He reached the priory and flung himself out of the saddle to pound on the gate. He glanced up at the sky. It was an odd colour – a sickly yellow-blue he had never seen before, and the marshes were eerily quiet. There was no answer from the canons, so he hammered again, then jumped in alarm when the gate was suddenly hauled open by Podiolo. The infirmarian was carrying a broadsword, and Bartholomew leapt away, unused to seeing clerics wield such enormous weapons.
‘We have suffered a murderous assault,’ Podiolo shouted angrily. His amber eyes looked sinister in the evening sunlight. ‘But like Fencotes, I was not always a monastic, and I learned swordplay when I was a goldsmith in Florence – I am ready to defend myself and my brethren, so be warned.’
‘Jodoca attacked you?’ asked Bartholomew, edging back further when Podiolo waved the weapon closer than was comfortable. He had never seen the man so agitated.
‘Jodoca?’ echoed Podiolo, gaping at him. Then he frowned. ‘Yes, of course it was – someone small and agile, but strong, and too short to have been a man. Jodoca! Who would have thought it?’
‘What did she do?’
‘She went after Fencotes with a dagger. Prior Norton fended her off, but she is still at large. I cannot imagine what Fencotes has done to annoy her.’
Bartholomew followed him to the infirmary, where the canons formed a protective phalanx around their fallen comrade. Lay-brothers clustered at the door, and Bartholomew thought that if any robber should want to attack another part of the convent and make off with the silver, now was a perfect time. Even as the thought came into his head, he wondered whether that was Jodoca’s intention. Arblaster said they had lost everything. Did she intend to recoup their losses? Start a new life in another town, funded by monastic treasure, since Danyell’s property was unavailable?
‘It was Jodoca,’ Podiolo announced, as Norton came to greet them. ‘Bartholomew identified her.’
Norton’s eyes bulged in horror. ‘But she is a woman! And she was intent on murder – I could see it in her every move. She might have killed me, too if I had not screeched for help.’
‘She was loath to tackle twenty of us, so she ran off,’ explained another canon. ‘We have no idea where she went, which is why we are here, all crowded together. There is safety in numbers.’
‘How is Fencotes?’ asked Bartholomew, stepping towards the bed. ‘Did she harm him?’
‘He is more alarmed than hurt,’ said Norton. ‘But I am glad you are here. Podiolo is no physician.’
‘No, he is not,’ agreed Bartholomew, knowing from Fencotes’s grey, sweaty face that there was more wrong than just fright. It should have been obvious, even to the most inexperienced practitioner, that Jodoca’s blade had struck home, and that the old man had received a wound that was likely to be mortal. ‘Where are you hurt, Fencotes?’
The elderly canon gave Bartholomew a weak smile, but did not answer.
‘Be careful what you say,’ whispered Podiolo. ‘It took us a long time to calm him after the attack. The only way we managed in the end was by promising to buy Sewale Cottage. At any cost.’
‘He believes Sewale Cottage will be a good investment for our future,’ added Norton. ‘And that we will benefit in the long term, even if we pay over the odds now. Personally, I disagree, but we shall do what he says, to make him happy.’
‘Arblaster told me what is hidden in Sewale Cottage,’ said Bartholomew, kneeling by the bed and addressing the patient. The old man was icy cold, even more chilled than his usual grave-like temperature. ‘I know why you are so determined to have it.’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Norton. ‘It is just a house. Tell him, Fencotes.’
‘The physician is right,’ whispered the old man. He looked strangely at peace. ‘There is a great box of treasure buried there – enough to swell our coffers for years to come. Or perhaps you will use it to help the poor. It does not matter, only that Barnwell has it.’
Norton was appalled. ‘But great boxes of treasure do not fall from Heaven, and they are nearly always tainted. I am not sure whether we should take it.’
‘It will be yours if you buy the house,’ whispered Fencotes weakly. ‘And you will buy the house, because you have promised. You swore on the Bible.’
‘I did,’ said Norton, his eyes so wide that Bartholomew wondered whether he would ever be able to close them again. ‘But you should have told me the truth. I do not like being tricked.’
