‘Only de Lisle,’ said Blanche, unwilling to allow an opportunity to pass without attacking her enemy. ‘But I doubt he would muddy his hands by stealing my silver. He prefers to use them for murder these days, and theft is a paltry crime compared to that.’
‘My Bishop has killed no one, and he is not a thief,’ declared Ralph hotly, taking a menacing step towards her. Immediately, there was the sound of daggers being whipped from sheaths and several of Blanche’s retainers rose quickly to their feet. Ralph surveyed them and decided on a course of prudence, moving back towards the door. His face remained angry, though, and if looks could kill, then Blanche and her entire household would have been buried that day.
‘The Lamb is a pleasant place for an ale,’ announced Tysilia in the silence that followed, clutching the doll as she made her way towards Michael. She took hold of his arm. ‘We shall go there first, then to somewhere more relaxing.’
‘We shall not,’ said Michael firmly, disentangling himself. ‘I have not eaten yet, and I have no energy to romp with you.’
Bartholomew recalled that Michael had feasted handsomely in the refectory not more than an hour before. He supposed the sight of Blanche’s repast had whetted the monk’s appetite again.
‘Do not expect me to give you any of this trout,’ said Blanche with her mouth full. ‘It is too good to be wasted on fuelling a romp with the Bishop’s whore-child.’
‘I will be gentle,’ insisted Tysilia, reaching for Michael again, but missing when the monk side-stepped her with surprising agility. She snatched at him yet again, and the exercise was repeated several times before she realised she would not catch him. She gave a heavy sigh and folded her arms, pouting, while the courtiers and Ralph watched in open amusement.
‘It is time you went home to de Lisle,’ said Bartholomew, deciding to put an end to the spectacle. He took her arm and pulled her towards the door. ‘He will be wondering where you are, and may be worried about you.’
‘He knows Ralph is with me,’ said Tysilia, trying to struggle away from him. ‘And Ralph will allow me to come to no harm.’
‘De Lisle would never forgive me if I did,’ muttered Ralph resentfully. ‘Although I do not think he has any idea about the enormity of the task he has set me.’
‘Feign sickness tomorrow and let her spend a day in his company,’ advised Blanche. ‘That is all that will be necessary for her to be found floating face-down in the river at the Monks’ Hythe.’
‘Come on,’ said Bartholomew, pushing Tysilia out of the chamber in front of him. She was thick-skinned and resilient and he did not like her, but even he felt uncomfortable to hear her murder discussed in such earnest tones.
‘Why does Brother Michael not want to spend an evening with me?’ pouted Tysilia, as she stood with Bartholomew outside the Outer Hostry. Ralph was with them, although he kept his distance, evidently deciding that every moment she was speaking to Bartholomew was a moment less he would have to deal with her. Sensibly, Michael remained inside with Blanche, asking more questions about the stolen cup and her knowledge of the monks who had been murdered. Bartholomew could hear Blanche declaring that she despised Robert for his obsequiousness, Thomas for his selfishness and gluttony, and William for his secret ways. Blanche, it seemed, had little good to say about anyone.
‘Well?’ demanded Tysilia, when Bartholomew did not reply. ‘I am beautiful, so Michael has no reason to resist me. Why does he?’
‘He is a monk,’ said Bartholomew gently. ‘Monks do not form liaisons with women; they swore sacred vows not to do so.’
‘Michael swore such a vow?’ asked Tysilia, wide-eyed, as if she had never encountered the notion of celibacy before. ‘What is wrong with him? Does he have some disease that prevents him from enjoying himself with women? Or some physical difficulty?’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew, who was sure Michael had no problems whatsoever in that area. ‘But you should not pursue him so brazenly. He does not like it.’
‘How could he not like being pursued by me?’ asked Tysilia. ‘I am a goddess: my body is perfect and I have a good mind. Blanche also says I am easy, which must also be a good thing.’
‘Oh,’ said Bartholomew, at a loss for words. He hated conversations with Tysilia: they rambled in whatever direction she chose and left him wary and bewildered.
Tysilia turned doe eyes on him, great black pools with no spark of life in them at all. ‘Being easy is better than being difficult. My uncle says Blanche is difficult and no one likes her. Therefore, being easy is a virtue.’ She smiled proudly, pleased with her reasoning.
‘Did you take Blanche’s chalice?’ asked Bartholomew, feeling the need to take control of the discussion.
‘Me?’ asked Tysilia innocently. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘To give to William, in exchange for a promise that he would take you away from Blanche. Who told you he was your brother? Him?’
‘Yes,’ said Tysilia. ‘But he has no reason to lie, and I have always wanted a brother.’
‘He is not related to you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He is too old, for a start.’
‘He said that his family were obliged to part with me when I was infantile. He told me that de Lisle is not my uncle at all – just a family friend.’
‘And why would a wealthy family like William’s be obliged to pass one of its daughters to a family friend?’ asked Bartholomew warily.
Tysilia sighed. ‘I cannot remember the details now. He told me all this when we first arrived in Ely – days ago now – and facts slip from my mind after a while. I think he said it was because de Lisle was lonely. I forget why. Perhaps he has sworn one of these vows, like Michael.’
‘He has,’ said Bartholomew, feeling a surge of anger against William for taking advantage of someone so clearly short of wits. The only good thing was that it would not take Tysilia long to forget her fictitious brother, and that she would soon go back to her normal life – being placed with someone who tried hard to look after her while she made plans to escape that would never work. He wondered whether her sojourn in Ely would result in yet another pregnancy. To his knowledge, she had already been through three, and could not be made to understand the connection between inconvenient children and her promiscuous lifestyle. He was only grateful that Michael had taken fright at her determined wooing.
‘Let us go back to the cup,’ said Bartholomew, changing the subject. He knew he would not make Tysilia believe that she and William were not related when she had decided that they were.
‘What cup?’ she asked, looking around her as though she expected one to materialise.
‘The cup Blanche claims was stolen,’ he said, trying not to become exasperated. ‘The one you stole to give to William. Did he ask you to take that particular item?’
‘Of course not,’ she said indignantly. ‘But it was pretty and I thought he would like it.’
‘Where is he? You were very worried about him yesterday, and now you do not seem concerned at all. Has he fled this area and gone somewhere safe?’
She clutched her doll tightly, as if she gained strength from it. ‘I do not know where he is, but he has not fled, because he said he would take me with him. I am still here, so he must be nearby.’
‘So, did you give the cup to William?’
‘I was going to give it to him to prove my affection, but he did not arrive to meet me as he promised, so I hid it in the cemetery. But you know that, because you found me there.’
‘I did not know you were hiding stolen property,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Did you tell William that you would secrete anything there that you managed to steal?’
‘I was not stealing,’ said Tysilia crossly. ‘I took what she owed me for my company over the last few months. The good things in life are not cheap, as my uncle says.’
‘Then someone must have seen you putting it there,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘I suppose it is possible that it was William – that he did not approach you because I was there, and he could not afford to be seen with you.’