‘Did he?’ pounced Michael. ‘I thought you said the outcome was the proper one – that Moleyns was innocent.’
‘We did,’ said Inge smoothly. ‘But that was when Moleyns posed a danger to us. Now he is dead, we can tell the truth.’
‘That is right,’ nodded Egidia, licking her lips nervously, ‘Of course my husband killed Uncle Peter, and Godrich did pervert the course of justice by bribing the jury. And if you want more evidence that Godrich is a rogue, ask him about all the gold that Inge and I paid him to–’
‘Paid him to buy books for impoverished hostels,’ interrupted Inge sharply, and from the way Egidia jumped, it was clear that he had kicked her under the table. He leaned back on the bench, feigning nonchalance.
‘Well, that explains how Godrich was able to spend so much on his election campaign,’ murmured Michael to Bartholomew. ‘He had a plentiful source of easy money.’
‘You had better say your prayers,’ said Tulyet to Egidia, instinctively targeting the weaker of the two. ‘Because this letter is enough to see you on the scaffold.’
‘It is a forgery,’ said Inge with a shrug, although Egidia blanched. ‘Why would Godrich make such a claim when he is about to be Chancellor? It damages him as much as it does us.’
‘Yes – he would rather forget what happened in Stoke Poges all those years ago,’ agreed Egidia. ‘It shows him in a very poor light and–’
She jumped when Inge gave her another warning kick.
‘Think about it,’ Inge went on smoothly. ‘If there was any truth in those allegations, he would have made them years ago.’
‘Too right,’ said Egidia, ignoring the lawyer’s angry grimace for refusing to shut up. ‘That letter is a piece of dirty mischief, and you should put it in the fire, where it belongs. Give it to me at once.’
She made a lunge for it, but Tulyet held it aloft.
‘That reaction tells me all I need to know,’ he said coldly. ‘You did kill Peter Poges, and Moleyns’ acquittal was not the miscarriage of justice we all thought. Did he ever guess that his wife and friend left him to stand trial for a crime that they committed?’
Their sullen silence suggested he had not, and Bartholomew supposed it was just as well Moleyns was dead, or they could have expected some serious retribution. Belatedly, Inge drew breath to deny the charge, but the physician spoke first.
‘Tell us how you came to swallow resin,’ he ordered, deciding to follow Tulyet’s example and opt for a frontal attack.
‘Rougham!’ muttered Inge in disgust. ‘So much for professional discretion.’
‘Answer the question.’ Tulyet waved the letter again. ‘You are already accused of murder, so a charge of theft makes no odds now.’
‘Theft?’ echoed Inge, raising his eyebrows. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘And you will never prove murder anyway,’ put in Egidia. ‘Not now.’
‘We had nothing to do with Moleyns’ antics.’ Inge spoke quickly, in an obvious effort to prevent Egidia from saying any more. ‘We went through all this yesterday: we guessed what he was doing, but we were not involved.’
‘No,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘But when you saw how well his scheme worked, you decided to devise one of your own. He stole coins, but you opted for marble, lead, brasses, nails, pinnacles, pitch–’
‘All valuable commodities that will fetch high prices in London,’ said Tulyet, watching Inge in a way that suggested he had revised his opinion of Bartholomew’s theory, and was now ready to accept it.
The lawyer sneered. ‘And can you prove any of this? No? Then I suggest you desist with these slanderous allegations. I have already written to the King about our treatment here, and this will do nothing to help your case.’
‘That is true.’ Egidia nodded eagerly. ‘Your accusations will look like what they are – a sly attempt to escape the blame for John’s murder. No one will believe you, regardless of whether or not they are true.’
‘That was a confession,’ pounced Tulyet, while Inge shot her an irritable scowl. ‘And I have heard enough. You are both under arrest. We shall resume this discussion in the castle.’
He stepped forward purposefully. Egidia immediately began to screech her outrage, while Inge leapt to his feet and grabbed a knife from the table. Unfortunately for him, it was a blunt one, used for smearing cheese on bread, and Tulyet regarded it contemptuously. Inge gulped his alarm when the Sheriff drew his sword, and promptly dived under the table.
The ensuing commotion, as Tulyet tried to lay hold of the lawyer without losing his own dignity by getting down on all fours, drew spectators from the other rooms, including Cook and Helbye. When one of Inge’s wildly flailing fists caught Tulyet a glancing blow on the cheek, Helbye bellowed his fury and waded into the fray, trailing bandages. Unfortunately, he did more to hinder than help, particularly as his right arm was useless.
Michael managed to lay hold of Egidia, but she bit him, so he yelped and let her go, leaving Bartholomew to grab her. Then Inge scrambled from beneath the table and darted towards the door, but when Tulyet tried to follow, his feet became entangled in Helbye’s dressings. He stumbled over them, and Helbye’s scream of agony froze him in his tracks.
Bartholomew shoved Egidia at him, and hurtled after Inge, whom he would have caught with ease, if Cook had not decided that it was a good opportunity for some sly revenge. The barber launched himself at Bartholomew and managed to land several hefty thumps before the physician was able to turn and fend him off.
With no one to stop him, Inge shot through the door and dashed into the street. Michael set off in lumbering pursuit, but the lawyer had already disappeared, and the monk returned moments later, shaking his head to say Inge had escaped.
‘Enough!’ roared Tulyet, in a voice so full of anger that Egidia stopped struggling and Cook desisted in his efforts to hit Bartholomew. The physician used Cook’s momentary inattention to land a punch that made him stagger; he was ashamed of how much pleasure it gave him.
‘Go after Inge,’ Tulyet ordered one of his men, who had rushed in to help when he had heard the sounds of a skirmish. ‘And send me a couple of lads to escort Egidia to the castle. Matt, leave that butcher alone and help Helbye.’
‘Barber,’ corrected Cook, rubbing his jaw and glaring at Bartholomew. ‘I am a barber.’
‘Do not worry about me,’ said Helbye, although he was clutching his elbow and his face was grey with pain. ‘I shall be as right as rain when Cook has bound me up.’
‘He has not had his shave yet either,’ said Cook, and shot Bartholomew a glance that was full of malicious hostility. ‘I do not cheat my customers, unlike some I could mention. Come, Helbye. Let me finish mending your arm.’
Tulyet started to object, but Helbye raised a weary hand and made a feeble joke about his stubble. Then soldiers arrived to conduct Egidia to the gaol. She went with quiet dignity, her head held high, which suggested that she did not expect to be incarcerated for long before Inge rallied powerful forces to free her.
‘She is going to be disappointed,’ said Tulyet, watching her go. ‘Her husband wielded a certain power, but no one will listen to Inge. Which is why he ran, of course – he knows there would have been no rescue for him.’
While Tulyet went to supervise the hunt for Inge, Bartholomew and Michael aimed for Maud’s Hostel, to speak to Hopeman again.
‘Inge will not get far,’ predicted Bartholomew. ‘He will be caught if he tries to hire a horse, and he does not seem like the kind of man who will fare well hiding in the marshes.’