‘Good morning, Commissary,’ said Michael pleasantly. ‘How may we help you?’
‘I am here to help you, Brother,’ said Aynton, beaming. ‘With a report. De Wetherset, Heltisle and I questioned witnesses while you lay around in bed this morning. Not that there is anything wrong with sleeping, of course. I am sure you needed the rest.’
‘I did,’ said Michael stiffly. ‘I was up all night.’
‘So were we,’ said Aynton. ‘Working for the University’s greater good. We discussed the riot ad nauseum, although we reached no firm conclusions.’
‘I imagine not,’ said Michael haughtily. ‘There are none to reach with the information currently available. If there were, I would have drawn them myself and acted on them.’
‘Of course you would,’ said Aynton, so condescendingly that Bartholomew glanced uneasily at Michael, knowing that umbrage would be taken. ‘I would never suggest otherwise.’
‘Good,’ said Michael, controlling himself with difficulty. ‘So make your report. What did these witnesses tell you?’
‘Well, we started by asking all those scholars who attended the butts if they knew who gave the order to shoot. They did – it was a townsman.’
‘Any particular one?’
‘They did not see, as he skulked behind his cronies. However, we know his motive – to avenge that old rogue Wyse by taking the lives of innocent scholars. Every University man we interviewed said the same thing, so it must be true.’
Michael gave a tight smile. ‘But every townsman who was there claims the culprit is a scholar. So who should we believe, when everyone is convinced of his own rectitude?’
‘Why, scholars, of course,’ replied Aynton, astonished he should ask. ‘Townsmen are given to lying. Besides, the command came from their side of the butts. I heard it myself.’
‘So did I,’ put in Theophilis. ‘I agree with Aynton – a townsman is responsible. But we will catch him, Brother. You and me together.’
‘Let us hope so,’ said Michael. ‘Is there anything else, Commissary, or are you ready to resume your enquiries into the murders of Paris and the others? Unless you have solved the mystery already, of course?’
Aynton chuckled. ‘Not yet, Brother, not yet. But before I set off, I must pass you a message from the Chancellor: he would like to see you in his office at your earliest convenience. He asks if Bartholomew would attend, too, as he has more griping in the guts.’
‘Probably from listening to you and Heltisle spout nonsense all night,’ muttered William, and for once, Bartholomew thought the friar might be right.
Michael did not go to St Mary the Great immediately, aiming to make the point that the Senior Proctor could not be summoned like a minion. And as de Wetherset’s medical complaint was not urgent, Bartholomew went to replenish his medical bag first.
Eventually, both were ready and they walked across the yard towards the gate. Before they could open it, Tulyet arrived with Sir Leger and Sergeant Orwel. Orwel was a bristling bundle of hostility, and looked around the College with calculated disdain. Leger was pale, and seethed with anger and grief for Norbert.
‘I did all I could for him,’ Bartholomew said gently, ‘but his wound was too severe.’
‘I know,’ replied Leger, softening a little. ‘The Spital woman – Amphelisa – told me.’
‘He confessed things before he slipped into his final sleep,’ said Bartholomew. ‘About being cornered in St Radegund’s on Monday, probably by Sister Alice, who urged him to kill the French spies hiding in the Spital.’
There was a moment when he thought Leger would deny it, but then the knight inclined his head. ‘It surprised us – we are not used to nuns encouraging slaughter.’
‘I hope it was not you two who started the rumour about the Spital,’ said Tulyet coolly. ‘The one that is all over the town this morning.’
Leger regarded him levelly. ‘The nun confided in Norbert on Monday, but, as you have just remarked, the tale was not “all over the town” until today. If we were responsible, it would have been common knowledge on Tuesday or Wednesday, would it not?’
Bartholomew felt like reporting what Norbert had told him about the delay, but then decided against challenging a knight who was loaded with weapons. Besides, the spreaders of the tale were far less important than its originator.
‘Why did you not mention this at once?’ demanded Tulyet crossly. ‘Surely, you must see it has a bearing on the murders we have been struggling to solve?’
