‘What, then? We cannot just crawl over there and lay hold of them. We might reach one undetected, but then the other will belt the truss and that will be that.’
Langelee brandished his letter-opener. ‘I can disarm one by lobbing this, but not both. Do either of you have a weapon? A surgical blade will do.’
But Bartholomew had left his medical bag in the vestry, thinking it would be in the way when he was in the roof, while Michael rarely carried knives of any description. Langelee scowled his disbelief that the two of them should have set out on such a venture without arming themselves first, conveniently overlooking the fact that he too had failed in that respect.
‘Then I shall immobilise one with a flying dagger, while you two leap on the other,’ he determined. ‘Agreed?’
‘No,’ hissed Bartholomew, knowing the monk was physically incapable of the stealth required for such a mission. ‘I will go. Michael can stay here and relay a message: if I can come within grabbing distance of Anne, I will raise my left hand, and he will signal that you are to aim at Nicholas; if I raise my right hand–’
‘I am to stab Anne,’ finished Langelee. ‘Fair enough. What can possibly go wrong?’
To Bartholomew, the rafter along which he inched seemed far too thin to bear his weight. Worse, the cracks in the stone domes seemed much bigger now – large enough for him to see into the nave below. He stopped for a moment and peered down. He was directly above the rood screen. On one side, John strove valiantly to entertain his restless congregation, while on the other was a heaving mass of heads. He thought he could see the Lady’s among them, surrounded by her courtiers. He dragged his eyes away from the dizzying sight, and resumed his journey.
Halfway along the beam was a thick post, supporting the roof above. Unfortunately, there was no way around it – other than stepping out on to one of the domes, which might then collapse under his weight. He shot Michael a stricken glance. The monk understood his dilemma at once, and made a vigorous pointing movement with his finger, indicating that Bartholomew was to look above his head.
He saw immediately what Michael wanted him to do – jump up to a convenient strut and swing himself around the post by his arms. It would be a dangerous manoeuvre at the best of times, let alone when failure would mean him landing hard on the ceiling, precipitating him and tons of stone down on to the people below. Moreover, the rood screen had a lot of pinnacles. He would almost certainly end up impaled on one, which would be a terrible way to die.
He glanced at Michael again, and saw the monk urging him to hurry. He supposed Langelee was in place, waiting for the signal to attack. He looked at Anne and Nicholas just a few feet away from him, and felt his resolve strengthen. Perhaps he would fall, but at least he could die in the knowledge that he had done his best to thwart their horrible plot. He jumped.
The strut creaked ominously, and there was a moment when he thought his fingers would not hold him. But he managed to shift his grip, and felt himself secure enough to throw one hand forward. It worked, so he did the same with the other. And then he was past the obstruction. He let himself drop, landing with a soft thump on the other side of the beam, going down on one knee for better balance. It put him closer to one of the cracks, allowing him to see more of the nave below – and the folk who had no idea of the danger they were in.
He stood on unsteady legs, and saw with horror that Nicholas was no longer there. He looked around wildly. Where had the vicar gone? Had Langelee already deployed his blade? But he could not see the Master either – only Michael, who was no more than an unmoving shadow by the door. But Anne had not hit the scaffolding yet, and if he could just wrest the mallet from her …
She glanced up as he stepped forward, and her hand tightened around the mallet, warning him against coming any closer.
‘Oh, it is you,’ she said flatly. She wore a kirtle and cloak that Margery must have given her, as both were rose-coloured. ‘I was hoping for Marishal or one of the Austins. I was looking forward to showing them that they were beaten.’
‘Where is Nicholas?’
Anne smiled nastily. ‘There are two weak points in this ceiling – Roger was kind enough to identify them for me when he caught me up here one day – and I am not a woman to leave anything to chance. Nicholas is at the other, waiting to act on my command.’
Bartholomew raised his left hand, then pushed Nicholas from his mind, trusting that Langelee would do what he had promised. He turned all his attention to Anne, ready for the moment when her defences were lowered, so that he could dart forward and rip the mallet away from her.
‘Do not think you can stop me,’ she told him smugly. ‘When I wave to Nicholas, two fan vaults will collapse simultaneously. The chances are that they will bring down the rest of the ceiling as well, after which we shall clamber to safety. You, of course, will fall with the stone.’
It was then that Bartholomew saw she wore a harness, which would prevent her from toppling into the abyss, should she lose her footing.
‘It will not work,’ lied Bartholomew. ‘You can hit the scaffolding all you like, but nothing will happen.’
‘Roger said it would, and I trust his opinion more than yours. No, do not inch towards me! Stay back, or I shall do it now.’
Bartholomew could see she meant it. He took a step away, hoping that Langelee had already dealt with Nicholas, and would be able to sneak up behind Anne and disable her as well. All he had to do was keep her talking until the Master could oblige. Slowly and deliberately, so there could be no misunderstanding, he raised his right hand, hoping that Michael would understand.
‘But you killed Roger,’ he said, to prevent her from asking what he was doing.
‘Yes, when he threatened to tell everyone that the ceiling was unsafe. I wanted it kept secret, for obvious reasons.’
‘But your friends are below us,’ blurted Bartholomew desperately. ‘Children you nursed, girls you saved from–’
‘Yes! And do you know how many of them spoke up for me when I needed them? Two – Ella and Thomas. Margery tried to take up where I left off, although she was never very successful. Herbs do not work nearly as well as a hook.’
‘But people love you,’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘They bring you gifts and seek your advice. You cannot betray their trust by crushing them all!’
‘Oh, they flocked to me when I declared myself holy,’ she hissed malevolently. ‘But by then it was too late. I was walled up and they had earned my enmity. All of them.’
‘Including Bonde?’ Bartholomew raised his right hand again, more urgently this time. ‘He did your bidding, but was repaid for his loyalty with a cup of hemlock.’
‘Hemlock,’ mused Anne. ‘A very useful herb, although annoyingly slow to act. And before you ask – yes, I used it on Wisbech, Skynere and Godeston, too. Killing them was easy.’
‘As easy as Talmach and Albon? I know you stabbed Talmach after he fell from his horse, while Albon died when you lobbed a stone at him. Thomas heard him shout “you” in surprise.’
‘Not me – Bonde, although on my orders. I told him to lie low after Roos died, lest your clever monk probed matters that did not concern him.’ She grimaced. ‘And I could have added him, you, Langelee and Marishal to my tally if Thomas had not opened the kitchen sluices. I shall have stern words with that boy before I leave.’
‘It was not you who locked us in the cistern,’ countered Bartholomew. ‘You might leave your cell at night, but you would never risk it in broad daylight.’
Anne regarded him in disdain. ‘You think I cannot move undetected in a place that was my home for thirty-seven years? Pah! What a fool you are.’