Mystery in the Minster (37 page)

Langelee peered at the date scrawled on the bottom. ‘That is certainly when he died. I remember, because it is the day my youngest daughter was born.’

‘You have children?’ blurted Michael.

‘The abrupt phrasing and unsteady script suggest Myton was extremely agitated when he wrote this,’ said Bartholomew, speaking before Langelee could answer. ‘It is consistent with a man on the verge of suicide, and Fournays did say he opened his veins.’

‘I thought he died of a softening of the brain,’ said Langelee, bewildered.

‘Fournays!’ spat Michael, while Bartholomew recalled with a guilty start that the surgeon’s knowledge of Myton’s suicide was a secret he should have kept. ‘We cannot trust him. For all we know,
he
murdered Myton.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Bartholomew was tired of Michael’s prejudice. ‘His name is not on the list, and he has no reason to protect French spies.’

‘Never mind Fournays,’ snapped Langelee, suddenly all business. ‘Myton’s letter mentions evidence. Where did he say it might be found? On specific shelves in the library?’ He grabbed Bartholomew’s shoulder and gave it a vigorous shake to make his point. ‘Which ones?
Quickly
!’

Bartholomew read them out. Langelee stormed away to tackle the first, Michael approached the second, and Bartholomew took the third, grateful it was not a large one, because he was sure they were wasting their time – the chances of finding anything in the library were remote. But it did not take many moments to discover that he was wrong, and that a letter had been placed exactly where Myton had specified. His stomach lurched in horror at what it revealed.

‘It is from a French master to his agents,’ he said. ‘He wants sailing times for specific ships, and an inventory of their cargoes. It is addressed quite openly to Holy Trinity.’

Langelee took it with a hand that shook. ‘Nearly all these vessels were captured by French pirates. And here is what I have found: promise of an altar cloth sewn with gold doves in return for information about the town’s defences.’

Bartholomew swallowed hard. ‘I saw such a cloth in the priory church, when Chozaico invited us inside after the riot the other day.’

‘And here is more of the same,’ said Michael, waving other documents. His face was white. ‘Chozaico’s antics will reflect badly on every Benedictine in the country!’

‘They will not,’ stated Langelee. ‘Everyone knows Holy Trinity is an alien house, and therefore different. But we cannot stand here chatting when there are enemies to rout. We must tackle them at once. Come with me to report to Thoresby.’

‘What about the documents?’ asked Bartholomew, not moving. ‘We cannot take them with us, lest we are obliged to go outside – the ink will run in the rain, and they will be useless. And it is certainly not a good idea to leave them here. They might disappear.’

Langelee snatched them from him and shoved them in the rosewood box, which he tossed on to the highest shelf available.

‘It is hardly inconspicuous,’ said Michael worriedly. ‘And—’

‘There is no time to argue,’ snapped Langelee sharply. ‘It will have to suffice until we come back to reclaim them. Now follow me.’

They had not gone far before they met Dean Talerand, who immediately began to bemoan the fact that the volume of human and animal traffic might permanently damage his flagstone floors.

‘Zouche’s rosewood chest,’ said Michael, interrupting the tirade. ‘When did you move it from the treasury to the library?’

Talerand stared at him. ‘It has never been in the library. Once it was empty, I gave the thing to Myton, because he had always expressed a fondness for it.’

‘You did not leave it under the carrel you pointed out as a good place for hiding documents?’

Talerand looked bemused, although whether from genuine confusion, or because he was an extremely able actor, was impossible to say. ‘I have not had time to visit the library since I took you there earlier. How could I, when my minster is akin to Noah’s Ark? Do you think dung stains, Brother?’

Thoresby was in the Lady Chapel, issuing orders to the canons, vicars, chaplains, clerks and servants who thronged around him. His voice was calm and his manner composed, so the only sign that he was under intense pressure came from a slight tic under one eye. Langelee forced his way to the front of the crowd, and started to murmur in his ear, but he had barely begun before the Archbishop waved him away.

‘Tell Mayor Longton,’ he ordered brusquely. ‘I do not have time for this now.’

