Bartholomew 09 - A Killer in Winter

by Susanna GREGORY

  ‘It would explain why Frith’s music leaves so much to be desired,’ said Langelee. ‘He is not a real Wait at all, but joined them as a disguise, so he can help Ailred avenge Fiscurtune.’

  ‘Makejoy said the group has been together five years,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But revenge may well be the reason why Frith and his friends are so far from Chepe, where they were said to be doing so well.’

  ‘Were doing so well,’ said Michael meaningfully. ‘Makejoy and the singer we met in the Market Square told us the Waits’ business had taken a downward turn recently. Makejoy also mentioned that it was Frith who suddenly expressed a desire to see Cambridge.’ He scratched his chin, fingernails rasping on the whiskers. ‘And there is something else. The Market Square singer also said the Waits had friends in “high places”, who recommended them. Quenhyth told you that his father hired the Chepe Waits because John Fiscurtune said he should.’

  ‘So, Fiscurtune was the Waits’ “friend”,’ said Bartholomew. ‘So if we think Ailred and Frith may be related, and we have surmised that Ailred and John Fiscurtune are kinsmen, then we can also assume there is a connection between Frith and Fiscurtune. Frith’s “friend” – Fiscurtune – was his relative, which explains why a powerful merchant deigned to recommend a lowly juggler to his colleagues. Fiscurtune was the reason the Waits were doing well in Chepe. When Turke murdered him, he did more than merely kill a rival fishmonger; he destroyed the basis of the Waits’ success. This is beginning to make sense. Loss of livelihood would be a powerful motive for murder – except that Turke was not murdered, of course.’

  ‘Gosslinge and Norbert were, though,’ said Michael. ‘But unfortunately, we shall have to wait until Ailred is apprehended before we can test our theories. We should certainly speak to him before we tackle Frith and his cronies, since we have scant evidence to convict them without his testimony. But there are other matters that require our attention first, and one of them is regarding us very balefully.’

  Quenhyth,’ said Langelee heavily, looking over at the student, who had given up trying to overhear their conversation. ‘Damn the lad! I do not know why he has taken such an unnatural dislike to these Waits.’

  ‘We have just shown he is right to be wary of them,’ said Michael. ‘Not only have we been told by several different people that they steal from their patrons, we now suspect they are here for a darker purpose.’

  ‘I do not want them in my College any longer,’ said Langelee decisively. ‘Deynman’s reign as Lord of Misrule is almost over, and even he has grown weary of their uninspired performances. I shall ask them to leave immediately – and damn their written contract.’ He hailed Quenhyth, and asked whether the student knew where the Waits might be.

  Quenhyth’s face lit up at the mention of the subject so dear to him. ‘They are in the conclave – which is why I knew it was safe to look through their things.’

  ‘The conclave?’ asked Langelee suspiciously. ‘I said they were not allowed in the hall or the conclave unless accompanied by a member of the College. Why did you not stop them?’

  Quenhyth glowered. ‘They are accompanied by a College member: Kenyngham is with them.’

  ‘What are they doing?’ asked Bartholomew. He was aware of a sensation of unease developing in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘They asked whether the conclave was empty, and when he said it was, they told him he and they should go there immediately,’ explained Quenhyth.

  ‘I do not like the sound of this at all,’ said Bartholomew.

  * * *

  Bartholomew was not the only one uncomfortable with the notion of Kenyngham in company with a rough group of people like the Chepe Waits; Michael and Langelee were worried, too. Langelee led the way down the slippery lane at a cracking pace, dragging Quenhyth with him. Quenhyth looked pleased with himself, as though he imagined he had finally proved some point and was going to avoid a sojourn in the proctors’ cells after all.

  ‘It was something about prayers,’ he said breathlessly, trying to be helpful. ‘You know how Kenyngham is always praying? Well, Frith asked if he knew any prayers for musicians, or some such nonsense, and Kenyngham offered to teach him some. He said he knows one by St Cecilia.’

  Michael stopped dead in his tracks, grateful for a respite from running through the sludgy snow. ‘Kenyngham is praying with the Waits in the conclave? That sounds innocent enough. I thought they were doing something else.’

  ‘The Waits do not pray!’ said Quenhyth in a sneering voice. ‘They would not know how.’

