The Killer of Pilgrims Read Online Free PDF Page B

the physician doubted he would ever usehis formidable intellect to its full potential. Indeed, he suspected it was only a matter of time before Welfry played some
     prank on the exchequer, simply because he was bored. The King’s clerks were unlikely to appreciate it, and the University
     would suffer as a consequence.
    ‘I have been told I must be solemn at all times,’ said Welfry glumly. Then a grin stole across his face. ‘But maybe I should
     regard it as a challenge – I am
sure
I can make the exchequer laugh. Incidentally, how is the King’s Hall student who was gored by the bull? That was a nasty
     trick.’
    ‘It was,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘But he is recovering. I have been told it was the work of Chestre Hostel. What do you think?’
    Welfry grimaced. ‘There is insufficient evidence to say, although they did happen to be walking past when the crate was opened,
     which was suspicious. However, I cannot believe they intended harm. Jokes are never funny if someone is hurt when they are
     implemented.’
    Bartholomew watched him walk away, wishing everyone shared Welfry’s benign attitude.
    The Carmelites, popularly known as the White Friars, had done well for themselves since their priory had been established
     in Cambridge the previous century. It had been founded by St Simon Stock, an early Prior-General, and from humble beginnings
     it had expanded until they owned a spacious site and a number of elegant buildings.
    Bartholomew was admitted to their compound by a lay-brother, and escorted to the pretty cottage in which Prior Etone lived.
     Etone was a grim-faced man, said to spend more time with his account books than at his prayers, although Bartholomew had always
     found him pleasant enough. He was suffering from chilblains, a common complaint in winter, when footwear never dried and feetwere rarely warm. While Bartholomew applied a poultice to the sore heels, Etone regaled him with a detailed description of
     the new shrine he intended to build.
    ‘The number of pilgrims warrants the expenditure,’ he explained. ‘Four more arrived just this morning and they look wealthy.
     I am sure they will leave us a nice benefaction when they go.’
    Bartholomew glanced up at him. ‘Why do pilgrims come? What shrine do they visit?’
    Etone regarded him askance. ‘How can you ask such questions? I thought you were local!’
    ‘I am, but—’
    ‘It is because of what happened to St Simon Stock when he was here,’ interrupted Etone indignantly. ‘He had a vision: our
     Lady of Mount Carmel appeared to him, and presented him with the scapular all Carmelites now wear.’
    A scapular was two pieces of cloth joined together and worn over the shoulders. It formed a distinctive part of the White
     Friars’ uniform.
    ‘I have heard the tale,’ said Bartholomew defensively. ‘But I thought it was a myth – that no one could prove Simon Stock
     even had a dream, let alone when he was in Cambridge.’
    ‘It is most assuredly true!’ cried Etone. ‘And the increasing pilgrim trade proves it. Our Lady handed St Simon Stock his
     scapular here, in our very own priory, and I intend to exploit … I mean
develop
the place for the benefit of all mankind.’
    ‘I see,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But just because pilgrims come does not mean it is a genuine—’
    ‘It
is
genuine!’ insisted Etone. He stood carefully, and slipped his feet into soft shoes with the backs cut away. ‘Come with me,
     and I shall show you where it happened. You will feel its sanctity. And if you do not, it means youare Satan’s spawn and God has not deigned to touch you.’
    Bartholomew was not very susceptible to atmospheres, being a practical man of science, and did not want to be denounced as
     the Devil’s offspring by an influential friar.
    ‘Another time, Father,’ he mumbled hastily. ‘I still have several patients who need—’
    ‘Even diligent physicians should never be too busy for God,’ declared Etone piously.