‘We need to know what you saw today,’ he told them.
‘Nothing,’ replied Yffi with a shrug. ‘We have been on the roof all day, and it is difficult to see down into the yard from up there. We all went to peer over the edge when Agatha started chasing that dog, but it was the only time I looked down all day.’
‘What about the rest of you?’ asked Michael. Yffi’s assistants were all undersized youths in baggy leggings and grimy tunics. ‘Surely, one of you must have climbed down at some point for more supplies? Or even stood for a moment to stretch and take a breath?’
‘We did come down from time to time,’ acknowledged one called Peterkin. ‘But we were in a hurry, so did not waste time gawking around. All I can say is that there was no body behind our tiles at dawn this morning, because I went behind there to pee. And I would have noticed.’
‘Someone entered our College and hid a corpse among your supplies,’ said Michael, rather accusingly. ‘In broad daylight. Surely, one of you must have seen something to help us find out who did it?’
There were a lot of shaken heads and muttered denials. ‘You cannot let your mind wander on roofs,’ said Peterkin, rather sanctimoniously. ‘It is asking for accidents.’
Michael sighed his exasperation, and tried a different tack. ‘Did any of you know Drax?’
‘Not really,’ replied Yffi. ‘We all drink in the Griffin, which he owned, but we rarely spoke.’
‘I did not like him,’ said Blaston unhappily. ‘He knew this winter has been hard, and that decent men are struggling to make ends meet, but he still charged top prices for his wares.’
‘That is true,’ said Yffi, while his lads nodded agreement. ‘Why do you think he bought prayers from Michaelhouse? His conscience plagued him, and he needed your masses to salve it.’
‘But none of us were angry enough about it to kill him,’ added Peterkin hastily.
Michael asked a few more questions but they elicited nothing useful, so he ordered them back to work. When they had gone, he stood next to the stack of tiles and squinted at the roof.
‘If Yffi and his boys were all up there, they would not have been able to see down here – although we would still have been able to hear their banter. So they may be telling the truth.’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘Drax was not a large man, so it would not take many moments to haul him here and deposit him. The killer could well have done it while Yffi and his apprentices were on the roof and Blaston was in the stables. Of course, he would have to hope none of our students happened to be looking out of the window at the time.’
‘But it could have happened when they were transfixed by Yffi’s lewd banter,’ mused Michael. ‘I was interested to hear that those pilgrims were nosing around at the salient time, though, especially that pardoner. You know what I think of pardoners. Perhaps Fen saw our home and decided it looked like a good repository for the body of his victim.’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Bartholomew, startled by the assertion. ‘If he did kill Drax, why risk capture by toting the corpse around?’
‘Pardoners are an unfathomable breed,’ declared Michael, never rational where they were concerned. ‘Who knows what passes through their sly minds? But I shall find out when I interrogate Master Fen later. I do not want you with me, though. You are too willing to see the good in people, and he will use your weakness to his advantage.’
‘As you wish,’ said Bartholomew, relieved to be spared the ordeal.
Cynric had been busy while Bartholomew and Michael had been talking to the workmen, and not only had he arranged for servants to carry Drax to St Michael’s Church, but he had conducted a systematic search of the College buildings, too, and was able to report that there were no signs of blood or a struggle in any of them.
‘What about the grounds?’ asked Michael. ‘In the orchard or around the vegetable plots?’
Cynric shook his head. ‘The grass would have been trampled if a murder had occurred in the wilder parts, while I would have seen blood around the bits that are more carefully tended. Drax was not killed in the College, Brother. I am sure of it.’
‘So you were right, Matt,’ said Michael. ‘Drax was killed elsewhere and was dumped here. But why? The tiles will go on our roof soon, so he was not going to remain undiscovered for long. And why pick on us, anyway?’
‘Could it be anything to do with the College–hostel dispute?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘It would represent a rather horrible turn in the rivalry, but having a murdered taverner on our property will certainly not endear us to the town. It may even encourage them to attack us.’