Gently, Bartholomew turned the old man over; blood had pooled on the mattress beneath him. Like Carton and Spynk, Fencotes had been stabbed in the back. Norton and the others gasped their horror, and the Prior looked accusingly at Podiolo.
‘How could I see that when he was lying on it?’ objected Podiolo defensively. ‘Besides, you told me Jodoca had been repelled before she could inflict any damage.’
‘Heal him, Bartholomew,’ cried Norton, distraught. ‘He is my oldest friend!’
‘I cannot.’ There was no cure for a wound in such a place, and to attempt one would cause the patient needless pain. It was kinder to let him die in peace.
‘Stabbed in the back,’ mused Podiolo. He still held his sword, and seemed less shocked by Fencotes’s condition than his colleagues. Was it because he was an infirmarian, and so inured to such sights? Somehow, Bartholomew did not think so, and he edged away from him, unnerved by his proximity. ‘Like Carton. Does that mean Jodoca murdered him, too?’
‘I think so,’ replied Bartholomew, relaxing a little when Norton indicated with a wave of his hand that Podiolo was to put his weapon away. ‘I know she killed Spynk, because her husband just told me.’ He turned back to Fencotes, but the old man was fading fast, and Bartholomew did not want to hasten his end by demanding what might be a lengthy explanation. ‘If I describe what I think happened to Carton, will you nod, to tell me if I am right? You do not need to speak.’
Fencotes inclined his head, so Bartholomew began.
‘Carton was a Dominican, ordered to disguise himself as a Franciscan by his Prior-General, and sent to watch a dangerous fanatic. An unexpected promotion meant he began to lose control of Mildenale, which, being a conscientious man, distressed him deeply. When he was left alone in your chapel, he was seized by the urge to pray.’
‘That amulet was his,’ interrupted Podiolo. ‘I have thought about it, and I remember seeing it around his neck. It is a powerful one, and should have protected him from evil.’
‘But Carton’s feelings about such items were ambiguous,’ Bartholomew went on. He gestured to the one that was just visible around Norton’s throat, and several other canons furtively hastened to conceal theirs. ‘Just like many men, I imagine.’
‘I always remove mine before I pray,’ said Norton sheepishly. ‘I only wear it when I am outside the sacred confines of our chapels.’
‘Which is exactly what Carton did,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He took it off, then lay on the floor in the pose of a penitent, with his arms out to either side. Fencotes found the charm later, between two flagstones. And what happened next is partly my fault. Cynric and I told Jodoca what Carton had come to do here. So, she and her husband engineered an excuse for her to leave their house, and she hurried to see what could be done to prevent the negotiations.’
‘She stabbed him where he lay?’ breathed Norton, appalled.
Bartholomew nodded. ‘I thought he might have been killed by a tall man, because the wound was high. But the wound was high because she inflicted it when he was on the ground. I made an erroneous assumption, and it left Jodoca free to kill again.’
Fencotes opened his eyes. ‘You cannot blame yourself for what Jodoca did,’ he whispered. ‘And you cannot blame yourself for Thomas’s death, either. Carton knew it was suspicious, and tried to tell you several times that your medicine was not to blame. He even gave you a packet of powder, in the hope that you would think poison had killed him. He did not want you agonising.’
‘I do not understand.’ Bartholomew experienced a lurch
of misgiving. ‘Carton did not confess to killing Thomas, did he? Because Thomas was on the verge of exposing him as an impostor?’
‘No,’ said Fencotes firmly. ‘I knew Carton was a Dominican – he confided in me because he needed a confessor, and felt he could not go anywhere else. He spent a lot of time here, unburdening himself and praying with me.’
Bartholomew recalled having been told that before, and had been surprised. Yet it made sense: Carton could not have visited the Dominicans for solace, because that would have endangered his mission, and he could hardly go to the Franciscans. But Barnwell was well outside the town, and Carton could have talked to Fencotes without fear of being seen or overheard.
‘Carton thought Mildenale murdered Thomas,’ Fencotes was saying, ‘because Thomas kept asking awkward questions. He had no real evidence, but he knew Thomas’s death was not your fault.’
