Eulalia said something to her clan in a language Bartholomew could not understand, then snatched the knife from Rosel, and darted towards Bartholomew. He backed away, but Goran was ready for him and the physician felt himself bound by a pair of sturdy arms. Others rushed to help, and Bartholomew was wrestled to the ground, so that he could not move. An empty grain sack was pulled over his head, which turned his world completely black and muffled all sounds. He tried to shout, but the breath he took drew chaff into his lungs and almost suffocated him. He felt hands pulling at his limbs and tried to struggle free. But it was to no avail. He was helpless.
Chapter 12
Time lost all meaning for Bartholomew. It could have been an hour or a good deal longer that he was bound hand and foot, with the sack pulled so tightly over his head that he could scarcely breathe, let alone hear or see. He felt himself bundled through the window, then dumped among the wheat that was being loaded on to the cart in the yard. A couple of sacks were placed on top of him, so that he would be invisible to anyone who happened to notice the procession of gypsies in the night.
They rattled along at a cracking pace, with the sacks lurching from side to side and threatening to topple. Bartholomew wondered whether the clan intended to travel to London with him trussed up like a Yuletide chicken, and was not sure that he would survive the journey. He could not feel his legs, and he was becoming dizzy and disoriented from the lack of air. He had no idea what they planned to do with him, but suspected that the murder of a clansman was regarded as a serious offence, and that they intended to dispense their own justice. He expected to be taken to some remote place deep in the marshes, where they would slit his throat and dump his body in one of the deeper bogs, where it would never be found.
Just when he was beginning to think that they merely intended him to suffocate slowly over a period of several hours, he felt someone fiddle with the knots that held the sack in place. When it was removed, he saw a blaze of firelight. He began to cough, gulping fresh air into his lungs and feeling his eyes burn at the sudden brightness. When he could see properly, he glanced around him. He knew he was somewhere in the Fens: he could smell the marshes, and could hear reeds hissing softly in the gentle night breeze. He was in a small clearing, where the clan had made a camp for themselves. Some people were sleeping, huddled forms in the long grass covered with brightly coloured blankets, while others sat around the fire and talked in low voices. Eulalia was standing over him, her face creased with concern.
‘Are you all right?’
He nodded, biting back an angrier and more truthful response. But he decided there was nothing to be gained from rudeness, and the last thing he wanted was the sack back in its place. ‘Where are we?’
She began sawing at the ropes that bound him. ‘At our camp. Do not worry; you are safe.’
‘I do not feel safe,’ he muttered, rubbing his arms as he glanced over at several burly cousins who seemed to be honing the blades of their knives or oiling the strings on their bows. Blood was beginning to flow back into his limbs, and the sensation was not a pleasant one. He knew he would not be able to run far should they attack. ‘Where is Guido?’
‘Dead,’ said Eulalia, nodding to a large wicker chest on the ground nearby. It was the kind of box that was used to store clothes. Bartholomew supposed that coffins were not items that the clan carried as a matter of course, and that they used whatever came to hand as and when the need arose. The basket did not look long enough to hold Guido, and the physician did not like to imagine how they had prised him into it.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, looking away.
‘He did not die easily, so it was fortunate that his suffering did not last too long.’
‘I could not have saved him, but I might have been able to alleviate some of the pain,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You should have let me help.’
‘But then you would never have proved your innocence to my people,’ she replied. ‘It was better for you that you did not try.’
‘I do not understand. You asked for my assistance …’
‘At first, yes. But when I saw that Guido was dying, I decided it would be best if you went nowhere near him. The kind of curses he was uttering are taken seriously by my people. The only way I saw to prevent one of them from killing you there and then was to suggest that we deal with you later. I said we should not leave blood and a body in the tavern.’
‘Very practical,’ said Bartholomew, glancing around him uneasily. ‘How long do I have before they claim bloodstains in the Fens do not matter?’
She smiled. ‘I have already told you that you have nothing to fear.’
‘I do not understand,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You thought I poisoned him. Why are you helping me?’
She shook her head. ‘You are not the kind of man to commit murder. However, de Lisle paid Guido two groats for pretending to be Blanche.’
‘De Lisle?’ asked Bartholomew, not seeing at all where her logic was taking him. ‘What does he have to do with Guido’s death?’
‘Well, it was Ralph who actually gave Guido the coins, but they came from de Lisle’s coffers.’
‘Are you saying that Ralph killed Guido?’ asked Bartholomew. His head throbbed from tiredness and tension, and he was finding it difficult to concentrate. ‘But how? He was not in the Mermaid tavern, and Guido drank from my wineskin, not one provided by Ralph or de Lisle.’
‘Think,’ said Eulalia. ‘What did Guido put in his mouth, other than wine?’
‘The coins!’ said Bartholomew, understanding at last. ‘He bit the coins de Lisle paid him.’
In an age when forgers and coin-clippers were commonplace, only a fool did not inspect his money carefully before accepting it. Ralph and de Lisle would know that Guido would place any money given to him in his mouth. But a compound of mercuric salts – which Bartholomew thought was what had killed Guido – was an odd poison to employ. Still, Bartholomew supposed that they were unlikely to be spoiled for choice in Ely, and might well use any potion they happened to lay their hands on.
‘But why should de Lisle and Ralph want Guido dead?’
‘So that he would not tell anyone about Goran pretending to be Blanche,’ said Eulalia, as though it were obvious. ‘It would not look good for my brother to reappear in the future and claim that de Lisle had paid him to set fire to his own house.’
‘But surely the whole clan was aware of the plan,’ objected Bartholomew, unconvinced. ‘And, as you say, it was Goran who pretended to be Blanche, but he was not poisoned.’
‘It was Guido with whom Ralph negotiated. He will assume that Guido’s fate will serve to silence the rest of us.’
‘And you are prepared to ride away from Ely, knowing that de Lisle or Ralph took the life of your king?’ asked Bartholomew doubtfully.
Eulalia gave her enigmatic smile. ‘I have not left your side since Guido died, so I have taken no revenge. However, the night is dark, and who knows where Goran may have gone?’
Bartholomew felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. ‘I hope he has not gone after de Lisle!’
‘Personally, I doubt that de Lisle knew anything about the poisoned coins. I think Ralph was using his own initiative.’
‘Then we must stop Goran,’ said Bartholomew, trying to stand. His legs were like rubber, and he collapsed back on to the grain sacks. He gestured urgently to the men sitting around the fire. ‘Send one of them after him. De Lisle will not look the other way while your brother murders his most loyal servant, and Ralph will fight. Ralph might end up killing Goran!’
She rested her hand on his knee, and pointed to where Goran’s burly shape could be seen huddled on the far side of the clearing. ‘It is already too late. Goran returned just before I released you, to tell the clan that the balance has been redressed. Ralph died in his sleep.’