A Plague on Both Your Houses (45 page)

from Michael who had stumbled into him. ‘Did you kill

Augustus and Paul?’

‘Yes and no,’ replied Colet smoothly, ignoring

Swynford’s look of disapproval. “I killed Paul. He kept calling out for someone to bring him water. He was

a nuisance, and had to be silenced. But I did not kill Augustus, he killed himself.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Bartholomew. ‘There

were no marks of violence on him.’

‘So that was what you were doing with his body,’ said

Colet. “I wondered what you were up to. I had planned to kill the old fool, and had my knife ready to slip between his ribs as he slept. But he was awake when I entered his room, and I saw him swallow something. I was wearing

a black cloak and hood, and I really think he believed I was Death coming for him. He just keeled over and

died of fright.’

Bartholomew remembered Wilson’s dismissive

words when Bartholomew told him he had been trying

to discover the cause of Augustus’s death. ‘He probably frightened himself to death with his imagination,’ Wilson had said, and he had been exactly right. But, even if no weapon were used, it was still murder to frighten an

old man so much that his heart stopped. Colet seemed

about to continue, and Bartholomew could tell from

the tone of his voice that he was only too happy to

talk about the deeds he had done and boast of his own

cleverness in evading detection, but Swynford took him roughly by the arm and pulled him away. The door was

slammed shut and firmly bolted and barred again from

the outside. Once more the room was plunged into pitch blackness. Bartholomew heard Michael groping around

in the darkness, and moved across to him. The fat monk was damp with sweat and trembling violently.

‘How do you come to be here, Brother?’

Bartholomew asked, leading him to a crate, the

position of which he knew so well from his wanderings

in the dark.

‘How do you?’ retorted Michael angrily, pulling away

from Bartholomew and stumbling against the chest. ‘The word is that you have gone to Peterborough on a mercy

call from your old mentor the Abbott.’

Bartholomew immediately appreciated that it was

a clever ploy on the part of Swynford to say that he

had gone to Peterborough. It was very plausible that

Bartholomew might answer a call of distress from the

monks at the abbey where he had gone to school,

and at any time other than while the plague raged

in Cambridge, Bartholomew would have gone without

hesitation. But Colet and Swynford did not know him

as well as they thought.

“I would not leave,’ said Bartholomew, ‘when there

is only me and Robin of Grantchester to help the sick.

And the Abbott would know I would not desert my

patients, and would never ask me to go.’

Michael gave a grunt. “I suppose that seems reasonable.

But you still have not explained how you come to

be here.’

‘Oswald!’ said Bartholomew suddenly. ‘How is he?’

‘He was hale and hearty when I saw him this morning.

Why do you ask?’

Bartholomew sagged in relief. His reasoning had

been correct, and Stanmore was still safe. “I overheard Colet plotting to kill him,’ he said. “I was coming to warn Oswald when I very stupidly ran into Stephen and

Swynford, and I have been here since Wednesday.’

‘Which was when you were said to have left for

Peterborough,’ said Michael. Bartholomew heard a

metallic sound as Michael struck a flint, and helped

him smash one of the crates so that they could kindle

a splinter of wood. The light was feeble, and it gave off eye-watering smoke, but Bartholomew was grateful to

be able to see, if only dimly.

Michael put the burning stick near Bartholomew’s

face and peered at him closely. ‘Oh lord, Matt! You look terrible. You should never have involved yourself in all this. I warned you against it.’

‘The same could be said for you,’ retorted

Bartholomew, ‘for we both seem to be in the same

predicament, regardless of our respective motives.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Michael. ‘We need to get

out. Come and help me look.’

‘There is no way out,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Believe

me, I have checked.’

He watched as Michael went through the same

process that he had; how long before had it been?

The monk hammered and heaved at the door, he

banged at the ceiling with a stick, and he prodded

at the walls. Finally, defeated, he came to sit next to Bartholomew again.