‘But why did Jodoca kill Carton?’ asked Podiolo. ‘Spynk and Fencotes, I understand, because they were competing for the house, driving up the cost between them. But Carton was not going to buy it.’
‘No, but he took messages back and forth,’ replied Fencotes. His voice was weaker now. ‘And he wanted it to go to a convent, not a layman. He was going to persuade Langelee to sell it to us.’
Norton looked at the old man. ‘Now there is only one question left. How did you know about Danyell’s treasure? Did he confide in you, too?’
Fencotes sighed, a whisper deep in his chest. He did not have many moments left, so Bartholomew answered for him. ‘Fencotes came late to the monastic life, and before taking his vows, he lived in Norfolk. Danyell came from Norfolk, too.’
‘He was kin,’ breathed Fencotes, barely audible. ‘He came to me when he thought the Bishop’s men might steal his treasure. I told him Margery Sewale’s house was empty.’
‘He hid it well,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Osbern and Brownsley have been hunting for days with no success, and he has even foiled Cynric.’
Fencotes gave the ghost of a smile. ‘That is why we must buy the house, because it may take weeks to find. Masons know how to build decent hiding places.’
‘You looked, though,’ said Bartholomew, thinking of another small fact that had not made sense at the time. ‘I treated you for injuries that were inconsistent with the fall you claimed to have had. You went to Sewale Cottage, to see if you could uncover it for yourself.’
‘You are a clever lad,’ breathed Fencotes, closing his eyes. ‘I felt the hoard was slipping away, and wanted to see if I could find what others could not. But Danyell was too good, even for his old uncle.’
Bartholomew left the canons to give Fencotes last rites, and went outside. There was a breeze for the first time in weeks, but it was hot and stale, like something blown in from a desert. It made everything feel old and dry, and in the distance he thought he heard thunder. Was a storm on the way? Would it break the heatwave and usher in cooler weather? It was not long before Norton and Podiolo came to join him. The Florentine had drawn his sword again, and did not seem inclined to give it up.
‘Will you tell Langelee our offer for Sewale Cottage is now twenty marks?’ asked Norton. ‘I know Arblaster offered twenty, too, but you will not want his money, not after what Jodoca did to Carton.’
‘He probably does not have it, anyway,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Not if he is ruined.’
‘He has it,’ said Podiolo. ‘I saw him counting it last night when I went for a walk. But that is the full extent of it. I heard him say so to Jodoca.’
Peering through other people’s windows in the dark was odd behaviour for a monastic, but Bartholomew was too tired to think about it. He collected his horse and started to ride home. He was vaguely aware of someone on the Causeway ahead of him, but the sun was in his eyes and he could not see clearly. By the time he realised it was Jodoca, it was too late to do anything about it. She was on a sturdy white pony, and there were saddlebags behind her.
‘There you are,’ she said, reining in. ‘I understand you had a talk with my husband.’
Bartholomew was not sure whether to ride away from her as fast as his horse would carry him, attempt to make her his prisoner, or simply talk. He decided he should arrest her, but was obliged to revise his plans when he realised he had lost his dagger – he supposed he had dropped it during the scuffle with Arblaster. Jodoca, however, did have a knife, and she looked as though she was ready to lob it. And at such short range, she could not miss. Even so, he started to rummage in his bag for one of the several surgical implements that could double as a weapon.
‘Raise your hands where I can see them,’ she ordered immediately, seeing what he was doing. Her pretty face was cool and determined, and he reminded himself that here was a woman who had already taken three lives. ‘Make no mistake, Doctor, I will kill you if you do not obey me.’
Reluctantly, he did as he was told. She edged her pony closer to him, cutting off his chances of escape with every step. The Causeway was too narrow for him to pass her, and the time it would take to turn his horse around would see a blade in his back for certain. He wished he had paid attention to the road, instead of reviewing the mysteries he had just solved.
‘I want the answer to one question,’ said Jodoca, when she was sure she had him in a position where he posed no danger. ‘Tell me the truth, and I will let you go.’
He did not believe her. ‘You want to know if you succeeded in killing Fencotes?’
