Bartholomew felt sick and crouched down on the tombstone so he would not have to watch. De Belem was about to perform some dreadful ceremony in which Michael and Stanmore would be murdered in front of the entire village. The sight of what would happen to those who did not comply with his wishes would doubtless be enough to ensure their co-operation for whatever other nasty plans de Belem had in mind. Bartholomew stood shakily and looked at the villagers. They were sullen and frightened, and some wore a dazed expression that suggested no such ceremony would be necessary to terrify them further. De Belem was holding an entire village to ransom.
He spun round as he heard a noise behind him and found himself staring down at a priest. He braced himself.
He could not be caught now, not when he was the only one who could help his friends! Although the priest was tall, he was thin and looked frail. Bartholomew's only hope was that the priest would not cry out a warning when Bartholomew launched himself at him. As Bartholomew prepared to dive, the priest raised both hands to show that he was unarmed, and then very deliberately drew a cross in the air in front of him. Bartholomew watched in confusion. The priest put his fingers to his lips and motioned that Bartholomew should follow.
Bartholomew looked around him desperately. What should he do? The priest seemed to be telling him he was not a part of de Belem's satanic following by drawing the cross in the air. Perhaps he could persuade him to help. With a last agonised glance through the window, he jumped from the tomb and followed the priest.
"I am Father Lucius,' the man said when they were a safe distance from the church.
Bartholomew leapt away from him. He had been tricked! It was the man who had last been seen visiting Froissart before he died! But the soldiers said that Father Lucius was a Franciscan, and this man was wearing the habit of a Dominican friar. Holding his breath, every fibre in his body tense, Bartholomew waited.
'These people have taken my church and I can do nothing about it. They say they will kill five of my parishioners if I send to the Bishop for help, and that I will be unable to prove anything anyway. I saw the horsemen being taken into the church. Are they your friends?'
Bartholomew nodded, still not trusting the man.
Lucius sighed. 'The high priest will kill them. He has done so before.' He shook his head in despair. 'More blood in my church.'
'Well, we have to stop him,' said Bartholomew. He chewed on his lip, scarcely able to think, let alone come up with a plan. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. 'What is de Belem's business here?'
Lucius shrugged. 'Saffron. That is all we have here, and he owns all of it now.'
'All of it?' Bartholomew was amazed. Saffron was a valuable commodity. It could be used for medicine and in cooking as well as a high-quality dye for delicate fabrics like silk. Thousands of flowers were needed to produce even small amounts of the yellow-orange spice, and so it was expensive to buy. Anyone with a monopoly over saffron would be a rich man indeed. More pieces of the mystery fell into place in Bartholomew's mind, but he ignored them. Now was not the time for logical analysis. He needed to do something to help Michael and Stanmore.
'Is the saffron picked yet?' he asked, the germ of an idea beginning to unfold in his mind.
Lucius looked at him. 'The crocuses are picked, yes.
The high priest has been withholding the saffron from the market to force up the price. It is stored in his warehouses.'
Bartholomew pushed him forward. 'Show me,' he said.
'Quickly.'
'They will be guarded,' said Lucius. 'They always are.'
He led the way through the churchyard to where two thatched wooden buildings stood just off the main street.
Several men could be seen prowling back and forth. De Belem was obviously taking no chances with his precious saffron. Bartholomew tried to think. He would not be able to reach the storehouses without being seen by the guards. And even if he did reach them, he would be an easy target for the bows they carried: the same great longbows that had been used to devastate the French at the battle of Crecy.
He thought quickly. "I need a bow,' he muttered to Lucius. He began to assess which of the guards he might be able to overpower without the others seeing.
'Will you shoot them?' Lucius asked fearfully. 'More killing?'
Bartholomew shook his head and clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking. He could hear de Belem's voice raving from the church. He was running out of time.
"I will get you one,' said Lucius, suddenly decisive.
He rose from where he had been crouching and slipped away.