“I have been in Ely with my lord the Bishop,’ Michael

said. ‘We have been going over all the information he

has been sent during the past few months about the

Oxford plot.’

Bartholomew shook his head. ‘There is no plot,’

he said.

Michael looked at him curiously. ‘We also came to

that conclusion,’ he said. ‘Is there anything to eat here?

I missed dinner.’

Bartholomew indicated a few crusts of bread that he

had been saving, and a dribble of water in the pitcher.

Michael looked at them and shuddered. He continued

with his story.

“I arrived back last night,’ he said, ‘and it is now

Friday evening. You probably have no idea of time in

this wretched hole.’

‘Have you seen Philippa?’ Bartholomew interrupted,

thinking of the reason he had gone to Bene’t’s

in the first place.

‘No,’ said Michael, ‘but I have seen Giles Abigny,

and he told me his tale. He is not mixed up in all this, you know. I imagine that while you were ferreting around for information about Philippa you inadvertently picked up clues about this Oxford business. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that the Abignys are wholly

unconnected with it all.’

‘Really? Do you not think it a coincidence that all

this should happen at the same time, and that Bene’t

Hostel figures in the Oxford business and is also Giles’s second home? And that the Principal of Bene’t’s-before he died - was Hugh Staple ton, in whose house Giles and Philippa hid?’

‘No, I do not,’ said Michael. “I can see why you are

suspicious, but the Oxford business has been rolling

on for more than a year now. Philippa and Giles only

executed their little plot over the past few weeks. And I would be as suspicious of Giles as you are, if I were not sure that Hugh and Cedric Stapleton were also innocent in all this. Hugh suspected something was fermenting

in his hostel and contacted the Bishop about it. He

sent reports on various comings and goings, and Cedric continued them after Hugh’s death. Hugh and Cedric

were fickle, frivolous men, like Giles, and quite the wrong kind of people to be recruited by Swynford. They were

not even recruited for the bogus hostel group that your brother-in-law was mixed up with.’

‘You know about that?’ said Bartholomew, startled.

‘What else do you know?’

“I was telling you,’ said Michael with a superior

expression, ‘but you interrupted me with your question about Philippa. And while we are on that subject, she

has taken your supposed journey to Peterborough very

personally. Abigny tells me she fluctuates between anger and sorrow, and will think of nothing else. How can you doubt her, Matt?’

Bartholomew shook his head. So he had been

wrong, and Philippa and Abigny were innocent after

all. If Philippa were acting as Michael described, then she could not know that he was being kept prisoner in

Stephen’s dungeon. But it would not matter soon anyway if Swynford’s plans came to fruition. Bartholomew’s

greatest regret would be that he would never have the

opportunity to tell Philippa he was sorry, and she might hate him for it.

Michael kindled another piece of wood, coughing

as it released a choking grey smoke. ‘As I

said before, I have been sifting through reports

the Bishop has received during the last year in an

attempt to understand this, and I believe I now know

the truth.’

‘Then how did you come to be taken by Swynford?’

asked Bartholomew.

“I was rash,’ said Michael. “I reported my findings to the Bishop, and he told me to return to Michaelhouse

and do nothing. But there were gaps in my knowledge,

and I could not resist trying to fill them in. I undertook to question Burwell, and then Stayne. They obviously

grew suspicious, and I received a message from Stanmore asking me to visit him. I went, and found not Stanmore, but his younger brother. I brazened it out, asking guileless questions and pretending to be convinced of the reality of the Oxford plot, but it was all to no avail. Colet and Swynford appeared out of nowhere, and I was hauled

down here.’

‘A note,’ said Bartholomew, bitterly. ‘How many

times have Colet and Swynford used that device? They

sent such a note to Sir John, enticing him to the meeting at which he was killed; they sent one to me saying I was needed by a patient, after which I was attacked; and they sent one to Oswald and me purporting to be from Edith, intending to get us out of the way so Swynford could have his meeting here.’

‘It seems we are in a fix, Matt,’ said Michael, his

flabby face serious. ‘Will they kill us?’

