hindrance than help.'
While they had been in Valence Marie the clouds had thickened, and a light, misty rain was falling. It should have been a welcome relief after the heat of the morning, but it served only to increase the humidity.
Michael complained that he could not catch his breath; even Bartholomew began to feel uncomfortable. But the rain afforded some advantage, for it provided a haziness in the air that meant that Bartholomew and Michael were able to follow d'Ambrey with less chance of being seen.
They walked quickly and without speaking, alert for any sound that would warn them that d'Ambrey had stopped.
One or twice they glimpsed him ahead and, as they went further from the town, Bartholomew began to wonder how far d'Ambrey was going to go. They reached the small manor owned by Sir Robert de Panton, where the land had been cleared for farming, affording uninterrupted views down the road for some distance. D'Ambrey was nowhere to be seen. Michael sagged in defeat.
As they dithered, wondering where d'Ambrey might have turned, they met Sir Robert himself, who told them that he had seen an elderly friar pass along the Trumpington Road just a few moments before. Encouraged, Bartholomew and Michael hurried on.
They continued in silence, the only sounds being Michael's heavy breathing, and their feet on the muddy road. As they began to despair that they might have lost. him a second time, a thought occurred to Bartholomew.
They were near Trumpington village, where d'Ambrey had almost been incinerated in the tithe barn fire. The new barn had been built closer to the village, so it could be better protected, and the charred timbers of the old one had been allowed to decay. Now, nothing remained, ' apart from one or two ivy-covered stumps and a clearing ' in the trees where it had once stood.
Wordlessly, Bartholomew led Michael off the main path to the site of the old barn. He was beginning ' to think he must have miscalculated, when he heard f voices. One was d'Ambrey, speaking with no hint of a v Scottish accent. Peering through the trees, Bartholomew.'* saw an unwholesome creature wrapped in filthy rags, but f standing straight and tall and speaking in a firm, clear 'Ј voice. The murderous Dominica. 't D'Ambrey said something, and there were growls of agreement from others: Huw from Godwinsson, Ivo from David's, and Cecily, who looked sullen. As Bartholomew'«turned to indicate to Michael that they should withdraw and wait for Tulyet, he heard the unmistakeable click of a crossbow bolt being loaded. He spun round.
'Ruthven!'
Ruthven smiled, and indicated with a small flick of his crossbow that they should precede him into the midst of'* Simon d'Ambrey's meeting.
D'Ambrey scowled when he saw Ruthven's captives.
'Where did you find these gentlemen?'
'Listening to you from the bushes over there,' said Ruthven with a toss of his head. He poked at Bartholomew with his weapon and indicated that he and Michael should sit on the grass.
'Well, we can do nothing until nightfall, anyway,' said d'Ambrey with a shrug. 'I would like Huw to return to Valence Marie and find out from Will what is happening about my hand.' He turned to Bartholomew and Michael, and smiled. 'Given long enough, I might be made a saint, do you think? Perhaps a fine abbey built around my shrine?'
'I doubt it,' said Michael. 'Although people do seem to worship the oddest things.' He smiled guilelessly back at d'Ambrey, ignoring Bartholomew's warning kick.
D'Ambrey saw Bartholomew's reaction, however. 'I see you seek to caution your friend, lest he moves me to anger, Doctor,' he said. 'You have doubtless seen many forms of madness since you have become a physician. Well, you have no need to look for any such signs in me. I am as sane as you. Angry, perhaps. Betrayed, certainly. And vengeful. But most assuredly not mad.'
He smiled in a way that made Bartholomew seriously doubt it. The only hope for him and Michael, he realised, was that one of the messages that they had left for Tulyet would reach him, especially the one with the guards at the gate. He prayed that the Sheriff would not be waylaid into helping Thorpe search for the missing relic.
D'Ambrey sat on a tree stump and smiled beatifically.
Even with his accent and friar-like demeanour gone, Bartholomew felt the man still had a peculiarly saintly air about him.
'You are wondering what made me change,' he said, looking from one to the other of his captives. 'I was loved by the people. My brother and sister adored me.
And then my brother betrayed me. He stole the treasure I had collected for the poor and flaunted it by wearing it around the town. People thought I had given it to him and turned against me. I ran to the woman I had always liked best for sanctuary. But she betrayed me too. She told her betrothed where I was and he came to kill me.'
'No!' Cecily rose from where she had been sitting, uncomfortable and bedraggled, on the grass. 'You know I did not betray you! I saw smoke coming from the barn and ran back to warn you, but it was already too late. I thought it was a terrible accident, not murder!'
'But you did not try to look for me after the blaze,' said d'Ambrey, with quiet reason. 'You were quick to assume i I was dead.'
'But the barn was an inferno! ' wailed Cecily desperately, moving towards him, arms outstretched. 'No one could '' have survived! Even the nails melted from the heat!' | 'And then you married the man who brought about i my death,' continued d'Ambrey relentlessly. 'And you i allowed him to bring up my daughter as his own child. Jf You did not even keep the rings I gave you. Somehow.3 one of them ended up on a shabby little student at my own hostel and I had to go to all manner of contortions to get it back to adorn my relic at Valence Marie.'
'Dominica gave it to him,' protested Cecily. 'I kept both rings close to my heart for twenty-five years. I only gave one to Bartholomew recently because I thought he might, be able to use it to catch Dominica's killer.'
'I did no such thing, father,' said Dominica disdain-; fully. 'She and Thomas Lydgate were far too mean to: give me jewellery to dispense with as I pleased. She ' is lying!'
'I think you did give it to Jamie, Dominica,' said Ruthven uncertainly. 'He said you did.'
'My Dominica has no cause to lie,' said d'Ambrey, somewhat rashly, since it was clear to everyone in the clearing that she had every reason to stretch the truth.
Cecily gazed at her daughter in mute appeal, and Bartholomew found he could not watch.
'Those rings belonged to my parents,' said d'Ambrey sternly. 'My father had them made to match my mother's blue-green eyes. They are not baubles to be dispensed to any snotty-nosed scholar who wanted one, especially a lad like James Kenzie, who was so careless. First he let John steal it and then he lost the false one I replaced it with while he was brawling on the High Street.'
'But I kept them safe! ' shrieked Cecily. 'I did! Dominica stole them from me to give to her paramour!'
D'Ambrey turned from her and made a quick gesture to Ruthven. There was a swish and a thump. Ruthven was reloading his crossbow with a new quarrel before the shocked Bartholomew could act. Cecily looked at d'Ambrey in horror, her hands clawing at the bolt that protruded from her chest. Her bulbous eyes popped out even further as she sank on to the grass.
Bartholomew made to go towards her.
'Leave her!' d'Ambrey snapped, his gentle tones vanished.
'She deserves to die.'
Bartholomew looked at him in revulsion. 'Why?'
'She has served her purpose,' said d'Ambrey with a shrug. 'I only brought her into the plot at the last minute because she had hidden away her family jewels so well that neither Edred nor Dominica could find them. She kindly brought them — Dominica's inheritance — a few moments ago, although they are a little fire-damaged. But I do not want her slowing us down when we leave tonight. We will need to move fast if we*‹ want to escape.'
'I can give her something to ease the pain,' said Bartholomew, reaching for his bag and flipping it open.
'You will leave her alone,' d'Ambrey repeated, looking inside the bag with interest. 'You have my Galen, I see. A little late, perhaps, but I am pleased to have it back.'
Before Bartholomew could reply, d'Ambrey had plucked the tome from the bag, and was sitting with it on his knees.
He saw immediately where Gray had torn the covers away and shook his head slowly, fingering the damage