Bartholomew took a flint from his bag and began to kindle a fire from some dry grass. He took rolled bandages and began to soak them with the concentrated spirits he used to treat corns and calluses. When Lucius returned, Bartholomew wrapped the bandages around the pointed ends of the arrows and packed it all with more grass. That should burn, he thought. Clumsily, he tried to fit the arrow to the bow, but it had been many years since Stanmore had taught him how to use the weapon, and he had not been good at it even then.
He almost jumped out of his skin as a hand fell on his shoulder. It was Cynric. 'Those men were difficult to lose,' he said. Bartholomew closed his eyes in relief.
'Michael and the others are captive in the church,' he said. 'We need to create a diversion. If de Belem sees his saffron burning, he will try to save it and we might be able to rescue them.'
Cynric nodded, and calmly took the bow from Bartholomew's shaking hands. 'A Welshman is better for this, boy.'
'When the arrow begins to burn, shoot it where you think it will catch light,' said Bartholomew.
Cynric, understanding, looked across at the storehouses.
'They thought to frighten us by making our College gate explode into flames as if by magic, and now we use their idea to burn the saffron!' he said in satisfaction.
Bartholomew nodded, knowing he would never have thought to use fire arrows on the saffron stores had he not seen them used on the gate a few nights earlier.
Cynric touched the arrow to the fire, and Bartholomew and Lucius ducked back as it exploded into flames.
Cynric put it to the bow and aimed. They watched it soar through the air like a shooting star and land with a thump on one of the thatched roofs. Without waiting to see what happened, Bartholomew began preparing another. Their only hope of success was to loose as many arrows as possible before they were discovered. He gave Cynric a second, and then a third. He glanced up, his body aching with tension. He could see no flames leaping into the air, hear no cries of alarm from the guards.
'It's not working,' he said, his voice cracking in desperation.
'Give it time,' said Lucius calmly. 'It has been raining a good deal lately. The thatching is probably damp. Try another.'
Bartholomew used the last of the alcohol and handed another arrow to Cynric. They watched it sail clean through a gap between the roof and the wall, leaving a fiery trail behind it. Nothing happened. Bartholomew put his head in his hands in despair. What else could he do? He could do nothing with only Cynric against a band of mercenaries and an entire village. He took a deep breath. He would grab a handful of burning grass and run towards the storehouses with it himself. If he reached them and set them alight before the guards realised what was happening, the diversion would be caused; if they shot him, then that would also cause a diversion. Michael and Oswald would have to use it to fend for themselves.
'Look!' whispered Lucius in excitement. 'There is a fire inside!'
As Bartholomew looked up, he saw yellow flames leaping up inside the nearest of the storehouses, while the other began to ooze smoke from its roof.
'The dry saffron is going up like firewood!' said Lucius, his eyes gleaming. 'Do you have any more of that stuff that burns?'
Bartholomew shook his head, but made two more fire arrows from bandages and grass alone. They did not burn as well, but there was no harm in trying.
There was a shout as one of
the guards saw the flames and ran towards the building. He grasped at the door and pulled it open. As air flooded in, there was a dull roar, and the entire building was suddenly engulfed in flames. Of the guard there was no sign. The flames began to lick towards the other storehouse.
'Back to the church,' Bartholomew said urgently to Lucius. 'You must raise the alarm.'
Lucius nodded and they ran back to the main road. He began yelling as they reached the church, flinging open the doors to rush inside. The frightened villagers looked at their priest in confusion, while de Belem hesitated at the altar. Bartholomew and Cynric slipped into the church while attention was fixed on the apparently gibbering Lucius, and hid behind a stack of benches.
Bartholomew saw with relief that Stanmore and his men were unharmed. De Belem, however, had Michael in front of him, held securely by two of the mercenaries.
The knife de Belem waved glittered in the torchlight.
Janetta stepped forward. 'Why do you disturb us, priest?'
'Fire!' shrieked Lucius. 'Fire in the saffron! Run to see to your houses, my children! Save what you can before the fire spreads!'
