Free A Wicked Deed by Susanna Gregory Page B

less soundly in our beds tonight, because you released a convicted criminal to continue a life of villainy?’
    ‘For a man of God, you have a very cold soul,’ said Bartholomew, regarding the Cluniac with dislike. ‘Where is your compassion?’ ‘My compassion is reserved for those who deserve it,’ said Alcote haughtily. ‘And what I do with it is none of your business.’
    ‘And what I do with mine is none of yours,’ retorted Bartholomew.
    ‘That must be Walter Wauncy, Grundisburgh’s current parish priest,’ interrupted Michael, gesturing with his goblet to a tall, cadaverous-looking man wearing the habit of an Austin canon, who was coming from the direction of the church. ‘No wonder poor Isilia’s hopes were high for a handsome young friar. What with Sir Fang on the one hand, and a priest who looks three days dead on the other, she must be absolutely desperate to set her fair eyes on something pleasant. Even plain Unwin has to be an improvement on the menfolk here.’
    ‘I hope you are not encouraging her to lascivious thoughts, Brother,’ said Alcote primly. ‘It would be most improper.’
    Michael regarded him with hurt expression. ‘I am distressed that you should think such things of me, Roger. I was merely commenting on the variety within God’s creation.’
    They stood politely as the Austin approached. Bartholomew had seldom seen anyone look so unhealthy, and wondered whether Unwin might find himself vicar of Grundisburgh sooner than he anticipated. Wauncy was gaunt to the point where he appeared skeletal, and there were dark rings under his yellowish eyes. His head seemed uncannily skull-shaped, accentuated by the fact that he was almost completely bald except for a short fringe of hair at the back and sides. Out from this surged a pair of enormous ears that turned a blood-red colour when the sun was behind them.
    ‘I am delighted to meet you,’ said the priest in a graveyard whisper to the scholars. ‘You must forgive my lateness in greeting you. I have been saying masses for the dead all day.’
    ‘What is the going rate for masses in these parts?’ asked Alcote conversationally. ‘In Cambridge we can only charge a penny, because it is a place with more than its share of priests, but I have heard that people pay handsomely where clerics are less numerous.’
‘I charge a fourpence,’ said Wauncy superiorly. ‘Otherwise I would have all the village’s poor after me to pray for their dead, and I can barely manage the demand imposed by the wealthy.’
    Alcote was impressed. ‘I can see Unwin will make a tidy fortune here, and will have plenty to spare for his old College.’
    ‘Have you travelled far today?’ asked Wauncy.
    ‘From Otley,’ said Alcote. He shuddered. ‘A shabby place that smells of pigs, quite unlike this charming village, Master Wauncy.’
    ‘Then you must have lain in bed a long time this morning,’ said Wauncy, a note of censure in his deep voice. ‘Otley is no great distance from Grundisburgh, yet I hear you have only just arrived.’
    ‘We stopped at the crossroads to pray for the soul of the poor man who was hanged there today,’ said Alcote, before anyone could stop him.
    Bartholomew exchanged a weary glance with Michael. Not only was Alcote’s claim a brazen lie but it was imprudent in the extreme to mention the hanged man when they might yet be in trouble for cutting him down.
    Wauncy looked blank. ‘What hanged man?’
    ‘The criminal who was hanged at the crossroads today,’ pressed Alcote. ‘On the gibbet.’
    ‘The gibbet at Bond’s Corner?’ asked Wauncy, looking from Alcote to Michael in confusion. ‘But no one has been hanged there for weeks.’
    A wave of rough laughter from a group of men sitting under a willow tree gusted towards them, as a pig made off with a loaf of bread belonging to a man who was determined to have it back. A fierce tussle ensued, after which the pig emerged victorious with the larger piece. Bartholomew,