‘They will try,’ Bartholomew replied.

Michael gave him a weak smile. ‘It will do them no

good. The Bishop knows everything I do, except your

role in all this, and Abigny’s innocence, of which I have only recently learned.’

‘What of rescue?’ asked Bartholomew hopefully.

‘Did you tell anyone where you were going?’

Michael smiled ruefully. ‘The note purporting to be

from Oswald asked me to keep our meeting a secret.’

‘But what of the Bishop? Will he not grow suspicious

of your disappearance?’

‘Undoubtedly. But unless one of the hostel cabal

reveals where we are, he is unlikely to stumble on us by accident.’

Bartholomew thought about the cunningly concealed

entrance in the stable and concurred. Stanmore

and Richard knew about the chambers, but they would

never imagine that Stephen had used them to imprison

him. They might not visit the underground storerooms

for years to come.

‘What about you?’ asked Michael. ‘Will Cynric

wonder about your sudden disappearance?’

“I think I would have been rescued by now if he had,’

said Bartholomew. ‘And he probably thinks I have gone

to Peterborough, as you did. Even if he is suspicious, he will blame Oswald, not Stephen.’

They were silent for a while, each wrapped in his

own thoughts. Michael’s piece of wood crackled and the flame went out.

“I thoughtyou were involved in all this,’ said Michael distantly, kindling another piece of wood. ‘You talked to Aelfrith in the orchard, but would not tell me what you had discussed. You spent ages with Augustus after he

died, and I thoughtyou were looking for the seal. Wilson singled you out to talk to on his deathbed. You had no alibi for when Augustus and Paul were murdered. And howwas

I to know that you had not hurled yourself down the stairs that night to confound us? You also searched my room,

and I found you reading my note to the Bishop.’

‘The Bishop!’ said Bartholomew. So that was to

whom Michael was writing. He reached forward to grab

Michael’s arm. “I did not search your room. The note

just fell on the floor when I opened the door to look

for you.’

‘Well,’ said Michael, ‘there were occasions when I

was convinced you were the killer, while other times I was uncertain. I took a terrible risk for you when I agreed not to tell anyone you had read my note. I suppose I could not bring myself to think that you would harm Augustus and Paul, and I also believe you are a good physician and would not make mistakes about the quantity of whatever foul potion was used to drug the commoners. But even

more, I know how close a friend Sir John was to you,

and could not suppose that you would ever have done

anything to harm him.’

‘When I read the note I thought you might be the

murderer,’ said Bartholomew.

“Me?’ said Michael aghast. ‘On what grounds? I have

never done anything the least bit suspicious!’

‘You were one of the first to arrive when the initial

attempt was made on Augustus’s life. Aelfrith, who was poisoned, died in your room. And you acted most

strangely over Augustus’s corpse. You refused even to

look at it’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Michael, struggling to light another

piece of wood. ‘Augustus.’ He shook his head sadly.

Bartholomew waited for him to continue.

‘He was murdered, you know, for Sir John’s seal.

You know about the seal?’ Bartholomew nodded, and

Michael continued. ‘Before he died, Augustus claimed

that devils were in his room. Remember? Well, before all that happened, he had told me that someone would try

to kill him. He kept me up a long time that night with his rantings. I thought I had calmed him down, and went off to the kitchen for something to eat. Within a few minutes, he started screaming again. I ran to his room where you and I broke the door down together. It was full of smoke, and he was insane with fear. I realised that I was not the only person to have worked out that Augustus’s room

was the only place Sir John could have hidden the seal before he died. You arrived just after me.’

Bartholomew remembered well. He had wondered

at the time how Michael had managed to reach Augustus’s room before him. That he had been raiding the kitchen

made perfect sense.

‘You offered to stay with Augustus for the rest of the night, and so I knew he would be safe if anyone really had been trying to kill him in order to search for the seal. I kept a close eye on him for the next couple of days, and went to check on him before Wilson’s installation dinner.