The Sanctuary Murders: The Twenty Fourth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew Book 24)

by Susanna Gregory

  ‘My clerks cross-checked my notes about who was with whom when,’ said Tulyet. ‘And it transpires that every member of staff has at least two others to vouch for him except Tangmer, his wife and Eudo. Eudo and Tangmer say they were together, but their accounts are contradictory.’

  ‘So they lied,’ mused Michael. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Very. Amphelisa was alone in her workshop, and I am inclined to believe her because of the way she cares for Hélène – you do not try to kill a child, then adopt her as your own. Moreover, she is the one who agreed to house the peregrini in the first place, very much against her husband’s better judgement.’

  ‘Then there is Magistra Katherine,’ Bartholomew went on. ‘She was reading behind the chapel, so she has no alibi either.’

  ‘I cannot see the Bishop’s sister dispatching a family of strangers,’ said Michael.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Her brother sanctions murder.’

  ‘I hardly think it is something that runs in a family,’ retorted Michael stiffly. ‘A more likely suspect is that spiteful Sister Alice, who went a-visiting at the salient time.’

  ‘Then we have an entire town that hates the French,’ added Tulyet. ‘I know no one is supposed to know that the Spital is full of them, but these secrets have a way of leaking out. What did the ditcher and the miller tell you, Brother? Could either of them be the killer?’

  ‘No,’ said Michael with conviction. ‘Neither is clever enough to have devised such an audacious plan, and nor would they kill children with poisoned milk. Furthermore, they are not observant, and would never have identified the “lunatics” as French.’

  ‘Sir Leger and Sir Norbert might have done, though,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘And Isnard and Sergeant Orwel did see them talking to the Girards.’

  Tulyet grimaced. ‘My new knights hate the French, and if the Girards gave themselves away . . . But let us not forget that de Wetherset and Heltisle hired the Girards as proxies.’

  ‘I wonder if Theophilis was there when that happened,’ said Bartholomew reflectively, ‘perhaps spying on them for you, Brother.’

  ‘If Theophilis had the slightest inkling that Frenchmen were posing as lunatics, he would have told me,’ said Michael firmly. ‘However, Aynton would not – he cannot be trusted at all.’ He scowled when Bartholomew began to object. ‘If you insist on including Theophilis, then I insist on including Aynton.’

  Bartholomew raised his hands in surrender. ‘Although neither of us really thinks de Wetherset and Heltisle are the kind of men to poison children.’

  ‘I would not put it past them,’ countered Tulyet. ‘It would not be the first time seemingly respectable scholars resorted to abhorrent tactics to get their own way.’

  ‘So where does that leave our list?’ asked Michael. ‘Summarise it for me.’

  ‘The peregrini, specifically Julien and the Jacques,’ began Tulyet. ‘Amphelisa, Tangmer and Eudo from the Spital; Magistra Katherine and Sister Alice from the Benedictine Order; Leger and Norbert from the castle; and de Wetherset, Heltisle, Aynton and Theophilis from the University.’

  ‘And a lot of dim-witted townsfolk and students who think we are about to be invaded by the Dauphin,’ added Michael. ‘Although we all have reservations about Amphelisa being the culprit, while I sincerely doubt de Wetherset and Theophilis are involved, and Matt thinks Aynton is as pure as driven snow.’

  ‘So how do we set about finding the culprit?’ asked Bartholomew.

  ‘You tackle the scholars and the nuns,’ replied Tulyet, ‘while I concentrate on the townsfolk. We shall share the suspects at the Spital.’

  ‘And your knights?’ asked Michael. ‘Will you take them, too?’

  ‘No – we shall do that together.’ Tulyet winced. ‘Their military service has turned them into French-hating fanatics. They also know how to break into buildings and set fires. It is entirely possible that one of them – Leger, most likely – guessed what the Spital is hiding.’

  Michael stood abruptly. ‘Come with us to look at the knife that killed Paris, Dick. You know weapons better than we do.’

  On their way out of the Brazen George, a message arrived for Michael. It was from Heltisle, and ordered him to report to St Mary the Great immediately. The monk read it once, then again to be sure. When he had finished, he screwed it into a ball and flung it on the ground.