  ‘Perhaps that is why they asked Kenyngham to teach them,’ said Michael cautiously. ‘We may be doing Frith an injustice here.’

  ‘Then they will have no complaint when we burst into the conclave to see what is happening,’ panted Langelee.

  ‘Actually, I imagine the reason for escorting Kenyngham to the conclave is more closely related to the presence of the chest of gold under the floorboards than to devotions,’ said Bartholomew quietly, taking Michael’s arm and pulling him on.

  ‘Chest of gold?’ demanded Langelee. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It is Kenyngham’s turn to keep Dympna,’ explained Michael. ‘Matt thinks it is under the floorboards in the conclave, which is why they have been loose for the past three weeks. But there is a flaw in his reasoning: how could the Waits know where the chest is hidden? Its whereabouts is a closely guarded secret. Even Tulyet does not know where Kenyngham has put it, and Kenyngham is a man who is stubborn about such things. He would never reveal where Dympna was kept, especially to a band of entertainers with a reputation for light fingers.’

  ‘Ailred,’ said Bartholomew heavily, as another piece of the mystery fell into place. ‘Ailred knew where it was. Tulyet said the keepers tell one other person where they have hidden the chest, in case there is an accident. Kenyngham would not have told Robin, and we know it was not Tulyet, so he must have informed Ailred. And we believe the Waits are Ailred’s accomplices!’

  Michael skidded and almost fell in a particularly slick patch of snow. He slowed down, to try to think clearly. ‘The Waits have been the common factor all along – just as you said. They associated with Gosslinge, Turke, Giles and Philippa in London; they were seen with Norbert on the night of his death; and they spoke to Harysone in the King’s Head. It is obvious now we have the whole picture: Frith was the shadowy “Dympna” who met Norbert in St Michael’s, and who was able to escape without being seen by Godric and his classmates.’

  ‘The Waits probably killed Gosslinge, too,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Perhaps he went to repay a loan, and they thrust the note into his throat when he told them he did not have their money. That may have been why he wore beggarly clothes – to pretend he was poor.’

  ‘It is possible,’ said Michael. ‘But we should catch these vagabonds before they make off with the gold and harm Kenyngham into the bargain.’

  ‘Hurry, then,’ said Bartholomew, breaking into a run again. He reached Michaelhouse and struggled with the gate, while the others fidgeted impatiently. As soon as it was open, he tore across the yard, heading for the hall. He almost collided with William, out in the milder weather for some much-needed exercise.

  ‘I have been evicted,’ said William peevishly. ‘The Waits insisted on being alone with Kenyngham in the conclave, while he taught them some prayers. Why do they not want me there? I know as many prayers as he does.’

  Bartholomew did not stop to answer, but pushed past the friar and made for the conclave, racing up the stairs and across the hall. The door was locked, and he kicked at it in frustration.

  ‘They have him inside,’ he shouted to Langelee, who was behind him.

  ‘Calm down, Matt,’ said Langelee, pulling him away. ‘If the Waits have locked themselves in, then they have just sealed the door to their own prison. There is only one way in or out of the conclave, and that is through this door. We have them.’

  ‘That is not the point!’ said Bartholomew in agitation. ‘Kenyngham is in
there. He may be in danger. And they do balancing acts for a living, so do not imagine they cannot escape through the windows. Send Quenhyth to stand in the courtyard and sound the alarm if they try to leave that way. And fetch an axe.’

  ‘An axe?’ asked Langelee in horror. ‘You are not taking an axe to one of my doors!’

  ‘Kenyngham is alone with men who have killed,’ hissed Bartholomew, grabbing the Master by the front of his gown. ‘We will smash down the walls, if we have to.’

  ‘There is no need to resort to that kind of measure,’ said Michael calmly. He studied the door for a moment, took several steps back, and then powered towards it with his shoulder held like a battering ram. Bartholomew winced, anticipating broken bones. But just as Michael reached it, the door was opened and Kenyngham peered out, curious to know what had caused the sudden commotion in the hall. Michael shot past him, and there was a loud crash.