‘I cannot believe that is the answer,’ said Michael, although with more hope than conviction. ‘Because it would represent a rather horrible turn – one that is not in keeping with carts on roofs, cunningly balanced boats, or filling halls with roosting chickens. We shall bear it in mind, but I feel certain you are wrong.’ He sighed tiredly. ‘You had better inspect Drax’s corpse again now.’
‘Why?’ Bartholomew wanted to return to his teaching. ‘I have already told you all I can.’
‘I doubt you conducted a thorough examination with Ayera and Thelnetham snorting their disapproval behind you,’ said Michael tartly. ‘So you will go to St Michael’s Church and do it properly. And if you refuse, I shall withhold the fee you will be paid as my Corpse Examiner.’
The threat was both unfair and unkind. As Corpse Examiner, Bartholomew was paid three pennies for every cadaver he assessed, and he needed the money badly, because prices had risen sharply since the beginning of winter. Michael knew he was struggling to buy the medicines necessary for those of his patients who could not afford their own.
‘I will not be able to tell you anything else,’ he grumbled, as they walked up St Michael’s Lane. ‘And you should think of Drax’s wife. It would be dreadful if someone like Yffi got there with the news first, because I doubt he has a gentle way with words.’
‘I know,’ replied Michael. ‘So you can paw the cadaver, while I visit the widow.’
‘We saw her earlier today,’ said Bartholomew, sorry for the unpleasant shock she was about to receive. ‘She is a friend of Emma’s granddaughter – Odelina – and was at Emma’s house.’
‘So she was.’ Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘So I had better ask whether she stayed there all morning. It would not be the first time a wife dispatched an unloved husband, after all.’
‘You cannot investigate this case,’ said Bartholomew, seeing the monk had the bit between his teeth. ‘Drax was not a scholar, and there is nothing to indicate he died on University property, either. Ergo, his death falls under Dick Tulyet’s jurisdiction. He is the Sheriff.’
‘Dick will have far more important business to attend,’ predicted Michael. ‘Besides, Drax was found in my College, so I have a right to find out what happened to him.’
‘Actually, Dick told me only last week that there is not much to do these days, because Emma has frightened all the petty criminals away. He spends all his time on administration, and he is bored. You may find he is less willing to relinquish the matter than you think.’
‘Then we shall have to work together. However, I would rather work with you than him, and—’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘I do not have time, especially with Emma summoning me every time she feels a twinge in her jaws.’
‘You cannot be that busy,’ argued Michael. ‘Two new physicians arrived in Cambridge a few weeks ago and relieved you of some of your patients. You should have plenty of spare time.’
‘It is a bad winter, Brother. Even with Gyseburne and Meryfeld here, we can barely keep up with the demand for consultations.’
‘You can find the time to help me. You must, because this concerns your College – your home. But here we are at the High Street, where you turn right to the church, and I turn left for the Drax mansion. I shall expect your report later.’
* * *
St Michael’s was a pretty building with a low, squat tower
and a huge chancel. It was a peaceful place, because its thick walls muted the din of the busy street outside, and the only sound was the coo of roosting pigeons. Bartholomew aimed for the little Stanton Chapel, named for the wealthy lawyer who had founded Michaelhouse and rebuilt the church more than thirty years before.
When he arrived, he stared at Drax for a moment, then began to remove the taverner’s blood-soaked clothing. It did not take long to confirm his initial findings: that the wound in Drax’s stomach would have been almost instantly fatal, while the stiff jaws indicated it had happened hours before. The location and angle of the injury made suicide unlikely.
As he replaced the clothes, he thought about Drax. He had not known him well, although he had met him when Drax had made much-needed donations to the College. The taverner had not been particularly generous, but every little helped, and Michaelhouse was grateful for his kindness. In return, the College’s priests had said masses for his soul. Langelee was scrupulous about ensuring this was done, which was why people like Drax and Emma were willing to do business with him.
Bartholomew recalled seeing Drax earlier that day, quarrelling with Kendale. It had been just after dawn, and although estimating time of death was an imprecise business, he suspected the taverner had died not long afterwards. Had the argument escalated once Kendale had pulled Drax down the alley? But if so, why would Kendale dump his victim’s corpse in Michaelhouse? Why not just tip it in the river, or stow it in a cart, to take to some remote spot in the Fens?
