Bartholomew also had no idea why the monk should choose to bask in the rays of the late afternoon sun while hiding behind a mortuary monument, until he spotted yet another figure walking among the graves. The physician grinned, wondering whether he would see half the priory and its guests emerging to engage in ‘secret’ assignations in the cemetery, if he watched long enough. This time, it was de Lisle.
The Bishop was a man imbued with plenty of energy, and he walked briskly and purposefully to the place where Michael waited. At the last moment, he stopped and spun around, gazing back the way he had come, looking for signs that he had been followed. Apparently satisfied that he had not, he quickly stepped behind Michael’s mausoleum; pushing himself close to the monk, he leaned out around the wall and looked back a second time. Cynric, Bartholomew thought, would have been horrified at such a poor display of stealth. His book now completely forgotten, Bartholomew watched with interest.
‘That is my uncle!’ Bartholomew heard Tysilia whisper loudly. ‘He is the Bishop of Ely, you know.’
‘What was that?’ demanded de Lisle immediately, gazing intently in her direction. ‘Did you hear a voice, Brother?’
‘A bird,’ said Michael carelessly. ‘Do not worry, my lord. No one else will be in the cemetery at this hour. My brethren are already massing outside the refectory to wait for the dinner bell, while Lady Blanche and her household are down by the river, where it is cooler.’
‘Well?’ demanded the Bishop. He made no attempt to keep his voice down as he addressed Michael. Bartholomew wondered whether de Lisle was as devious a plotter as he would have everyone believe, if he did not know that it was safer to speak quietly when meeting agents in graveyards – just because he thought he had not been followed did not mean that he could not be heard. ‘What have you learned so far about Glovere?’
Bartholomew wondered what he should do, aware that anything Michael said would also be heard by the hosteller and Tysilia. If Michael felt the need to meet de Lisle in the cemetery, rather than openly at his house or in the cathedral, then the monk clearly wanted privacy. While he felt no particular allegiance to de Lisle, and cared little whether the Bishop revealed his innermost secrets while William and Tysilia listened, Bartholomew did not want the discussion to incriminate Michael. He picked up a small inkpot, and fingered it thoughtfully, seriously considering hurling it at Michael to warn the monk that he and de Lisle were not alone.
‘I have learned very little, I am afraid,’ replied Michael. ‘A fellow named Mackerell spun some story about water-spirits snatching the souls of the three dead men.’
The Bishop nodded. ‘Superstition is rife in the Fens, despite my attempts to try to teach otherwise. I am not surprised that ghosts have been blamed – but better them than me, I say!’
‘True,’ agreed Michael. ‘Mackerell has agreed to meet me by the back door of the priory tonight, where he has promised to reveal all.’
‘What could a man like Mackerell know?’ demanded de Lisle disparagingly. ‘He is a mere fisherman.’
‘He is a mere fisherman who gave the impression he knew something that frightened him,’ said Michael stiffly. ‘We should not dismiss him without hearing his story.’
Bartholomew’s grip on the inkpot loosened. The Bishop and his agent were not discussing anything incriminating or dangerous. He wondered why they had decided to meet in secret. Perhaps it was force of habit that encouraged them to be circumspect, even when there was no need.
‘Very well,’ said de Lisle, although he did not sound convinced. ‘You have more experience in these matters than I do, and I shall bow to your superior knowledge. What else have you learned?’
‘I spoke to Haywarde’s family today,’ said Michael. ‘And I also ascertained that Chaloner and Glovere had no kin – at least, no kin that would acknowledge them.’
‘No family would ever admit to owning Glovere,’ Bartholomew heard Tysilia whisper to William. ‘He always smelled of horse dung, you see.’
‘What?’ William whispered back, evidently more interested in the conversation between Michael and de Lisle than in listening to Tysilia’s deranged ramblings.
‘I think he rubbed it in his hair,’ explained Tysilia helpfully.
‘Be quiet,’ ordered William. ‘And keep your hands where I can see them.’
‘And?’ asked de Lisle of Michael. ‘What did the kinsmen of the unhappy Haywarde tell you?’
‘Nothing,’ Michael admitted. ‘I was hoping to find some connection between him and the other two victims, but nothing was forthcoming. I thought they might be involved in the rebellion that seems to be fermenting in the town.’
‘Leycestre and his silly nephews,’ spat de Lisle in disgust. ‘Nothing they discuss can be of sufficient importance to warrant murder.’
‘Not everyone is as sanguine as you are,’ Michael pointed out. ‘Seditious talk may be considered treasonous.’
‘What salacious talk is this?’ demanded Tysilia in a hoarse whisper, sounding very interested.
De Lisle glanced sharply towards the tree in which she hid. ‘Are you sure you can hear nothing, Brother? That sounded like a voice to me.’
‘It was probably squirrels,’ said Michael complacently. ‘There are a lot of them around at this time of year, looking for nuts.’
‘What about Northburgh and Stretton?’ asked de Lisle, after a searching gaze revealed nothing amiss. Bartholomew could almost hear William holding his breath. ‘Have they learned anything?’
‘Hardly!’ snorted Michael in disgust. ‘Stretton had to ask me how to begin his enquiries, while Northburgh declines to leave the priory lest he contract some peasant ailment.’
‘This is not good,’ said de Lisle worriedly. ‘My name will never be cleared as long as that pair is supposed to be uncovering the evidence. Everyone will merely assume I could not be proven guilty, rather than that I am innocent.’
‘But you have me,’ declared Michael, a little peevishly. ‘I will uncover the truth.’
De Lisle regarded him uneasily. ‘I know. But this investigation is proceeding a good deal more slowly than it should. I dislike being accused of murder: it is not good for a bishop to be seen as the kind of man who commits earthly sins.’
‘I imagine not,’ said Michael. ‘But this is not an easy case to solve, because there is very little for me to work on. I cannot see any link between these three men, except for the fact that they were all killed by the same unusual method. We may have to resort to using a tethered goat to draw the killer out – perhaps dangle some other malcontent in order to force him to strike.’
‘As long as I am not the goat, you can do what you like,’ said de Lisle. ‘But do not linger over this, Michael. You have always been my faithful servant, and I am in your debt for the loyalty you have shown me in the past. But now my very life is in your hands. Prove me innocent of these charges, and I shall see you rewarded in ways that even you cannot imagine.’
Michael inclined his head in acknowledgement and the Bishop took his leave. Bartholomew was unable to prevent himself from laughing aloud when de Lisle strode quickly away without making the slightest pretence of keeping himself hidden, and then almost collided with Sub-prior Thomas and Almoner Robert, who just happened to be passing the end of the cemetery.
‘Watch where you are going,’ Bartholomew heard de Lisle snap.
‘Why, my Lord Bishop!’ exclaimed Robert in surprise, an unreadable expression on his foxy face. ‘What brings you to our humble cemetery? It seems an odd place for a man like you to haunt.’
‘I haunt wherever I like,’ said de Lisle haughtily. ‘I am the Bishop of Ely, and this is my See. And what I was doing in the cemetery is none of your affair.’
‘It is often used as a place for meetings we would rather no one else knew about,’ said Thomas, giving de Lisle a knowing nudge in the ribs. The Bishop spluttered in indignant outrage, but Thomas was unperturbed and his salacious grin merely grew wider. ‘I have caught many a young novice here among the graves with the kitchen maids.’