‘It works for me,’ agreed Langelee. ‘We scholars are also supposed to forswear arms, but only a fool would do it. I always have my letter-opener to hand, and it often comes in useful.’
‘Will you sell it to me?’ asked Nicholas, taking a piece of gristle from his bowl and testing the blade for sharpness. His eyes widened in appreciation at the result.
Langelee took it back from him with an apologetic smile. ‘I shall never part with it – it is like an extension of my own arm. Besides, I need it for opening letters.’
Bartholomew knew he did not, because the Master was not a man for neatly slitting seals when it was quicker to break them with his fingers.
‘Come on,’ wheedled Nicholas. ‘You can hide all manner of weapons under an academic tabard, but a habit is much more difficult. I need it more than you do.’
‘I will send you one from Cambridge,’ promised Langelee, putting it away before there was a spat and they ended up being evicted. ‘One that is smaller and sharper.’
‘All right,’ said Nicholas, although with ill grace. ‘As long as you do not forget.’
‘I will not,’ vowed Langelee, and offered a large, callused hand to seal the deal. ‘As one old soldier to another. Now, shall we have another drink?’
Chapter 3
It was still raining the next morning, although not as hard as it had done during the night. Drizzle swept down in gauzy sheets and wreathed the top of the church tower in white. The three scholars rose before dawn, as was their custom, and went with Nicholas to celebrate Mass, where Michael assisted at the altar, and Bartholomew and Langelee gazed contemplatively at the ceiling, although for different reasons. The physician was admiring the fan vaulting again, while the Master of Michaelhouse was pondering ways to win new benefactors.
The rite was well attended, although it quickly became apparent that the congregants were more interested in staking a claim on ‘their’ piece of the nave than in what was happening in the chancel. Within moments, there was a scuffle near the rood screen – a handsome affair of stone with soaring pinnacles along the top – between a troupe of squires and some young merchants. The squires wore the silly pointed shoes and flowing sleeves currently popular at Court, and strutted about with the arrogance of entitlement. The merchants’ robes were more practical, although every bit as gorgeous, and the supercilious glances they shot their rivals were calculated to provoke.
They might have come to blows had Michael not gone to see what was happening. As Senior Proctor, he was used to dealing with fractious youths, and stilled the brewing spat with a gimlet-eyed glower. None of them knew him, so it said much for the power of his personality that he was able to restore peace with a single scowl.
‘Yes, you behave yourselves,’ came an admonishing voice from the anchorhold. ‘It makes us look bad when you squabble in front of visitors. Do it again and you will answer to me.’
There was no further trouble, and when the ceremony was over, Bartholomew went to pay his respects to Anne. She was wearing a different gown to the one she had donned the previous day, and people had already presented her with gifts of food, as six or seven sweet-smelling parcels sat on a shelf by the window. He was surprised to note that a pie had several bites taken out of it, while one plate contained nothing but crumbs.
‘You do not wait until after Mass before breaking your fast?’ he asked, astonished.
Anne shrugged. ‘Being holy is hungry work. Besides, I worked at the castle for thirty-seven years before taking up a life of religious contemplation, so I think I have earned the right to ignore the rules when I feel like it.’ She sniffed resentfully. ‘I gave my all to that place, although my efforts were never truly appreciated.’
‘What did you do there?’ asked Bartholomew, sensing her need to talk.
‘I was a nurse,’ she replied grandly. ‘I raised a host of children – the sons and daughters of lords and their senior servants – and saw them all safely through to adulthood. My charges include Master Marishal’s twins and the naughty squires you saw just now. But then God called me, so I came here instead.’
‘Was it very difficult to make the transition?’
She waved an airy hand. ‘There were one or two trying weeks at the beginning, but I soon had people trained to bring me what I need. I have been in here for a year and a half now.’
‘You must find it very noisy, with all these builders and artists.’
‘That work began just two months after I took my holy vows. Of course, it was because of me that it happened at all. I told Clare to provide a church worthy of my presence, and the town responded by funding the new roof, while the castle added the south aisle. I am looking forward to the rededication ceremony next week – the culmination of all my labours.’
Bartholomew smothered a smile that she should claim so much credit for the project. ‘It must have been disruptive, though.’
‘At times, but I do not mind. Sitting in here all alone can be tedious, so watching the masons and painters gives me something to do. Of course, I do not like the fan vaulting very much. It is too fussy for my taste, and I would rather have had something simpler. It is a–’
She broke off abruptly and hurried to her other window, where the squires had appeared. Their company was evidently more appealing than Bartholomew’s, as she was soon laughing and joking with them. She demanded the latest gossip, so they obliged by telling her of a scandal involving the baker’s mother. Bartholomew moved away, disinclined to listen, and taking the charitable view that she wanted the information so as to know who to include in her prayers.
He met Nicholas and Langelee by the door. The vicar was begging again for Langelee to sell him the letter-opener, and Langelee was becoming irked by his persistence.
‘I have just been talking to your anchoress,’ interjected Bartholomew before the Master said or did something that would offend, which would be unfortunate after they had just enjoyed Nicholas’s hospitality. ‘She tells me she was a nurse before coming here.’
‘A very good one,’ said Nicholas, accepting the change of subject with obvious regret. ‘And it is a pity that the Lady decided to dispense with her services.’
‘Anne was dismissed?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘She told me that she was called by God.’
Nicholas became flustered. ‘It was both. She was invited to leave the castle, but when God saw she was available, He decided to claim her for Himself.’ Then it was his turn to change the subject. ‘I cannot wait for Tuesday. In just five days, my church will host the Queen of England and the greatest architect in the world.’
‘I am looking forward to seeing it in its full glory,’ said Bartholomew keenly. ‘But are you sure all the scaffolding will be down by then?’
‘Positive,’ replied Nicholas confidently. ‘Would you like to see the ceiling from the roof space? It is just as impressive, although for a different reason. Come.’
The door to the stairs that led to the roof was in the new south aisle. Nicholas opened it to reveal a spiral staircase built inside one of the thicker piers. It was dark and narrow, lit only by the occasional slit in the stonework. The climb seemed to go on for ever, until Nicholas reached a second door, which he unlocked with a key that he wore around his neck.
He flung it open and stepped aside to reveal the roof space – the area between the ceiling and the outside slates. It was indeed impressive, and comprised an intricate system of horizontal beams and vertical struts with the roof arching overhead. The fan vaulting was apparent in the stone domes that bubbled up through the floor. Interspersed between the domes was more scaffolding, a complex mess of planks and ropes that were larger and stronger than the ones in the church below. Nicholas indicated it proudly.