Feeling he had learned all he could, Bartholomew lifted Drax into the parish coffin – it did not seem decent to leave his tile-crushed face on display – and he was just fastening the lid when he heard footsteps. It was Celia. Odelina was with her, still crammed into her unflatteringly tight dress. She was breathless – she was not as fit as the older woman – and Celia had clearly set a rapid pace from her Bridge Street home. Behind them, struggling to keep up, was Michael.
‘Where is my husband?’ demanded Celia. Her imperious gaze settled on the coffin. ‘You have not shoved him in there, have you?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Bartholomew uncomfortably. ‘I am sorry. It did not—’
‘No matter,’ Celia interrupted briskly. ‘But show me his face. It may not be John, and I do not want to invest in mourning apparel if you have the wrong man.’
‘Perhaps you might inspect his hand instead,’ Bartholomew suggested tactfully.
‘Why?’ asked Celia coldly. ‘Have you performed some dark magic that has changed his appearance? Your fondness for witchery is why I am no longer your patient, if you recall.’
‘Your husband’s fingers,’ whispered Odelina, before Bartholomew could reply. ‘Robin the surgeon chopped them off after that accident with Yffi, and Doctor Bartholomew obviously thinks that identifying them will be less distressing than looking on his poor dead face.’ She looked away quickly. ‘This is all very horrible!’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Celia, relenting. ‘I had forgotten his missing digits. Yffi’s blood money allowed us to buy the Griffin tavern. Then we used its profits to buy more inns, so we now have seven. And three lovely houses, including the big one we lease to Kendale – he calls it Chestre Hostel.’
‘The Griffin,’ mused Bartholomew, recalling it was where the yellow-headed man had fled after stealing Emma’s box. It seemed a strange coincidence.
But Celia was becoming impatient, so he reached under the lid and extracted the pertinent limb, thinking she seemed more annoyed than distressed by her spouse’s demise. Odelina was pale and shaking, but her grandmother and father were protective of her, and he doubted she had encountered many corpses. He saw her look studiously the other way as Celia bent to examine Drax’s hand.
‘I always thought it odd that these two women should be such great friends,’ whispered Michael, as the two scholars stepped away to give them privacy. ‘But then Langelee explained it to me: the beautiful Celia is the heroine in the romantic ballads that Odelina so adores.’
‘Odelina does seem to worship her,’ agreed Bartholomew, watching them together. ‘But what does Celia gain from the association?’
‘According to Langelee, a warm welcome in the house of the town’s most influential businesswoman. There is a lot a resourceful, ambitious lady like Celia can learn from Emma.’
Before he could say more, Celia began to haul on the ring that still adorned one of Drax’s two remaining fingers. Unfortunately, it was a tight fit, and she could not twist it free. After a few moments, during which Bartholomew was obliged to make a lunge for the coffin, to prevent it from being yanked off its trestles, she turned to him.
‘Will you get it for me? You are always clamouring to hack out Emma’s bad tooth, so I am sure you have a knife to hand. If not, then borrow mine.’ Celia removed a slender blade from her belt. ‘But hurry, if you please. I do not like this church. It is draughty and smells of dead birds.’
Bartholomew did as she asked, pointedly avoiding the use of sharp implements. He blinked in disbelief when she immediately donned the retrieved ring, flexing her hand to admire the effect. Odelina was also dismayed by the brazen materialism, and he supposed it did not square with her image of Celia as the noble heroine.
‘What happened to John?’ Celia asked, turning abruptly to Michael. ‘You say he was found dead in your College, but I do not understand why he should have been there in the first place.’
‘Neither do we,’ replied Michael, also struggling to mask his distaste. ‘He was stabbed, and his body hidden behind some tiles. Unfortunately, a member of our College tugged on the sheet that covered them, causing a couple to topple—’
‘You mean he was murdered?’ demanded Celia. For the first time since entering the church, she seemed shocked. ‘You must be mistaken! No one would kill John.’