‘But it is important,’ objected Langelee. ‘We cannot delay, because—’

‘In a few hours, there will be a tidal surge of such magnitude that the entire city might be engulfed,’ interrupted Thoresby sharply. ‘You will forgive me if that takes precedence over some ancient letter of Myton’s. Besides, it sounds more like a secular matter than an episcopal one to me. See Longton.’

He turned away abruptly, giving his attention to Cave who had come to report on the current state of the rivers. The vicar smirked when he saw Langelee summarily dismissed in his favour.

‘Longton, then,’ determined Langelee, grabbing his Fellows’ arms and hauling them along after him. ‘Hurry!’

The Mayor was on Petergate, standing up in his stirrups as he bawled instructions to a pack of bemused soldiers. His directions were muddled and contradictory, although his response to requests for clarification was simply to yell the same commands more loudly. Langelee marched up to him and seized the reins of his horse.

‘We have discovered the identities of the French spies,’ he announced. ‘It is—’

‘Not now, man,’ grated Longton, jerking the bridle away. ‘I am busy.’

‘The French
spies
!’ bellowed Langelee, lest the Mayor had not heard. ‘We have them at last, and you must come with us to—’

‘I said not now,’ snarled Longton. ‘The Ouse is close to bursting its banks, and if we do not requisition sandbags from the minster immediately, we shall lose the fish-market.’

‘But—’

‘Besides, the spies are hardly relevant now,’ Longton went on bitterly. ‘They have already done their worst, and their masters will be poised to attack even as we speak.’

‘Yes!’ cried Langelee desperately. ‘But laying hold of the intelligencers will provide us with some idea of the information they have passed on, and thus give us a tactical advantage.’

‘They will not talk,’ predicted Longton. ‘And I cannot waste time on them today.’

‘Then where is your brother?’ demanded Langelee. ‘The
advocatus ecclesiae
will not stand by while England’s enemies use the upheaval created by the floods to escape.’

‘I sent him to open the Foss dam,’ replied Longton. ‘It has not been used in decades, and if he fails, we are doomed for certain. For God’s sake do not distract him with some stupid errand.’

‘Stupid errand?’ echoed Langelee furiously. ‘We are talking about the villains who have been undermining York for years. Surely—’

‘Come and see me when the waters recede.’ Longton kicked his horse into a trot, indicating with an imperious wave that his bewildered men were to follow. His last words were called over his shoulder. ‘There will be plenty of time for catching traitors then.’

‘There will not,’ said Langelee to Bartholomew and Michael, who had watched the exchange without trying to intervene. Neither blamed the Mayor or the Archbishop for thinking the flood a more pressing matter. ‘Clever Chozaico and his devious cronies have successfully eluded us for years. If we do not strike now, while the iron is hot, they will escape.’

‘I do not see how,’ said Bartholomew. ‘They cannot know what we have discovered today.’

‘They will find out,’ averred Langelee. His face was paler than the physician had ever seen it. ‘They always outwitted us in the past, which is why they kept slipping through our fingers. We must tackle them immediately – or be prepared to let them go free.’

‘What do you suggest we do?’ asked Michael quietly. ‘We have been refused official help, and if Zouche’s list is right, there are twelve monks, plus Chozaico and Wy. Or are you proposing that we three go to Holy Trinity and challenge fourteen men by ourselves?’

‘Well, why not?’ demanded Langelee. ‘They are clerics, for God’s sake. What do you think they will do? Batter us with their psalters? Bartholomew and I have swords, and we can find you a staff from somewhere. They will be no match for us.’

‘Even if we could manage such a feat, we have no authority to carry it out,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You are not an archbishop’s henchman now, Langelee. We are just scholars from another town.’

‘Tell Gisbyrn,’ suggested Michael. ‘He is the one Myton charged to act on the matter.’

‘Gisbyrn did not bother five years ago, so why should he stir himself now?’ Langelee was growing exasperated. ‘Besides, perhaps this letter languished because Gisbyrn is in their pay. It would certainly explain why he has grown rich so quickly. When I have Chozaico and his rabble under lock and key, I shall be having a word with him.’