  Bartholomew darted forward. The floorboards inside the door had been removed, and in the resulting recess sat a handsome walnut chest. Dympna. Bartholomew spotted it too late, and suffered the same fate as Michael. He caught his foot in the gaping hole, and slid the entire length of the conclave on his stomach.

  He joined Michael in a mass of colourful arms and legs – the monk had evidently entered the room with such force he had collided with Yna and Makejoy and had bowled them from their feet. While the physician tried to disentangle himself and work out what was happening, the door was slammed shut and a heavy bench dragged across it.

  ‘What are you doing, Frith?’ asked Kenyngham in dismay. ‘Now no one else can come in.’

  ‘You do not want people wandering in and out while your gold is sitting in full view,’ said Frith reasonably. ‘It is better we keep the door closed until it is hidden again.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Kenyngham tiredly. ‘Are you hurt, Michael? If not, you should stand up, because I think that poor lady underneath you is suffocating.’ He turned to Frith. ‘You said you would leave once you had the chest. There it is. Now take it and go.’

  Michael gaped in astonishment, removing himself from Makejoy, who struggled to her knees and attempted to catch her breath. ‘What are you doing, Father? This money has been used for good deeds. Why are you prepared to give it away?’

  Frith smiled unpleasantly. ‘Because I have just informed him that if he does not, I shall set light to his College and burn it to the ground with every Michaelhouse scholar inside it. The friar is an intelligent man, and knows when folk are speaking the truth.’

  ‘They were just leaving when you crashed in,’ said Kenyngham to Michael, sounding tearful. ‘They promised they would take the chest and be gone by nightfall. It is only money. Ten Dympnas would not be worth a single life.’

  ‘But lives may be lost once Dympna has gone,’ Michael pointed out, ignoring Frith and addressing Kenyngham. He took Bartholomew’s hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. Makejoy and Yna stayed where they were, the former running tentative hands down her arms and legs as she tested for damage, while the other appeared to have been knocked all but insensible. ‘It is not just a chest of coins: it is something that has helped a lot of people.’

  ‘But, like all earthly wealth, it has become tainted,’ said Kenyngham softly. ‘I am not overly distressed to see it go.’

  ‘Ailred,’ said Bartholomew, watching him closely. ‘You are referring to Ailred.’

  Kenyngham nodded, and his saintly face was grey with sorrow. ‘He was a good man, but the gold corrupted him. He started to make illegal loans from the chest, so I was obliged to demand custody of it three weeks ago. He was not pleased. He was even less pleased when I confronted him with the fact that a large amount was unaccounted for.’

  ‘Did you tell Tulyet?’ asked Bartholomew.

  Kenyngham shook his head. ‘There was no need for that. I simply gave Ailred notice that the missing gold had to be returned by the end of the Twelve Days – in four days’ time now – because that is when we will lend a sizeable sum to Robert de Blaston to demolish the High Street hovels and replace them with decent dwellings. Ailred had almost a month to recover it all.’

  ‘Ailred needed funds quickly, so he started calling in the loans he should never have granted,’ said Bartholomew to Michael. ‘The first note from Dympna to Norbert was about three weeks ago. We were right: Ailred did demand money from Norbert in Dympna’s name.’

  ‘Ailred gave funds to Norbert?’ asked Kenyngham in horror. ‘That young man made an official application, but it was refused on the grounds that he wanted it to squander on earthly pleasures. That is not the purpose of Dympna.’

  ‘This is beginning to make sense,’ said Michael, brushing himself down. ‘The question that remains, however, is how did Ailred come to use the Waits as his accomplices? Did they travel to Cambridge for that purpose? Or was it just incidental to avenging the murdered Fiscurtune?’

  He turned questioningly to the jugglers. Makejoy was flexing an arm in a way that suggested it was damaged, while Yna held her head, still dazed. Frith had listened carefully to the exchange between the scholars, while Jestyn stood guard at the door, picking at a skinned elbow. Bartholomew understood exactly why Frith was prepared to let the scholars talk among themselves without interruption: he was giving the women time to recover, and then they were going to make their escape – with the chest.

  ‘Langelee!’ he shouted urgently, wondering whether the Master had gone for an axe, or whether he had decided to wait and see what happened before damaging his precious College. Considering the conclave door had been slammed in his face, Bartholomew sincerely hoped Langelee had the sense to do something practical.

