Free Mystery in the Minster by Susanna Gregory

rubble of the collapsed rood.
    ‘How do you know they were not here before?’ asked Radeford sceptically.
    ‘With all these pigeons?’ asked Bartholomew.
    ‘True,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘I doubt the food will be here tomorrow. So what can we conclude from it? That we can eliminate Dalfeld, because he would not have had time to eat anything before shooting at Matt? Remember that he left the abbey at the same time as us.’
    ‘Yes, but we walked slowly and he hurried,’ countered Langelee. ‘I think he would have had ample time to come in, grab a pre-hidden bow and satisfy his hunger. After all, he appeared very quickly to watch Bartholomew prodding about in poor William’s guts.’
    ‘So did the vicars,’ said Michael. ‘And I imagine a large man like Cave will not like going long without feeding. Hemay have fortified himself before loosing a quarrel at a Michaelhouse man.’
    ‘But the vicars have a valid reason for being in the minster precinct,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘They work here.
Ergo
, I do not think we can draw any inferences from their speedy arrival at the scene of the crime.’
    Langelee frowned. ‘Then perhaps we should assess who did
not
come to gawp –
I
never loitered after I had shot someone.’
    His colleagues regarded him uneasily, and it occurred to Bartholomew that not everyone might be pleased to see Langelee back. Perhaps the arrow
had
been intended for one of his Fellows, as a punishment for his violent past, and had nothing to do with Michaelhouse and Huntington.
    ‘I would not linger here, if I were you,’ came a voice from the door that made even Langelee start. ‘There are those who say it is cursed.’
    Bartholomew did not need to look at his book-bearer to know that amulets were being grasped and prayers muttered. Cynric took curses seriously. Meanwhile, Radeford had leapt so violently that he had stumbled, and Michael’s hand shook as he steadied him. Langelee was the first to regain his composure.
    ‘Sub-Chanter Ellis,’ he said, as the wet-lipped vicar waddled towards them. ‘What are you doing here? You gave us a fright.’
    ‘I came to advise you to leave,’ replied Ellis. ‘St Mary ad Valvas is an unsafe place to venture into on three counts: it is haunted, it contains hastily buried corpses, and its roof is on the verge of collapse. It would be a pity to lose you before we have had the satisfaction of defeating you over Huntington.’
    ‘What “hastily buried corpses”?’ asked Bartholomew, seeing Michael’s eyes harden and Langelee gird himself up for a tart reply. ‘Do you mean these animals?’
    Ellis’s lips were almost purple in the dim light. ‘No, I refer to the congregation who died of the plague. Archbishop Zouche refused to inter them in the cemetery, because he said it was too near the minster well. So they were laid in the chancel, and covered in rubble instead.’
    Bartholomew peered to where he pointed, and saw that the mound he assumed had been caused by a collapse was more regularly shaped than it would have been from a random fall. It was also larger than he had appreciated: higher than he was tall, it stretched almost the entire width of the building.
    ‘How many?’ he asked disapprovingly. The masonry appeared to have been carefully packed, but rats would have found a way in to feast, and so would flies.
    ‘Fifteen or twenty.’ Ellis wrinkled his nose. ‘This place has always reeked, but it has been much worse recently. It must be the rain, along with the fact that some folk have been using it as a convenient repository for unwanted livestock.’
    ‘The plague victims should have been put somewhere more appropriate,’ said Bartholomew, unwilling to let the matter drop. ‘It was not healthy to leave them here.’
    Ellis smiled patronisingly. ‘Do not worry about them standing up to wander about at night. Most of the slabs are extremely heavy, and the dead will never break free.’
    ‘That is not my concern,’ said