  ‘How dare he summon me!’ he fumed. ‘I have enough to do, without being sent hither and thither at the whim of a man whose appointment I did not sanction.’

  ‘You are on your way there anyway,’ said Tulyet pragmatically. ‘And he might have something important to tell you. If not, it can be your pretext for ignoring him next time.’

  ‘There will not be a next time! And I am glad you two will be with me – it means that if I feel compelled to punch him, one can drag me off while the other sets his broken nose.’

  Tulyet backed away. ‘I rather think this is a confrontation that an outsider should not witness. Go and do your punching and meet me by the Great Bridge in an hour. Bring the knife that killed Paris. In the interim, I will start questioning townsfolk about the fire.’

  He hurried away, and Bartholomew and Michael stepped on to the high street just as Aynton was passing. The Vice-Chancellor beamed amiably and fell into step beside them, so Michael used the opportunity for an impromptu interrogation.

  ‘Where were you when the Spital fire started?’ he asked, cutting into the Commissary’s rambling account of a brawl he had witnessed the previous night.

  Aynton blinked his surprise. ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘Because I should like to know,’ replied Michael coolly.

  Aynton gave a little laugh. ‘I am afraid I cannot tell you precisely, because I do not know precisely when the fire began. However, I was probably in St Mary the Great with de Wetherset and Heltisle. Oh, and Theophilis, who was spying on us, as is his wont. Can you not find him anything more respectable to do, Brother?’

  ‘You were there all morning?’ asked Michael, irked to learn that his Junior Proctor was compromised, although Bartholomew wondered if Theophilis had done it on purpose, to let the triumvirate know whose side he was really on.

  Aynton continued to grin amiably. ‘Yes, other than the time I went out. I shall pontificate on the Chicken Debate later this month, so I take every opportunity to practise. I go to the Barnwell Fields, where I can speak as loudly as I like without disturbing anyone.’

  Michael stifled a sigh of exasperation. ‘So you were alone for part of the time?’

  Aynton raised his eyebrows. ‘I was, although I hope you do not suspect me of the crime.’ He chortled at the notion. ‘Perhaps Clippesby will ask the sheep to give me an alibi. Would that suffice?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Michael coldly. ‘Because it transpires that you knew two of the victims – they were the proxies hired by de Wetherset and Heltisle.’

  ‘I did not know them,’ argued Aynton pedantically. ‘I met them twice. All I can tell you is that they had shifty eyes and looked around constantly, as if they feared an attack. So, now I have proved that my acquaintance with them was superficial, you can cross my name off your list of suspects. Eh?’

  He gave a cheery wave and sailed away. Michael watched him go with narrowed eyes.

  ‘If that was not the response of a guilty man, I do not know what is. How dare he claim he was in a field talking to sheep and expect me to believe it!’

  ‘Perhaps it was the truth,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He has always been eccentric.’

  They entered St Mary the Great, and headed for Michael’s sumptuous office. Theophilis was in it, riffling through the documents on the desk.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded Bartholomew, indignant on Michael’s behalf.

  Theophilis regarded him with an expression that was difficult to read. ‘Looking for next week’s theology lecture schedule,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Father William assures me that he is on it. I hope he is not, because I refuse to listen to h
im again.’

  Michael sighed. ‘He has used this tactic to win a slot before, and it occasionally works. Tell him the programme is full. Or better yet, suggest he delivers his tirade to his fellow Franciscans. They are less likely to lynch him, and it will still satisfy his desire to be heard.’

  Theophilis inclined his head and slithered away to do the monk’s bidding.

  Bartholomew picked up the document on the top of the pile. ‘Here is the schedule. I wonder why he felt the need to rummage when what he wanted was in plain sight.’

  ‘He could not see the wood for the trees, I suppose,’ shrugged Michael. ‘But do not worry about him prying. I keep nothing sensitive here – not as long as the likes of Aynton and Heltisle are at large. Now where did I put that dagger? Hah! Here it is.’

  The weapon was a handsome thing, one its owner would surely be sorry to lose. It was also distinctive, with a jewelled handle of an unusual shape and a blade of tempered steel.

