‘I imagine he is trying to protect you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You are very vocal about your beliefs, and he probably does not want you telling one of the King’s spies that Ely is a hotbed of insurrection.’
‘Unfortunately, it is not,’ said Leycestre bitterly. ‘I wish it were, because then we might be able to set about rectifying the unjust situation that prevails here. But although everyone complains about high taxes and crippling tithes, no one is prepared to do anything about them.’
‘And you are?’
Leycestre regarded him warily. ‘That is a blunt question. Perhaps Father John was right to try to prevent us from speaking to you.’
‘Perhaps he was. Not everyone feels the same way as you do.’
Leycestre went back to his preaching. ‘All the folk here resent the heavy taxes and the fact that they owe at least three days’ labour each week to the Bishop or the priory – depending on who owns the land – before they can even begin to see to their own crops. But no one except us has the courage to speak out.’
‘Father John is certainly vocal in his way,’ said Bartholomew with a smile. ‘He must have spoiled the monks’ morning mass.’
Leycestre did not smile back. ‘It is a matter of principle that we do not allow those fat, wealthy clerics to gain the better of us poor folk. It is a pity, though: I used to find prime in the cathedral a restful time, and now it has become a battle.’
‘Then do not take part in it,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘I am sorry if I offend you, but competing to see who can shout the loudest is no way to behave. It is very childish.’
‘That is because you do not understand what is at issue here,’ said one of the nephews, pushing forward and thrusting his heavy, ruddy face close to Bartholomew’s. The physician was startled: he had forgotten the youths were there. ‘You only heard a lot of shouting, but–’
‘That is enough!’ came a sharp voice from behind them. Bartholomew turned to see that Agnes Fitzpayne had abandoned John, and was approaching them. She glowered menacingly at the hapless young man. ‘I have warned you about this kind of thing before, Adam!’
Adam fell back, reddening in embarrassment at the admonition.
‘Mistress Fitzpayne,’ said Leycestre pleasantly. ‘Good morning.’
‘A “good morning” for talking rebellious nonsense, you mean,’ she snapped. ‘Go on! Be off! All three of you have work to do in the fields, and making nuisances of yourselves in the cathedral will not get the crops harvested.’
‘Priory crops!’ spat Adam in disgust. ‘The monks have no right to force us to work in their fields for no pay. We have families to feed and bread to earn, and we have no spare days for labouring just so that the likes of them can get fat on our sweat.’
‘That may be so, but it is not for you to try to change things,’ said Agnes briskly, cocking her head meaningfully at Bartholomew in an unsubtle warning that strangers were present. ‘Go away before I take a broom handle to you.’
Reluctantly, the nephews slunk away, casting resentful glances over their shoulders to show their displeasure at being dismissed like schoolboys. Leycestre lingered, although he was evidently not in Agnes’s good books for spinning his disaffected thoughts to the priory’s visitors, because she turned her back on him when she addressed Bartholomew. She looked the physician up and down before speaking, as she might examine a fish she was considering buying.
‘I am surprised to see you here so early this morning,’ she began rudely. ‘You and your fat Benedictine friend trawled every tavern in the town last night, asking about Glovere. I did not expect to see you until at least noon, given that Ely ale is stronger than that pale stuff served in Cambridge.’
‘We did not drink that much,’ said Bartholomew, blithely ignoring the fact that he had felt less than lively when he had awoken that morning. ‘We wanted information, not ale.’
Agnes nodded. ‘I know what you wanted. You are trying to find evidence that Thomas de Lisle did not drown Glovere in the river.’
‘Much as I despise the man for oppressing the people he is supposed to care for, I do not think de Lisle killed Glovere … ’ began Leycestre.
Agnes said tiredly, ‘No, we all know what you think, Leycestre. You blame Glovere’s death on the gypsies. Personally, I do not know what to believe, so I suppose we will just have to wait and see what the official investigators – Brother Michael, Bishop Northburgh and Canon Stretton – discover.’ She turned her penetrating gaze on Bartholomew. ‘But meanwhile, I would be obliged if you would forget what you just heard.’
‘And you would be wise to oblige her,’ Bartholomew thought he heard Leycestre murmur.
‘Forget what, precisely?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘The fact that I have just witnessed the unedifying spectacle of rival clerics trying to yell each other hoarse? Or the fact that Ely’s young men, like those in Cambridge, do not like harvesting crops?’
Agnes put her hands on her hips and regarded him closely. ‘You are one of that rabble of scholars from the University in Cambridge. I hear that the masters there engage in unnatural acts with animals, and that the students practise satanic rites in the churchyards after dark – when they are not murdering townsfolk, that is.’
‘Only when they are not roasting babies on spits in the Market Square,’ replied Bartholomew, wondering what scholars had done to earn such a peculiar reputation. From what he had observed during his brief sojourn with the residents of Ely, he thought they should concentrate on improving their own image before launching attacks on those of others.
‘Come, Leycestre,’ Agnes ordered, apparently uncertain whether or not the newcomer was jesting with her and not inclined to stay to find out. ‘We should make sure those feckless lads go to the priory’s fields and do their duty, or there will be trouble.’
As Bartholomew watched them hurry away, a sharp voice made him turn. It was Father John, his face dark with anger. ‘I told you not to talk to Leycestre and his nephews,’ he snapped, seizing Bartholomew’s arm angrily.
The physician pulled away, irked that the man should manhandle him. ‘You can tell me whatever you like, but I am not obliged to follow any of your orders. And they spoke to me first, not the other way around.’
‘They came to ascertain whether you are one of them,’ said John bitterly. ‘Foolish men! It is the surest way to place a noose around their necks – and mine, if they implicate me in their plans. It was lucky Agnes arrived when she did. Doubtless she stopped them from saying anything that might have been dangerous.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Bartholomew testily, weary of the threats and assumptions that Ely’s citizens seemed happy to bandy about. ‘What is so dangerous about a conversation in a church?’
‘Rebellion,’ said John in a whisper, glancing around him as if the King’s spies might be lurking behind the cathedral’s pillars. ‘Sedition and bloody uprising. The people have grown tired of bending under the yoke of harsh landlords, and they are ready to rise against them. Leycestre and his nephews are the leaders of the movement in Ely. I am not with them, of course; I shall have to wait to see which side will win before I choose one faction over the other.’
‘Very wise,’ said Bartholomew dryly. ‘But I am no rabble rouser, and I do not want to become involved in any such venture. You can tell your trio of rebels to leave me alone.’
‘Not my trio,’ said John hastily. ‘But you will say nothing of this to the monks, especially Almoner Robert, or he will have them imprisoned. So, the matter is closed. Are we agreed? I see you carry a medicine bag. Are you a physician?’
‘Yes – I am here to read in the monks’ library; I have no time to work on horoscopes,’ Bartholomew said quickly before he was inundated with requests in that quarter.