‘I am sure he would be the first to agree,’ said Bartholomew.
For the next hour, Bartholomew concentrated on medicine. He was vaguely aware of Cynric sidling in at the back of the room, and when the book-bearer caught his eye and gave a slight shake of the head, it took him a moment to understand what it meant. But the last patient was thanking him for his time, so he began packing away his implements, salves and bandages.
‘And now you may see the paten,’ said Sylle, as though Bartholomew had allowed himself to be besieged by patients just for that end. He handed the physician a large golden plate. It was a magnificent piece, one of the finest Bartholomew had ever seen, and he understood exactly why the goldsmith was reluctant to melt it down.
‘Master Aurifabro made it himself,’ Udela was explaining. ‘He did not delegate to a lesser craftsman, as others might have done. Of course, now he does not know what to do with it, because our gods – the older ones – have no use for this sort of thing.’
‘Why did he take such trouble for a foundation he despises?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘Oh, he likes the abbey,’ said Sylle. ‘It is the obedientiaries he loathes. He was terribly disappointed when Yvo cancelled the commission. This paten would have been in the abbey’s treasury long after we are in our graves, and was his path to immortality.’
‘Would you like a consultation, Doctor?’ asked Udela suddenly. ‘I will do it for free.’
Bartholomew regarded her blankly. ‘A consultation?’
‘An interview with the spirits,’ elaborated Udela, a little impatiently. ‘What other kind is there? And they will certainly answer today, because they have taken a shine to you.’
‘They have?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily.
‘They appreciate your generosity to us. It is not every physician who waives his fees in the name of human kindness.’
Bartholomew stood hastily. ‘It is good of you, but–’
‘Sit,’ commanded Udela, reaching into a pouch at her side and removing a handful of shiny stones. ‘Let us see what they have to say.’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew, still on his feet. He saw Cynric frantically signalling for him to show her proper respect. ‘It would not be–’
‘There is nothing to be afraid of,’ said Udela irritably. ‘And I am trying to help.’
Before he could argue further, she had tossed the stones on the table, and firm hands were pushing him back into the chair. He could have tried to fight his way clear, but he had the sense that he would not get very far. Judging by the awed looks that had been exchanged when Udela had made the offer, free consultations were not granted often, and her flock was determined to ensure that this one was received with appropriate appreciation.
Udela peered at the pebbles and nodded knowingly. ‘There is evil associated with the disappearance of Robert and Pyk. A terrible deed…’
‘Yes,’ said Bartholomew, feeling he could have told her that himself.
‘But Pyk is innocent,’ said Udela, looking hard at him. ‘It is in your mind that he might have dispatched Robert, but it would not be true. The stones do not tell me this: my instinct does. Pyk was not a killer.’
‘I hope you are right,’ said Bartholomew sincerely. He liked the sound of Pyk, and it would do his profession scant good for the arch-villain to be a medicus.
‘There is nothing more specific, though,’ said Udela, inspecting the pebbles again, then shaking her head apologetically. ‘The spirits are frightened, which tells me that the wickedness is very strong. All I can say is that death and danger lie ahead for you.’
Bartholomew did not doubt it. Death was his daily companion, given that few of his remedies for serious diseases were effective, while he still had to make the return journey to Cambridge, which was likely to be every bit as perilous as the outward one. But despite his natural pragmatism, her words sent a shiver down his spine.
‘And a terrible monster with flailing claws,’ added Udela matter-of-factly. ‘It will stand over you screaming its fury, and its left hand is more lethal than its right.’
Wryly, Bartholomew supposed he would just have to make sure he avoided left-handed fiends for a while. He nodded his thanks to Udela, hoping she would not read in his face that he considered her prophecies a lot of nonsense.
‘There is one more thing.’ She smiled suddenly and sweetly. ‘And on this, the spirits are crystal clear. You will find love one day. I cannot say when, but it will come.’
Bartholomew stared at her, while the listening female servants issued a chorus of happy coos and Sylle nudged him in the ribs with a manly wink.
‘And that,’ said Udela, gathering up her stones, ‘is all I can tell you.’
Eventually, there was a rattle of hoofs outside as Aurifabro arrived home, more of his mercenaries at his heels. Watching the cavalcade, Bartholomew asked whether the goldsmith had always felt the need for such an elaborate personal guard.
‘He recruited these men a year ago,’ explained Udela, ‘to prevent the abbey from encroaching on his land by moving fences, diverting streams and that sort of thing.’
‘But they have accompanied him out and about since Robert disappeared,’ added Sylle. ‘I hate to say anything nice about Robert, but he did keep good order. Now he is dead, thieves abound and the roads are not safe for wealthy goldsmiths.’
‘Why do you think Master Aurifabro hopes a reasonable man will be appointed as the next Abbot?’ asked Udela. ‘Because he wants to make peace. It is expensive to keep these foreign soldiers, and we do not like them. They are louts.’
‘I have been told that the roads are more dangerous now Spalling spouts incendiary messages,’ said Bartholomew, more to gauge their reactions than because he believed it.
‘Spalling used to be such a nice boy,’ said Udela sadly. ‘Not like his father, who was a tyrant. I cannot imagine what has encouraged him to take so violently against our master. It is wholly undeserved – we are very generous with alms.’
‘Spalling does encourage the poor to strike at Aurifabro in particular,’ muttered Cynric in Bartholomew’s ear. ‘Indeed, sometimes I wonder whether Peterborough only has one wealthy merchant, because he rarely mentions anyone else by name.’
Bartholomew was about to leave the kitchen and rejoin Michael when the goldsmith appeared at the door. Aurifabro’s expression was simultaneously wary and suspicious.
‘What is going on?’ he demanded. ‘Why is no work being done?’
‘Doctor Bartholomew has been tending our ailments,’ explained Udela, without a trace of servitude. ‘For free. I feel better already.’
‘You do not want him touching you,’ said Aurifabro. ‘He is a Corpse Examiner.’
‘It makes no difference,’ said Udela, cutting short the murmur of unease that began to ripple through the staff. ‘No evil aura hangs around him, or I would have seen it. He is as pure as the driven snow.’
‘Is he?’ asked Aurifabro doubtfully, while Bartholomew also regarded her askance.
‘Yes,’ said Udela, meeting her master’s eyes. ‘You have nothing to fear from him.’
Bartholomew was tempted to take her back to Cambridge with him – he could do with someone who spoke with such conviction on his behalf. Aurifabro nodded what might have been an apology and left. Bartholomew started to follow, but was waylaid by people who wanted to thank him for what he had done, so it was some time before he was able to escape.
‘There was nothing to find,’ Cynric murmured, as he followed the physician towards a smart solar in the main part of the house. ‘I had hoped that Robert and Pyk were being held prisoner, so I could rescue them, but I am fairly sure they were never here.’