‘He is my chief suspect for killing Tynkell, Lyng and Moleyns,’ interrupted Michael. ‘So you might want to distance yourself from him while you can. It will do your own career no good to be associated with a murderer.’
Whittlesey gaped at him. ‘Godrich is no murderer! I would stake my life on it.’
‘You are staking your life on it,’ retorted Michael, ‘because who knows who will be next for a burin in the heart? Besides, it is not your place to meddle in University affairs.’
Whittlesey gave him a pitying smile. ‘Do you honestly believe that? Powerful men are impressed by what you have achieved here, and they do not want your work undone. My remit was not only to tell you of your good fortune and bring you safely to Rochester, but also to ensure that your departure does not leave a dangerous void.’
‘Then do not foist Godrich on us. Suttone will be a much more–’
‘Suttone will not be as malleable as you think,’ warned Whittlesey. He forced a smile. ‘But let us not quarrel. You will see I am right in time.’
He patted the monk on the shoulder, and hurried after his cousin.
‘What powerful people is he talking about?’ asked Bartholomew, also resenting the envoy’s interference. ‘Courtiers? I do not think it matters what they think.’
‘He means the bishops, who have a vested interest in both universities, because it is where their priests are trained.’
They continued on their way, and were just passing St John Zachary when the door opened and Egidia flounced out, Inge at her side. Frisby was behind her, grinning in delight, while Tulyet brought up the rear, his face as black as thunder.
‘A toast!’ Frisby declared, producing a wineskin. His flushed face and bright eyes suggested that he had probably done this several times already. ‘To our agreement.’
‘What agreement?’ asked Michael warily.
‘The one that says Sir John Moleyns will have his tomb here, in my church,’ replied Frisby happily. ‘Because of his name.’
‘John,’ explained Egidia, lest the scholars had not made the connection. ‘St Mary the Great is getting rather full, what with Dallingridge, Godrich and Chancellor Tynkell destined to bag great swathes of space there, so Inge and I looked to see what else was available.’
‘I dislike the mess masons make, of course,’ slurred Frisby. ‘But the King himself is likely to visit his dear friend Moleyns, so it will be worth the inconvenience. His Majesty will reward me handsomely if I oversee the provision of a suitable monument.’
‘No doubt,’ said Tulyet between gritted teeth. ‘But I am not paying for it.’
‘Oh, yes, you are,’ countered Egidia sharply. ‘You failed to protect him from killers, so it is the least you can do.’
‘I have not forgotten the horseman who galloped away moments after his death,’ said Michael. ‘The one whose saddle bore the Stoke Poges insignia. Are you sure he was not carrying messages from you to the villagers, informing them about a change of circumstances?’
‘Yes, we are sure,’ said Inge tightly. ‘As we told you the first time you asked.’
‘Because he rode out so soon after the murder that I am left wondering if he knew it was going to happen,’ Michael continued. ‘And–’
‘That is ridiculous,’ interrupted Inge sharply. ‘And now, you must excuse us, because we have important business to attend.’
‘You will not catch them out, Brother,’ said Tulyet, watching them strut away. ‘Believe me, I have tried. Inge is far too slippery and Egidia is guided by him. If you really think they are the culprits, we must find another way to trap them.’
‘Like finding the woman in the embroidered cloak and asking her to identify the culprit,’ said Michael pointedly.
Tulyet inclined his head. ‘I shall make a concerted effort to track her down today. Incidentally, I hear you lost a tomb lid last night, just as Isnard and Gundrede returned from the Fens. Curious, eh?’
Edith was at home when Bartholomew and Michael arrived, readying her household for Mass in St John Zachary, and all was noisy chaos. The younger apprentices stood in a chattering line to have their faces and hands inspected for cleanliness, while the servants were hurrying to finish their chores before it was time to leave. Bartholomew went to the solar to wait until she was free, which suited Michael very well, as it was where breakfast had been laid.
‘What did Kolvyle say to you last night?’ asked Bartholomew, when Edith came to see what they wanted. He spoke quickly, to distract her from the fact that Michael had made rather significant inroads into her household’s victuals. ‘Suttone thought he might have upset you.’
‘He did upset me,’ said Edith shortly. ‘He told me that your College has hired Petit to fix Wilson’s tomb, which will slow down progress on Oswald. He says it shows that you love Michaelhouse more than you love me.’
‘It was Langelee who hired Petit,’ said Michael, while Bartholomew marvelled that the young scholar should be so vindictive. ‘Matt had nothing to do with it.’
‘I know that,’ said Edith impatiently. ‘And I told Kolvyle exactly what I think of sneaky youths who bray lies about my brother. He will not come here trying to make trouble again, the loathsome little worm!’
‘And you need not worry about Wilson interfering with Oswald anyway,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Because his ledger slab was stolen last night. You did not take it, did you?’
Edith laughed. ‘I think it might be a little too heavy for me to tote around. However, it does not matter anyway, because I dismissed Petit this morning. I have hired Lakenham instead, and Oswald will have a nice brass in place of an effigy.’
Her steward called up the stairs at that moment, to say that everyone was ready to leave. Bartholomew and Michael followed her to the yard, where she gave her household one last inspection to ensure that all was in order, then led the way out on to the street.
‘Go with her, Matt,’ instructed Michael. ‘The tomb-makers attend St John Zachary, so try to find out which of them stole Wilson’s lid. We cannot afford another, so it is vital that we get it back.’
‘You do not believe Isnard took it, then?’ asked Bartholomew, not sure how he was expected to solve a theft when the Senior Proctor and Sheriff had tried and failed.
‘He would never act against Michaelhouse – he loves the choir too much. Of course, he is bitter about the fact that I shall soon be unavailable to lead it, and he listens to that rogue Gundrede far too much for his own good …’
‘Where will you be while I am doing your work?’ asked Bartholomew. He was unwilling to accept that Isnard would steal from their church, even if Michael was wavering.
‘King’s Hall. I plan to bribe a porter to let me search Godrich’s room.’
Obediently, Bartholomew hurried to St John Zachary, where Frisby was thundering wine-scented greetings to his parishioners. Inside, he saw Lakenham and Cristine inspecting Stanmore’s tomb in readiness for beginning work on it the following day, so he went to speak to them first. However, he had only just stepped into the chancel when he found himself surrounded by Petit and his apprentices.
‘No one cancels my commissions,’ the mason hissed angrily. ‘So tell your sister to take me back, or Stanmore will not be in his tomb alone for long – you will join him there.’
‘It is your own fault,’ said Bartholomew, more irritated than unnerved by the threat. ‘You should have kept your promises.’
‘I did keep them,’ snarled Petit. ‘But laymen do not understand how long these things take. And it is stupid to dismiss me now, just when the end is in sight.’