‘Or compound them,’ countered Bartholomew.
Uncomfortable with such a discussion, Michael and Langelee went to corner Paycock, to see if he might be persuaded to donate funds to a College in exchange for Masses for his loved ones, while Nicholas hurried to oversee the work in the nave. Bartholomew was left to talk to Anne alone.
‘Now Isabel will have to swallow herbs to save herself from the perils of childbirth,’ the anchoress went on grimly. ‘Tansy and pennyroyal. And those are dangerous.’
‘Yes, they are,’ agreed Bartholomew, hoping it was not a hint for him to wield a hook in her stead. He thought about Mistress Starre in Cambridge, and her potions for desperate women. Then he recalled the many times he had been summoned when things had gone catastrophically wrong.
‘Although not nearly as dangerous as having a baby,’ Anne flashed back.
‘Isabel is not worried about giving birth,’ Bartholomew countered, although even as he spoke, he was aware that Isabel’s reasons for wanting a way out of her predicament were really none of his business. ‘She just wants to end an inconvenient pregnancy.’
Anne snorted her disdain. ‘Spoken like a true man! It should be our decision what happens inside our own bodies, and all I can say is that if I had to choose between childbirth and a hook, I know which I would pick.’
‘Fortunately for you, it is not a decision you will ever have to make.’
‘I hope you are not implying that I am too old for motherhood,’ said Anne frostily.
‘I am implying that you are unlikely to conceive when you are walled up in a cell. Unless you happen to know some very unusual manoeuvres.’
The moment the words were out, Bartholomew wished he could retract them, sure she would not appreciate risqué remarks. She had proclaimed herself to be a holy woman, after all. Thus he was relieved when there came a peal of extremely lewd laughter.
‘I must remember to tell Nicholas that one!’ she crowed. ‘It will amuse him greatly, and he needs to smile, as he is altogether too anxious about the ceremony tomorrow.’
When Bartholomew had finished with the anchoress, he found Michael and Langelee waiting for him by the porch door. They left the churchyard, Bartholomew acutely aware that Langelee kept his hand on the hilt of his sword as they went. The atmosphere along Rutten Row was fraught, with clots of townsfolk gathered on every corner, muttering darkly. Any castle inhabitant rash enough to venture out was subject to torrents of abuse, although the three scholars received nods and even the occasional smile.
‘It is because Bartholomew helped Adam,’ explained Grym, who was emerging from his house as they passed. ‘I told everyone that Adam would have died without our cooperative efforts, so you University men are in favour. Of course, it may mean trouble for you at the castle. They have taken against Adam now he refuses to bake for them again.’
Bartholomew, Langelee and Michael hurried on, and when they reached the barbican, it was to find that the number of guards on duty had been doubled, while archers lined the walkways and battlements. Langelee inspected the precautions with an approving eye.
‘You must still be on the lookout for treachery from within, though,’ he warned Richard the watchman. ‘There must be any number of servants with links to the town, and you can never be sure of their loyalty.’
‘Marishal ordered all those expelled,’ sighed Richard. ‘Which was ill-advised, as they will swell the enemy’s ranks, and might mean the difference between victory and defeat for us. I do not know how we reached this pass – not when relations between us have been cordial for centuries.’
‘The Austins will prevent a battle,’ said Langelee soothingly, although Richard’s worried expression suggested that he did not think they would succeed. ‘But I am going to hunt for Bonde and the hermit today. Do you have any advice about where to look?’
‘The hermit could be anywhere, but Bonde has kin in Stoke by Clare, which is three miles east along the river. Do not go alone, though. He is dangerous.’
‘So am I,’ declared Langelee with a grin. ‘But I take your point. Weste has offered to come.’
‘A good warrior,’ acknowledged Richard. ‘But Bonde is low and crafty, so watch yourself.’
Langelee inclined his head and strode away. Michael sketched a benediction after him, and muttered a prayer that over-confidence would not see him hurt.
‘I seriously doubt that anyone will attack a fortress,’ Michael told Marishal crossly a short while later. He was irked because the portcullis had been down and the guards were under orders to lift it no more than a fraction, compelling any visitors to crawl inside on their hands and knees. The squires had been watching, and there had been a good deal of merriment at the monk’s expense. ‘Your precautions are excessive.’
‘Are they?’ Marishal had declined Lichet’s sleeping potion for the second day running, and was the Lady’s steward once more, radiating confidence and efficiency, although his eyes were sunken and his face drawn. ‘The town hates us, and now they have murdered Albon.’
‘How do you know it was them?’ asked Michael. ‘Do you have evidence that–’
‘I do not need evidence to confirm what any rational man can see,’ interrupted Marishal shortly. ‘Albon was our mightiest warrior, and his execution is a direct challenge to our authority.’
‘But the townsfolk liked Albon because he was taking the castle’s rowdy young men away to France,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘None of them wanted him dead.’
‘Have you found out what happened to him yet?’ asked Michael, when Marishal made no reply. ‘We tried to question his squires last night, but Lichet ordered them to pray in the chapel instead.’
‘Then speak to them now,’ said Marishal briskly. ‘Come.’
He led the way to the knight’s frilly pavilion, which now had a distinctly lopsided appearance. The squires stood rigidly to attention at intervals around it. Each wore a peculiar black cloak shorn off just below the shoulders, which meant the rest of their finery was sodden and all were shivering – except Thomas, who had opted for a sensible oiled garment that covered him to the knees.
‘I cannot credit that they still believe what Thomas says about courtly fashion,’ murmured Michael, shaking his head in disgust. ‘I have encountered some dim-witted lads in my time, but none as stupid as this horde.’
The squires did not respond when he informed them that he wanted their accounts of what had happened to their hero, and only stared blankly and annoyingly ahead. Bartholomew wondered if that was Thomas’s doing as well, or if the mute guard of honour had been their own idea.
Before the monk could repeat himself, Marishal intervened, his voice tight with anger. ‘Answer him, you silly young fools,’ he snarled. ‘And when he has finished, you can divest yourselves of these absurd clothes, don sensible ones, and report to me in the hall. There is much to do before the Queen arrives, and I will not have idlers in my castle.’
‘Our duty lies here,’ replied Nuport defiantly. ‘It is what Sir William would have wanted.’
‘But he is not in a position to say so, is he,’ snapped Marishal. ‘So you now have a choice: make yourselves useful or get out of Clare. And that includes you, Thomas.’
‘Me?’ blurted Thomas, startled. ‘But I am a–’
‘Your days of indolence are over,’ interrupted Marishal harshly. ‘As from today, you will either work or starve. It is your choice: I do not care one way or another.’
And with that, he turned on his heel and strode away. The slight spring in his step suggested that he had enjoyed the confrontation, perhaps because he thought that Margery would have approved of his taking a firm hand at last. The squires gazed after him in dismay, although several folk who had overheard the exchange nodded their approval. They included Ereswell, who evidently thought it was the scholars’ influence, as he touched his purse in a way that indicated another donation would be coming Michaelhouse’s way.