The Hand of Justice

‘Then they aimed to leave with as much gold as they could carry,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Mortimer never intended to run Deschalers’s business, which is why he dismissed the apprentices and cared nothing about retaining the goodwill of the other merchants.’

Dame Pelagia smiled. ‘You are both right. Because they inspired such terror, folk attributed to them a grander plan than they were capable of carrying out. They did nothing to dispel these rumours, which elevated them to a status they should never have been given. They are loutish youths, of average intelligence and mediocre fighting skills. You discovered that, Matthew.’

‘You mean when Edward attacked me on the High Street?’ asked Bartholomew. He thought back to the struggle, and recalled his pride when he had defeated a man whom everyone held in such fear.

‘Exactly. He and Thorpe beat Ufford in a brawl, but there were two of them, and poor Ufford is not the swordsman everyone imagines. He prefers reading to fighting, and even you could defeat him in a fair contest. All these things were gossiped about and exaggerated. There was no plan to destroy the town. That was all in your fevered imaginations.’

‘But they wanted to kill Michael, the Sheriff and my brother-in-law,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And possibly me, too. They have tried three times now.’

Dame Pelagia raised her eyebrows. ‘I only know of once: in Dick Tulyet’s house the night Mortimer tried to set it alight. He has a gash on his leg — inflicted by Dickon’s wooden sword.’

‘They have been trying to get several of their intended victims under the same roof at the same time,’ said Bartholomew. He was gratified to see he had her attention. ‘Their first attempt was last Monday, when Dickon had the pea in his ear. Thorpe asked whether Michael was going to join us. Had I said he was, I think they would have done something then. The second attempt was at Michaelhouse a week later.’

‘The inexplicable invitations to the midday meal,’ said Michael, wanting to show his grandmother that Bartholomew was not the only one who could think. ‘They sent messages to Oswald and Dick, asking them to Michaelhouse, but both declined for different reasons. We were fortunate.’

‘Yes, there were nettles to eat that day,’ said Dame Pelagia disapprovingly. ‘I do not allow weeds to pass my lips personally, but there is no accounting for taste.’

‘That was the day Thorpe came to hear Matt’s lecture,’ Michael went on. ‘We knew he planned some sort of mischief, but did not know what — not at the time.’

‘Their attempts were bumbling at best,’ said Dame Pelagia. ‘And grossly incompetent at worst. You were never in any real danger. But they would have persisted until they died in the attempt.’

Bartholomew eyed her warily. ‘What makes you think they will stop now?’

Her eyes twinkled. ‘I have had a word with them. Their killing days are over.’

‘Were you ever in Albi?’ he asked, when he saw she was going to say no more on the matter. ‘Thorpe and Mortimer are supposed to have learned their fighting skills there.’

‘I saw Wynewyk in Albi once, with a group of travelling clerics,’ said Dame Pelagia. ‘But Thorpe and Mortimer strayed no farther than Calais. They were too frightened to go deeper into France.’

‘A false connection,’ said Michael. ‘They must have heard Albi mentioned, and decided it sounded more impressive than Calais.’

‘And you have no idea where they might be now?’ pressed Bartholomew, regarding Michael’s grandmother intently.

She smiled and reached up to pat his cheek with a hand that was surprisingly soft. ‘Look after my grandson, Matthew. But I have tarried here too long, and the King needs me in other places.’

She turned and walked away. Langelee waited nearby with a splendid palfrey, and they all watched her spring lightly into the saddle. Then she gave them a jaunty wave and was gone.

‘I imagine Thorpe and Mortimer fled for their lives after she spoke to them,’ said Michael, answering Bartholomew’s question as they turned back to the ruins of the mill. ‘They are not stupid, and will not risk making an enemy of her.’

‘It is a bit late for that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘They made an enemy of her two years ago. That is why she came back.’

‘Yes, I suppose it was,’ said Michael.

In order to reach the bridge that would take them back into the town, Bartholomew and Michael had to pass the King’s Mill. As they walked, the physician became aware of an uncomfortable scratching sensation near his neck. He rubbed it impatiently, then stared in surprise at the parchment that fluttered to the ground. He retrieved it and scanned its contents, while Michael watched with raised eyebrows.

‘She must have put it there when she touched my face,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I should have guessed her small demonstration of affection would have another purpose.’

‘What does she say?’

‘She explains how Quenhyth killed Deschalers and Bottisham, dropped them in the mill engines, and then escaped without being seen by Bernarde.’