desires.’