Bartholomew offered to inform them, then took his leave, Gyseburne trailing at his heels.
‘Meryfeld is mad,’ said Gyseburne. ‘Wild horses would not encourage me to physic a family like that – something will go wrong, and they will kill him for it.’
Bartholomew sincerely hoped he was wrong.
The next day dawned bright and clear. It was a glorious winter morning, where the sky was blue, the frost brittle and white on rooftops, and the sun a pale gold orb rising over the distant horizon. It was cold, though, and the wind that sliced in from the north-east was bitter. Bartholomew shivered all through mass in St Michael’s Church, and then shivered as Langelee led his scholars home along St Michael’s Lane. He said nothing as Michael fell into step beside him, lost in a reflection on whether he might not feel so chilled if he were not so hungry.
‘I am sorry, Matt,’ said Michael. ‘I meant to save you some food, but by the time I remembered, it had all been eaten. There was not enough of it, you see, and we all came away half starved.’
‘It does not matter,’ said Bartholomew, although he thought he might change his mind if there was nothing for breakfast.
‘I can still scarcely credit what you told me last night. I know Emma and her family are unpopular, but poison is so indiscriminate – a servant might have sneaked a swig and died for it.’
‘Yes, and I am glad it is the Sheriff’s responsibility to investigate Alice’s death, not yours.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Michael. ‘Emma claims the yellow-headed thief tainted her wine, and Heslarton’s enquiries have shown that the same yellow-headed thief stole Poynton’s pilgrim badge. As I am under obligation to solve the theft, it means I am hunting Alice’s killer, too.’
‘I thought you were dead set against the notion that they are the same man.’
‘I was, but only because petty thieves tend to be cowards. I thought the one you chased would be lurking in the Fens, thanking God for his lucky escape. But now I learn he is a murderer, it puts a different complexion on matters. Poisoners are ruthless and bold, so such a fellow may well have committed one crime, then promptly returned to the town to snatch Poynton’s signaculum.’
‘Drax was missing a signaculum, too,’ Bartholomew reminded him. ‘The one he wore in his hat.’
Michael rubbed his chin. ‘Then our killer had a busy day. He burgled Emma’s house and left wolfsbane, was chased by you to the Griffin Inn, slipped back into the town to stab Drax and steal his token, then rushed to the Carmelite Friary for Poynton’s badge, and finally returned to Michaelhouse to arrange for Drax’s body to be left behind Yffi’s tiles.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘Although there was more time between these events than you are acknowledging. However, it does look as though all these crimes were committed by one culprit. Do not tell Emma you are looking into the matter, though. It will raise her expectations, and she does not handle disappointment very well.’
‘No,’ agreed Michael. ‘She and Odelina both – they are too used to having their own way. I pity the man Odelina marries, because no matter how noble a fellow he is, the reality will fall short of her romantic ideals and she will grow to hate him. I am glad my habit puts me out of her reach.’
‘You think she might have made a play for you, had you been available?’ asked Bartholomew, amused as always by the monk’s perception of himself as a svelte Adonis.
‘Of course,’ replied Michael, without the flicker of a smile. ‘Women find me irresistible, as I have told you before, especially the ones with a penchant for romantic ballads. Like the heroes of their stories, I combine dashing good looks with integrity and courage.’
‘I see,’ said Bartholomew. Then some of Yffi’s scaffolding gave an ominous creak, and he turned to more realistic matters. ‘I wish Michaelhouse had not accepted charity from a woman who skates so close to the edge of the law. Moreover, I did not like Gyseburne’s contention that Emma might dispatch Meryfeld if he does not cure her.’
‘Meryfeld knows the risks in treating a woman with her reputation – he is not stupid. But if I am to meddle in her affairs, I shall need help. I know you are busy with teaching and patients, but …’
‘I will do what I can,’ promised Bartholomew. ‘And I have been thinking about the yellow-headed thief, too. Emma’s house is stuffed full of valuables, yet he chose to take a small box – one she claims contains sentimental keepsakes from her dead husband. But why would a thief target that? I suspect the contents of this chest are more significant than she is letting on.’
