her head, but Bartholomew was in utter confusion. Surely Dame Pelagia could not have been the object of Michael’s amorous attentions? How could she be the reason Michael had insisted on remaining at the abbey? The monk regarded him coldly, clearly unamused at being interrupted.
‘Someone has set light to the guesthall, thinking us to be inside,’ explained Cynric, when he realised Bartholomew had been startled into silence.
Michael exchanged an enigmatic glance with the old lady.
‘I wondered what that crash was,’ she said. ‘One of the windows blowing out?’
Bartholomew nodded, surprised that she should know about such things.
‘I suggest we leave here right now and let these people think they have done their job this time,’ said Cynric urgently, ‘or else we shall never be free of their attentions.’
His plan made sense to Bartholomew, but Michael was uncertain. ‘What are you suggesting? That we head to Cambridge now? In the dark?’
‘Why not?’ asked Cynric. ‘I can scout ahead and make certain it is safe.’
‘No,’ said Michael. ‘We will leave at first light.’
‘And what do we do in the meantime?’ asked Bartholomew, bemused by Michael’s attitude. ‘Go back to the abbey and wait for the killers to try again?’
‘We need to collect our belongings,’ said Michael, clearly temporising.
‘The guesthall is on fire,’ said Bartholomew. As he spoke, the abbey bell began to sound the alarm, and excited voices began to clamour in the silence. ‘Everything will have been destroyed, including my only cloak and even the pickled eels and samphire.’
‘Pickled eels and samphire?’ asked Dame Pelagia sharply. ‘I did not know the abbey possessed any of that. It is a favourite of mine.’
Michael patted her arm. ‘I will buy you some when we reach Cambridge,’ he said absently.
Bartholomew looked from one to the other. ‘Forgive me, Brother,’ he said hesitantly. ‘But are you suggesting that Dame Pelagia will be travelling to Cambridge with us?’
Michael nodded. ‘She will. We will leave as soon as it is light.’
‘It is better we go now, boy,’ said Cynric urgently, ‘while all this confusion is on. When the fire is out, they will soon see there are no bodies and we will have lost the advantage. Then we might never get home.’
Michael hesitated in an agony of indecision.
‘Leave me here, Michael,’ said Dame Pelagia. ‘Come back when you are better equipped.’
‘No,’ said Michael shortly. ‘You will not be safe and leaving you is out of the question.’
‘But I could slow you down,’ she said gently. ‘And it is imperative you return to Cambridge and send word to the Bishop in Ely that I have information for him or, better yet, inform Sheriff Tulyet what has been happening so that he can act before it is too late.’
‘Information about what?’ asked Bartholomew, his confusion growing by the moment.
‘If I leave, you leave,’ said Michael, ignoring him and speaking firmly to the nun, his tone brooking no argument.
The old lady sighed. ‘Then we should go now, as your friend suggests.’
Michael put his hands over his face and scrubbed hard at his cheeks. ‘Very well,’ he said eventually. ‘Fetch what you need and meet us here. But hurry. And take care!’
‘Will you bring Julianna?’ asked Bartholomew as she began to move away. She stopped and stared at him mystified. ‘When you come back, bring Julianna with you,’ he said again, thinking she had misheard. Wordlessly, she moved away, her progress through the trees stately, but sure-footed.
‘What is this?’ said Cynric, bewildered. ‘Do we each get to choose a nun to take home with us?’
Michael turned to him. ‘Can you follow her? Make sure she returns unmolested?’
Cynric’s face registered confusion, but he slipped away soundlessly through the trees after the old lady.
‘Explain yourself,’ said Michael to Bartholomew peremptorily. ‘What do you mean by imposing that young woman on us? She is a harlot!’
Bartholomew gazed at Michael in disbelief. ‘Michael!’ he chided gently. ‘What is the matter with you? You know why she must come – she warned us that an attempt might be made on our lives tonight and she was right. And she said she believed she was in danger, so now we are under a moral obligation to try to protect her. But more to the point, why are you insisting that we bring Dame Pelagia? She is an old lady, and will not find such a journey easy, especially in the dark.’
‘I know!’ said Michael fiercely. ‘That is why I wanted to leave in the morning.’
‘But why bring her at all?’
Michael lunged at Bartholomew suddenly, catching him by a handful of his tabard. ‘That is my affair and none of yours! Keep your questions to yourself!’
He thrust Bartholomew from him with such force that the physician lost his footing on the frozen soil and tumbled inelegantly to the ground. In an instant, Michael was kneeling next to him.
‘Oh, Lord, Matt! I am sorry! I did not mean … sometimes I do not know my own strength,’ he said apologetically, anxiety written all over his face.
‘What is wrong with you?’ demanded Bartholomew crossly, rubbing his leg. ‘If there is something distressing you, tell me. Do not just push me around!’
The fat monk let out a great sigh and looked up at the stars. ‘Dame Pelagia,’ he said in a low voice, ‘is my grandmother.’
‘So? That is no reason for belligerence.’ Bartholomew started to climb to his feet.
‘You do not understand,’ said Michael, grabbing his shoulder and hauling him up with ease. For all his obesity and lack of fitness, Michael was still a powerful man. ‘You see, like me, Dame Pelagia is an agent for the Bishop of Ely.’
Bartholomew shook his head slowly, trying to work some sense into Michael’s piecemeal revelations. ‘Are you telling me that spying runs in your family, or just that your Bishop is prepared to use anyone to further his own ends – even an old lady?’
Michael sighed again. ‘She is officially retired now. She was in all this business long before I was born, and was not always a nun.’
‘Evidently not,’ said Bartholomew, ‘if she is your grandmother. But why the secrecy? It is not such a terrible thing to have grandparents. Even I had some once.’
‘Because I know the Bishop would want me to leave her here to discover more about what is happening. But she is old and frail, and I am about to defy the Bishop and take her away,’ said Michael. ‘It is becoming too dangerous for her here.’
‘I see,’ said Bartholomew, understanding. That Michael was about to incur the Bishop’s ire might have serious consequences for the advancement of the ambitious monk’s career. The Bishop would not be pleased that Michael had taken matters into his own hands and removed a potentially valuable spy: he was possessive about people who provided him with information, as his insistence that Michael was to remain Proctor and not become Master of Valence Marie attested.
‘But what makes you think she will not be safe here?’ Bartholomew asked eventually. ‘And why could you not have told me all this earlier?’
‘No one knows Dame Pelagia is my grandmother except the Bishop,’ said Michael. ‘He decided it would be safer for everyone concerned if only he and I know that.’
‘Dame Pelagia knows, I take it?’ asked Bartholomew facetiously.
‘Do not be flippant, Matt!’ snapped Michael. ‘This is no laughing matter!’
‘I am sorry,’ said Bartholomew, with a sigh of resignation. ‘But I do not see why you deem all this secrecy so necessary.’
‘Although my grandmother came to Denny to enjoy a well-earned retirement, old habits die hard. She told me yesterday that she has suspected for several months that something untoward has been going on in the area and, like Julianna, has observed strange comings and goings in the night. She has known since she arrived that Denny Abbey lies on a smuggling route. Goods are brought down the Fenland waterways from the coast, because the dry land around here is ideal for storing the contraband until it is sent on.’
‘Smuggling?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘Are you suggesting the Abbess is a smuggler?’
‘Of course not!’ snapped Michael. ‘How could she be? The smugglers are the Fenfolk, some of whom have
