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Authors: Susanna Gregory
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once and for all.’
‘I suppose you want me to go with you,’ said Bartholomew heavily. ‘To see what clues might be found on the bodies.’
‘No,’ said Michael, opening the door that led to the Prior’s private garden and pushing his friend inside. ‘I want to introduce
you to Prior Alan, and then I want you to spend your few days here reading about fevers. That is why you came, after all.’
Bartholomew gazed at him in astonishment. ‘You do not need the help of a medical man?’
Michael shook his head. ‘I have watched you often enough to manage perfectly well alone.’
Bartholomew regarded him askance. ‘I am coming with you.’
The monk gave a humourless smile. ‘Thank you, Matt. I only wish you were as forthcoming in
all
the murders I am obliged to investigate. But this is a simple matter, and I do not need you.’
‘You do not want me involved,’ said Bartholomew, trying to read what the monk was thinking. ‘You are as suspicious of de Lisle’s
protestations of innocence as I am, and you think you will protect me by not allowing me to help.’
‘Nonsense, Matt,’ said Michael brusquely. ‘You travelledto Ely to indulge yourself in your unhealthy fascination with diseases, not to traipse around the city’s inns to learn how
much these dead men had to drink before they stumbled into the river. You do your work and I shall do mine.’
‘I
am
coming with you,’ repeated Bartholomew, this time with determination. ‘You might need a good friend.’
Michael’s smile became gentle. ‘You were right the first time, Matt; I do not want you involved in this. It may lead to places
you would not like, and it is better that I investigate alone.’
‘It is better that you investigate with me,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘I am not afraid of de Lisle. The worst that could happen
is that I lose his favour and he tries to make my life uncomfortable at Michaelhouse.’
‘No, Matt,’ said Michael softly. ‘Discrediting you is not the worst he could do at all.’
Chapter 2
T HE P RIOR OF THE B ENEDICTINE MONASTERY AT E LY WAS an important man, and his living quarters reflected that fact. Set aside for his personal use was a handsome house with its
own chapel and kitchen, while at right angles to it was the Prior’s Great Hall, a sumptuous building with a lofty-ceilinged
room that was almost as large as the one that served the entire community. The house itself was roofed with baked red tiles
imported from the north country, and its plaster walls were neat and clean. Real glass in the windows allowed the light to
filter into the rooms where the great man worked, slept and ate, although these were thrown open so that a cooling breeze
whispered through the documents on the tables and billowed among the gorgeous hangings on the walls.
Originally, Ely had been an abbey, with an abbot to rule and a prior as his second-in-command. But when the post of Bishop
of Ely had been created by Henry I, the position of abbot had been abolished – an abbot and a bishop in the same diocese would
have been impractical. The Bishop then ran the diocese, while the Prior controlled the monastery. Without an abbot, Ely became
a ‘cathedral-priory’, with the all-important ‘cathedral’ denoting the fact that although the foundation boasted no abbot,
it was a cut above the average priory.
Prior Alan de Walsingham was sitting in his solar, a light and airy room that afforded a pleasant view over his private gardens.
The sweet scent of ripening apples and newly mown grass drifted through the windows, along with the sounds of the priory –
the chanting of a psalm in the chapter house, the distant voices of lay-brothers hoeing the vineyards, theclatter of pots from the kitchens and the coos of birds roosting in the dovecote.
Bartholomew had seen Alan officiating at masses when he had visited Ely on previous occasions, but he had never met him in
person. From afar, Alan had given an
‘I suppose you want me to go with you,’ said Bartholomew heavily. ‘To see what clues might be found on the bodies.’
‘No,’ said Michael, opening the door that led to the Prior’s private garden and pushing his friend inside. ‘I want to introduce
you to Prior Alan, and then I want you to spend your few days here reading about fevers. That is why you came, after all.’
Bartholomew gazed at him in astonishment. ‘You do not need the help of a medical man?’
Michael shook his head. ‘I have watched you often enough to manage perfectly well alone.’
Bartholomew regarded him askance. ‘I am coming with you.’
The monk gave a humourless smile. ‘Thank you, Matt. I only wish you were as forthcoming in
all
the murders I am obliged to investigate. But this is a simple matter, and I do not need you.’
‘You do not want me involved,’ said Bartholomew, trying to read what the monk was thinking. ‘You are as suspicious of de Lisle’s
protestations of innocence as I am, and you think you will protect me by not allowing me to help.’
‘Nonsense, Matt,’ said Michael brusquely. ‘You travelledto Ely to indulge yourself in your unhealthy fascination with diseases, not to traipse around the city’s inns to learn how
much these dead men had to drink before they stumbled into the river. You do your work and I shall do mine.’
‘I
am
coming with you,’ repeated Bartholomew, this time with determination. ‘You might need a good friend.’
Michael’s smile became gentle. ‘You were right the first time, Matt; I do not want you involved in this. It may lead to places
you would not like, and it is better that I investigate alone.’
‘It is better that you investigate with me,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘I am not afraid of de Lisle. The worst that could happen
is that I lose his favour and he tries to make my life uncomfortable at Michaelhouse.’
‘No, Matt,’ said Michael softly. ‘Discrediting you is not the worst he could do at all.’
Chapter 2
T HE P RIOR OF THE B ENEDICTINE MONASTERY AT E LY WAS an important man, and his living quarters reflected that fact. Set aside for his personal use was a handsome house with its
own chapel and kitchen, while at right angles to it was the Prior’s Great Hall, a sumptuous building with a lofty-ceilinged
room that was almost as large as the one that served the entire community. The house itself was roofed with baked red tiles
imported from the north country, and its plaster walls were neat and clean. Real glass in the windows allowed the light to
filter into the rooms where the great man worked, slept and ate, although these were thrown open so that a cooling breeze
whispered through the documents on the tables and billowed among the gorgeous hangings on the walls.
Originally, Ely had been an abbey, with an abbot to rule and a prior as his second-in-command. But when the post of Bishop
of Ely had been created by Henry I, the position of abbot had been abolished – an abbot and a bishop in the same diocese would
have been impractical. The Bishop then ran the diocese, while the Prior controlled the monastery. Without an abbot, Ely became
a ‘cathedral-priory’, with the all-important ‘cathedral’ denoting the fact that although the foundation boasted no abbot,
it was a cut above the average priory.
Prior Alan de Walsingham was sitting in his solar, a light and airy room that afforded a pleasant view over his private gardens.
The sweet scent of ripening apples and newly mown grass drifted through the windows, along with the sounds of the priory –
the chanting of a psalm in the chapter house, the distant voices of lay-brothers hoeing the vineyards, theclatter of pots from the kitchens and the coos of birds roosting in the dovecote.
Bartholomew had seen Alan officiating at masses when he had visited Ely on previous occasions, but he had never met him in
person. From afar, Alan had given an
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