She grimaced. ‘What I actually wanted to know was whether the canons had recognised me – whether it is really necessary to leave Cambridge. Your reply implies that they did, and that it is.’
‘They know you murdered Spynk and Carton, too. Stabbing me will not make your secret safe.’
‘So my best option remains flight. Still, I managed to remove a few items of value from the canons’ chapels when they were preoccupied with Fencotes. Those silly men are easily diverted.’
Bartholomew regarded her askance, amazed she should be so casual. ‘Does it mean nothing that you have murdered three men?’
She gave the question some serious consideration. ‘I just wish I had done it sooner, before Spynk and Fencotes started to drive up the price of Sewale Cottage. If I had, it would have been mine by now. I thought Michaelhouse would refuse to treat with Barnwell after one of your scholars was killed in its grounds, but I underestimated the power of greed.’
‘You think Michaelhouse is greedy?’ Bartholomew was astounded by her hypocrisy.
‘Your colleagues have no scruples whatsoever.’ She grinned suddenly, the beaming, sweet smile that had seen her voted the most attractive lady in Cambridge by his students. It was difficult to view her as a cold killer who stabbed men in the back. ‘You think I should feel remorse for taking a life in a House of God. How naïve! I am a coven member, and such places hold no meaning for me.’
‘Not all coven members feel the same way – your husband among them. Many still pray on Sundays, because they are confused by what they are being told – pulled by the Church one way and the Sorcerer the other.’
‘Weaklings,’ she said in disgust. ‘I suffer from no such indecision. When you and your book-bearer told me what Carton had come to do, I decided to put an end to it.’
‘I know,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The convent was virtually deserted, with most of the canons in their dormitory, and you guessed Norton would take Carton to the chapel, because it is cool. When you arrived, you saw Carton lying on the floor, praying, while Norton fetched him wine.’
Jodoca’s expression was a little distant. ‘It was all so easy. And then I went home and nursed my poor husband back to health.’
‘And Spynk? I suppose you asked him to meet you in Sewale Cottage at midnight, perhaps with promises of recovering the box together.’
She smirked at him. ‘That is exactly what I did, although I had no intention of sharing, of course. Unfortunately, the Bishop’s henchmen arrived, too, and I realised my plan was not going to work. But then you appeared, and con
siderately created a diversion for me. While Spynk gaped at the spectacle, I stabbed him and escaped. Do you know where Danyell’s hoard came from? Originally?’
‘He brought it from London. Perhaps it came from work he had done—’
She laughed derisively. ‘How could such a massive sum belong to a mason? It is the Bishop’s money, extorted from some hapless victim, no doubt. His retainers were taking it to Avignon, but—’
‘But Brownsley and Osbern were in London at the same time as Danyell, and Danyell stole it from them.’ Bartholomew was beginning to see a lot of answers now. ‘He and Spynk fled north, and the Bishop’s men tracked them. Brownsley said they had come to raise more funds …’
‘But what he really meant was that he was in the process of retrieving what he had lost to Danyell’s sticky fingers. So, now you know why Brownsley and Osbern have been searching so assiduously. They are afraid of getting on the wrong side of that dangerous Bishop. You have been very slow in reasoning all this out, whereas I put the clues together almost immediately.’
‘Yes, but you had the benefit of knowing what Danyell said to the Bishop’s henchmen. I did not.’
Jodoca grinned at him. ‘Ride on, Doctor. We shall not meet again.’
Bartholomew declined. ‘You will not kill me as long as I am facing you. You only stab in the back.’
She tightened her grip on the knife with a careless shrug. ‘Only because it seems more humane, but we can go for a frontal shot, if that is what you prefer.’
Bartholomew braced himself. Was this where his life would end? On a dusty causeway in the marshes, stabbed by a ruthless killer? He glanced up at the sky, and wondered who would look after his patients. Somewhere off in the distance came another low growl. There would almost certainly be a storm later, and he was sorry he would not live to see cooling rain refresh the parched earth at last.
The Devil's Disciples: The Fourteenth Chronicle Of Matthew Bartholomew (The Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew) Page 37