‘The Queen will be impressed by that ceiling,’ muttered Langelee, joining Bartholomew and Michael because all the wealthy merchants he wanted to target for donations were currently jostling for space in the nave, leaving him with nothing to do. ‘But there are some huge cracks. You could not see them when the scaffolding was up, but you can now.’
‘I asked Nicholas about those when I went to ask if he minded being barred from taking the leading role at a ceremony in his own church,’ said Michael. ‘He told me that they will all be filled with glue soon, so will not show.’
‘Does he mind being publicly slighted?’
‘Oh, he is furious. However, in the interests of peace, he has agreed to work with Heselbech, so let us hope his parishioners are equally magnanimous.’
Heselbech’s opening speech was a masterpiece of conciliation and forgiveness, which he claimed was what Margery would have wanted. He gave it in Latin, French and the vernacular, to ensure that everyone understood, after which he and Nicholas began the funeral rite. Even so, there were angry murmurs from the castle contingent whenever they heard Nicholas’s voice, and grumbles from the town whenever Heselbech spoke.
It was over eventually, and the more important members of the congregation traipsed to the chancel to see Margery interred. It was then that the brewing trouble erupted.
‘Wait a moment!’ cried Paycock in angry disbelief. ‘That spot is where I am going to be buried when I die. I paid for it in advance, and I have a letter from the Bishop to prove it.’
‘Lord, so it is!’ muttered Nicholas, flushing red with embarrassment. ‘It slipped my mind in all the turmoil of the last few days. But there is nothing we can do about it now, Paycock. Margery is here and the vault is open so–’
‘But it is the best place in the entire church,’ protested Paycock, livid. ‘Which is why I want it for myself. I am sorry, Nicholas, but you will have to make other arrangements for Margery.’
‘He will not,’ said Marishal dangerously. ‘She goes in the place that was promised.’
‘You can have the porch instead, Paycock,’ called Thomas provocatively.
‘Stop it!’ snapped Albon with stately authority when Paycock took an angry step forward, fists at the ready. ‘This is a church, not a tavern. Behave yourselves – all of you.’
Paycock lowered his hands, but his protest was far from finished. ‘You cannot allow this, Nicholas! First, they foist their chaplain on us, and now they steal our best vault. Be a man, and tell them where to–’
‘Leave Nicholas alone, you,’ came a waspish voice from the squint. ‘And if your tomb is so important, why did you not come here earlier, to protect it?’
‘Because I did not think it was necessary,’ yelled Paycock. ‘How was I to know that the rats in the castle would stoop so low as to steal a man’s private burial space?’
‘No one stole anything,’ declared the Lady curtly. ‘Now step aside, Paycock. Your behaviour at the funeral of a good woman is disgraceful, and you should be ashamed of yourself.’
It was one insult too many. Paycock’s friends objected heatedly and the chancel was suddenly full of clamouring voices, which Heselbech tried in vain to quell. Nicholas made no attempt to help his colleague, and instead went to stand near the squint, where Anne regaled him with her opinions about the situation.
Hot words soon turned to shoves. Albon immediately whisked the Lady away, shielding her from buffets with his own body, although there was definite fear in his eyes as he did so. Most of the squires hastened to help, although Thomas was more concerned with protecting his sister. By contrast, Nuport was in the thick of the fracas and enjoying every moment of it.
Then the Austins appeared, smoothly and professionally insinuating themselves between the warring factions. John nodded to Heselbech, who hastened to resume his prayers and lower Margery into the vault. The ceremony was over quickly then, and the friars ensured that the two sides dispersed in opposite directions. Even so, it was a tense business, and they heaved a collective sigh of relief when the last of the mourners shuffled out and peace reigned once more.
‘I am going to close my doors now,’ sniffed Nicholas, looking around at the aftermath of the scuffle in disapproval. The floor was strewn with items that had been dropped, including gloves, hats and the occasional weapon. It was also filthy from the mud that had been tracked in from the street. ‘It will take me ages to clean all this up.’
‘I will help,’ offered Heselbech generously. ‘It will take half the time with two of us at work.’
Nicholas thanked him with a smile. ‘But once we have finished, the church will not reopen until the rededication. I do not want any more mess or fighting in here. Besides, I still have the nave scaffolding to pull down, which can be done more safely if the place is empty.’
‘I hope everyone will refrain from skirmishing when the Queen is here,’ remarked Michael. ‘Her ministers impose heavy penalties on those who break the King’s peace.’
Then Grym waddled up, his amiable face creased with worry.
‘You must come at once, Prior John. Albon has made an announcement in the market square, accusing the hermit of killing Margery and Roos. The townsfolk are outraged.’
‘Jan is the culprit?’ came Anne’s voice. ‘I might have known! He always was a rogue.’
‘Are you sure, Grym?’ asked Michael, ignoring her. ‘Albon said nothing about having solved the case when he was here for the funeral, and that was only a few moments ago.’
‘Probably because he did not know then what he thinks he knows now,’ explained Grym. ‘Namely that Jan’s dagger was discovered in the cistern, next to the bodies. Lichet just told him.’
‘But that is untrue,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘We never found the murder weapon.’
‘I know that,’ said Grym impatiently. ‘But Albon swallowed the tale and acted on it, just as Lichet predicted he would. That Red Devil really is a poisonous snake, because when the story is proven to be false, no one will take any investigation conducted by Albon seriously again.’
Prior John called his weary friars to order, and although they lined up gamely enough, it was obvious that most of them had hoped to repair to the priory for a much-deserved cup of ale and a warm supper. Ex-warriors they might be, but none were in their prime, and they had reached the age where they appreciated their creature comforts.
‘Some of you had better look for Jan as well,’ Grym told them. ‘Because Albon has just ridden off on his great white destrier with the avowed intention of hunting him down. He will not lynch anyone, but the squires are with him and they might. Moreover, they intend to start their search in Mayor Godeston’s woods – which is another insult to the town, as they have not secured the permission of his heirs.’
John began to issue orders, sounding more like a military commander than a prior. ‘Langelee – will you take a patrol westwards? Heselbech can ride north, Weste will search south and Nicholas must take the east. Your remit is to find Jan – do not engage with Albon’s troops. I will stay here with a dozen men and keep the peace. And God have mercy on us all.’
There followed a flurry of activity, with some friars racing away to saddle horses, and others forming themselves into the units that would impose order on the town. When the church was empty, Nicholas locked it, then hurried to the priory stables to collect a horse himself. Within moments, Bartholomew and Michael were alone in the graveyard.
‘It is a pity Nicholas decided to “improve” this place,’ sighed Michael, looking up at the gleaming new stonework. ‘I have been told countless times that the town and castle were the best of friends before the restoration began.’