‘Lord help us, Matt,’ Michael muttered through clenched teeth, watching the scene with rank disapproval. ‘What is she doing in Blanche’s retinue, when Blanche and de Lisle are such bitter enemies? And anyway, I thought de Lisle had foisted Tysilia on the lepers at Barnwell Hospital, so that they could cure whatever ails her mind.’
‘There is no cure for her,’ replied Bartholomew in an undertone. ‘She was born stupid, and no amount of “healing” will ever change that.’
Michael gave a soft laugh. ‘And this was the woman you thought was a criminal mastermind earlier this year!’
Bartholomew grimaced. ‘I was wrong. But I was right about one thing: her appalling lack of wits makes her dangerous to know. She should be locked away, but not with lepers.’
‘Why? Because she might catch the contagion?’
‘Because she puts them at risk. On one occasion, she seized someone in an amorous embrace that relieved him of three fingers and part of his nose, while on another she set the chapel alight by putting the eternal flame under the wooden altar.’
‘Why did she do that?’ asked Michael with appalled curiosity.
‘To keep it warm during the night, apparently. After that, the lepers decided that they would rather starve than accept the Bishop’s money to care for her. I wondered what he had done with her when they ordered her to leave. But here she is, overcome with delight at meeting her old friend Michael.’
‘Brother Martin!’ exclaimed Tysilia joyfully, flinging herself into the monk’s ample arms. ‘And Doctor Butcher the surgeon, too! You both came here to visit me!’
‘We did not know you would be here,’ said Michael, hastily disengaging himself before Blanche and her retinue could assume he was one of Tysilia’s many former lovers. Bartholomew ducked behind the monk’s sizeable bulk, before he could be treated to a similar display of affection.
‘My uncle, Thomas de Lisle, suggested that I spend time with Blanche,’ said Tysilia, smiling as vacantly as ever. ‘I am now her ward. I did not like being with the lepers, anyway. Their faces kept falling off, so it was difficult for me to remember who was who.’
As she spoke, Blanche broke away from the obsequious grovelling of Robert and William and approached Michael, curious about the man who was acquainted with her charge.
‘De Lisle lied to me,’ said Blanche without preamble, regarding the monk as though he were responsible. ‘He told me that Tysilia was a sweet and gentle child, who could benefit from a motherly hand. She is not, and he can have her back again.’
Tysilia’s face fell. ‘But I have had such fun with you and all your charming young courtiers!’
‘I assure you I know,’ said Blanche grimly. She turned to Michael. ‘You are the Bishop’s agent. Are you here to help him escape from the charge of murder I have brought against him?’
‘I am here to see justice done,’ replied Michael. ‘I do not want to see an innocent man convicted of a crime any more than I want to see a murder go unpunished. We men of God have strong views on such matters.’
‘Not in my experience,’ retorted Blanche. ‘Your Bishop is a wicked man. I know he killed poor Glovere, and I am here to ensure that he pays the price. And he can have this little whore back again, too. She has seduced virtually every man on my estates, so she will be looking for new pastures soon, anyway.’
‘But I am not ready to leave yet!’ wailed Tysilia in dismay. She was about to add details, but Blanche took her arm and hurried her away, leaving Bartholomew and Michael bemused by the encounter.
‘Did you know that de Lisle had managed to foist his “niece” on Blanche?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘No wonder she loathes him! Looking after Tysilia would not be easy.’
‘I did not know,’ said Michael, smiling wickedly. ‘Although it was a clever ploy on his part. By giving Blanche a kinswoman to watch over, he is indicating that he trusts her and that he wishes a truce. However, Tysilia is capable of driving anyone insane, and I imagine he derived a good deal of amusement from the fact that she would lead Blanche a merry dance.’
‘Prior Alan!’ Blanche’s strident voice echoed across the courtyard and the hum of conversation between her followers and the fussing monks faltered into silence. Alan had emerged from his lodgings, and was hurrying towards her, a slight, wiry man converging on a squat, dumpy woman.
‘Lady Blanche,’ Alan replied breathlessly, as he reached her. ‘Welcome to Ely.’
She inclined her head to acknowledge his greeting. ‘I have come on grave business,’ she announced in tones loud enough to have been heard in the marketplace. ‘I accuse Thomas de Lisle, Bishop of Ely, of the most heinous of crimes: the murder of my steward, Master Glovere.’
Alan nodded. ‘As a churchman, de Lisle is subject to canon, not secular, law, and this matter will be investigated accordingly. When I heard news of your imminent arrival, I dispatched a messenger to fetch the Bishop of Coventry and Lichfield – Roger de Northburgh – to examine the case. As luck would have it, he is currently visiting Cambridge, and I expect him here in two or three days.’
‘Northburgh?’ breathed Michael in horror. ‘Alan has engaged Roger de Northburgh for this?’
‘What is wrong with him?’ whispered Bartholomew, puzzled by Michael’s reaction. ‘It would not be right for de Lisle to be examined by someone who is not at least a bishop.’
‘I know that,’ snapped Michael testily. ‘But Northburgh is ninety years old, if he is a day, and is only in Cambridge because he has been pestering the canons of St John’s Hospital to give him tonics and remedies to prevent his impending death. Like many churchmen who see their end looming large, he would rather stay in this world than experience what might be in store for him in the next.’
‘Then look on the bright side: you will not have a rival investigator breathing down your neck. Northburgh will spend his time with Brother Henry.’
‘True. I suppose Alan chose him because he is the only bishop within reach at such short notice. But no one in his right mind would bide by any conclusions drawn by Northburgh.’
‘No one in his right mind would bide by any conclusions drawn by Northburgh,’ announced Blanche to Alan, although she was too far away to have heard the muttered conversation between Bartholomew and Michael. ‘I knew this priory would not select a suitable man, so I have appointed my own agent – a man whom the King and the Black Prince recommended to me.’
‘Who?’ asked Alan uneasily. ‘I am not sure it is wise to have too many investigations proceeding simultaneously. De Lisle has engaged Brother Michael to look into the matter, too.’
Blanche shot Michael a disparaging glance. ‘You mean de Lisle has instructed his creature to hide the evidence and allow him to weasel out of the noose he has knotted for himself.’
‘He ordered me to uncover the truth,’ said Michael indignantly, although as far as Bartholomew recalled de Lisle had done no such thing. Michael had been charged to prove de Lisle innocent, which was not necessarily the same. ‘I am no one’s creature, madam, and I am only interested in the facts.’
Blanche turned back to Alan. ‘I have ordered Robert Stretton to come to my aid. He, too, will arrive in a day or two.’
Michael gave a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for small mercies!’ he whispered to Bartholomew. ‘Stretton is no more capable of investigating a murder than Northburgh. The royal family like him, but their confidence is misplaced.’
‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily, feeling that Blanche was not a fool, and that she would not have appointed Stretton if he were a total incompetent.
‘He is virtually illiterate for a start,’ said Michael. ‘He was collated to the canonry of St Cross at Lincoln Cathedral earlier this year, and has ambitions to be a bishop. I doubt he will ever succeed, given his intellectual shortcomings.’
‘I should hope not, if he cannot read. The days of prelates who do not know one end of a bible from another are mostly over.’