Read Online A Plague on Both Your Houses by Susanna Gregory - Free Book Online
Authors: Susanna Gregory
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building other than the door against which Bartholomew had
fallen. He pushed the commoners’ door so that it lay
flat against the wall, and edged his way along it.
The commoners’ room was lighter than Augustus’s,
because all the shutters had been thrown open to keep the room cool through the summer night. The commoners
slept on pallets, simple mattresses of straw, that could be piled up on top of each other during the day to
make more room. Bartholomew could see that all the
commoners were there, and all asleep. He could see
enough of their faces or bodies to know that none
of them was Aelfrith, and there were no alcoves or
garderobes in which to hide. Aelfrith was not there.
He backed out, and went to Augustus’s room. He
was totally mystified. There was nowhere for Aelfrith to hide, and he could not have left the building without
passing Bartholomew on the stairs. Bartholomew leaned
against the wall. Now that the first danger appeared to be over, he was beginning to shake with the shock, and his knee ached viciously. Legs trembling, he sank down onto the bed.
His heart leapt into his mouth as Augustus gave a long, low groan. Bartholomew stared at the body in horror.
With a shaking hand, he reached out slowly, and grasped the bedcovers that had wrapped themselves around the
corpse, easing them off the face.
He recoiled in confusion as the unmistakable bristly
tonsure of Aelfrith emerged from under the tangle of
blankets. For a few seconds, Bartholomew sat stupefied, just staring at the inert form on the floor. If this was Aelfrith, who was the man who had attacked him? And
more to the point, where was Augustus? He crouched
down beside the man on the floor. Gently, he eased him onto his side, noting the deep gash on the side of his head.
Aelfrith’s eyes fluttered open, and Bartholomew helped him to a sitting position. For a few minutes, all Aelfrith did was to hold his head in his hands and moan. Bartholomew limped to the table, and soaked a napkin in water from the nightstand to press against the swelling. Eventually, Aelfrith squinted up at him.
‘What happened?’ he croaked.
Bartholomew stared at him, trying to make sense
out of the happenings of the last few minutes. ‘You tell me,’ he said finally, easing himself back down onto the bed. ‘Where is Augustus?’
Aelfrith turned his head sharply to look at the bed,
wincing at the quickness of the movement. He gazed
at the empty bed, and then peered underneath it. He
looked back at Bartholomew, his eyes wide with shock.
‘Where is Augustus?’ he repeated.
Bartholomew watched as Aelfrith hauled himself to
his feet and threw open the shutters. Both men looked
around the small room in the better light. It was a mess.
Augustus’s few possessions had been scattered, his spare clothes pulled from the shelf and hurled to the ground, and a small box on the table ransacked so that odd bits of parchment lay everywhere. Bartholomew recalled that
his attacker had been doing something in the middle of the floor, and leaned forward to see that the floorboards had been prised up in places. The sharp knife that had almost been the end of Bartholomew had evidently been
used to scratch loose plaster from the walls, for small piles of dust and rubble lay all around the room.
‘Tell me what happened,’ said Bartholomew.
Aelfrith shook his head, and sank down onto the
bed next to him. “I do not know. I was kneeling, facing the crucifix next to the window, when I heard a sound.
I thought it might be Brother Paul; he has taken a turn for the worse recently, so I went to make sure he was
sleeping. He was curled up under his blanket fast asleep, so I came back here. I knelt down again, and that is all I can remember. The next thing I knew was that you were
helping me up from the floor, and that Augustus was
gone.’ He turned suddenly, and gripped Bartholomew’s
arm. ‘Matthew, are you sure that Augustus was …’ he
fallen. He pushed the commoners’ door so that it lay
flat against the wall, and edged his way along it.
The commoners’ room was lighter than Augustus’s,
because all the shutters had been thrown open to keep the room cool through the summer night. The commoners
slept on pallets, simple mattresses of straw, that could be piled up on top of each other during the day to
make more room. Bartholomew could see that all the
commoners were there, and all asleep. He could see
enough of their faces or bodies to know that none
of them was Aelfrith, and there were no alcoves or
garderobes in which to hide. Aelfrith was not there.
He backed out, and went to Augustus’s room. He
was totally mystified. There was nowhere for Aelfrith to hide, and he could not have left the building without
passing Bartholomew on the stairs. Bartholomew leaned
against the wall. Now that the first danger appeared to be over, he was beginning to shake with the shock, and his knee ached viciously. Legs trembling, he sank down onto the bed.
His heart leapt into his mouth as Augustus gave a long, low groan. Bartholomew stared at the body in horror.
With a shaking hand, he reached out slowly, and grasped the bedcovers that had wrapped themselves around the
corpse, easing them off the face.
He recoiled in confusion as the unmistakable bristly
tonsure of Aelfrith emerged from under the tangle of
blankets. For a few seconds, Bartholomew sat stupefied, just staring at the inert form on the floor. If this was Aelfrith, who was the man who had attacked him? And
more to the point, where was Augustus? He crouched
down beside the man on the floor. Gently, he eased him onto his side, noting the deep gash on the side of his head.
Aelfrith’s eyes fluttered open, and Bartholomew helped him to a sitting position. For a few minutes, all Aelfrith did was to hold his head in his hands and moan. Bartholomew limped to the table, and soaked a napkin in water from the nightstand to press against the swelling. Eventually, Aelfrith squinted up at him.
‘What happened?’ he croaked.
Bartholomew stared at him, trying to make sense
out of the happenings of the last few minutes. ‘You tell me,’ he said finally, easing himself back down onto the bed. ‘Where is Augustus?’
Aelfrith turned his head sharply to look at the bed,
wincing at the quickness of the movement. He gazed
at the empty bed, and then peered underneath it. He
looked back at Bartholomew, his eyes wide with shock.
‘Where is Augustus?’ he repeated.
Bartholomew watched as Aelfrith hauled himself to
his feet and threw open the shutters. Both men looked
around the small room in the better light. It was a mess.
Augustus’s few possessions had been scattered, his spare clothes pulled from the shelf and hurled to the ground, and a small box on the table ransacked so that odd bits of parchment lay everywhere. Bartholomew recalled that
his attacker had been doing something in the middle of the floor, and leaned forward to see that the floorboards had been prised up in places. The sharp knife that had almost been the end of Bartholomew had evidently been
used to scratch loose plaster from the walls, for small piles of dust and rubble lay all around the room.
‘Tell me what happened,’ said Bartholomew.
Aelfrith shook his head, and sank down onto the
bed next to him. “I do not know. I was kneeling, facing the crucifix next to the window, when I heard a sound.
I thought it might be Brother Paul; he has taken a turn for the worse recently, so I went to make sure he was
sleeping. He was curled up under his blanket fast asleep, so I came back here. I knelt down again, and that is all I can remember. The next thing I knew was that you were
helping me up from the floor, and that Augustus was
gone.’ He turned suddenly, and gripped Bartholomew’s
arm. ‘Matthew, are you sure that Augustus was …’ he
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