‘There is nothing wrong with a healthy appetite,’ declared Michael. ‘And if Matt recommends putting the poor things on a dietary regime devised by that maniac Galen, ignore him. Galen might have been a great physician in ancient Greece, but his ideas have no place in a modern society.’
‘I see,’ said the Lady, amusement flashing in her eyes. ‘However, the paroquets are costing me a fortune in expensive delicacies, and they have a taste for fine wines, too. I want them cured of their gluttony, because it would be a great pity if they grew too fat to fly.’
‘I do not envy you this task, Matt,’ murmured Michael, as the Lady turned to climb the final flight of steps. ‘It is cruel to deprive a living being of its preferred victuals.’
Before Bartholomew could think of a suitably diplomatic reply, the Lady opened the door to a spacious chamber with windows on all sides. In the middle was a T-shaped structure, on which perched three birds. They had long tails, grey faces and crafty eyes. The largest screeched its excitement when it saw the Lady, and flew to her outstretched arm. It bobbed up and down until she gave it a nut, which it snatched and began to gnaw greedily with its sharp black bill.
‘Grisel loves almonds,’ said the Lady, watching it fondly. ‘And meat, of course.’
‘Meat?’ echoed Bartholomew warily. ‘I am not sure that is–’
‘God save the Queen,’ declared Grisel nasally, then added something that sounded like ‘Bring van the hold down.’
‘It talks?’ blurted Michael. ‘My goodness!’
‘My goodness, my goodness,’ croaked Grisel, casting a pale eye in the monk’s direction. ‘Hold the van down bring.’
‘Grisel used to live on a ship,’ explained the Lady. ‘Hence the nautical terminology.’
‘I do not like the look of its beak,’ said Michael uncomfortably. ‘It could relieve a man of fingers, noses, ears and even eyes.’
‘It could,’ agreed the Lady with a smile that was not entirely pleasant. ‘So you had better be on your best behaviour. His companions are named Blanche and Morel. All three were Margery’s originally. She gave them to Anne, to keep her company in her cell, but they kept escaping through the squint to fly around the church.’
‘How were they enticed back inside the anchorhold again?’ asked Bartholomew curiously.
‘With almonds,’ replied the Lady, returning Grisel to his perch and offering him a second nut. There was something of a rumpus when the other two tried to relieve him of it. ‘A few weeks later, Anne sent them to me – a bribe, in the hope that I would reinstate her as castle nurse.’
‘Is that an option?’ asked Michael. ‘I suspect she is far more suited to tending youngsters than pretending to be holy.’
‘The Church condemned what she did to Suzanne de Nekton,’ said the Lady, looking away, ‘and I must uphold its strictures, regardless of my own private thoughts on the matter. I am afraid Anne will be an anchoress for the rest of her life.’
‘But you kept the bribe,’ noted Bartholomew, thinking it should have been refused if the Lady aimed to occupy the moral high ground.
She regarded him coolly. ‘A church is no place for paroquets, and they are happier here. Besides, Anne could not give them what they need – namely a lot of very costly treats and a proper keeper to mind them. Katrina de Haliwell used to raise peacocks for me.’
Bartholomew and Michael had not noticed the woman standing by the door. Katrina was pretty, dark-haired and freckled, and wore a black bodice of the kind that had recently come to denote widowhood. She had intelligent green eyes and a mischievous smile.
‘At last,’ she said, when the Lady introduced Bartholomew. ‘I expected you days ago. Did Master Lichet spin you a tale about the birds being his responsibility?’
‘Well, physician?’ demanded the Lady, sparing Bartholomew the need to reply. ‘What are you waiting for? Payment in advance? I am afraid that is not an option. You may only have the five marks when you have diagnosed the cause of their overeating.’
‘Nuts,’ said Grisel, nodding sagely. ‘Queen God save. Down the van bring hold.’
‘Matt will calculate their horoscopes,’ said Michael gravely, although Bartholomew could tell he itched to laugh. ‘Although inspecting their urine is likely to prove more of a challenge.’
‘Then we shall leave him to it,’ said the Lady. ‘Come, monk. Accompany me back down the stairs. You have a killer to catch and I have estate business to attend, so neither of us can dally here.’
Bartholomew was not entirely sure where to begin. The paroquets regarded him with distrust, and he stared back, ready to duck if one flew at him. He knew from his teacher’s bird that they could move fast, and he still had a scar on one knuckle to prove it, dating from a time when he had been eating a piece of bread that the creature had decided was going down the wrong throat.
‘They do not look overfed,’ he said, and glanced surreptitiously at Katrina. It would not be the first time a keeper had requisitioned stores that her charges never saw.
‘They eat what they need,’ she replied loftily. ‘However, it is not their diet that worries me, but the fact that they fight. Yet when I separate them, they pine.’
‘Van the down hold bring,’ confided Grisel.
‘Of course they fight,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You have two males and one female.’
Katrina regarded him coolly. ‘So what do you suggest we do? Buy another female? But what happens if Morel and Grisel still prefer Blanche? Then we will still have two sparring cocks, but will have added an offended hen to the equation.’
Bartholomew wondered how he had let himself be manoeuvred into a position where he was obliged to act as a counsellor for a love triangle between birds. ‘Have you tried distracting them from their amours by giving them interesting things to do?’
She frowned her bemusement. ‘Such as what?’
He raised his hands in a shrug. ‘Teach them tricks, give them toys to play with, provide things for them to chew – although preferably not meat.’
‘I would never give them meat,’ replied Katrina crossly, then flushed when she realised this was probably not what he had been told. ‘Other than when it is necessary.’
Her arrangements with the kitchens were none of his concern, and he was about to say so when Grisel flew to his shoulder, precipitating a sudden memory of his student days. Life had been so simple then, when all he had to do was absorb as much knowledge as he could. Now he was a teacher himself, although that part of his life would be over when he married Matilde. He experienced a sudden sense of misgiving. Was she worth it? To take his mind off such uncomfortable questions, he went to the window and looked out, the bird still on his shoulder.
‘You have a good view of the Cistern Tower,’ he remarked.
‘Yes, but I did not see who murdered Margery, if that is where this discussion is going. Yet I might have done, because I was up at the time. The squires woke me with their racket at midnight, and I could not go back to sleep again. I read for a while, then went to nocturns in the chapel.’
Bartholomew frowned. ‘You cannot have done – Heselbech rang the bell, but then decided he was incapable of doing his duty.’
‘Then his memory is flawed, because he did do it. He was behind the rood screen, of course, so I could not see him, but I certainly heard him reciting the words.’
‘And it was definitely Heselbech?’
‘Well, he is our chaplain, so who else could it have been?’ Katrina gave a sudden chuckle. ‘Your friend Master Langelee? He came out as I went in, but he reeked of ale and was just as drunk as Heselbech. It is a pity he is a scholar, as he is a very attractive man.’
‘Langelee is?’ blurted Bartholomew, then decided that he did not want to know the answer. ‘Was anyone else in the chapel when you arrived?’