The Hand of Justice

‘I am not so sure about that any more.’ Michael rubbed his eyes. ‘I am beginning to think we shall never have our answers.’

‘Your grandmother will,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The killer had better hope we catch him first, because then he will just be exiled and can apply for a pardon. If Dame Pelagia wins the race, she may use some of the poison she stole from Lavenham’s shop today — and that will be the end of him.’

Michael gaped at him. ‘You saw her steal poison?’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘She made sure of it. I think she was trying to demonstrate how easily it can be done.’

‘We had better put our wits to work, then,’ said Michael, taking a deep breath to fortify himself and steering Bartholomew out of the conclave — William had arrived and looked ready for one of his dogmatic diatribes — and towards the orchard. Bartholomew was amused to note that Michael’s apathy had vanished like mist under the summer sun, and the notion that his grandmother might solve the case first was enough to spur him into action. The monk was so determined to prove his worth to his formidable forebear that he did not even bother to stop en route to see what edible treats might be worth pilfering. Or perhaps he had already conducted one kitchen raid that day, and already knew there was nothing worth having.

When they arrived at the apple tree they found Wynewyk there, legs stretched in front of him and a book open on his knees. He was fast asleep. Bartholomew wondered whether he was expecting another visit from Paxtone, and looked around to see if his fellow physician might be lurking among the trees.

‘Gratian’s Decretia,’ said Michael, lunging forward to catch the tome before it dropped from Wynewyk’s lap — the lawyer had awoken with a violent start. There was another book beneath it, but when he tried to read the title of that one, too, Wynewyk gathered it up hastily, so he could not see.

‘I am teaching Gratian next week,’ gabbled Wynewyk, fussing with his tomes in a way that made Bartholomew certain he wanted to hide something. ‘My students are studying that and De simonia this year. I must have fallen asleep; it is warm when the sun is out. Well, back to work.’

He began to read, and it was obvious he was not going to explain his peculiar behaviour, nor was it possible for Bartholomew and Michael to talk there as long as he remained. It occurred to Bartholomew that Wynewyk now behaved oddly — suspiciously, even — virtually every time they met. From the troubled expression on the monk’s face, Bartholomew saw he was also worried, and that he had finally accepted that the Michaelhouse lawyer might be embroiled in something untoward.

‘I have so many questions that my head is spinning,’ Michael said, as they left the orchard. ‘We should discuss what we know in the comfort of an inn, with a few edibles to fuel our questing minds.’

They had scarcely stepped across the threshold of the Brazen George when the landlord was scurrying forward to greet them, asking after the good brother’s health and ousting a pair of disgruntled merchants from a secluded back parlour so that the Senior Proctor could conduct his business in private. The chamber was a pleasant one, with a blazing fire and a stone floor covered in thick woollen rugs. Michael gazed expectantly at the landlord, who began to list the various dishes on offer that day.

‘I do not think I shall have the pike in gelatine,’ said Michael with great solemnity. The ordering of food was a serious business and required his complete and undivided attention. ‘Pike are dirty creatures, and I do not like the look of their teeth. I shall have the chicken roasted with grapes and garlic, some salted pork and a bit of fat beef. And bread, of course. No meal would be complete without bread. And perhaps a pear pastry. And-’

‘Enough, Brother!’ exclaimed Bartholomew, laughing. ‘No more “ands”! There are only two of us here, not you and the King’s army.’

‘You want some of it, too?’ asked Michael in alarm. ‘I was ordering for myself, and thought to let you choose what you wanted separately.’

‘You can always ask for more later, if you find you are still hungry,’ said the landlord, although Bartholomew doubted that would be the case. The Brazen George was noted for its ample portions, which was one of the reasons Michael liked it. ‘You need to keep your strength up if you want to solve these nasty murders — Bottisham, Deschalers, Bosel and now poor Master Warde — to say nothing of making sure Thomas Mortimer has his comeuppance for Lenne and Isnard.’

‘It is a daunting task,’ agreed Michael, fixing Bartholomew with a glare to indicate that the victuals ordered were wholly inadequate to fuel such monumental labours.