‘And then what?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Did you plan to kill Turke as he travelled to Walsingham?’
‘Living in this violent town has given you a brutal perspective on life, Doctor. I was not going to kill anyone. My plan was that when Turke arrived at Walsingham, I would threaten to tell the priests about his crimes unless he paid me a lot of money.’
‘Why wait until then? Why not demand it in London or here, and save yourself a dangerous winter journey?’
Harysone sighed at his ignorance. ‘Because once Turke had arrived at the shrine I believe he would have done anything to get his absolution. So, it stands to reason that he would have offered me far more money to hold my tongue at that point.’
‘Did you know about this?’ asked Bartholomew of Philippa.
She nodded, white faced. ‘Walter told me John was also travelling to Walsingham, and I suspected immediately that his sole purpose would be blackmail. I carried messages between them. That is why I have been obliged to go out so often.’
Harysone smirked. ‘Turke was not even man enough to meet me and receive my instructions himself – the one time he did was when he stabbed Norbert. Usually, though, he sent his wife through the snow, while he sat by the fire, all safe and warm.’
Something in Bartholomew was relieved to learn that Philippa had not been meeting a lover, although he was not sure why. Perhaps the relief came from the fact that the lover was not the large-toothed Harysone, as he had feared when the man had first made his appearance.
‘Surely Giles would have helped you?’ he said to Philippa.
‘Giles believes I was dallying with a suitor,’ she said in a low voice. ‘He lent me his hat, because he thinks meeting a man might bring me happiness. He would not have condoned me helping Walter to wriggle out of a charge of murder – and see himself elected Lord Mayor into the bargain. But I was Walter’s wife, and it was my duty to do what my husband asked of me.’
‘So, Frith and Ailred unwittingly spoiled your plans,’ said Bartholomew to Harysone. ‘Turke dead is not in a position to be blackmailed.’
‘I made a mistake by not revealing myself to them when I first arrived,’ said Harysone bitterly. ‘I assumed Josse had delivered my message to Ailred, and that he knew what I intended to do, but now I see Josse failed me. I shall have words with that young man when I return to Chepe.’
‘Did Ailred and Frith not see you?’ asked Bartholomew, surprised. The town was not so large that three close relatives could spend days without meeting.
Harysone tapped his long teeth. ‘My disguise as a pardoner was so good that even they did not recognise me.’
‘But it was Frith – your cousin – who stole from you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He took your gold at the King’s Head. Morice returned it to you, but took a handsome finder’s fee in the process.’
‘That gold was money I had demanded from Turke when I met him by the Mill Pool, the night he murdered Norbert,’ said Harysone. ‘It was a pity to lose it, but it came easily, and I did not miss it too much. Frith is a natural thief, and I should have known he would see a pardoner as fair game. He burgled two other patrons, too, although they accepted the loss with stoicism and declined to involve the Sheriff. Anyway, you see why I agreed to Morice’s vile arrangements. Obviously I did not want a Sheriff prying too deeply into where the money had come from.’
‘It was also because you did not want to risk closer contact with Frith, lest he recognised you,’ said Bartholomew, disgusted. ‘Your lenience was not because you wanted to protect your cousin, but to safeguard yourself.’
‘I do not like Frith,’ admitted Harysone. ‘He was always trying to persuade my father to disown me and make him sole heir. However, it is Uncle Ailred’s motives, not mine, that will provide you with your answers. Do you understand now why he was so keen for Brother Michael to solve Norbert’s murder? It was because the hated Turke was the culprit. Turke admitted to Uncle Ailred that he had stabbed Norbert with Gosslinge’s knife, and Uncle Ailred wanted him revealed as a killer, even after he was dead.’
‘Does this mean you were with Turke that night?’ asked Bartholomew in confusion. ‘Ailred implied it was Frith.’
‘Then he is wrong: it was me. I was demanding money from Turke to pay for my board at the King’s Head.’ He smirked again. ‘I was the one who pushed you over after you heard Norbert scream. I grabbed my fish as I ran.’
‘The tench was important after all,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘We should have known that only someone who was afraid of the association between the rotten fish and the murdered student would have bothered to snatch it up as he fled.’
‘Quite, but you did not see that connection – luckily for me. But Norbert is irrelevant. It was Turke’s death that really inconvenienced me. I did not imagine for a moment that my kindly uncle and my inept cousin would kill him and deprive me of my future fortunes.’ He smiled nastily at Philippa. ‘But fortunately Turke’s wife is keen to protect her dead husband’s reputation, so we have continued to meet, to see if we can reach an acceptable arrangement.’
Bartholomew shook his head, disgusted by Harysone’s determination to wring money out of anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. ‘Was blackmailing Turke really worth a winter journey to Walsingham? Why not wait until the eve of his election or some other opportune time?’
‘Because I need money now. You see, my father devised a new way of salting fish, and had invested all we owned in the venture. But Turke would not allow the method to be used and, after my father’s murder, I learned I had no inheritance left. Nothing at all. Since I do not want to live in poverty I was obliged to act promptly.’
‘I suppose the tench Norbert won was prepared using your father’s method?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘That was why it was rotten.’
‘The technique requires honing,’ admitted Harysone. He fingered the relic that still hung around his neck, as if hoping to draw strength from it.
‘And now you have St Zeno to help you do it,’ said Bartholomew, not at all sure he did.
Harysone nodded. ‘I know you think my relic is Gosslinge’s thumb, but you are wrong. Langelee should have asked a good deal more than five pounds for this. I shall sell it to the Fraternity of Fishmongers for three times that amount.’
‘I should have seen you were no pardoner when you showed your ignorance of theology,’ said Bartholomew. He regarded Harysone closely. ‘I should have noticed that your teeth are not real, too. They are too large, and you are unused to them, because I once heard them clang on the rim of your wine cup. A man comfortable with his teeth does not allow that to happen. Also, my students commented that your eating was a spectacle that caused them some entertainment.’
Harysone inclined his head. ‘I would remove them for you, but they are not easily taken in and out. I cement them in with gum mastic each morning, and I do not want to slip them out without the aid of a mirror. I might lose some of my real ones in the process and I do not have many left. Like my father, I am sadly bereft of them.’
Bartholomew recalled what he himself had said to Michael, when William had discovered the remains of the marchpane figure: that people often have one distinguishing feature that outshines all others. Harysone’s teeth were so prominent that they drew attention away from everything else. Without them folk might have recognised his gait or the shape of his mouth.
Harysone scratched at his face until the beard came off on his fingers, and Bartholomew saw it had the same texture as the horsehair used to make false moustaches for the female Waits.
‘My hair is dyed,’ Harysone added, ‘and I have also coloured my face, to make it swarthy. As I said – even my kin did not recognise me, and Frith and I spent time in the same tavern! We even exchanged one or two words, although not many. I did not want him too close.’