‘He is an unpleasant piece of work,’ said Michael, shaking Bartholomew off and returning to his food. ‘I was thinking that if we left it long enough, the killer might come and relieve us of the bother of talking to the man.’
‘I thought we were going to talk to him because he has a bad back, and we think he might be the one you hit with a spade.’
Michael shook his head. ‘The killer is a clever man, and the only thing Symon is clever at doing is eluding people who want to see him. He blusters and brags, but when you press him it is obvious that he is nothing but hot air, and his knowledge is superficial and often erroneous.’
‘But we should talk to him anyway,’ said Bartholomew. ‘We should at least learn how he came by his ailment. And do not forget he is one of our main suspects for the death of Thomas.’
Seeing that Bartholomew would not let matters rest until they had interrogated the elusive librarian, Michael sighed and stood, wiping the crumbs from his mouth as he followed the physician out of the refectory and into the soft gloom of a late summer evening. They walked to the latrines, looking at the monks who were still out for signs of limps or twinges. They passed Henry who emerged from his infirmary. He stretched both arms above his head, then clutched his back to give it a vigorous massage.
‘How are you?’ he asked of Bartholomew. ‘What did you think of my tonic?’
‘It worked well,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But I think it would be dangerous if taken too often.’
Henry nodded. ‘I keep it only for emergencies. You will not take another dose, then? To see you through this unpleasant investigation?’
‘He will not,’ said Michael shortly. ‘I do not want him exhausting me with excessive energy.’
As they talked, Prior Alan strolled towards them with a distinctly uneven gait, and informed Bartholomew and Henry that his hip always ached when he spent too much time climbing on scaffolding – which he said he had been doing that day to oversee the work on Holy Cross Church. Henry offered him a poultice, and they disappeared inside the hospital together.
‘I wonder if his climbs on scaffolding extend to pushing gargoyles on bishops’ nieces,’ muttered Bartholomew as they went on their way.
‘No one tried to kill Tysilia, Matt,’ said Michael. ‘De Lisle was distraught, and was making unfounded accusations in his grief.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Of course, it would have been difficult for Blanche to extricate herself from that indictment, given that she publicly threatened to kill Tysilia – the day we found Robert, remember? – and that she had a grudge against de Lisle because of Glovere.’
‘Do you think de Lisle arranged to have the stone pushed himself, so he would be able to accuse Blanche of dirty tricks?’
Michael seriously considered the possibility. ‘If so, then the pusher would have had to be a man he trusted, because he would not have wanted the pig to land on him by mistake. But Ralph was with you, and so I do not think that a likely scenario, Matt.’
‘Is Ralph the only man he would depend on for such a thing?’
‘Yes, I think so. But, unlikely though it sounds, de Lisle loves Tysilia and I do not believe he would risk harming her.’
‘De Lisle is certain it was not an accident. It seems that the north-west transept was actually reasonably safe, but rumours were circulated that it was not. I asked Henry about it, and he thinks the rumours originated with John and Leycestre. Leycestre is obviously good at spreading tales that benefit him.’
‘But it was not safe,’ Michael pointed out. ‘There were bits of broken stone all over the floor, and a pig dropped on Tysilia’s head.’
‘Then they were pushed deliberately, to maintain the illusion of instability. It was not so much the building that fell anyway – it was the scaffolding that was supposed to be shoring it up.’
‘But why did Alan, who is an excellent engineer, say nothing to contradict these rumours?’
‘Because he hopes some wealthy pilgrim will be so appalled by the state of the cathedral that he will donate funds for its restoration. He said as much when we first arrived. Alan seems as dishonest as Robert where money for his engineering is concerned.’
‘He is obsessed with it,’ agreed Michael. ‘But here we are, at the latrines. This is a pleasant way to pass an evening. Why did I allow you to drag me from a perfectly good meal for this?’
‘To catch your killer, Brother. And speaking of killers, if you look towards the Prior’s House, you will see Agnes Fitzpayne meeting Alan. I wager you anything you choose that her presence here is the first stage in the plan to rob the priory. The theft is under way.’
‘Is it my imagination, or is she limping?’ asked Michael, peering through the gloom of dusk to where Bartholomew pointed.
‘She is limping,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But she is wearing her best clothes for her assignation with Prior Alan, and it is possible that her shoes pinch. There is Welles. He is limping, too.’
‘So he is,’ said Michael. ‘But he was not doing so earlier. The more I look around me, the more I realise that many folk walk in a way that is extremely odd. I have never noticed it before, but people really do have distinctive gaits.’
Bartholomew saw that Michael was right, and was aware of a slight throb in his own back, probably as a result of pulling William from the water the previous day.
‘What will you do about that gold thread we found in William’s cross?’ asked Bartholomew, squinting up to where the first stars were beginning to gleam in a sky that was just turning from light to dark blue. ‘Will you question Guido about it?’
‘Yes, of course. But whoever killed William battered him over the head – no blades were inserted in his neck. This makes me suspect – rightly or wrongly – that William’s killer is different to the others’. So, Guido can wait until tomorrow. Today, I want to catch the neck-stabber.’
‘Guido may not be here tomorrow,’ warned Bartholomew. ‘He will have taken the money offered by Leycestre and left.’
‘Then I will follow him. The clan owns a number of carts – his tracks will not be hard to find.’
‘I am not so sure about that. Leycestre is unlikely to pay someone to disappear who will be easily found. Once Guido leaves Ely, you may never see him again.’
‘That may be true elsewhere, but not here,’ said Michael confidently. ‘There are a limited number of paths through the Fens, and people with heavy carts can hardly load them all on to boats. They will not go far.’
Bartholomew thought he was wrong, but saw there was little point in arguing. He began to walk along the line of latrines, opening each door to see whether anyone was hiding inside. One or two people were there on perfectly legitimate business, but their outraged objections died in their throats when Michael leaned into the stalls to enquire whether they wished to make a complaint. The expression on his face made it clear that the best thing they could do would be to close the door and ignore whatever happened outside.
When they had reached the last stall, and there was no sign of Symon, Bartholomew began to think that the slippery librarian had eluded them yet again. But when he shoved the door open as far as it would go, it met with resistance, and when he pushed against it harder still, there was a small grunt of pain.
‘Come out, Symon,’ ordered Michael. ‘I do not like latrines at the best of times, and I am not impressed that my search for you has led me here yet again. I am not in a good mood, and you would be wise to pander to my wishes.’
Reluctantly, Symon sidled from the stall, looking this way and that as though he imagined he might be able to run if the questions became too awkward. Michael grabbed him firmly by the arm and dragged him away. When he reached a place where the air suited him better, Michael stopped, but did not release his prey.
‘You have a bad back,’ he began without preamble. ‘Would you care to tell us how you came by it?’