rest until—’
‘He is not dead, Brother,’ interrupted Bartholomew. ‘He is in a stupor.’
A startled silence greeted his words.
‘But that is impossible!’ exclaimed Tobias, the first to find his voice. ‘He has no heartbeat.’
‘He does,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But you probably could not feel it because he is wearing a leather jerkin under his tabard.
There is a deep gash in it, though, which suggests someone meant him harm.’
Michael peered at the slash. ‘So, he
was
attacked?’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘I imagine the impact knocked him off his feet, and once he was down, the wine took over. He does tend
to drink a lot when he is in other Colleges.’
‘He certainly indulged himself this evening,’ averred Powys, after crossing himself, and breathing a brief prayer of thanksgiving.
‘Far more than usual. In fact, it appeared as though he was
trying
to drink himself into oblivion. I suppose I should have stopped him, but it goes against the grain to deprive a guest of
hospitality.’
‘So he is in a drunken slumber?’ asked Cynric, to be sure. ‘We have been upset for nothing?’
Michael pointed to the damage on Langelee’s jerkin. ‘It is not nothing, Cynric. Someone intended him to die, and would have
succeeded, were it not for his armour. However, just because the attempt failed does not mean it will be forgotten. I
will
have this villain under lock and key!’
‘Do you think it has anything to do with Langelee’s work for the Archbishop?’ asked Powys, glancing around uneasily. ‘He made
a lot of enemies then, if his stories are to be believed.’
‘I suspect those enemies know the difference between a blade catching on hard leather, and a blade sliding into flesh,’ said
Michael wryly. ‘So I doubt this has anything to do with his past.’
‘His purse is missing,’ said Bartholomew, pointing to where it had been cut from Langelee’s belt. ‘Perhaps it is just a case
of theft.’
‘Gosse is a thief,’ pounced Tobias. ‘He
must
be the culprit. The man I saw was small and wiry, and Gosse is small and wiry. Of
course
he is the villain! How can you even think otherwise?’
But Bartholomew was reluctant for conclusions to be drawn without proper evidence; attempted murder was a capital offence,
and it would not be the first time an innocent man had hanged just because he owned a dubious reputation. And Tobias’s testimony
was weak, to say the least.
‘But if Gosse is such an experienced thief, then why did he attack Langelee?’ he asked reasonably. ‘Our Master is a formidable
opponent, even when drunk, so why not wait for an easier victim?’
‘That is a good point – one I shall address when Gosse and I enjoy an informal chat tomorrow,’ said Michael. He shivered as
the wind blew a flurry of raindrops into his eyes. ‘Meanwhile, we had better carry poor Langelee home, before he drowns.’
Bartholomew had witnessed Langelee drunk on many occasions, but never to the point where he was quite so deeply insensible.
It was worrying, so he decided to monitor him through the night, sending his own students off to sleep in the hall. He wrapped
Langelee in blankets, and placed a bucket near his head. Then he sat at his desk and began to read the essays his students
had written – all exceptRisleye, who still claimed his had been stolen. When the night-watch announced it was three o’clock, Langelee woke with a
start.
‘Where am I?’ he demanded, looking around blearily. ‘Am I ill? I feel sick.’
‘An excess of wine can do that to a man,’ replied Bartholomew dryly, watching him reach for the pail. ‘Do you remember anything
of what happened?’
‘I recall Warden Powys giving me cheaper brews once he thought I was too inebriated to notice.’
‘He said you made a concerted effort to drink yourself stupid. Why? Has something upset you?’
‘I am Master of a College,’ replied Langelee flatly. ‘Of course something has upset
‘He is not dead, Brother,’ interrupted Bartholomew. ‘He is in a stupor.’
A startled silence greeted his words.
‘But that is impossible!’ exclaimed Tobias, the first to find his voice. ‘He has no heartbeat.’
‘He does,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But you probably could not feel it because he is wearing a leather jerkin under his tabard.
There is a deep gash in it, though, which suggests someone meant him harm.’
Michael peered at the slash. ‘So, he
was
attacked?’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘I imagine the impact knocked him off his feet, and once he was down, the wine took over. He does tend
to drink a lot when he is in other Colleges.’
‘He certainly indulged himself this evening,’ averred Powys, after crossing himself, and breathing a brief prayer of thanksgiving.
‘Far more than usual. In fact, it appeared as though he was
trying
to drink himself into oblivion. I suppose I should have stopped him, but it goes against the grain to deprive a guest of
hospitality.’
‘So he is in a drunken slumber?’ asked Cynric, to be sure. ‘We have been upset for nothing?’
Michael pointed to the damage on Langelee’s jerkin. ‘It is not nothing, Cynric. Someone intended him to die, and would have
succeeded, were it not for his armour. However, just because the attempt failed does not mean it will be forgotten. I
will
have this villain under lock and key!’
‘Do you think it has anything to do with Langelee’s work for the Archbishop?’ asked Powys, glancing around uneasily. ‘He made
a lot of enemies then, if his stories are to be believed.’
‘I suspect those enemies know the difference between a blade catching on hard leather, and a blade sliding into flesh,’ said
Michael wryly. ‘So I doubt this has anything to do with his past.’
‘His purse is missing,’ said Bartholomew, pointing to where it had been cut from Langelee’s belt. ‘Perhaps it is just a case
of theft.’
‘Gosse is a thief,’ pounced Tobias. ‘He
must
be the culprit. The man I saw was small and wiry, and Gosse is small and wiry. Of
course
he is the villain! How can you even think otherwise?’
But Bartholomew was reluctant for conclusions to be drawn without proper evidence; attempted murder was a capital offence,
and it would not be the first time an innocent man had hanged just because he owned a dubious reputation. And Tobias’s testimony
was weak, to say the least.
‘But if Gosse is such an experienced thief, then why did he attack Langelee?’ he asked reasonably. ‘Our Master is a formidable
opponent, even when drunk, so why not wait for an easier victim?’
‘That is a good point – one I shall address when Gosse and I enjoy an informal chat tomorrow,’ said Michael. He shivered as
the wind blew a flurry of raindrops into his eyes. ‘Meanwhile, we had better carry poor Langelee home, before he drowns.’
Bartholomew had witnessed Langelee drunk on many occasions, but never to the point where he was quite so deeply insensible.
It was worrying, so he decided to monitor him through the night, sending his own students off to sleep in the hall. He wrapped
Langelee in blankets, and placed a bucket near his head. Then he sat at his desk and began to read the essays his students
had written – all exceptRisleye, who still claimed his had been stolen. When the night-watch announced it was three o’clock, Langelee woke with a
start.
‘Where am I?’ he demanded, looking around blearily. ‘Am I ill? I feel sick.’
‘An excess of wine can do that to a man,’ replied Bartholomew dryly, watching him reach for the pail. ‘Do you remember anything
of what happened?’
‘I recall Warden Powys giving me cheaper brews once he thought I was too inebriated to notice.’
‘He said you made a concerted effort to drink yourself stupid. Why? Has something upset you?’
‘I am Master of a College,’ replied Langelee flatly. ‘Of course something has upset
Similar Books
