‘Guido is king now,’ she said, with more than a trace of disapproval. ‘He makes the decisions for the clan, and we are obliged to follow them. He has decided that we should accept Leycestre’s offer and leave the city. All I did was recommend that we ask for wheat.’
‘I imagine that suited Leycestre very well,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He lost all his gold today, thanks to Tysilia.’
‘We heard about that,’ said Eulalia. She did not smile, even though it was an amusing story.
‘You do not have to leave,’ Bartholomew said to her, his voice sounding more desperate than he would have liked. ‘Leycestre and his nephews are under arrest. As we predicted, they planned to have you accused of stealing the priory’s treasure, and your sudden departure tonight was to be evidence of your guilt.’
‘If Leycestre is under lock and key, then it is necessary for us to leave,’ said Eulalia. ‘It will not be long before he tells people that we accepted stolen grain, and we will be fugitives anyway.’
‘The authorities will track you if you go,’ warned Bartholomew. ‘They will do exactly what Leycestre intended – assume your guilt because you ran away.’
‘No one will find us once we leave,’ said Eulalia confidently. ‘We know ancient route-ways that are barely above the water, and only a Fenman will be able to track us. None will, though, because they do not like the priory or the Bishop any more than we do.’
‘But why are you allowing Leycestre to drive you away?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking they were making a serious mistake. Clerics travelled, too, and it was only a matter of time before the gypsies were recognised by someone from the priory and arrested.
‘No one is driving us anywhere,’ snarled Guido angrily. ‘We are going because I have decided to leave.’
‘It has not been pleasant in Ely this year,’ said Eulalia, almost apologetically to Bartholomew. ‘People have not been as kind as usual, and none of us has enjoyed being accused of crimes of which we were innocent.’
‘But by leaving, it will appear as though you were complicit–’
‘I know,’ she said, raising a hand to his mouth to silence him. ‘But that is part of the price we will have to pay for our grain. As I said, there is nothing for us here. You are virtually the only person who has not shunned us.’
‘That is because he is lovesick for you, woman,’ snapped Guido in disgust. ‘It has nothing to do with the fact that we are innocent.’
‘There is evidence that Guido killed William,’ said Bartholomew, ignoring him and addressing his sister. ‘Theft is serious enough, but the murder of one of the priory’s most important officials will result in a much more vigorous search. You will not escape.’
Eulalia regarded him sombrely as she considered this new information. It was growing crowded in the small room with Eulalia, Guido and Goran there, and Bartholomew felt hot and hemmed in. He flinched when Goran accidentally bumped him, and his bare arm touched Guido’s blade. He glanced at the weapon uneasily, wondering whether it was the one that had killed Glovere, Chaloner and the others.
‘What evidence do you have?’ sneered Guido contemptuously, when Eulalia said nothing. ‘You cannot prove the clan had anything to do with that.’
‘Not the clan,’ said Bartholomew softly. ‘You. Michael knows enough to hang you.’
Eulalia stood close to Bartholomew, gazing into his face. ‘Are you telling the truth?’ She nodded slowly, and answered her own question. ‘Yes. I think you are. At least, what you perceive to be the truth. But you are wrong, Matthew: Guido has killed no one. I know he often says he will kill if anyone threatens the clan, but it is empty bluster. He is not a murderer.’
Guido’s sneer deepened, and Bartholomew thought Eulalia could not be more wrong. Guido was a killer, and at some point he had translated his ‘empty bluster’ to reality. He pointed to the puckering on Guido’s cap. ‘The strand of gold thread that you see has been torn from the hat was found on William’s body – caught on the cross he wore around his neck. William was engaged in a violent struggle before he died, and it is obvious that the strand was ripped away from the hat then.’
‘Liar,’ snarled Guido, his sneer instantly replaced by fury. Bartholomew thought he might have gone too far, and was surprised that Eulalia managed to stop her brother’s sudden advance merely by turning to look at him and raising one imperious hand.
‘Guido told me he had nothing to do with these deaths,’ she said to Bartholomew. ‘I know he would not lie to me: the clan is not given to telling untruths – at least, not to each other.’
‘Then ask him again,’ said Bartholomew, aware that Guido was looking decidedly uncomfortable. ‘See then whether you still believe him.’
‘I had nothing to do with the deaths of the townsmen and those monks – Robert and Thomas,’ said Guido firmly, looking Eulalia in the eye as he spoke. She turned to Bartholomew and raised her palms upwards, indicating that she believed her brother.
‘I did not say you killed them,’ said Bartholomew, sensing that as soon as Guido had his sister’s trust, he would take the grain and be away. And when Eulalia was out of sight, Bartholomew knew he could expect a knife between his ribs – for angering the clan king as much as to ensure his silence. ‘I said you killed William.’
‘Where is this so-called evidence?’ spat Guido, snatching the offending hat from his head as though it were red hot. He shoved it into his shirt, in a gesture that spoke more for his guilt than anything Bartholomew could have said.
Meanwhile, Goran lunged for the physician and pinned him against the wall. Irrelevantly, Bartholomew heard a sharp rip as stitches in his shirt parted company. ‘You have nothing against Guido,’ Goran growled, forcing his face into Bartholomew’s. The physician recoiled at the stench of his breath. ‘You are making it up so that there will be distrust and dissension within the clan.’
‘Where is this evidence?’ repeated Guido. Bartholomew felt the gypsy claw at his medicine bag, supposing that the thread was hidden there. ‘Give it to me.’
‘You said you did not kill William, Guido,’ said Eulalia immediately, regarding her brother through narrowed eyes. ‘If that is true, then why are you looking for evidence?’
‘We have the gold thread from his hat,’ repeated Bartholomew.
Guido ripped the bag from Bartholomew’s shoulder, up-ended it and began poking among the contents that rolled across the floor. He found the wineskin that contained the physician’s remedy for shocks, and gave an insolent salute before draining its contents. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and slung it away. After a few moments, he saw that what he wanted was not in the bag. He lunged towards Bartholomew with his knife at the ready.
‘Where is it? You might as well speak now, because you will tell me eventually. We know how to prise secrets from people.’
‘I am sure you do,’ said Bartholomew, sounding less afraid than he felt, and wishing he had never mentioned the hat. ‘But I am telling the truth. The thread is secure in the Prior’s solar, and I imagine he has already informed the sheriff about it. What will you do? Murder Alan, to ensure he tells no one what I gave him, then kill the sheriff and his deputies, too? And what about Michael and the other monks? Will you slaughter them as well?’
Eulalia watched the exchange with an expression of growing horror, understanding that Guido would not be so determined to locate the evidence if he knew it did not exist. His knife was dangerously close to Bartholomew’s face when she stepped forward and pushed her brother’s hand away.
‘There will be no killing,’ she said in an unsteady voice. She addressed Bartholomew. ‘That thread means nothing. Someone put it there, trying to implicate Guido in a crime he did not commit.’