‘Possibly,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But a short while later, he stole a pilgrim badge, so maybe he is just an opportunist. Or perhaps his main objective was to leave the poison, and he snatched the box to lull her into thinking that his motive was theft, not something more sinister.’
Bartholomew supposed they would have to ask him when he was caught. He nodded to where the workmen were trooping in through Michaelhouse’s front gate, Blaston in the lead, cheerful and eager as usual, and Yffi and his apprentices slouching unenthusiastically at his heels.
‘You said yesterday that you thought Yffi had not been entirely honest with us about Drax. Should we interview him again now?’
‘We should. And we can ask why he failed to appear for work yesterday, too.’
‘Drax was cold when we found him,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘So I think we can safely say he was killed not long after dawn. Ergo, we need to know where our suspects were then, rather than later.’
‘Yes and no, Matt. We have two crimes here: Drax murdered, and Drax brought to Michaelhouse. Drax may have died early, but I suspect he was dumped later – probably when Yffi was praising Yolande’s talents. So I want to know where our suspects were on both occasions.’
Yffi reeked of ale. He was also unsteady on his feet and his eyes were glazed in a way that said he had spent the previous night in the tavern and was still not quite sober. Bartholomew did not like the notion of him clambering around on the roof. He had a family, and although the physician had no great liking for the fellow, he did not want a wife and children left destitute.
‘Actually, we are going to lay off the roof for a while,’ said Yffi, when Bartholomew voiced his concerns. ‘We plan to mend the ground-floor windows for the next few days.’
Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘You mean you intend to leave the roof exposed to the elements?’
Yffi shrugged. ‘It will not rain, and I feel like working on solid ground for a bit.’
‘This is not a good idea,’ argued Michael. ‘It may be fine today, but weather can change. And I dislike that sheet billowing above my head when I am trying to sleep. What if it blows off?’
‘Then one of my boys will nail it back on again.’
‘He will come in the middle of the night, will he? Or am I expected to sleep under the stars until morning? Or, more likely, under scudding rain clouds?’
‘That is not my problem. If you do not like the way I work, tell Emma de Colvyll.’
‘Oh, I shall,’ said Michael icily. ‘But I am not here for a debate – I want information. Tell me what happened on Monday, when we found Drax.’
‘Again?’ groaned Yffi, rolling his eyes. His apprentices did the same, although Blaston was more respectful. ‘How many more times must I tell you that we heard and saw nothing? If you do not believe me, then climb up the scaffolding yourself. The yard cannot be seen from the roof, so a whole army of killers could have shoved corpses behind stacks of tiles, and we would have been none the wiser.’
‘It is true, Brother,’ added Peterkin, seeing his master’s insolence was doing nothing to help. ‘I wish we did have some clues to share with you, but we do not.’
‘What were you doing yesterday?’ demanded Michael.
Yffi blinked. ‘Yesterday? Why do you want to know that?’
‘Because I am eager to learn why you failed to appear for work,’ snapped Michael.
‘We went to church for the Purification,’ re
plied Yffi with mock piety. ‘And before that, we were working elsewhere. We have commissions other than in this place, you know.’
‘Only because you fail to finish what you start,’ muttered Blaston, regarding him with dislike.
Michael glared at Yffi, who took an involuntary step backwards. ‘You will not disappear again until our roof is finished. Do I make myself clear? And you would do well not to annoy me, because you are in a very precarious position. A body was found among your supplies.’
Yffi scowled. ‘It is hardly my fault that some villain decided to leave a corpse behind the tiles! If you want someone to blame, then pick on your idle porter.’
‘Or Blaston,’ said Peterkin slyly. ‘He was down here all alone. You have not accused him, because you have known him for years, but he is just as capable of wielding a knife as the next man.’
‘I want to know where you were from dawn until the body was found,’ said Michael, cutting across Blaston’s indignant denials. ‘All of you.’
Yffi sighed impatiently. ‘We were on the roof – as your porter will confirm. One or two of my lads came down for supplies, but that only took moments, and I would have noticed prolonged absences. We all have alibis in each other.’
