‘Why do you say that?’ asked Bartholomew curiously. ‘Because it took him a few moments to gather his wits once you had woken him?’
‘Because there was a sizeable puddle of drool on the table, where his head had rested,’ replied Alan, rather proud of his powers of observation. ‘It is still there, actually. You know how that happens when you doze heavily in an awkward position.’
‘I do not,’ said Michael primly. ‘I never drool. But what happened after that?’
‘Henry fussed around with Thomas’s bedclothes for a moment, and wiped his face with a cloth. Then it seemed to occur to him that all was not well. He held a glass in front of Thomas’s mouth, then put his ear to Thomas’s chest.’
‘And Thomas was dead,’ concluded Michael.
‘But still warm to the touch. Henry told me that was because Thomas had only just died, combined with the facts that he has a large body for retaining heat, and because the weather is hot.’
‘He is right,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘Those factors would combine in making a corpse cool more slowly.’
‘I started to pray,’ continued Alan. ‘There was no reason to assume Thomas had not slipped away in his sleep at that point. Meanwhile, poor Henry stumbled to the door for some fresh air. He hates to lose a patient. Then you came in.’
‘Was there anything unusual about the sickroom that you noticed?’ asked Michael hopefully. ‘Anything that might suggest the identity of the killer?’
Alan shook his head. ‘I saw Symon enter the infirmary a little while before I did; you might want to ask him whether he saw anything strange. You can also question Julian and Welles: they were also in the vicinity.’
‘We shall,’ determined Michael. He rubbed his hands across his flabby cheeks, making a rasping sound that was loud in the peaceful chapel. He was about to add something else when there was a commotion in the hall, and he poked his head around the door to see that de Lisle had arrived, demanding to know what had happened. It seemed that bad news spread quickly.
‘This will reflect badly on me,’ the Bishop declared, marching into the chapel and addressing his agent. ‘People will say that I had the sub-prior murdered, as well as a couple of peasants and the servant of a woman I detest.’
‘And that would never do,’ said Alan, watching de Lisle with some dislike. Bartholomew noted that the prelate was unusually mercurial in his moods. The previous day, many people had been impressed by his graciousness and poise, and by his genuine compassion for Robert, but now he was back to the selfishness that made him so unpopular. It was all very well for Michael to say he found his Bishop remarkable, but for a good part of the time the Bishop was remarkable only for his arrogance, self-interest and ambition.
‘People will say no such thing about you,’ said Michael soothingly, if probably untruthfully. ‘If anything, they will begin to see that you had nothing to do with the death of Glovere, because you have no reason to wish any of these other people harm.’
‘As I told you, not an hour ago, I want this criminal caught,’ shouted de Lisle furiously. ‘It is bad enough being accused of murder, without the people in my See being dispatched by some monster who feels it incumbent on himself to slaughter monks in broad daylight on holy ground.’
‘We were–’ began Michael.
‘You have always been excellent at solving this kind of mystery,’ snapped de Lisle, pacing back and forth. ‘Yet, when the outcome is important to me personally, you seem to be dragging your heels.’
‘I am doing nothing of the kind,’ said Michael, his eyes dangerously cold. ‘You know very well that I have been working hard. This case is just more complicated than I anticipated, that is all. I told you all this earlier.’
De Lisle sensed that he had overstepped the mark, and that if he wanted Michael’s continued services then he would need to adopt a more conciliatory attitude. Bartholomew supposed the prelate was frustrated because Michael was the only person who could clear his name to everyone’s satisfaction. Bishop Northburgh and Canon Stretton were worse than useless; Michael was his only hope. De Lisle’s face softened, and he laid an apologetic arm across the monk’s shoulders.
‘Forgive me, Brother,’ he said. ‘I am not myself today. That wretched Blanche has been aiming to damage me and my reputation ever since I had the misfortune to cross her path twenty-five years ago. Of course, Tysilia is at the heart of it.’
‘Tysilia?’ asked Bartholomew, startled into blurting an interruption.
‘She is my niece,’ said the Bishop, smiling fondly. ‘But, of course, you know her from that business that took you to St Radegund’s Convent earlier this year.’
Bartholomew knew that Tysilia was far more closely related to the prelate than that, although how someone as brazenly dim-witted as Tysilia could be the offspring of the wily Thomas de Lisle was completely beyond Bartholomew’s comprehension.
‘Why would she be at the heart of your quarrel with Blanche?’ he asked curiously.
The Bishop shot him a look that indicated that if he could not use his imagination, then he should not speak. The physician glanced at Michael, who obliged him with an almost imperceptible wink. Bartholomew’s mind whirled. Were they saying that the mother of Tysilia was Lady Blanche, and that the first meeting of churchman and noblewoman had resulted in something more permanent than a nodding acquaintance? Michael saw the understanding dawn in his friend’s eyes, and smiled to show that those suppositions were correct. Bartholomew stared down at his feet, so he would not have to look at de Lisle.
‘I do not understand what you are talking about,’ said the less worldly Alan. ‘Why should your niece be at the root of your problems with Blanche?’
‘Blanche foisted the child on me a long time ago,’ said de Lisle, walking to the window to gaze out across the graveyard. ‘I was an innocent young man then, and when Blanche came to me with an unwanted child and asked me to give it a home, I obliged. I felt sorry for it.’
‘But why should she ask you such a thing?’ pressed Alan, failing to put together the clues that stared him in the face – although Bartholomew was certain the Bishop would be content if the Prior remained blissfully ignorant. ‘You were a churchman, not a landowner with a family of your own. You seem an odd choice of guardian to me.’
‘I imagine she detected my kind heart, and decided to use it to her advantage,’ said de Lisle smoothly. ‘She was about to be married to the Earl of Lancaster, and could hardly present him with a recently born child from an illicit liaison. I helped a woman in distress, and my act of charity has plagued me ever since.’
‘I see,’ said Alan, although his eyes remained puzzled. ‘She feels guilty about abandoning the child, and feels anger because she is in your debt. It is often the way that a kindness eventually produces resentment on the part of the beneficiary. It is one of the reasons why I am reluctant to be overly indulgent to my peasants.’
‘It is hardly the same–’ began Bartholomew, who thought Alan could afford to be a little more generous in that direction. Then men like Leycestre would not be plotting a rebellion.
De Lisle cut him off. ‘Suffice to say that Blanche will do all in her power to harm me. It is most unjust.’
‘It is unjust,’ agreed Alan. ‘A selfless act should never culminate in merciless persecution.’
‘Let us return to these murders,’ said de Lisle, who at least had the grace to be disconcerted by Alan’s misguided sympathy. ‘You must arrest this killer, Michael. And the sooner the better. We shall meet again this time tomorrow, when I want to hear that the wretched man is in a prison cell.’
‘I shall do my best,’ said Michael. ‘This morning we will speak again to Henry, Symon, Welles and Julian.’ His glance at Alan implied that the Prior should not consider himself immune to further investigation, either. ‘And I will ask whether any of my brethren recognise that book of hours and the chalice we retrieved from the granary yesterday.’