Thomas blinked. He was lying on his side. His head hurt, and there was something warm trickling down his neck. How long had he been unconscious?
“I said I would bring it to you.” The voice was Sayer’s.
Thomas shut his eyes and held his breath.
“Stupid pup,” a man replied, his hoarse voice barely above a whisper.
Feeling a wave of nausea, Thomas willed himself not to vomit.
“You did not recognize a trap when you saw it.” The man kicked at Thomas.
The monk bit his lip but did not groan.
“You are fortunate that foolish women run this place and sent but one monk to stop you.”
“Did you kill him?” Sayer asked.
“Bring your light.”
As the small flame flickered with weak warmth over his face, Thomas willed himself to look like a man who had just died. He should have seen enough of them, he thought, to feign the expression well. If he failed, he would no longer have to pretend.
“He’s bled enough to be a dead man,” Sayer said, touching the monk’s neck gently with his fingers. The light moved quickly away.
Thomas prayed God would take mercy on his soul.
“I will make sure of it.”
“You need not bother. I felt his neck. There is no life in him.” Sayer’s voice was angry.
“Fancied him, did we?” the man scoffed.
Sayer did not reply, but Thomas heard a noise as if something was being shaken.
“Stop that, whelp! Have you no idea what a valuable work the Psalter is? You’ll damage it!”
“Then take the thing if you do not want harm to come to it.”
The light went out, and Thomas heard a grunt. As much as he longed to rise, he knew he might faint from his injury. There was nothing he could do but lie in his own blood.
Sayer laughed. “A child could have done more harm with that blow. I think I shall keep this for myself.”
“Mock if you will, but the Psalter is worthless without me.”
Thomas felt himself drift toward unconsciousness. He willed himself back.
“I might have another buyer.”
“Your lies are as wanting as your manhood.”
“You are not the only one in Amesbury who needs money and knows the worth of this piece of painted sheep skin.”
The man hissed. “You could not have found another.”
“Can you afford to doubt me? Or consider this: I might choose to save my soul, rather than take money, and confess who has led me to this crime.”
“You would gain nothing by trying to expose me. Who would believe you, blasphemous rogue that you are?”
“Dare you chance that? You have now killed three men, including my own father.”
“A robber? Two womanish monks? Killing your father was but long-delayed justice for ancient sins. As for the monks, I was kind, sending them to Heaven sooner than either had dared hope.”
“And Eda? Even you dare not claim she killed herself. You drowned her, did you not? She had overheard us talking about plans to steal…”
“I’ll kill you!” the man roared.
Sayer laughed.
“Give me the manuscript, cokenay.”
“Only if you can catch me.”
The sound of running feet echoed in the floor under Thomas’ ear. He heard the door crash against the wall.
Slowly he opened one eye. Both men must be gone, he decided, but hesitated a moment to make sure. Weak and dizzy, he began struggling to his knees.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder.
“It seems you are still alive, Brother,” a man said.