‘I work alone,’ said Blaston uncomfortably. ‘But the only time I went out was to buy nails, as I told you. The smith will confirm that I left money under his anvil, though. That is an alibi.’
They began to argue, and were still sniping at each other when Michael decided there was no more to be learned from them and took his leave.
‘I detected a furtiveness among the masons, Matt,’ he said as he walked. ‘I wonder why.’
‘I have a feeling they were lounging on the roof, safe in the knowledge that they could not be seen,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘They do not want you to tell Emma that she is paying for them to sit about.’
‘It is possible, although I have a feeling there is more to it than that. Unfortunately, our questions took us no further forward – we can neither eliminate Yffi and his lads as suspects, nor arrest them.’
‘Well, we know none of them killed Drax, because they were here when we think he was stabbed. And Drax was not dispatched in Michaelhouse, because Cynric’s search found no blood.’
‘Blaston was not here during the salient time, though,’ said Michael unhappily. ‘He was out buying nails. Alone. Moreover, he admits to disliking the victim.’
‘Yffi disliked Drax, too. Along with half the town. I will not entertain Blaston as a suspect, Brother. He cares too much for his family to risk being hanged. And he is not a killer, anyway.’
‘You are probably right. But we had better not dismiss him from our enquiries until we can be absolutely certain. Do not look alarmed! Fen the pardoner is much higher on my list than Blaston, and we know he was nosing around here the morning of the crime.’
‘Have you interviewed him yet?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing,’ replied Michael grimly. ‘Because he was out admiring churches with his two fat nuns when I called at the Carmelite Priory yesterday, and so was unavailable to me. But I shall snag him today, and see whether I can force a confession—‘
He was interrupted by the arrival of Meadowman, his favourite beadle.
‘You are needed at Peterhouse, Brother,’ said Meadowman apologetically. ‘They are squabbling with Batayl Hostel, and it is beyond my diplomatic skills to bring about a truce. There is no violence, but some very rude words are being exchanged.’
‘Then I suppose Fen will have to wait,’ sighed Michael, aiming for the gate.
Bartholomew and Father William were the only Fellows present for breakfast in Michaelhouse that morning, and half the students were missing, too. It did not take them long to understand why. Agatha was running dangerously low on supplies, so the meal comprised a grey, watery pottage that had been bulked out with the addition of bean pods and something that looked suspiciously like sawdust.
‘She must have got it from Blaston,’ said William, poking it in distaste.
The Franciscan was not a fussy eater, and if he found fault with what was on offer, Bartholomew knew the situation was serious. Suddenly, William surged to his feet and announced to the world at large that there would be no grace that day, because not even beggars could be expected to be grateful for such slop. Then he grabbed Bartholomew’s arm and steered him out of the hall, towards his own room. Bartholomew resisted, knowing from past experience that sessions in William’s quarters tended to mean being berated for something he had done that the friar deemed heretical.
‘Come,’ said William impatiently. ‘My students will be back soon and I have no intention of sharing with them. But you are a colleague. And besides, you look hungry.’
Bartholomew was both pleased and surprised when the Franciscan presented him with a large piece of bread, several slices of cold meat and a pot of cheese.
‘I slipped it up my sleeve during the feast,’ explained William gleefully. Bartholomew was not keen on the notion of eating something that had spent time inside the Franciscan’s revolting habit, but was hungry enough to overlook the matter. ‘I had a feeling Agatha would make up for yesterday’s luxury with a few days of thrift, so I decided to take precautious.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bartholomew, when he had eaten enough to make himself feel queasy. ‘It is good of you to share. I know you do not like doing it.’
‘No, I do not,’ agreed William blithely. ‘But you missed the feast, so it is only fair.’
Uncomfortably overloaded, Bartholomew went in search of Michael, but was told by Langelee that the monk was still trying to quell the spat between a rich College and a particularly poor hostel.
‘I have a bad feeling this rivalry will erupt into something dark and violent before it burns itself out,’ said the Master. ‘Incidentally, we had a message to say you are needed by the Carmelites.’
