‘I passed through it last summer,’ corrected Thelnetham. ‘I did not stay there. My prior sent me on business to a Gilbertine cell nearby, but floods forced me to leave the main road and take a detour. In other words, it was chance that took me to Stoke Poges, not design.’
‘You never did explain how you learned about Tynkell and the Stoke Poges’ chapel. Did he tell you himself? Or confide in Nicholas?’
‘No.’ Thelnetham hesitated briefly before continuing. ‘I met a young man when I stopped to water my horse there, and we … understood each other. I mentioned that our Sheriff is always looking for recruits who do not mind hard work …’
Bartholomew could well imagine the scene. Thelnetham sensing a kindred spirit, and encouraging him to migrate to a town where such liaisons were more readily accepted. ‘And he acted on your advice?’
Thelnetham nodded. ‘We have been friends ever since. It was he who told me about Tynkell and the chapel. He also mentioned that the village’s motif is a pilgrim staff – the symbol I saw on that rider’s saddle.’
Bartholomew regarded him uneasily. ‘I do not suppose this man was Yevele – the soldier who let Moleyns out at night? It makes sense that Moleyns would use a lad from his own manor for such business.’
Thelnetham grimaced. ‘Yes, which means I bear some responsibility for what happened. Of course, I had no idea that Moleyns had blackmailed him until today …’
‘Moleyns blackmailed him?’
‘By threatening to expose his peccadillos. Moleyns said he just wanted to go out the once, but then he demanded a second excursion and a third, and poor Yevele was locked in a cycle of deceit. After Moleyns’ death, he came to me in such terror that I gave him money to run away.’
‘Are you sure that was wise? Dick Tulyet will be livid.’
‘Of course it was not wise, Matthew, but it was the right thing to do. Yevele should not suffer because Moleyns was a rogue who preyed on the vulnerable.’
‘Did Yevele tell you anything else?’
‘Just that Moleyns murdered Egidia’s uncle – Peter Poges – to get his hands on the manor, and that he was a villain who was corrupt to the core. Perhaps that roar was the Devil coming for him, because he is certainly the kind of man Satan would want in Hell.’
‘What you heard was Trinity Hall’s new dormitory tumbling down.’
‘So you say,’ muttered Thelnetham, crossing himself.
Chapter 10
The next day was Sunday, when there was a longer service in church, followed by a marginally nicer breakfast than that served during the rest of the week. Formal teaching was forbidden, but the University’s masters knew better than to release hundreds of lively young men into the town with nothing to do, so some form of entertainment was always arranged. In Michaelhouse, it revolved around games, the reading of humorous tracts or mock disputations. The Fellows took turns to organise something, and that week Langelee ordered Kolvyle to oblige.
‘I doubt he will best what you did last Sunday,’ murmured Michael to Bartholomew. ‘My theologians are still talking about cenandum liberalis quam prandendum. They tell me they have never laughed so much in all their lives.’
The debate had been about whether it was better to eat more at breakfast than at dinner, and Michael had been one of the disputants. The monk had been unable to bring himself to say that he might consume less at either, and the seriousness with which he took the question had amused the whole College. Afterwards, there had been ball games in the orchard for those with energy to burn, or a quiz on Aesop’s fables for those of a more sedentary nature.
‘Kolvyle does not have a comic bone in his body,’ said Langelee. ‘Perhaps it is because he knows nothing about camp-ball, which is a sure sign of an undeveloped mind.’
They processed to the church, where they were startled to discover that the lid to Wilson’s tomb was gone, leaving behind an open chest containing a lot of rubbish left by the original mason. Scratches on the flagstones showed where the slab had been lugged to the door.
‘Perhaps Petit took it away,’ suggested William, as they all clustered around to look.
‘He has not, because we agreed that he would work on it in situ,’ said Langelee worriedly, ‘to save on costs. Lord! I hope it has not been stolen.’
Michael’s expression was grim. ‘I imagine it has – and we cannot afford to replace it.’
‘I heard that Isnard and Gundrede arrived home last night,’ said Kolvyle slyly. ‘Perhaps you should ask them if they took it.’
‘I know how to investigate a crime, thank you,’ said Michael sharply.
‘Do you?’ sneered Kolvyle. ‘That is not how it seems to me. We have six unsolved murders, while robbers continue to make off with whatever they please. You are doing nothing about any of it. At least, nothing that is effective.’
He took his place in the chancel before Michael could respond, then stood with his head bowed, although Bartholomew was sure he could not be praying after such a spiteful tirade.
‘I admire your patience, Brother,’ growled William. ‘I would box his ears if he spoke to me like that. Indeed, I am considering boxing them anyway, just for being an irritating–’
‘I shall deal with him in my own way,’ interrupted Michael shortly. ‘Without recourse to violence. He will not emerge the victor, never fear.’
It was Suttone’s turn to officiate at the altar, but his performance was unusually lacklustre, and the students began to shuffle and fuss restlessly. He finished eventually, and Langelee led his scholars back to the College. The Fellows sat in silence for once, each sunk in his own concerns, although the students were lively, eagerly anticipating the entertainment that would soon begin. Bartholomew suspected they were going to be sadly disappointed.
Langelee intoned a final grace, and everyone left the hall for the servants to clear up. The Fellows – other than Kolvyle and Clippesby – stood together in the yard, chatting about their plans for the day. Langelee was due to play camp-ball that afternoon, and was looking forward to fighting his friends in the name of sport, while William planned to visit the Franciscan Friary. Both promised to use the occasions to secure Suttone more votes.
‘I spent most of yesterday evening visiting hostels,’ said Suttone. ‘It was callous, I know, given that it was where Lyng was popular, but Godrich, Thelnetham and Hopeman started the moment they learned he was dead. At least I had the decency to wait for a few hours.’
‘Do not allow scruples to hold you back,’ advised William sternly. ‘You must be as ruthless as your opponents, if you aim to win.’
‘More ruthless,’ corrected Langelee. ‘I can give you plenty of tips in that direction, if you like. For example, Godrich is currently in the lead, so how about a rumour to disparage him? We can say he slept with the Queen when he was last at Court.’
‘Did he?’ asked Suttone wistfully. ‘I do not blame him. She is a beautiful lady.’
Langelee reflected thoughtfully. ‘I suppose that might raise him in the estimation of some. Perhaps we should say that he has formed an unnatural affection for his horse then.’
‘No,’ said Michael firmly. ‘I cannot condone that sort of tactic. At least, not yet – we may have to review the situation come Wednesday.’
‘Actually, we are doing quite well in the polls,’ said William. ‘Especially after I went to the Austin Friary, and told them to vote for Suttone. They agreed – all twenty-seven of them.’
‘Thank you, Father,’ said Suttone, pleased.
‘I told them that you were the only candidate who would know what to do in a second wave of the plague,’ William went on. ‘Unfortunately, I think I might have frightened them.’