Free The Devil's Disciples by Susanna Gregory Page A

had built a laboratory in the infirmary chapel, and spent far more time there than ministering to his elderly charges.
     Perhaps, Bartholomew thought uncharitably, his lack of dedication was why two of them had died of flux.
    ‘There was nothing
anyone
could do,’ Podiolo said, emerging suddenly from the gloom of the nave and making them all jump. His curious amber eyes gleamed
     in the semi-darkness.
    Bartholomew ducked around him and hurried after Fencotes, but the abrupt plunge from bright sunlight had rendered him blind,
     and he could not see where he was going. He could not even see Fencotes, although he could hear his footsteps a short distance
     ahead. He slowed, recalling that the flagstones in that particular chapel were treacherously uneven. Unfortunately, Podiolo
     was too close behind him, and failed to adjust his speed. He collided with the physician then stumbled into one of the plump,
     balding canons, who gave a shriek as he lost his balance and fell. Something clattered to the floor with him, and there was
     a collective gasp of horror.
    ‘The stoup!’ cried Fencotes, dropping to his knees with his hands clasped in front of him. ‘You have spilled the holy water!’
    The other canons began to babble their horror, and Podiolo yelled something about a bad omen. Bartholomew glanced at the chancel,
     itching to run to Carton’s side but loath to do so while his sunlight-dazzled eyes could not see where the holy water had
     splattered.
    ‘No one move,’ ordered Norton, his commanding voice stilling the clamour of alarm. ‘Use your hood to mop it up, Fencotes.
     Then we shall leave it on the altar until it dries. No harm is done – at least, as long as no one treads in it.’
    With shaking hands, Fencotes dabbed at the mess, while Bartholomew started to ease around him, aiming for the chancel. It
     would not be the first time death had been misdiagnosed – he had no faith in Podiolo’s dubious skills – and he might yet save
     Carton’s life. He stopped abruptly when he became aware that the canons were regarding him with rather naked hostility. It
     was unsettling, and for the first time in weeks, he shivered.
    ‘Prior Norton instructed you to wait,’ said Podiolo coldly. ‘There is nothing you can do for your friend. He is quite dead.
     I may not be the best infirmarian, but I know a corpse when I see one.’
    ‘Please,’ said Bartholomew quietly. ‘Carton is my colleague, and I may be able to—’
    ‘He is also a devout Franciscan, who will not appreciate you defiling holy water to reach him,’ said Fencotes firmly. ‘Be
     still, Doctor. I am going as fast as I can.’
    ‘And I shall tell you what happened, to occupy your mind,’ said Norton. ‘Carton came to discuss the house your College is
     going to sell – Margery Sewale’s place. A number of people are interested in purchasing it, and he came to find out how much
     we are willing to pay. He was going to tell us what others have offered, too, so we can decide whether we want to put in a
     higher bid. It was good of Langelee to send him.’
    ‘Yes and no,’ said Podiolo. ‘It is in Michaelhouse’s interests to secure the best price, and Carton was justfacilitating that process. Langelee did not send him out of the goodness of his heart.’
    ‘I have no love of earthly wealth,’ said Fencotes, not looking up from his duties on the floor. ‘But do not condemn Carton
     and Langelee for trying their best for Michaelhouse. It is not as if they are going to keep the money for themselves.’
    ‘True,’ acknowledged Norton. He opened his eyes further than Bartholomew would have believed possible. ‘Anyway, I invited
     Carton to talk here, in the chapel, because it is the coolest place in the priory, and thus the most comfortable. Given the
     heat, I thought he might appreciate some refreshment, too, so I left him alone for a few moments while I went to fetch a jug
     of wine.’
    ‘A few moments?’ asked