‘You have?’ asked Blanche doubtfully.
De Lisle nodded. ‘I have been obliged to place her in convents for most of her life, although I would sooner have her with me. Unfortunately, her illness makes that impossible. When you offered to become her guardian, I had hopes that she would come to love you as a daughter might, and that such affection would go some way towards effecting a cure. I am deeply sorry that it did not.’
‘Well?’ demanded Agnes, breaking into the muttered conversation between Blanche and de Lisle. ‘Did someone do away with the almoner or is his death natural?’
Bartholomew had been so engrossed by the Bishop’s open admission of affection for Tysilia, that he had all but forgotten the soggy form of Robert that lay at his feet. He glanced at Michael, doubtful how he should reply. He did not want to tell an outright lie – there would be no point when he was so bad at telling untruths, especially in front of such a large gathering of people – but he was not sure it would be wise to announce that a fourth victim had been claimed. Fortunately for Bartholomew, de Lisle came to his rescue.
The Bishop looked imperiously down his long nose at the crowd, and then addressed them as though he was giving one of his famous sermons. ‘You have all seen this sad sight now. Poor Almoner Robert has drowned, and there is nothing more to keep you from your business. Go back to your work, and let the monks bury their brother in peace.’
‘There will not be much peace for the likes of Robert,’ stated Agnes, folding her arms and making no move to obey the Bishop. ‘He will be on his way directly to Hell.’
‘Then we must pray for his soul,’ said de Lisle firmly.
‘Will we be praying for the soul of a murdered man?’ asked Leycestre of Bartholomew with keen interest. Once again, the physician was conscious that the crowd was listening intently for any reply he might make.
‘Yes,’ replied Michael bluntly, deciding upon a policy of honesty after a brief exchange of glances with Bartholomew told him what he wanted to know. ‘It seems that Robert has suffered a similar fate to Glovere, Chaloner and Haywarde.’
‘And Robert is a monk!’ breathed Barbour, the landlord of the Lamb. ‘It is not just us any more; it is them, too.’
‘What is being done to catch this killer?’ asked Agnes conversationally to Alan, not in the least awed by his rank.
‘A lot, now that a monk is a victim,’ said Leycestre bitterly. He stood on tiptoe and glanced at Eulalia and her brothers. ‘And there are these burglaries, too. The monastery is safe, inside its walls, but there was another attack on a town house last night.’
‘Another burglary?’ asked Michael. ‘Who was it this time?’
‘Me,’ said Barbour ruefully. ‘Wednesday nights are always good for the taverns – especially ones that sell good ale, like the Lamb – because it is the day men are paid. Whoever stole from me must have known that.’
There was a horrified murmur and many heads were shaken in disgust. Leycestre’s eyes remained fixed on the gypsies and, slowly, others turned to look at them too.
‘However,’ Barbour went on, ‘I am not the kind of man to leave my takings lying around for all to see. I had them well hidden.’ He leaned forward confidentially and lowered his voice, so that only half the surrounding spectators could hear. ‘I keep the money under a floorboard in the attic.’
‘A good place to secure it from passing thieves,’ said Leycestre, his gaze still fixed on the hapless gypsies. Eulalia was looking decidedly uncomfortable, although whether it was because she and her brothers knew more about the theft than they should have done, or because it was not pleasant to be the object of the hostile scrutiny of so many people, Bartholomew could not say. Several men began to mutter among themselves.
‘Not this again,’ said Bartholomew with a sigh. He was tiring of having to defend the gypsies. ‘You have no evidence to identify the culprits for certain, Leycestre, or you would have acted already. Do not accuse the travellers simply because they are strangers and have a style of life that is different from your own.’
‘There is evidence,’ hissed Leycestre, still glaring in the gypsies’ direction. Eulalia was more uneasy than ever, although Guido stared back defiantly. The dim-witted Rosel saw Leycestre gazing at him, and interpreted it as a sign of friendship. He gave an empty grin, full of misshapen teeth, and waved.
‘Bartholomew is right,’ said de Lisle firmly. ‘There will be no hounding of innocent people in my See. There has been more than enough of that already.’ Here he gave Blanche a meaningful look. ‘Meanwhile, I shall go to the cathedral to pray for the soul of the unfortunate Robert, and any of you who can spare a few moments are welcome to join me.’
‘I will not join you!’ spat Blanche, unable to keep her loathing for the Bishop under control any longer. ‘You probably put Robert in his coffin in the first place! Murderer!’
There was an expectant hush as the spectators anticipated with relish what promised to be a fascinating spectacle of Bishop and noblewoman hurling insults at each other in the street. Blanche’s retainers gathered more closely around her, while de Lisle’s steward Ralph came to stand behind his master with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Bartholomew saw Michael take up a position on the prelate’s other side.
De Lisle remained unmoved. ‘I know you believe me capable of all manner of crimes, madam,’ he said in firm, measured tones, loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘You are mistaken, and I swear before God that I have killed no one. But we will not debate this issue here, while a man’s soul is crying out for our masses. You may visit me at my home later, should you wish, and there I will listen to anything you have to say.’
He bowed elegantly, and moved away. Seeing the excitement was over, the crowd began to disperse, although Bartholomew noticed that the Bishop’s calm, sober manner and his reluctance to become embroiled in a public fight had won the admiration of many. As de Lisle walked up the hill towards the cathedral, a large proportion of the townsfolk followed him, evidently willing to take him up on his invitation. Blanche saw she had been bested, and surged away in the opposite direction, a much smaller train of people in her wake.
‘That is one reason why I am in de Lisle’s service, Matt,’ said Michael, staring after him. ‘He is a remarkable man.’
‘He is a complicated man,’ Bartholomew corrected. ‘He is unpredictable.’
‘He can be arrogant, overbearing and demanding,’ agreed Michael. ‘But other times, he demonstrates a compassion that I have rarely seen in a cleric. If we were to listen to his mass for Robert, you would not detect a single insincere word in it – which is more than could be said if any of the monks were to officiate.’
‘Why does he care about Robert so?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Do you think Blanche is right, and he did murder the man?’
‘I do not believe so. But we should go to the cathedral, too, so that you can inspect Robert as soon as the mass is done.’
‘Are you available now, Brother?’ came Tysilia’s voice from behind them. She gave a bright beam and sidled up to Michael, fluttering her eyelashes alluringly.
‘Lord help us!’ breathed Michael. ‘If it is not one thing, it is another.’ He moved away from her; she followed, aiming to stand as close as possible. He took another step, and they began a curious circular dance that gathered momentum as each was determined to achieve his objective.
‘Not here, Tysilia,’ ordered Michael, becoming hot with the sudden vigorous exercise. ‘It is not seemly with one of my brethren lying dead.’
‘Are you saying that it would be seemly if he were not?’ asked Bartholomew, amused.
‘If not here, then where?’ demanded Tysilia, interpreting his words as a veiled invitation. ‘I can meet you at any place, at any time.’