Bartholomew told Valence to read Theophilus’s De urinis to his other students, thinking Gyseburne would approve of time spent on urine. Then he walked to the White Friars’ convent, where Horneby said he was feeling better but was worried that continued hoarseness would affect his delivery at the Stock Extraordinary Lecture. Prior Etone was hovering anxiously on one side of the bed, while Welfry was on the other. Bartholomew raised his eyebrows at a Dominican among the Carmelites – the Orders tended not to fraternise.
‘Horneby and I are old friends,’ explained Welfry, when he saw Bartholomew’s surprise. ‘I have been helping him prepare his lecture.’
‘Welfry has a brilliant mind,’ said Etone begrudgingly. ‘If he were to use it sensibly, he could be Horneby’s equal in the debating chamber. But he prefers practical jokes to theology, and—’
‘Enough, Father!’ cried Welfry. His eyes danced with wry amusement – it was hardly Etone’s place to reprimand him. ‘You are worse than my Prior-General!’
‘Well, perhaps being Seneschal will make you more sombre,’ said Etone. ‘And bear in mind that if Horneby’s sickness persists, you will be the one I nominate to read his lecture.’
‘Me?’ asked Welfry, suddenly alarmed. ‘But I am not a Carmelite.’
‘No, but you are Horneby’s closest friend, and the man most familiar with his theses,’ said Etone. ‘Unfortunately, I do not think the rest of us are up to the task. You are though.’
‘Lord!’ breathed Welfry. He looked at Horneby, wide-eyed. ‘You had better get well as soon as possible, then, because I am disinclined to accept this “honour”.’
‘When is the lecture?’ asked Bartholomew, struggling to inspect Horneby’s throat with the Carmelites’ best lamp.
Prior Etone regarded him reproachfully. ‘Next Tuesday. How can you even ask such a question, when it has been the talk of the town for weeks?’
‘I have been busy,’ said Bartholomew defensively, supposing it was not the time to say he would not be going. Living among so many clerics meant he was bored with theology.
‘That is
no excuse, Matthew,’ said Etone severely. ‘You cannot be—’
‘Will you admonish everyone who crosses your path today, Father?’ croaked Horneby, while Welfry started to laugh. ‘Leave poor Bartholomew alone, or he may decline to come the next time we call him, and where would that leave us? Meryfeld is little more than a folk healer, while there is something about Gyseburne that I do not like at all.’
‘I know what you mean,’ agreed Etone. ‘He is distinctly sinister. And damned furtive, too.’
‘True,’ added Welfry. ‘I asked where he lived while he studied at Oxford – I was at Balliol, you see – but he refused to say. He would not even submit to a pleasant chat about the taverns we both might have frequented. I confess, I was mystified. But perhaps all physicians are curious creatures.’ He winked at Bartholomew, to show he was teasing.
But Etone took him at his word. ‘They are, and Matthew is a “curious creature”, too, I am afraid to say. He skates very close to the edge of unorthodoxy.’
‘He does what is necessary to help his patients,’ countered Horneby. ‘Patients like me. So please leave him be, and let him do what he came here for.’
Bartholomew applied a poultice to Horneby’s neck, feeling that the best cure was rest and time. The inflammation was receding nicely, although he had no idea whether Horneby would be completely well by the time he was scheduled to speak. They would just have to wait and see.
Welfry went with Bartholomew when he left, and they walked across the yard together. They were momentarily distracted from their discussion of Horneby’s lecture when one of the pilgrim nuns loudly announced that the shrine was dirty, and needed sweeping.
‘Then I will take the holy scapular to the chapel,’ said Fen. ‘We do not want dust settling on it.’
He disappeared inside, and emerged moments later with the reliquary under his arm. Poynton bustled forward to help, although Fen was perfectly able to carry it by himself.
‘St Simon Stock may be grateful enough to confer a few blessings on you,’ Poynton declared by way of explanation. ‘And I am not a man to miss out on blessings.’
The Killer Of Pilgrims: The Sixteenth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (The Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew) Page 10