‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew, failing to see the advantage in making people think their cathedral was about to fall around their ears.
Alan was wistful. ‘Because then they might ask me to rebuild it. But as things stand, I am now obliged to devote my energy and resources to completing the parish church. Have you seen it? It is that uninteresting half-built lean-to structure against the north wall of the cathedral. The parishioners have been demanding that we finish it soon, so that they have a place of their own, and no longer have to use the cathedral. They do not like saying their prayers in the nave while we are in the chancel.’
There was a perfunctory knock on the door and William entered, followed by a servant who carried a heavy pewter jug and three goblets on a tray. The jug was filled to the brim with frothing ale, and the sweet, rich scent of it had Michael leaning forward in eager anticipation, nuts forgotten. William poured it, then infuriated Michael by deliberately presenting him with the cup that was only half full. Smiling maliciously, the hosteller gave Alan a brief nod and left again, closing the door behind him.
‘Bona cervisia,’ said Michael, taking a deep draught of the ale and sighing in appreciation, foam clinging to his upper lip. ‘A drink fit for the angels.’
‘Only ones with very strong stomachs,’ said Bartholomew, wincing at the power of the brew in his cup. ‘I could render patients insensible for amputations with a goblet of this.’
‘It is wasted on you,’ said Michael critically. ‘You are too used to the watery muck served at Michaelhouse to be able to savour a fine brew like this.’
‘I cannot help but worry about what de Lisle has asked you to do,’ said Alan, taking his own cup and walking to the window, where he stood looking in dismay at his depleted nut bowl. ‘I am sure it will not end well.’ He turned to fix Bartholomew with his intense blue eyes. ‘Can you not persuade Michael to return to Cambridge, Doctor? You can say he has marsh fever. There is a lot of that about at this time of year, and the Bishop would never suspect that Michael had removed himself for his own safety.’
‘We could do that,’ acknowledged Michael, draining his cup and refilling it – this time to the brim. ‘But de Lisle is not the only one with a cunning mind. I have a little cleverness myself.’
‘You do,’ agreed Alan. ‘And your success in solving the most perplexing of crimes is known in Ely, as well as in Cambridge. But that worries me, too. De Lisle knows you are clever and he knows you are likely to uncover the truth.’
‘So?’ asked Michael, draining his cup a second time. ‘I do not understand your point.’
‘I mean that if de Lisle knows you are likely to reveal him as a murderer – if he is guilty – then why did he send for you? Why not appoint a lesser investigator instead – one of his own creatures?’
Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘Because he is innocent, and he wants me to prove it?’
Alan remained uneasy. ‘Perhaps. But the murder of this servant is not the only thing that has happened to the Bishop recently. There was a burglary, too.’
‘He was a victim,’ Michael pointed out. ‘No one has suggested he is the thief!’
Alan inclined his head in acknowledgement, although the anxious expression did not fade from his eyes. He was about to continue, when there was another knock, and William entered a third time.
‘I thought you should know, Father Prior, that a messenger has just arrived. He informs me that Lady Blanche is a short distance from Ely, and will be here within the hour. She says she wants to ensure that the murder of her steward is investigated in a proper and thorough manner.’ He shot Michael an unpleasant glance, as though he thought the matter well beyond Michael’s capabilities.
‘Damn it all!’ muttered Michael. ‘This case will be difficult enough to solve without the likes of that woman demanding to know my every move and trying to pervert the course of justice.’
While Alan de Walsingham and William hastened to make ready for the great lady’s arrival, Bartholomew and Michael were left to their own devices. The physician wanted to go to the library, to begin his reading, but it seemed that the Prior and hosteller were not the only ones engaged in the preparations for Lady Blanche: Brother Symon, who was in charge of the books, was also unavailable, and sent a message to Bartholomew informing him that he would have to wait until the following day.
‘But I only need him to unlock the door,’ Bartholomew objected to the messenger, a cheerful novice with freckles, whom Michael introduced as John de Bukton. ‘I do not require him to fetch books or carry them to a table. I can do that myself.’
Bukton looked apologetic. ‘Symon does not like people reading his books. He would rather see them on the shelves, and considers their removal for education anathema.’
‘That is not a good characteristic in a librarian,’ Bartholomew pointed out, ignoring Michael’s snigger of amusement. ‘Books were written to be read.’
‘That is not what Symon believes,’ said Bukton with a grin. ‘And there is another thing: he does not know what books we own anyway. He classifies them according to their size, so that they look nice on his shelves, but if you were to ask him for a specific volume, he could not tell you where it was unless you also told him how big it was.’
Bartholomew sighed. ‘I was looking forward to a few quiet days among books. Now I learn that the librarian is a man who would rather his collection was never used, and that my friend is to investigate a murder for which his Bishop stands accused. What kind of place is this?’
Bukton was offended by the criticism. ‘You have just caught us on a bad day.’
‘I should say!’ muttered Bartholomew, watching the young man speed away as he went to help his elders ready the Outer Hostry for Lady Blanche and her followers. He turned to Michael. ‘No wonder you like Cambridge, Brother. It is a haven of peace compared to this.’
‘As he said, you are not seeing us at our best,’ replied Michael, also unwilling to see his priory regarded in an unfavourable light. ‘But I can take you to the infirmary, where you can settle yourself for your stay, and then we can go to view the body of the man whom my Bishop murdered.’
‘Is accused of murdering,’ corrected Bartholomew uneasily. ‘You should watch what you say, Brother. One slip like that in front of the wrong people might see de Lisle condemned.’
Michael said nothing, and Bartholomew shot him a sidelong glance, alarmed that Michael, like so many others, had accepted as fact the Bishop’s guilt. The monk’s task, therefore, would not be to prove de Lisle’s innocence, but to ensure that he escaped the charges. The physician felt a knot of anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach, aware that his friend was about to begin something that could lead him on to dangerous ground. Michael was a clever man, and his inventively cunning mind often surprised Bartholomew, but, nevertheless, the physician wished neither of them had come to Ely in the first place.
‘We have been here for an hour, and we are already embroiled in something sinister,’ he grumbled, following Michael along the well-kept path that led from the Prior’s House in the direction of the infirmary.
Michael turned to face him, his expression sombre. ‘I would not have let you come had I known what de Lisle wanted me to do. But it is not too late. Leave now, and take Cynric and Meadowman with you. You will be back in Cambridge before nightfall.’
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘The horses are tired and Cynric is already showing Meadowman the taverns. It will be far too late by the time I find them. Besides, how can I leave you here alone?’
‘I am in my own priory, Matt. I am surrounded by friends.’
‘Hardly!’ snorted Bartholomew in disgust. ‘Prior Alan seems decent enough, but the almoner does not like you and neither does the hosteller. You are not among friends here.’
Michael smiled and slapped him on the shoulders. ‘Then allow me to introduce you to Henry de Wykes, the priory’s physician. He is a good and honest man, and there is hardly a soul in the town who does not like him. He is a little immodest, perhaps, but that is no great fault when you compare him to the rest of my brethren here.’