  ‘It is not the same as the one that killed the Girards,’ said Bartholomew, turning it over in his hands. ‘The blade is longer and thinner. However, the design is almost identical, and it would not surprise me to learn that they came from the same place.’

  ‘You mean the same forge?’

  ‘No, I mean the same geographical region. Have you seen Cynric’s knives? They look alike, because they were all made in Wales. But I am no expert – Dick will tell you more.’

  Michael put the weapon in his scrip. ‘We shall do it as soon as I find out why Heltisle feels the need to flex muscles he does not have. And while we are there, we shall ask him where he was when his proxy was stabbed and incinerated.’

  De Wetherset was in his poky office, assessing applications from prospective students. Bartholomew was impressed to note that each was given meticulous attention before a decision was made – Suttone had delegated the entire process to his clerks, while the Chancellor before that had only read the first line. His iron-grey hair was perfectly groomed, and he exuded authority and efficiency.

  Heltisle was behind him, leaning over his shoulder to whisper. His clothes would not have looked out of place at Court – he had abandoned his College livery in favour of a purple mantle that any baron would have envied, while his hat was trimmed with fur. He oozed a sense of wealth and entitlement – just the attitude that townsfolk found so aggravating.

  His shifty blush when Michael and Bartholomew walked in made it clear that he had been talking about them. As he straightened, a strand of his hair snagged on the pilgrim badge in de Wetherset’s hat. De Wetherset sighed and fidgeted impatiently while Heltisle struggled to free himself, and the process was complicated further still when the Chancellor jerked away suddenly and caught his hand on one of his deputy’s metal pens. The resulting cut was insignificant, but de Wetherset made a terrible fuss, obliging Bartholomew to provide a salve.

  ‘Why did you want me, Vice-Chancellor?’ asked Michael, when the kerfuffle was finally over. ‘Please state your case quickly. I am a busy man.’

  Heltisle eyed him coldly. ‘Why are you still involved in the Spital affair?’

  ‘The Spital murders. And of course I am still involved. Why would I not be?’

  ‘Because it is not University property and the victims were not scholars,’ replied Heltisle. ‘Ergo, it is not our concern. Moreover, the place is said to be under Lucifer’s personal control, and we cannot be associated with that sort of thing.’

  ‘Superstitious nonsense,’ declared Michael. ‘And the murders are my concern, because they were almost certainly committed by the same rogue who killed Paris, who was a scholar. Moreover, you hired two of the victims to train at the butts on your behalf. Surely you want to know who deprived you of your proxies?’

  ‘Not really,’ sighed de Wetherset. ‘It will not bring them back, poor souls. Did you arrange for our money to be given to the orphaned child, by the way? You must let us know if we can do anything else to help her.’

  ‘There is, as a matter of fact,’ said Michael. ‘You can answer a question: where were you both on Wednesday morning?’

  De Wetherset’s eyes widened with shock. ‘Surely you cannot think we had anything to do with these deaths?’

  ‘He does,’ growled Heltisle, tight-lipped with anger. ‘And it is a gross slur on our character. You should dismiss him at once for his—’

  ‘No, Heltisle,’ interrupted de Wetherset, raising a hand to stop him. ‘Michael is right – we had a connection to the victims, so of course we must account for our whereabouts.’ He turned back to Michael. ‘We were in here, working.’

  ‘Just the two of you?’ asked Bartholomew, enjoying the way that Heltisle bristled at the indignity of being interrogated like a criminal.

  ‘Aynton was here for a while,’ said de Wetherset. ‘But then he went out, probably to practise a lecture he intends to give.’

  ‘Can anyone confirm it?’

  ‘No,’ replied Heltisle, barely able to speak through his clenched teeth. ‘The door was closed, because we were engaged in confidential University business, and it was necessary to thwart eavesdroppers.’

  The look he gave Michael suggested that Theophilis’s usefulness as a spy was well and truly over.

  ‘But it does not matter, because Heltisle and I have alibis in each other,’ said de Wetherset. ‘That is what alibis are, is it not – one person proving that another is entirely innocent?’

  Michael nodded. ‘Although we prefer independent witnesses, rather than friends who owe each other their loyalty. But if that is all you have, we shall have to make the best of it.’

