They left the tavern, Bartholomew light-headed from gulping too much wine too quickly. It was dark, and he wondered whether they should pay some of the itinerant weavers to escort them home, in the hope that their presence would avert another attack. Then it occurred to him that the weavers might owe allegiance to the ambushers, and would melt away at the first sign of danger. On reflection, he decided they would be safer alone. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, only to find it was not there: he had forgotten to bring it with him. He stumbled across a frozen heap of entrails outside a butcher’s shop, drawing a worried glance from Michael.
‘That wine did not taste of fish, did it? There was no poison?’
‘I saw Quarrel giving other customers wine from the same jug, so it should be all right. Of course, if it were poisoned, you mentioning it now would do us no good. It would be too late.’
Michael blew out his cheeks in a sigh. ‘This business is unnerving me. I am seriously considering locking myself inside the Gilbertine Priory until Sunday, then jumping on a horse as soon as I emerge from my installation and riding as fast as I can to Cambridge.’
Bartholomew glanced at the sky. ‘It is snowing again, and a heavy fall will block the road. It would be unfortunate if you were to dash away in all your splendour, only to be turned back by drifts.’
‘It would be embarrassing,’ conceded Michael. He frowned unhappily. ‘Do you think I am justified in abandoning my investigation? I know I am under an obligation to help Gynewell, but this is not my city, and I do not understand its intrigues and plots. Things are different in Cambridge, where I have beadles and a sheriff to protect me. But then I remember that Tetford is Bishop de Lisle’s close kin, and-’
Bartholomew stopped suddenly. ‘Tetford! We were supposed to collect his poison on our way back, and drop it in the river, but Shirlok knocked it from my mind. We shall have to go and get it.’
‘Not tonight, Matt,’ said Michael firmly. ‘It would mean toiling back up that hill, and it is already too late to be out. Besides, you hid it very well. I will destroy it first thing tomorrow-’
‘Brother, look!’ hissed Bartholomew suddenly, gripping his friend’s arm. ‘There is Simon!’
Michael followed the direction of his finger and saw the priest walking briskly along the road in front of them. Michael opened his mouth to yell, but Bartholomew warned him to silence.
‘He is moving furtively – he does not want to be seen. We will follow him and see where he goes.’
‘You must be drunk,’ said Michael uneasily, ‘or you would not suggest such a thing.’
‘We will just see where he is going,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Come on.’
Michael was about to object further, but the priest was striding down the road he and Bartholomew needed to take anyway, so it was no inconvenience to stay behind him. There were a few footpaths off the main track, leading to the river in one direction and the parallel dike in the other, but Simon took no detours. Eventually, he reached the place where the road crossed an odorous ditch called the Gowt. He glanced behind him, but the night was dark, and Bartholomew and Michael had been careful to stay in the shadows.
‘He is going inside Holy Cross,’ whispered Bartholomew, hanging back.
‘His old church,’ murmured Michael. ‘He keeps looking around him in a very sly manner.’
‘Yes, he does,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘So do not walk so fast, Brother, or he will see you.’
‘I do not like this,’ grumbled Michael. ‘I am too heavy-boned for stealth, and Cynric told me I look like a hippopotamus when I tiptoe. Shall we follow him inside?’
‘Is the building open? It is well past sunset, so it should be locked.’
Holy Cross was a dark mass against the night sky, and the charred remains of Simon’s old house comprised a sinister blackened shell. The priest walked across the churchyard and fiddled with a chancel window. After a moment, there was a hollow, echoing clank as a bar fell away on the other side. He glanced around quickly, then climbed in. Moments later, Bartholomew heard him unlock the door.
‘He knows that window is a weak point,’ said Michael. ‘He went straight to it.’
‘He worked here for twenty years, so that is not surprising. However, he must be expecting company, or he would not have opened the door. What shall we do? Clamber through the window, and hope he does not see us? Or wait out here, to see who comes to meet him?’
‘You said we were just going to see where he went,’ said Michael accusingly. ‘Well, we have done that, and it is too cold a night for lurking in icy churchyards. We should return to the Gilbertines.’
‘We should find out what he is doing. His intentions are not innocent, or he would not be breaking in – he would have asked his successor for the key. Watch the door while I go through the window.’
Michael sighed testily. ‘This is not a good idea. Hurry up, then – and be careful.’
