‘But ale is not the best thing to put in it,’ said Bartholomew.
‘I am not bound to the priory, so I am not obliged to answer your questions,’ snapped Leycestre. ‘I was merely taking a break from harvesting, and I happened to meet someone I know. There is nothing wrong or sinister in that. But I cannot spend all day lounging in taverns, like fat monks and wealthy physicians. I have work to do.’
He stalked away angrily, slamming the door behind him so hard that jugs rattled on the shelves and the two elderly men jumped in alarm. If Leycestre’s intention had been to convince Bartholomew and Michael that his meeting had been innocent, then he had failed miserably. Both were now sure that the ill-matched pair had been discussing something of great significance.
‘I suppose he was plotting his insurrection,’ said Bartholomew. ‘That is all he talks about, and it seems to be the thing that is most important in his life. Still, he usually does so only when his nephews can act as sentinels. I wonder where they are.’
‘It is probably difficult for three strong men to leave the fields in the middle of the day,’ said Michael. ‘While Leycestre might slip away unnoticed, the whole trio certainly could not.’
‘Was he trying to convert Guido to his cause, do you think? Guido is a traveller. He would be an excellent person to spread the news that discontent is brewing and that other peasants should be ready to act.’
‘Guido is not the kind of man to engage in that sort of thing. Why should he? He is not tied to a landlord: this is not his fight, and I cannot see why he should become involved.’
‘Then what were they discussing?’ asked Bartholomew irritably. His head was aching, and he felt sick, as though he had had too much to drink the night before. He wondered whether it was the after-effects of Henry’s tonic and assumed that there would have to be a down-side to such a marvellous potion.
‘I do not know,’ said Michael, rubbing his hands as the first of the food arrived. ‘But it looked more like an argument than a discussion to me.’
‘Perhaps they were debating who to murder next,’ said Bartholomew, eating a piece of chicken without enthusiasm. He was more interested in the ale, although Michael claimed it was too weak.
‘Did Leycestre look as though he was limping to you?’ asked Michael. ‘Go to the window and watch him. You are a physician, and are good at observing such things.’
Bartholomew obliged, watching the burly farmer walk towards the river. There was a distinct unevenness to his gait. He returned to Michael and reported his observations. ‘I suppose he could always walk like that,’ he concluded. ‘It was not a limp so much as a stiffness. Perhaps working in the fields does not agree with him.’
‘Or perhaps he is suffering from a spade blow to the back.’
‘Our list of suspects for last night’s débâcle includes everyone in the priory and everyone in the town. We cannot go on like this, Brother: we have to narrow it down.’
‘But not by excluding Leycestre,’ said Michael firmly. ‘He was not on innocent business here in Chettisham.’
The landlord continued to bring dishes of meat, bread and pastries until Michael declared himself replete. Then he sat back with a sigh of pleasure, and made himself comfortable on the bench, leaning his back against the wall, and using his hat as a headrest as he prepared to take a nap.
‘Guido and Leycestre,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘Men who dislike each other. They had a public fight in the Heyrow when Leycestre ordered Guido expelled from the Lamb, and Leycestre has been accusing the gypsies of all manner of crimes ever since we arrived.’
‘Could they have committed the murders together?’ asked Michael, sounding as if he did not care what Bartholomew thought, as long as it did not interfere with the doze he planned to take.
‘No,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Their dislike of each other is too public. You would need to trust someone absolutely if you were going to use him as an accomplice to murder.’
‘Perhaps their antipathy is a ruse,’ suggested Michael with a shrug. His eyes were closed and his voice was slurred, as if his mind was already elsewhere. ‘Perhaps Leycestre blames the gypsies so that people will not suspect that they are partners in crime.’
Bartholomew thought about that for a while, turning over the possibilities in his mind. He remembered the glittering malice he had seen on the faces of both when they had fought in the Heyrow, and the fact that weapons had been produced. He had no doubt that the crowd Leycestre had whipped into a frenzy might have done serious harm to the gypsies had Bartholomew not intervened, and there was only so far Guido would go for the sake of appearances. Being bludgeoned to death was definitely past the limit. And Leycestre’s accusations were probably making it difficult for Guido and his clan to do his business in Ely, whether it was buying bread or securing work. It made no sense for Guido to agree to such conditions.
‘You are wrong,’ he concluded. ‘They are not accomplices. Perhaps they met by chance after all.’
‘Mmm?’ murmured Michael, shifting slightly in his sleep.
Bartholomew thought about the other crimes that had been committed in the town. Although he and Michael had not been charged to investigate them, there had been burglaries almost every night since Guido and his clan had arrived in Ely. But, as Guido had claimed, the gypsies were unlikely to be the culprits, because it would have been obvious who was responsible. Justice in England tended to be summary and swift, and many sheriffs would regard the presence of travellers in a city plagued by a sudden spate of crimes evidence enough.
Were the murders and the burglaries related? Bartholomew tried to recall what he had been told about the thefts. They all occurred in the homes of the wealthy – merchants, Bishop de Lisle and finally Barbour the landlord. Bartholomew rubbed his chin as a thought occurred to him. No poor person had been targeted, and Leycestre was constantly pointing out that the rich lived well, while the peasantry seldom knew where their next meal was coming from. Was Leycestre the burglar, stealing from the rich people he so despised?
But how could that be right? One of the most recent victims had been Agnes Fitzpayne, who was a good friend of Leycestre’s. The man would surely not steal from someone who seemed to hold the same views as he did. Or would he? Bartholomew frowned. Perhaps Agnes had agreed to claim she had been burgled for the express purpose of making Leycestre appear innocent. And Leycestre had certainly been present when Barbour had bragged about where he had hidden his money.
But Leycestre was not suddenly sporting new clothes or producing gold to buy back the land he had lost. Where were all his gains going? Bartholomew sat up straight when it occurred to him that rebellions cost money. There were weapons to be bought, and favours to be purchased from people in a position to dispense them. Messengers needed to be hired, with fast horses, to spread the word once it had started, and funds would be necessary to allow the leaders to meet in secret places and discuss tactics. Was that the reason for the burglaries? That Leycestre needed money to support his rebellion, and he had decided the rich should pay?
If that were true, then the gypsies’ arrival had been a perfect opportunity to place the blame on someone else – people who would never join the revolution, because they were not tied to the land and were free to do as they pleased. They were excellent scapegoats; they had a reputation for stealing the odd coin or hen, and they were dispensable. Because they came every year, Leycestre had waited for their arrival before he put his plan into action.
The more Bartholomew thought about his solution, the more it made sense. Triumphant that he had made some headway, even though it probably had nothing to do with the murders, he prodded Michael awake.