Bartholomew saw de Belem's jaw drop as he heard his precious saffron was burning, and he exchanged a look of horror with Janetta. Lucius, meanwhile, was exhorting his people to save their homes. Lucius was clever, Bartholomew thought, for if the villagers were scattered to see to their own property, they could not quickly be organised into groups to fight the fire in the saffron stores. In twos and threes, the people began to run away, the fear of losing what little they had greater than de Belem's hold over them.
Bartholomew expected that de Belem would drop everything and run to save his saffron, but the flickering light of the fires could be seen through the windows, and de Belem obviously knew that there was little he could do.
In the turmoil, he turned his attention back to Michael, and Bartholomew saw the raised knife silhouetted against the wall behind. He closed his eyes in despair, before snapping them open again. Silhouetted!
He edged round the pillar, and raised his hands near the torch burning on a bracket. They were enormous on the blank wall opposite. He moved them around until he got them into something vaguely resembling an animal with two horns and waggled it about on the wall.
'Caper is here!' he yelled at the top of his voice, hoping de Belem would be taken off guard for the instant that might enable Michael to wriggle free. At the same time, Cynric unleashed one of his bloodcurdling Welsh battle-screams that ripped through the church like something from hell itself.
The few remaining villagers fled in terror, led by Father Lucius. Several of the mercenaries followed, while de Belem andjanetta looked at the shadow in horror. Janetta glanced at de Belem once and followed the mercenaries.
As she ran past, Bartholomew dived from his pillar and caught her, wrapping his arms firmly around her so she could not move. Meanwhile, Michael had seized his chance, and the two mercenaries lay stunned on the ground, their heads cracked together. Stanmore and his men appeared as dazed as the mercenaries, but a furious shout from Michael brought them to their senses.
'Any man who works for me will be paid twice what de Belem pays,' said Stanmore quickly, addressing the bewildered mercenaries. He plucked a purse from his belt and tossed it to one of them. 'Down payment. And I promise you will not have to do anything that is against the law or against God. The brave heroes of Crecy deserve better than this,' he cried, waving his hand at de Belem's satanic regalia.
For a moment, Bartholomew thought his speech had not had its desired effect, since the men merely stood and watched. Eventually, one of the men gestured impatiently at Stanmore. 'So what are your orders?' he asked.
'No,' yelled de Belem. "I have power over you. You saw what I can bring into this world!' He pointed towards the wall where Bartholomew's goat silhouette had been.
Michael raised one of the hands and made the shape of a duck on the wall behind him.
'Children's tricks!' he said. 'Is that not so, Matt?'
De Belem looked in disbelief at Michael's duck and then down the church to where Bartholomew was holding a struggling Janetta, and sagged in defeat.
12
As dawn broke, all that was left of De Belem's store-houses was a smouldering heap of wood.
Bartholomew turned to Father Lucius.
'What will happen to the people?' he said. 'How will they live without the saffron?'
Lucius smiled. 'I have some tucked away that I stole as we laboured in the fields. We will be able to sell it at the inflated price forced by de Belem. I hear the labourers can earn high wages these days for their toil, and now that we are free, some may well look elsewhere for work.'
'Were you at St Mary's Church about two weeks ago?'
Bartholomew asked, wanting to get certain things clear in his mind.
The priest looked surprised. 'No. I have never been to Cambridge. I have heard it smells like a sewer in the hot months and have no wish to go there.'
'How long has de Belem been here?'
'He was buying land here before the Death, but I was foolish enough not to guess that it was he who came in the guise of this high priest later. After the Death took so many, it was easy for him to buy, or simply take, all the remaining stocks, and the few who resisted selling were threatened with demonic devices until they sold too.'
'Demonic devices?' asked Bartholomew.
'Goats' hooves left in their houses, black birds flying around at night. All things with a rational explanation,' said Lucius. He turned to Bartholomew. 'Not like that thing he called up in my church,' he added, shuddering.