‘But Gisbyrn may never have seen this letter,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘Why would he, when it was hidden between bundles of Myton’s obit arrangements?’

‘I suspect what happened was this,’ said Michael, speaking calmly in an attempt to soothe. ‘Myton was so deeply in debt that he knew everything he owned would go to Gisbyrn after his death. So he left this letter among his documents, expecting it to be found.’

‘But he overestimated the interest Gisbyrn had in him.’ Bartholomew took up the tale. ‘Gisbyrn did not paw gloatingly through his personal correspondence – he shoved it
into storage somewhere. Thus Myton’s desperate message lay undiscovered until today—’

‘We can discuss this when the spies are in prison,’ snapped Langelee. ‘Now
hurry
!’

‘Tell us your plan first,’ said Bartholomew, freeing his arm when the Master grabbed it.

Langelee sighed furiously. ‘We approach them politely but firmly, and tell them that their game is up. Then we lock them in their church until soldiers are available to take them into custody. They are not violent men. They will know they are defeated, and will give us no trouble.’

‘I disagree,’ said Bartholomew. ‘If they are as devious as you claim—’

Langelee rounded on him. ‘I cannot order you to come, but I shall be very disappointed if you decline to perform this service for your country. And so will the King when he demands a report on the matter. Indeed, I imagine your refusal might even be construed as treason.’

Bartholomew had no idea whether he was bluffing.

Certain they were about to engage in something recklessly stupid, Bartholomew and Michael trailed unhappily after Langelee as he set a cracking pace towards the Ouse Bridge. The physician tried twice to intercept soldiers to tell them what was happening, but they refused to stand still long enough to listen to his explanations. Then he saw Marmaduke scuttling past.

‘We think we have discovered the identities of the French spies,’ he said, seizing the ex-priest’s shoulder. ‘They are at Holy Trinity. At least, there is evidence that points towards them, although it should be verified before—’

‘No!’ said Marmaduke firmly. ‘The Holy Trinity monks are decent men. Do you not recall Prior Chozaico’s kindness to me at Radeford’s burial – how he drew me forward to
join the mourners? You have been listening to foolish people. Like that spiteful Oustwyk.’

‘Very possibly,’ said Bartholomew, unwilling to waste time in debate when Langelee and Michael were already some distance ahead. ‘But will you tell Sir William?’

‘He will not listen, not when he is so frantically busy with the dam,’ predicted Marmaduke. ‘Especially to a defrocked priest.’

‘Abbot Multone, then,’ said Bartholomew urgently. ‘Please! Just tell him to come with armed lay-brothers as quickly as he can.’

‘I shall do my best,’ promised Marmaduke. ‘Although I—’

But Bartholomew sped away before the ex-priest could say more. He ran hard, dodging and ducking as he tried to catch up with his colleagues, but it was not easy, because so many people were on the move. Most were loaded down with packs and bundles, while others pushed handcarts that were too large for the lanes and caused blockages. Everywhere, tempers were high, and he took care to apologise to those he jostled – fights were breaking out for far less provocation. Meanwhile, the doors of every church were open, some offering sanctuary and others an opportunity to pray.

‘God’s teeth!’ he muttered when he reached the river.

It was flowing hard and fast, an evil brown torrent thick with the soil from the fields it had washed away upstream. And this time, it carried much larger trees, some of which punched into the bridge before they were swept past, causing the entire structure to shudder.

Michael was arguing with Langelee. ‘We cannot cross. It may be safe now, but what if it collapses, trapping us on the other side of the city? We must not risk losing the codicil to—’

‘Huntington will be irrelevant if these spies are not caught,’ snarled Langelee. ‘Because the French will invade, and they will raze the place to the ground. Follow me.’

Reluctantly, his Fellows stepped on to the bridge, but it was not long before Bartholomew faltered to a standstill, not liking the way it shivered under his feet. Farther along, there was a cry of alarm, and several tiles slipped from Dalfeld’s roof. They smashed into the street below, narrowly missing pedestrians.