Arblaster watched him, a half-smile on his face. He eased himself into a more comfortable position, one that was not crushing the life out of his captive. The physician still could not move, but at least he could breathe. ‘You do not need me to explain – you have worked it out for yourself at last.’
‘On the night of his death, Danyell went out,’ said Bartholomew, hoping an analysis might distract Arblaster into letting down his guard. ‘He carried something with him, which Spynk thought was a stone – a sample to show a potential client. But it has always seemed odd to me that he should have been considering business when he probably felt very ill. I think he had what everyone is looking for. He hid it in Sewale Cottage, and intended to see Mother Valeria as soon as he had finished, to buy a cure from her. He died before that could happen.’
‘I saw him.’ Arblaster’s expression was distant as he remembered. ‘I was coming home from buying a spell from Valeria myself, and I spotted movement in the shadows. I did not want to be seen in that part of the town at such an hour, so I hid. Danyell entered the house with a box – which may have looked like a brick from a distance – and he left without it some time later. And then I heard a conversation between him and those two men.’
‘What two men? Brownsley and Osbern – one huge and the other bearded?’
‘The Bishop’s louts,’ agreed Arblaster, glancing towards the door. Bartholomew suddenly realised that while he was talking in an effort to distract Arblaster, so Arblaster was encouraging the discussion to occupy his captive until Jodoca could hand him his dagger. ‘And we all know that anything involving de Lisle is going to be shady. So, I listened and I learned.’
‘Learned what?’
‘Despite Danyell’s obvious terror – he was on his knees, gasping for breath before they even started questioning him – he was defying them. I could not hear everything, but I caught mention of digging holes. But then Danyell clutched his chest, and that was that – he was dead. The Bishop’s men were furious. They dumped his body on the open ground opposite, then they broke into Margery’s house.’
Bartholomew thought about it. Danyell had been terrorised by Brownsley in Norfolk, and meeting his tormentor in a dark street must have been more than his failing heart could stand. Brownsley’s anger suggested Danyell had died without telling him what he wanted to know. He had, however, surmised that the box had been hidden inside Sewale Cottage, which explained why he and Osbern had expended so much energy searching it.
‘What is in the box?’ asked Bartholomew. Arblaster glanced at the door a second time. When Jodoca did appear, what would she do? Help her husband commit murder? Or talk sense into him?
The dung-master looked as though he was not going to answer, but shrugged when he saw it was a way to prolong the discussion. ‘Treasure. What else can lead men to such lengths?’
‘So, you knew about it because you overheard this discussion, while Spynk would have known because Danyell confided in him – or in Cecily, his lover. But what about the canons? How do they come to be in on the secret?’
‘I do not know,’ replied Arblaster. ‘And I do not care.’
The fact that he had some answers filled Bartholomew with hope, and he knew he needed to brief Michael as soon as possible. He pretended to sag in defeat, encouraging Arblaster to relax his grip. The dung-merchant fell for the ploy – it was hard work pinning a man to the ground, and he was grateful for a respite. As soon as the weight eased slightly, Bartholomew mustered every ounce of his strength and brought his knee up sharply between his captor’s legs, following it with a punch to the side of the head. Arblaster slumped to the ground, and Bartholomew rolled away, staggering to his feet as fast as he could. He ran to the kitchen for rope, and quickly bound Arblaster’s hands and feet, not liking the notion of the man regaining his senses and trying to finish what he had started. He had just tightened the last knot when Arblaster opened his eyes.
‘Jodoca!’ he screamed, flailing furiously. ‘Help me! He is getting away!’
Suddenly, Bartholomew recalled what Arblaster had said about his wife earlier – that she had gone to ‘talk’ to the canons at Barnwell. ‘What is she doing?’ he asked uneasily.
Arblaster struggled harder. ‘She should have persuaded the canons to withdraw their offer by now. She is rather good at it, as Spynk can attest. She is more determined than me. I was ready to give up, but she told me to have faith. She will see us through this.’
‘Jodoca killed Spynk?’ asked Bartholomew incredulously. ‘I do not believe you.’
‘She will get you, too,’ vowed Arblaster, writhing violently, although it was clear he was not going to escape. ‘She will not appreciate what you have done to me. Jodoca!’
Bartholomew raced outside, climbed on the horse again and spurred it towards the convent. He realised he should have seen days ago what had happened, because all the clues had been there. Of course Danyell had been inside Sewale Cottage – his body had been found near it, and the cottage had been broken into that night, first by Danyell himself, and then by Brownsley and Osbern. Danyell must have chosen the place because he had been told that its sole occupant was recently dead, and he had assumed he would be able to conceal his box without being disturbed. He was a mason, so rearranging stones would have been a simple matter for him.
But why had he decided to hide his treasure, when most men would have taken it home with them? The answer to that was clear, too: Danyell had seen the Bishop’s men lurking around – or perhaps he had heard talk about the robberies on the Huntingdon Way – and knew it would not be safe in his possession. No doubt he had also heard that Michaelhouse planned to sell the house, and his ultimate intention was to purchase it himself – or perhaps do it with the help of Spynk and Cecily.
Bartholomew frowned as he rode. Had Jodoca really killed Spynk? He supposed she might have been in Sewale Cottage’s garden that night. The third shadow had not been with Osbern and Brownsley, so it was possible that Spynk had been lured there with promises of gold and found himself with a blade in his back instead. It was certainly one way of ensuring he did not make Michaelhouse another competitive offer. He frowned more deeply. Except, of course, that Cecily was probably the driving force behind the purchase, in which case Jodoca had taken the wrong life.
He reached the priory and flung himself out of the saddle to pound on the gate. He glanced up at the sky. It was an odd colour – a sickly yellow-blue he had never seen before, and the marshes were eerily quiet. There was no answer from the canons, so he hammered again, then jumped in alarm when the gate was suddenly hauled open by Podiolo. The infirmarian was carrying a broadsword, and Bartholomew leapt away, unused to seeing clerics wield such enormous weapons.
‘We have suffered a murderous assault,’ Podiolo shouted angrily. His amber eyes looked sinister in the evening sunlight. ‘But like Fencotes, I was not always a monastic, and I learned swordplay when I was a goldsmith in Florence – I am ready to defend myself and my brethren, so be warned.’
‘Jodoca attacked you?’ asked Bartholomew, edging back further when Podiolo waved the weapon closer than was comfortable. He had never seen the man so agitated.
‘Jodoca?’ echoed Podiolo, gaping at him. Then he frowned. ‘Yes, of course it was – someone small and agile, but strong, and too short to have been a man. Jodoca! Who would have thought it?’
‘What did she do?’
‘She went after Fencotes with a dagger. Prior Norton fended her off, but she is still at large. I cannot imagine what Fencotes has done to annoy her.’