Bartholomew smiled. 'I did that,' he said, and, seeing the priest's expression of horror, added quickly, 'with my hands against the light, like this.'
Lucius looked blankly at him for a moment and then roared with laughter. 'Is that what it was?' he said. 'Are you telling me that de Belem, who had fooled so many with tricks, was fooled by one himself?'
Bartholomew nodded and watched Lucius, still laughing, stride off to tell his parishioners. He went to join the group of soldiers who had Janetta, de Belem, and several others carefully guarded. Tulyet had arrived when all was still confusion. De Belem had underestimated him, and the Sheriff had not trusted the words of a conveniently alert villager to send him down the London road.
"I owe you an apology,' said Tulyet. 'But they had my son. After you came to see me, Brother, they sent me some of his hair, and said if I spoke to you again, they would send me one of his fingers. I had to be seen to be following their demands, which is why I threatened you so vociferously. One of the soldiers was watching my every move and reporting to de Belem.' He smiled grimly.
'He is now in the Castle prison awaiting the arrival of his high priest'
'Did you have any idea de Belem was involved in all this?' asked Michael, waving a hand at the smouldering storehouses.
Tulyet shook his head. "I had only begun to suspect that the high priest was de Belem recently. After his daughter was killed, he told me that he had been the high priest of the Guild of Purification, but that he had given that up in grief. I now realise that there was never a Guild of Purification, that it was simply a ruse set up by de Belem to keep his other coven in fear.'
'That cannot be,' said Michael. 'Hesselwell and your father told us the new priest arrived only a month ago after Nicholas died.'
'But he had spies in the Guild of the Coming,' said Tulyet, 'right from the start. Nicholas's death was simply an opportune moment for de Belem to step in and control directly what he had been controlling indirectly for some time.'
'But why bother with the covens at all?' asked Stanmore. 'It all seems rather elaborate.'
'Because it gave him power over people,' said Bartholomew. 'Everyone who had become embroiled was terrified — like old Richard Tulyet and Piers Hesselwell. Once they were in, it was impossible to leave, and tricks, like the ones we saw used in All Saints', were employed to keep them frightened. The murders in
the town, too, aided his purpose. He claimed they were committed by his satanic familiar, showing his presence to his followers.'
'But why did he need this power over people?' persisted Stanmore.
'Because all over the country, labourers are leaving their homes to seek better-paid work elsewhere. De Belem had no intention of paying high wages to the villagers here, although he needed their labour. He realised that he could use tricks to make them too terrified to do anything other than bend to his will.' "I had worked that out myself,' said Stanmore impatiently.
'But why bother with the likes of old Tulyet and Hesselwell? They did not labour for him.'
'In Hesselwell's case, de Belem wanted a contact in Michaelhouse where Michael and I were working for the Chancellor. Hesselwell said the high priest asked him many questions.'
'And my father?' asked Tulyet.
'De Belem had a monopoly on saffron and was the only dyer in the town. As Oswald will attest, he was sufficiently confident of his monopoly that he was even beginning to sell cloth, the prerogative of drapers, not dyers. De Belem would want to know of plans by cloth merchants and tailors to attempt to buy dyeing services from anyone else. Oswald arranged to buy coloured cloth from London, but his carts were attacked and the cloth stolen. That was because Oswald had mentioned it to your father, and your father told his high priest: de Belem.'
Stanmore nodded. 'The stolen cloth is in de Belem's storerooms in Milne Street if you have any doubts,' he said.
Tulyet sighed and looked at where his men were guarding de Belem and his helpers, waiting for full daylight. Tulyet was taking no chances by travelling too early, and running the risk of being attacked by outlaws.
'So that was it,' he said. 'The note I received said my son had been taken to ensure I did not investigate the guilds, but what I was really being stopped from looking into were de Belem's business dealings. I should have thought harder: my son was taken when I began to investigate the theft of Sir Oswald's cloth. To me, the theft was far less important than the whore murders, but to de Belem, it was obviously paramount. Well, we have him now.'
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