A Plague on Both Your Houses by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page A

stone, and Bartholomew knew that Augustus was not
    the only old man to complain of being cold, even in the height of summer. That a small fire burned merrily in
    the hearth suggested that one kind-hearted servant had chosen to ignore Wilson’s orders and let Augustus have his comfort.
    ‘Matt, come away. We have done all we can here.’
    Bartholomew glanced up at Michael. His face was
    shiny with sweat, and had an almost greenish hue. The
    chrism in the small bottle he held shook as his hands
    trembled, and he was looking everywhere except at
    Bartholomew and Augustus.
    ‘What is the matter with you?’ asked Bartholomew,
    perplexed. Michael had often accompanied Bartholomew
    to pray for patients beyond his medicine
    and had seen death many times. He had not been
    especially close to Augustus, and so his behaviour could not be explained by grief.
    Michael took a handful of Bartholomew’s gown
    and pulled hard. Just come away. Leave him be, and
    come with me back to the hall.’ Bartholomew resisted
    the tug, and the small bottle fell from Michael’s hand and bounced onto the floor.
    ‘Pull yourself together, man,’ Bartholomew said,
    exasperated, and leaned down to retrieve the bottle,
    which had rolled under the bed. He picked it up to
    hand back to Michael, and was startled to see the hem
    of the monk’s robes disappearing through the door.
    Michael had, quite literally, fled.
    Bartholomew looked to Alexander, who appeared
    as bewildered as Bartholomew felt. ‘Go back to the feast,’
    he said, seeing the steward’s unease. ‘You will be needed there. I will see to Augustus.’
    Alexander left, shutting the door behind him, and
    Bartholomew heard his feet clattering down the stairs
    and the outside door slam shut. He chewed on his lower lip, bemused. What had been the matter with Michael?
    They had known each other since Bartholomew had
    been made a Fellow, and Bartholomew had never seen
    him in such a state before. Usually the obese monk was well in control of his emotions, and he rarely allowed himself to be so discomfited that he was unable to come up with a sardonic remark or cutting response.
    As Bartholomew put the bottle of chrism down on
    the window-sill, he noticed that the lid had come off and that his hand was greasy with the highly scented oil. He wiped it on a napkin that lay on a desk under the window, and dropped to his hands and knees with the lamp to
    look for the bottle-top. It had rolled to the far side of the bed, and Bartholomew had to lie flat to reach it. As he stood up, he noticed that his clothes were covered
    with small flecks of black. Puzzled, he peered closely at some of the bits that clung to his sleeve. They looked like flakes of burned parchment. He brushed them off;
    they must have come from the fire in the hearth. He was about to leave when the edge of the bedclothes caught
    his eye. On the light green blanket was a pale scorch
    mark about the size of his hand. Curious, he inspected the rest of the covering, and found a similar spot at the corner.
    Augustus’s screams of two nights before came tearing
    into his mind. Augustus had claimed that devils had
    come to burn him alive! Bartholomew shook his head.
    He was being ridiculous. Agatha had probably burned
    the blanket while it was being laundered, although he
    would not wish to be the one to ask her. Nevertheless, he took the lamp, and, lying flat on his back, he inspected the wooden slats underneath the bed. He swallowed hard.
    The boards were singed, and one was even charred.
    Augustus had not been imagining things. There had been a fire under his bed.
    Still lying on his back, he thought about the events
    of two days before. It had been deep in the night, perhaps one or two o’ clock, when Augustus had started to yell.
    Bartholomew had thrown on his gown and run to the
    commoners’ dormitory, which was diagonally opposite
    his own room across the courtyard. By the time he
    had arrived, Alcote, Alexander, and Father