Leger shrugged. ‘We did not believe it could be true, so we dismissed it as malicious nonsense. Moreover, Norbert did not see this nun’s face, and she certainly did not tell him her name. If it was Sister Alice, this is the first I know about it.’
‘I will go to St Radegund’s this morning,’ determined Michael. ‘If she hates the French enough to want them lynched by an ignorant mob, then she might well have stabbed Paris, Bonet, the Girards and now Bruges. After all, she did visit the Spital on the day of the fire.’
Bartholomew was suddenly aware that Orwel was listening rather gleefully, as if he was pleased by the route their suspicions had taken.
‘Where were you when the order was given to shoot last night?’ Bartholomew asked him sharply.
Leger spoke before the sergeant could reply for himself. ‘He was with me – at the front of the crowd, and in the plain sight and hearing of many witnesses. But I am sure you were not about to accuse him of being the culprit, just as I am sure you would not accuse me. Why would you? You have no evidence to suggest that either of us was responsible.’
Bartholomew was not sure what to think about Orwel, although he knew Leger was innocent, as he himself had seen the knight arguing with scholars at the salient time. He let the matter drop.
‘Unfortunately, the rumour is not just that the Spital sheltered French spies,’ said Tulyet to Michael. ‘It is also that the University knew about it but chose to look the other way.’
‘I did look the other way,’ said Michael. ‘Out of compassion and decency. So did you.’
‘Yes, but our Sheriff is not a traitor,’ said Orwel smugly, as if the same could not be said of the Senior Proctor. ‘How can he be? He is kin to the King.’
‘I am?’ asked Tulyet, startled to hear it.
Orwel nodded. ‘Your son Dickon told me before you sent him to Huntingdon. Ergo, you never ignored the fact that a nest of spies was on our doorstep. However, most scholars are French and proud of it. Take King’s Hall, for example – it has members named Bruges, Koln, Largo, Perugia, San Severino—’
‘None of those are French,’ interrupted Bartholomew. ‘And Bruges was from Flanders.’
‘They are foreign and thus suspect,’ said Orwel with finality, and glared at the physician. ‘We probably fought some of them at Poitiers, so I do not understand how you can bear to be in their company.’
‘Take a dozen soldiers and go to the Spital,’ ordered Tulyet, before Bartholomew could reply. ‘I am making you personally responsible for its safety, which means that if it suffers so much as a scratch, I shall blame you. And you do not want that, Orwel, believe me.’
Orwel opened his mouth to refuse the assignment, but a glance at Tulyet’s angry face made him think better of it. He nodded curtly and stamped away.
‘No one will bother with the Spital now,’ said Leger when Orwel had gone. ‘Amphelisa told me last night that the spies – or lunatics, if you prefer – have fled.’
‘That is irrelevant,’ said Tulyet wearily. ‘The Spital took them in, and there are many hotheads who will see that alone as an excuse to attack it.’
‘There is more likely to be an assault on King’s Hall than the Spital,’ argued Leger. ‘Orwel may not have put his case very eloquently, but he is right – it does possess the lion’s share of the University’s foreign scholars, so it is where any trouble will start.’
‘You had better hope not,’ said Michael coolly. ‘It is full of influential nobles and favourites of the King, and
if any more of them are killed by townsmen—’
‘Norbert was a favourite of the King,’ interrupted Leger tightly, ‘and he was murdered by a scholar. The University must pay for his death.’
‘He died because he was fighting when he should have been keeping the peace,’ countered Tulyet shortly. ‘He would still be alive if he had done his duty.’
‘You take their side in this?’ breathed Leger, shocked. ‘When they killed innocent townsfolk last night and Wyse before that?’
‘No one who died last night was innocent,’ said Tulyet shortly. ‘They chose to take up arms and they paid the price. However, I will not tolerate lawlessness in my town, so I will find who yelled the order to shoot and I will catch whoever killed Wyse, Paris and the others. The culprits will be brought to justice, no matter who they transpire to be.’
‘Good,’ said Leger. ‘I will help. It will be a scholar and I shall see him swing.’