  ‘You were ensconced in here together all morning?’ pressed Bartholomew, suspicious of Heltisle’s aggressively defensive answers.

  ‘Yes,’ said Heltisle shortly.

  ‘No,’ said de Wetherset at the same time. He gave his Vice-Chancellor an exasperated glance. ‘You know we were not – you went out to buy parchment and you were gone for quite a while.’

  ‘Because there was a long queue in the shop,’ said Heltisle, struggling to mask his annoyance at the revelation. ‘Then I had an errand to run for my College.’

  ‘But I stayed here, and I am sure some clerk or other will confirm it,’ said de Wetherset rather carelessly. ‘Just ask around.’

  ‘Your theory is wrong anyway, Brother,’ said Heltisle, launching an attack to mask his discomfiture. ‘Paris and the others were not dispatched by the same hand. How could they be when there is no connection between them? No wonder you have failed to catch the killer – you cannot see the obvious.’

  ‘I am afraid I agree, Brother,’ said de Wetherset apologetically. ‘Your premise is indeed flawed.’ Then he grimaced. ‘We were too lenient with Paris. Plagiarism is a terrible crime, and we should have made an example of him, to prevent others from following suit.’

  ‘Quite right,’ nodded Heltisle. ‘The next culprit should be hanged.’

  ‘Unfortunately, plagiarism is not a capital offence,’ said de Wetherset ruefully. ‘Much as we might wish it were otherwise. There is nothing more vile than stealing an idea and passing it off as one’s own.’

  ‘But as it happens, you no longer need concern yourself with Paris,’ Heltisle went on, smugness restored. ‘As you have failed to catch his killer, Aynton will investigate instead.’

  ‘Impossible!’ snapped Michael. ‘Only proctors have the authority to—’

  ‘We have amended the statues to say that he can,’ interrupted Heltisle, positively overflowing with spiteful glee. ‘Aynton will succeed where you have let us down.’

  ‘I am sorry, Brother,’ said de Wetherset; he sounded sincere. ‘But I feel the case requires fresh eyes. The unsolved murder of a scholar is causing friction with the town, and we need answers before it becomes even more problematic. I hope you understand.’

  ‘Aynton mentioned nothing of this when we met him just now,’ said Michael stiffly.

  ‘Perhaps it slipped his mind,’ said de Wetherset charitably, although Barth
olomew suspected that the Commissary’s courage had failed him and he had opted to let someone else break the news. ‘But look on the bright side: it will leave you more time for your peacekeeping duties.’

  ‘I have ideas about how to improve your performance there, too,’ said Heltisle, before Michael could respond. ‘For a start, you can order Tulyet to impose a curfew on all townsfolk. If they are indoors, our scholars can wander about where they please without fear of assault, and the town will be a much nicer place.’

  ‘I hardly think—’ began Bartholomew, shocked.

  Heltisle cut across him. ‘However, this curfew is the only matter on which you may converse with him. For all other business, you must refer him to us. The University has made far too many concessions over the last decade, and it is time to seize back the rights that you have allowed him to leech away.’

  ‘Then thank you very much,’ said Michael with a sudden, radiant smile. ‘It will be a great relief to lose that particular burden. You are most kind.’

  ‘Am I?’ said Heltisle, smugness slipping. ‘I thought you would object.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ replied Michael airily. ‘I am delighted. After all, why should I be blamed when the town takes umbrage at all these harsh new policies, and takes revenge by placing the instigators’ severed heads on a pike?’

  Heltisle paled. ‘Severed heads?’

  ‘I have been walking a tightrope with the town for years,’ said Michael, continuing to beam. ‘So I am most grateful to pass the responsibility to someone else.’

  Heltisle was so angry that Bartholomew edged towards the door, afraid the Vice-Chancellor might fly at them with one of his sharp metal pens. De Wetherset swallowed hard, and glared accusingly at his Vice-Chancellor.

  ‘Perhaps this is not the best time to—’

  Michael went on happily. ‘But now the onus of dealing with the town lies with you, it should be you who informs the Sheriff about the curfew you want. Good luck with that! However, you might want to exempt bakers, or our scholars will have no bread to break their fast. And brewers who need to tend our ale. And dairymaids who—’