  ‘Quiet!’ hissed Jestyn menacingly. ‘Or I will silence you once and for all.’

  Suddenly, both he and Frith had knives in their hands. Jestyn seemed uncertain and nervous, and Bartholomew saw that he was the kind of man who would use his weapon just because he could think of no other way out of the predicament in which he found himself. Bartholomew drew breath to shout again, to warn the Master the Waits were armed, but Jestyn was on him in an instant, and the physician found himself pressed hard against the wall with the blade of a knife held at his throat by a desperate and frightened man.

  ‘I think Jestyn is suggesting we shall have no more shouting,’ said Frith, when he saw his friend was fully prepared to slit the physician’s throat if another sound was uttered. ‘He is right: we do not want everyone in a frenzy over nothing. People might get hurt.’

  Michael took a step forward, to go to Bartholomew’s aid, but stopped dead when Frith grabbed Kenyngham’s arm and waved his own weapon menacingly near the old man’s face.

  ‘Sit on the bench by the wall.’ Makejoy’s stern voice came from the other side of the room. She was kneeling next to Yna, who had apparently suffered the most from the monk’s onslaught. ‘All of you. And put your hands on your knees, where we can see them. If you do as you are told no one will be harmed.’

  There was no option but to obey. Bartholomew eased past the agitated Jestyn and went to the bench, relieved to be away from the unsteady blade. Michael perched next to him, while Kenyngham sat on the monk’s other side. They placed their hands on their knees and waited, watching while Frith had low and urgent words with Jestyn, obviously attempting to calm him. Bartholomew suspected he was lucky that Jestyn had not silenced him with a stab wound there and then; the fellow looked unsettled enough to commit a rash act.

  He looked around, assessing his chances of reaching the door and removing the heavy bench before Jestyn could catch him. He decided they were slim. And what would happen to Michael and Kenyngham if he escaped, anyway? The Waits would still have hostages, and therefore the means to force Langelee to do what they wanted.

  Frith hefted the box of coins from the hole in the floor and set it on the bench next to Bartholomew. The physician glanced at it, and saw it was about half full of gold nobles, along with some jewellery with precious stones. There were silver coins, too, an
d a neatly bound stack of parchments listing various transactions that had been made. Bartholomew looked at the top page, and saw Ailred had kept a careful list of his loans, despite the fact that they had been made without his colleagues’ consent. Near the end was Norbert’s name, with the numbers one, thirteen and four next to it. They were the same digits as on the note Quenhyth had found in the Waits’ belongings. He wondered whether the parchment had been retrieved from Norbert when he had gone to meet ‘Dympna’ in the church, or if it had been written but never sent. Regardless, it was a strong indication that the Waits were Ailred’s accomplices.

  ‘When did you become involved in this?’ asked Michael of Frith. ‘And how?’

  Frith smiled. ‘Have you not worked that out yet? You scholars think you are so clever, and yet you know nothing.’

  ‘I know enough,’ said Michael, unruffled by the jibe. ‘I know you probably hail from a village called Fiscurtune, which is also Ailred’s home. And I know you were keen to avenge the death of one John Fiscurtune, who was murdered by Walter Turke. It is no coincidence that you and Turke’s household arrived in Cambridge on the same day.’

  ‘Good,’ said Frith, clapping his hands together in mocking congratulations. ‘And how did you guess all this?’

  ‘Because we know you helped Ailred regain his bad loans. Since he would not have told just anyone about them, it is reasonable to assume he told someone he trusted. A kinsman. You have been here since the fifteenth of December, which is about when Norbert had his first letter.’

  ‘Ailred and John of Fiscurtune are my uncles,’ said Frith. ‘They were brothers to Isabella – my mother – who was Turke’s first wife, God rest her poor soul.’

  ‘Do you mean that you are Turke’s son?’ asked Kenyngham, bewildered.

  Frith looked angry. ‘Of course not! Turke was my mother’s second husband, and my stepfather. He married her because she was a wealthy widow. When I learned he planned to embark on the pilgrimage he imagined would absolve him of Uncle John’s murder, I decided a journey of my own was in order. Someone needed to prevent a killer from becoming Lord Mayor.’