but de Lisle is deeply in debt, as you know, and there is little in his house worth taking.’
Michael poked his head back through the gate and gazed at the handsome house on the Heyrow, where the Bishop resided when
he was in Ely. De Lisle could have stayed in the cathedral-priory, but the Bishop no more wanted a prior watching his every
move than the Prior wanted a bishop loose in his domain. De Lisle’s renting of the house on the Heyrow was an arrangement
that suited everyone.
‘He may be in debt, but he is not impoverished,’ said Michael defensively. ‘He still owns a considerable amount of property.’
‘Well, none of it was in his house when the burglars struck,’ argued Robert. ‘They took a silver plate and a ring, but nothing
else. The rumour is that the gypsies, who are here to help with the harvest, are responsible.’
Bartholomew wanted to point out that the travellers would have to be either very rash or very stupid to start stealing the
moment they arrived in the town, but he decided to hold his tongue, since he would soon be a guestin Michael’s Mother House. Meanwhile, the monk thrust the reins of his horse at the bemused Cynric, then shoved past Robert
to the sacred grounds of the priory beyond.
As always, when he entered Ely Cathedral-Priory’s grounds, Bartholomew was astonished at the difference a wall could make.
On the city side, Ely was all colour and bustle. The houses were washed in pinks, greens and golds, and the gay clothes of
the merchants and their apprentices added brilliance to a scene already rich with life and vitality. People ran and shouted,
and horses and carts clattered. The streets possessed thick, soft carpets of manure and spilled straw, and the atmosphere
in the heat of midday was a pungent mixture of sewage, the sulphurous stench of the marshes and the sharper smell of unwashed
bodies and animal urine.
But the priory side of the wall was a world apart. Monks and lay-brothers were dressed in sober black or brown, and no one
hurried. Hands were tucked reverently inside wide sleeves, and heads were bowed as the monks spoke in low voices or were lost
in their meditations. Bartholomew knew the kitchens would be alive with noise and movement, as the cooks struggled to prepare
meals for more than a hundred hungry men, but in the carefully maintained grounds the scene was peaceful and contemplative.
In front of them, the cathedral rose in mighty splendour, with rank after rank of round-headed arches. Its smooth grey stones
formed a stark contrast to the riot of colour in the houses in the Heyrow, and although there was a faint scent of cooking
bread from the ovens, the predominant smell was that of newly mown grass.
‘I take it you do not like Brother Robert,’ said Bartholomew conversationally, as he followed Michael towards the sumptuous
house the Prior occupied. Michael had decided to see Bartholomew introduced to the Prior and settled in the library before
beginning what promised to be a lengthy interview with de Lisle.
Michael grimaced. ‘As almoner, Robert thinks thatdispensing a few scraps of bread to the poor – that would have been destined for the pigs anyway – makes him more important
than the rest of us. And he has taken an irrational dislike to the Bishop.’
‘And why would that be?’ asked Bartholomew, unsurprised. While he did not actively dislike de Lisle, he certainly neither
trusted nor admired him. The Bishop was too grand and haughty, and far too vindictive a man for Bartholomew’s taste.
‘Probably because Robert is devious and petty,’ replied Michael dismissively. ‘And because he is jealous of anyone better
than him – which is most people, as it happens.’
‘I see,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You do not think Robert’s dislike is anything to do with the fact that ten years ago Ely’s Prior
– Alan de Walsingham – was chosen by the monks here to be the Bishop of Ely? Alan was ousted in