‘Will you arrange for Norbert to be buried?’ asked Tulyet, tired of arguing with him. ‘I am sure he would rather you did it than anyone else.’
‘So now we have another mystery to solve,’ sighed Michael when Leger had gone. ‘Because you are right: we should hunt down the rogue who gave the order to shoot. It is ultimately his fault that we have eighteen dead.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Tulyet tautly. ‘And I meant what I told Leger: the culprit will suffer the full extent of the law regardless of who he is – townsman or scholar. I hope you will support me in this.’
‘Of course,’ Michael assured him. ‘He will answer for his actions, and so will three other criminals: the killer with the fancy blades; the coward who dispatched poor old Wyse; and the poisonous nun who spread the rumour about the peregrini.’
‘Perhaps Alice will confess to everything,’ said Tulyet. ‘Then there will be no reason for the town and the University to fight. It will reflect badly on your Order, though . . .’
‘Alice did not give the order to shoot,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It was a man’s voice.’
‘Interrogate her,’ instructed Tulyet. ‘I will try to keep the peace here. And when you come back, would you mind telling Heltisle that the Mayor did not order the archers to massacre scholars last night – he was nowhere near the butts and has a dozen witnesses to prove it.’
‘I had better do that first,’ said Michael wearily. ‘It will take very little to spark another riot, and that sort of accusation might well be enough.’
‘Perhaps that is what Heltisle hopes,’ said Tulyet soberly. ‘So that you and de Wetherset will be held responsible, leaving the way open for him to step into your shoes.’
‘With Theophilis as his loyal deputy,’ added Bartholomew.
CHAPTER 11
Bartholomew and Michael hurried towards St Mary the Great, both aware that the atmosphere on the streets had deteriorated badly since they had last been out. Townsmen blamed the University for the riot, while scholars accused the town. The situation was exacerbated by wild and unfounded rumours – that King’s Hall had installed French spies in the Spital, that the Dauphin was poised to march on Cambridge at any day, and that the Mayor intended to poison the University’s water supply.
‘I know hindsight is a wonderful thing,’ said Bartholomew, ‘but you should never have let the triumvirate take so much power. The next time someone tells me that the Senior Proctor has too much authority, I shall say that I wish you had more of it.’
‘Quite right, too,’ said Michael. ‘I admit I hoped that Heltisle and Aynton would make a mess of things so de Wetherset would have to dismiss them, but I did not anticipate that they would create this much havoc in so short a space of time.’
They arrived at the church, where scholars had gathered to mutter and plot against the town. Most were armed, even the priests. Bartholomew paused to gaze around in alarm, but Michael pulled him on, whispering that time was too short for gawping.
They reached de Wetherset’s poky office, although it was Heltisle, not the Chancellor, who sat behind its desk. The floor was covered with Michael’s personal possessions, which had been unceremoniously dumped there. The monk’s eyes narrowed.
‘What is going on?’ he demanded dangerously. ‘And why are you reading my private correspondence with the Bishop? Those letters were locked in a chest.’
Heltisle was unable to prevent a triumphant grin. ‘I know – we had to smash it to get inside. De Wetherset did not want your rubbish cluttering up his new quarters, and as we had no key, we had to resort to other means of clearing the decks. Where have you been?’
‘Tending to urgent University business,’ replied Michael tightly. ‘Such as the scholars who died in last night’s brawl, along with Paris the—’
‘Paris!’ spat Heltisle. ‘The town did us a favour when they dispatched him. He should have been hanged the moment his crime was discovered.’
Michael eyed him coolly. ‘Should he, indeed? Perhaps I have been looking in the wrong place for his killer. I doubt townsmen feel strongly about plagiarism, whereas scholars . . .’
Heltisle sneered. ‘Do not accuse me of fouling my hands with his filthy blood. And before you ask, I did not kill the spicer or that drunken nobody on the Chesterton road either.’
‘Wyse was not a nobody,’ said Bartholomew, amazed to discover that he was capable of disliking the arrogant Master of Bene’t even more than he did already. ‘The Franciscans were fond of him, he was one of my patients, and he was a member of the Michaelhouse Choir.’
