‘No,’ said Symon shortly.
‘Then I suggest you reconsider, unless you want to spend all your time in the latrines for the next year. I am an influential man, and if I make a recommendation to Prior Alan that these buildings are filthy and need to be cleaned daily, he will comply with my suggestion regarding who is the best-suited man for the task.’
Symon blanched. Even his affinity with the latrines did not stretch that far, and he evidently knew Michael was the kind of man to carry out his threat. He began to bluster. ‘I do not know how I came by my ailment. It just happened.’
‘You did not engage in a fight of any kind or attack someone?’ prompted Michael.
Symon regarded him as though he were insane. ‘Are you mad? Of course I did not fight anyone! That kind of behaviour is for novices and men who are paid by the Bishop to chase criminals. I am a librarian!’ He drew himself up to his full height and regarded Michael with disdain.
‘Then how do you account for your bad back?’ pressed Michael, unmoved. ‘These things do not “just happen”. You have to do something to aggravate them. Is that not true, Matt?’
‘When you hide in the latrines, do you sit?’ asked Bartholomew, deciding not to answer. Backaches were difficult complaints to diagnose, and came about as a result of a wide variety of causes. He had treated many patients who claimed that a sudden pain in the back had started for no apparent reason.
‘That is a highly personal question,’ said Symon, clinging to the last vestiges of his dignity. ‘But yes, I do. Sitting allows me to rest my legs, whereas standing means I tend to lean against the walls.’ He shuddered. ‘And no one should do that in there.’
‘Then your backache may be explained by your sitting too long in one position,’ said Bartholomew. ‘There is not much space for moving in those stalls. I recommend you either stand more often or find another hiding place.’
‘Thank you,’ said Symon stiffly. ‘I shall do that.’
‘What have you been doing for the last two days?’ demanded Michael scowling at Bartholomew for allowing the librarian to wriggle from the hook. ‘Did you not hear that we wanted a word with you?’
Symon’s expression hardened. ‘I have duties to fulfil, and cannot abandon them just because you have decided to ask me questions. For your information, I went to visit the nuns at Denny Abbey yesterday, because they are selling a copy of Matthew Paris’s Chronica Majora.’
‘You already have at least three copies of that,’ said Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘Why do you want another?’
Symon glowered at Bartholomew, who assumed the librarian had not known about the existence of duplicates. ‘This one was illustrated,’ he growled. ‘My readers prefer books with pictures. But suffice to say that I was engaged with priory business, and that I have only recently returned.’
‘I see,’ said Michael, clearly not believing a word. ‘What were you doing at midnight on Friday? Were you here, trying to avoid leaning on the walls, or were you out and about? Near the Bone House, for example?’
‘I certainly was not,’ said Symon indignantly. ‘And I was in my library on Friday night, cleaning up the mess your friend left with his reading. Henry may have heard me from the infirmary, so you can ask him.’
‘We will ask him,’ said Michael, releasing the librarian’s arm. ‘And if he does not support your claim, we will be back to talk to you again. Do not think that you will evade me: I know this priory as well as you do, and there is nowhere you can go that I will not find you.’
Symon scuttled away as fast as he could when released from Michael’s interrogation, leaving the monk staring thoughtfully after him. Michael and Bartholomew began to walk back up the hill together, away from the odorous latrines. Michael professed himself unconvinced by Symon’s story, and said he was going to ask Henry about the library’s creaking floorboards. Meanwhile, the physician was concerned about the sudden presence of Agnes Fitzpayne in the monastery, and intended to do something about it. Prior Alan had been kind to him, and he did not want to repay the man’s hospitality by allowing a theft to take place that might see some of the cathedral-priory’s treasures permanently lost. He decided to ask his book-bearer to help him catch the thieves.
Cynric was more than willing to assist, claiming that he was bored in Ely with nothing to do other than help the cooks in the kitchen or wander the town’s taverns. Meadowman was with him, and also readily agreed to a little thief-taking.
‘What is the plan?’ asked Cynric keenly, walking next to Bartholomew as they headed towards the Prior’s House. ‘Agnes Fitzpayne is already inside, you say?’
‘I do not know the details,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I only know that it is already in action.’
‘Not their plan,’ said Cynric impatiently. ‘Ours. What do you intend to do?’
Bartholomew regarded his book-bearer uneasily. ‘How can we have a plan? We do not know what is going to happen.’
Cynric sighed in exasperation. ‘But you have to have some idea as to what you want us to do! We cannot stand in a row outside Alan’s house and wait for Leycestre to walk past. Obviously our presence there would warn him that something was amiss.’
‘We will hide, then,’ determined Bartholomew. ‘You can take the trees in the garden opposite Alan’s house, Meadowman can stay near the end of the refectory, and I will find somewhere to disappear near the Prior’s Great Hall.’
‘And what are we looking for, exactly?’ asked Cynric. ‘Do you anticipate that Leycestre and his nephews will slip into the monastery unnoticed, creep up to Alan’s solar, and help Agnes demand all his money? Now? Before all the monks have gone to bed?’
‘Most of them have,’ said Meadowman pedantically. ‘I can see their lights in the dormitory and most of the precinct is deserted.’
Cynric sighed, ‘But a few have not – Symon, Alan and Henry, to name but three. My point remains.’
‘I suppose an evening crime would be a new venture for them,’ admitted Bartholomew. ‘Previously, they have entered and left their victims’ property in the depths of the night. I do not know why Agnes asked for an interview with the Prior, but I am certain it is all part of their plot.’
‘Perhaps she is aware that the rebels have been exposed, and she is asking Alan for his forgiveness while she still can,’ suggested Meadowman charitably.
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘They will be angry and desperate. They have worked hard and taken a lot of chances to burgle those houses over these last three weeks, but today saw them lose every last penny when their hoard was discovered in the transept. Leycestre has already bribed the gypsies to leave before tomorrow – to take the blame for the theft he plans to commit – so they have no choice but to act tonight.’
‘But I thought you said that all the treasure Leycestre stole has been recovered,’ Meadowman pointed out, always one to see flaws in the details. ‘How will he pay the gypsies for their part of the bargain?’
‘I do not know,’ replied Bartholomew, becoming exasperated with the fact that the servants seemed more inclined to talk than to act. ‘Perhaps they have already received their reward. Or perhaps he plans to pay them with some of whatever he takes tonight.’
‘Very well, then,’ said Cynric, apparently deciding the time was ripe for action. ‘It is now dark, so I suppose they will be making their move soon. It is a pity for them that the night is clear and that there is a moon. Stay still and quiet, and be aware that they may carry weapons.’
They took up their posts, and Bartholomew watched the night settle cool and dark across the Fenland town. He was anticipating a lengthy wait, and was just moving into a comfortable position against the sun-warmed wall when he saw the familiar shape of Leycestre moving through the shadows created by the moonlight. The man was walking quickly towards the Prior’s House from the direction of the vineyard. He was not alone; Brother Symon was with him, still limping from his aching back, and Leycestre’s nephews were in their customary vanguard position. Bartholomew watched them in surprise. Surely Leycestre had not persuaded the librarian to rally to his cause?