A Killer in Winter

‘Thank you, landlord,’ said Michael, assuming that he was included in the offer as he settled himself opposite Harysone. ‘Watching that particular performance has induced in me the need for strong drink. You had better make it some of that lambswool you brew at this time of year, not just common ale.’ Lambswool was hot ale mulled with apples, and the King’s Head Yuletide variety was known to be mightily powerful.

The landlord was too relieved to see Harysone stop dancing to take exception to Michael’s cheeky demands. He nodded to a pot-boy, who went to ladle the hot liquid into three jugs, then stood over the monk’s table, wiping his hands on a stained apron. ‘Pig,’ he stated bluntly.

Michael glared at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Pig,’ repeated the landlord. ‘It is what we are serving today. Roasted pig, cooked with some old pears I found at the back of the shed and a few onion skins for flavour. Do you want some?’

‘I do,’ said Michael, oblivious to the fact that the landlord had made his midday offering sound distinctly unappealing. Bartholomew supposed it was the man’s way of informing Michael that the presence of the Senior Proctor in his inn was an unwelcome one, and he hoped to shorten the visit by making the monk believe there were no victuals that he would want to linger over. ‘And I shall have some bread, too.’

‘Bread?’ asked the landlord, as though it was some exotic treat. ‘We do not have that.’

Michael gazed at him. ‘No bread? What kind of tavern does not keep bread? How do you expect me to eat the juice and the fat from the pig? Lick the platter?’

‘Flour is expensive these days,’ said the landlord. ‘The price of a loaf has trebled since the snows came, and most of my patrons cannot afford such luxuries.’

‘That is true,’ said Bartholomew to Michael. ‘The cost of grain has risen hugely since the mills were forced to stop working by frozen water. You will have to make do with pig.’

‘Brother Michael,’ said Harysone, baring his huge teeth in a strained grin of welcome as the landlord went to the kitchen. ‘How nice to see you again.’

His eyes glittered moistly as they moved up and down Michael’s person. Instinctively, the monk hauled his cloak up around his neck, like a virgin protecting her maidenly virtues. Bartholomew sat next to Michael, and resisted the urge to draw up his hood when he was treated to the same disconcerting appraisal. Harysone reached under the table and produced a copy of the text he had shown the physician earlier, thumping it in front of Michael with a loud crack that made several people jump.

‘Here is my little BOOK,’ he said loudly, apparently determined that everyone in the tavern should hear him. ‘You have not seen it yet, Brother. Perhaps you have come to purchase a copy, so that you, like other folk with a thirst for answers to the greatest of philosophical mysteries on Earth, can improve your knowledge – especially relating to fish.’

‘Fish?’ queried Michael, unable to help himself. ‘What do they have to do with philosophy?’

Harysone pretended to be surprised. ‘How can you ask such a thing? Fish were fashioned by God on the second day of creation, before trees and after cattle.’

‘Fish did not make an appearance until day four,’ argued Michael immediately. He was a theologian, after all, even if his duties as Senior Proctor meant he did not spend as much time studying as he should. ‘After trees and before cattle.’

‘Details,’ said Harysone dismissively. ‘But a learned man, such as yourself, would find a great deal to interest him in my small contribution. You can have it for virtually nothing – three marks.’

‘You charged the scholars of Valence Marie two marks,’ said Michael with narrowed eyes. ‘Do you imagine me to be a fool, easily parted from his money?’

‘The price has risen since I visited Valence Marie,’ said Harysone blandly. ‘You know how it is. A week ago, bread cost a penny, now it is three. The more people clamour for a thing, the more valuable it becomes.’

Michael reached out to examine the book, tugging the heavy wooden cover open, then turning the pages. ‘It is not very long,’ he remarked critically. ‘And the writing is enormous. Did you scribe it for those with failing eyesight?’

‘Yes,’ said Harysone, unoffended. ‘Scholars have trouble with their eyes, because they spend their time reading ancient manuscripts in bad light. So I ordered my clerk to make the writing large.’

Michael snapped the book closed. ‘Unfortunately, I have no time to debate with you the statement: “Bonéd Fishe, not Womin, were phormed from Addam’s Ribb”, which is a pity, because I am sure I would enjoy myself. But while we are on the subject of fish, do you recognise this?’ He slapped the tench on to the table, so hard that the head broke off to careen across the surface and drop to the floor on the other side. An unpleasant odour emanated from it.

‘Tench,’ said Harysone, with a fond smile. ‘The queen of fish.’