‘Unfortunately, it would seem someone did,’ said Michael. ‘But I shall find out who.’
‘Lord!’ breathed Celia, gazing at him. ‘He always expected to die in bed at a ripe old age.’
‘You discussed death with him?’ asked Michael keenly.
Celia nodded. ‘Sometimes, when we were bored and had nothing else to do. These winter evenings are very long, and it is easy to run out of nice things to talk about.’
‘I cannot say I have ever had that problem,’ said Michael. ‘What exactly did—’
‘I suppose I had better start making arrangements for his funeral,’ interrupted Celia. ‘But before I go, there are a couple more things I want from his corpse: the medallion he wore around his neck and the pilgrim brooch pinned in his hat. However, now I know he was murdered, I do not feel equal to rummaging for them myself. Would you mind obliging me, Doctor?’
‘Yes, I would, actually.’ Bartholomew felt as though he was being asked to rob a grave.
‘Odelina,’ said Celia, turning to her friend with a coaxing smile. ‘You love me, do you not? Slip your hand inside the box and grab the trinkets.’
‘No!’ cried Odelina, appalled. ‘I cannot touch a murdered man in a church! It might bring me bad luck regarding getting a husband.’
‘Perhaps you should leave them where they are,’ suggested Michael coolly. ‘The dead are entitled to carry some personal effects to the grave, and you already have his ring.’
‘I am not one for making sentimental gestures over corpses,’ retorted Celia. ‘Gold is gold, and it belongs with the living. Or is there another reason why Michaelhouse is unwilling to help a grieving widow? Such as that they have already removed these items for themselves?’
‘Matt will retrieve them for you,’ said Michael stiffly. Bartholomew started to object, but the monk overrode him. ‘I will not have it said that our College steals from the dead – or from the living, for that matter. And while he is busy, you can tell me about any spats or disagreements your husband might have had.’
Celia watched Bartholomew lift the lid and begin unravelling the chain from Drax’s neck. ‘Well, Principal Kendale objected to the fact that John was goi
ng to raise the rent on Chestre Hostel – John hated Kendale, and hoped the increase would encourage him to leave. Then several of our customers argued with him, because he refused to give them credit for ale.’
Bartholomew dropped the salvaged necklace into Celia’s eager hand. She wiped it on her sleeve then slipped it around her neck. He regarded her in astonishment. She scowled at him, and indicated that he should stop staring, and retrieve the badge.
‘Why did he refuse?’ asked Michael, struggling to conceal his revulsion. ‘If they were regulars?’
‘Because it might be weeks before the weather breaks, and they earn enough to pay us back. Or they might die of starvation in the interim. We are a business, not a charity.’
‘Your husband made donations to Michaelhouse,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘That is charity.’
‘Yes, but he got prayers in return. It was a commercial arrangement, although I shall not be buying anything from you. I do not deal with warlocks and fat monks who ask impudent questions.’
‘I am not fat,’ objected Michael. ‘I have big bones. And I am not impudent, either. I am merely trying to ascertain why your husband died. But tell me about your life together. Was it happy?’
‘Do not answer,’ advised Odelina sharply. ‘He is trying to trap you, because he thinks you might have murdered John and toted his corpse to Michaelhouse.’
‘Do you?’ asked Celia, treating the monk to a forthright stare. ‘Why? John was not the most scintillating of men, but we liked each other well enough. Now, give me the badge, Doctor.’
‘Here is the hat,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But I cannot see a pilgrim token.’
‘It is pinned on the inside,’ explained Celia. ‘Because he wanted to keep it safe. It is from Walsingham, you see – the shrine where the Virgin appears from time to time.’
‘Had he been on a pilgrimage, then?’ asked Bartholomew, surprised. Drax had not seemed like the kind of man to absent himself from his taverns in order to undertake arduous journeys.
‘No,’ replied Celia. ‘He bought it from a pardoner, who told him that owning it was the next best thing to going on one of these expeditions himself. It will earn him less time in Purgatory.’
The Killer Of Pilgrims: The Sixteenth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (The Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew) Page 6