‘The Marian Singers,’ corrected Michael.
‘Clippesby’s treatise is selling very well, by the way,’ said Heltisle, moving to another matter in which he felt victorious. ‘What a pity your College will not reap the profits.’
Michael thought it best to stay off that subject, lest he or Bartholomew inadvertently said something to make Heltisle smell a rat. ‘You have not answered my first question. Why are you so busily nosing through my private correspondence?’
‘And what is it doing in here anyway?’ put in Bartholomew.
Heltisle leaned back in the chair, his expression so gloating that Bartholomew did not know how Michael refrained from punching him.
‘Forgive me, Brother,’ he drawled. ‘I was just passing the time until you deigned to appear. This is now your office. It was inappropriate for the Senior Proctor to have a grander realm than the Chancellor, so I told de Wetherset to put matters right.’
‘So that is why lights burned in the church all night,’ mused Michael. ‘While I was busy preventing our University from going up in flames, you two were playing power games.’
Heltisle’s smirk slipped. ‘We were setting all to rights after your farce of a reign.’
‘If the room was so important, why did you not just ask for it?’ Michael was all bemused innocence. ‘I would have moved. There was no need for you to demean yourselves with this sort of pettiness.’
‘You would have refused,’ said Heltisle, wrong-footed by the monk’s response.
‘I assure you, Heltisle, I have far more important matters to occupy my mind than offices. But you still have not explained why you see fit to paw through my correspondence.’
Heltisle glared at him. ‘It is not your correspondence – it is the University’s. And of course the Chancellor’s deputy should know what it contains.’
Michael stepped forward and swept all the documents into a box. ‘Then take it. I am glad to be rid of it, to be frank. It represents a lot of very tedious work, which I now willingly hand to you, Vice-Chancellor.’
‘Now wait a moment,’ objected Heltisle. ‘I cannot waste my time with—’
‘No, no,’ said Michael, pulling him to his feet, shoving the box into his hands and propelling him towards the door. ‘You wanted it, so it is yours. I shall tell the Bishop to correspond with you about these matters in future. However, a word of warning – he does not tolerate incompetence, so learn fast. It would be a pity to see a promising career in ruins.’
‘But none of t
hese missives make sense to me,’ snapped Heltisle, peering angrily over the top of the teetering pile. ‘You will need to explain the background behind—’
‘I am sure you can work it out.’ Michael smiled serenely. ‘A clever man like you.’
‘No! I am too busy for this sort of nonsense. I am—’
‘I suggest you make a start immediately. Some of it is urgent, and you do not want the Bishop vexed with you for tardiness. Perhaps you can do it instead of spreading silly lies about the Mayor. Oh, yes, I know where those tales originated, and I am shocked that you should stoop so low.’
Heltisle’s face was a combination of dismay, anger and chagrin. ‘You cannot berate me like an errant schoolboy. I am—’
‘Go, go,’ said Michael, pushing him through the door. ‘I am needed to save the University from the crisis your puerile capers has triggered. I cannot stand here bandying words with you all day.’
‘You might dismiss me, but you had better make time for de Wetherset,’ said Heltisle in a final attempt to save face. ‘He wants to see you at once.’
‘Of course,’ said Michael. ‘I would have been there already, but I trod in something nasty on my way. I shall attend him as soon as I have scraped the ordure from my boot.’
When Heltisle had gone, Michael looked thoughtfully around the tiny space that was now his, while Bartholomew waited in silence, waiting for the explosion. It did not come.
Michael saw what he was thinking and laughed. ‘Do not look dismayed on my account, Matt. I shall be back in my own quarters within a week.’
‘Then what about the documents? Do you really not mind him nosing through them?’
Michael laughed again. ‘I would have been vexed if he had not, given all the time I spent picking out the ones that would cause him the greatest problems.’
Bartholomew blinked. ‘So you predicted this would happen and prepared for it?’
Michael raised his eyebrows in mock astonishment. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
The Sanctuary Murders: The Twenty Fourth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew Book 24) Page 24