Ulfrid frowned in puzzlement. ‘But, conversely, Cynric accidentally left the College silver out after the Christmas Day feast, and it sat unmolested for a whole day before it was returned to the chest in Langelee’s room. Frith could have had that easily, yet he did not touch it.’
‘And William has three gold nobles that he always leaves in full view on his windowsill,’ added Zebedee. ‘They are worth six shillings and eightpence each, and it would be a simple matter for someone to reach in and grab them. I know Frith has seen them, and there have been plenty of opportunities when they could have been his. But he ignores them.’
‘Then perhaps we are misjudging him,’ suggested Michael. ‘It is easy to think the worst of people we do not know, and the fact that he is able to resist gold nobles and silver plates tells me he is probably not interested in pennies and salt dishes. But there is another matter I would like you to help me with. It involves the King’s Head.’
Ulfrid was suddenly the recipient of a lot of stares that were far from friendly, and he squirmed uncomfortably. ‘You did not have to come,’ he blurted defensively, glaring back at his colleagues. ‘You could have stayed in the Swan.’
‘We could not let you go on your own,’ said Zebedee. ‘What if Godric and the others had not turned up? You would have been alone in an apprentice-filled tavern.’
‘Godric from Ovyng?’ asked Michael. ‘You went to the King’s Head to meet him?’
‘Now look what you have done.’ Ulfrid rounded on his friend. ‘You have dragged Godric into trouble, too, and he has enough to worry about, what with the Tulyets not giving his hostel any more money, and Ailred fretting over this Norbert business.’
Michael crossed his arms and listened. Questions he would have asked were answered by the bickering students without any intervention on his part. He learned that the Michaelhouse Franciscans preferred to drink their illicit ale in the Swan, which was quieter and more peaceful than most of the town’s inns, while the Ovyng Franciscans favoured the noisy, lively atmosphere of the King’s Head. The students of most Colleges and hostels tended not to mix, but the building Ovyng used was owned by Michaelhouse, and the Franciscans were on friendly terms with each other, occasionally meeting for a companionable drink.
Early on the night Norbert had been killed it had been Godric’s turn to buy the ale, and he had suggested the King’s Head as the venue. The Michaelhouse lads had demurred, nervous of patronising such a disreputable place at a busy time like Christmas, but Ulfrid had later decided to go anyway, if only to tell Godric not to expect them. Reluctantly, the others had gone with him, but it had been their first and last visit. Ulfrid had won some dice in a bet with the boastful Harysone, and they had all witnessed the pardoner’s individual dancing style. However, although they had passed an enjoyable evening with their Ovyng friends, they knew that the King’s Head was more likely to be raided by beadles than other taverns, and had declined to go a second time. All the student Franciscans had left the inn before compline, and had returned to their respective homes fairly sober and long before the gates and doors had been secured for the night.
‘Did you see Norbert in the tavern that evening?’ asked Michael.
The friars nodded. ‘But we were in a small chamber at the back, and he was in the public room at the front,’ replied Ulfrid.
‘We saw him gambling with Harysone,’ offered Zebedee helpfully.
‘This is interesting,’ said Michael. ‘Your Ovyng friends have not mentioned this.’
‘That is because they were not there at that point,’ said Ulfrid, sounding surprised that Michael did not know. ‘We arrived first, to make sure of grabbing seats in the back room. Godric and the others are not so fussy about where they sit, and they were late that night, because they were at some public lecture that went on for longer than they expected.’
‘After Norbert won the fish, he took his winnings and a woman, and retired upstairs,’ continued Zebedee. ‘Godric and the others arrived a few moments after that. Norbert was still up there when we all left, so none of the Ovyng students could have seen him. They did not even know he was there. None of us mentioned the fellow, because talking about him would have spoiled their evening. So, I think we can safely say that none of them had anything to do with the murder.’
‘I see,’ said Michael noncommittally, thinking that it was not impossible for an Ovyng student to have slipped out of his hostel later and killed Norbert. He turned the subject back to Harysone and his stabbing, and learned that the Michaelhouse students’ only visit to the King’s Head had been several days before Harysone was attacked.
‘I expect Harysone remembered that Ulfrid was from Michaelhouse,’ said Zebedee. ‘He would recall Ulfrid, because he lost his dice to him. He then made the erroneous assumption that all Franciscans are from the same College. But we know nothing about any stabbing, Brother. How is it that Harysone did not see his assailant, anyway? I would remember a man who had knifed me!’
‘Whoever assaulted him made the mistake of aiming for the hard bones at the base of the spine, instead of the soft bits higher up. Or perhaps Harysone moved suddenly, and the would-be killer’s dagger found itself embedded lower than was intended. Can I see your knives?’
The students obliged, and Michael was presented with a mixture of implements. Most were tiny, intended only for cutting up food at the table, although Zebedee’s was larger, and Ulfrid’s was more ornate than it should have been.
‘I lost mine,’ admitted Ulfrid. ‘So William lent me his spare one. It is a little fancy, but it will suffice until I have the money to buy another.’
Michael nodded his thanks and walked away. Had Ulfrid really lost his original knife, or had he thrown it away when he realised the tip had been left in his victim? The monk shook his head impatiently. The novices had just told him they had only visited the King’s Head once, and that had been before the attack on Harysone. Or was Ulfrid lying? Had he returned alone at a later date, thinking he might win something more interesting than a pair of dice? And had he been disappointed in his hopes and had then taken revenge on Harysone?
And was Ulfrid the owner of the knife that had killed Norbert? The friars of Michaelhouse and Ovyng were friends, so was it possible that Ulfrid disliked Norbert for bringing Ovyng into disrepute and had decided to solve the problem for his comrades once and for all? Or was the merry-faced Ulfrid innocent of both crimes, and had just lost his knife, as he claimed? People mislaid items like knives, pens and inkwells all the time.
His instincts told him that the Michaelhouse lads were honest in their denials about Norbert’s murder, although he was less certain about their Ovyng colleagues. Perhaps they had seen Norbert in the King’s Head, and had merely declined to enter the tavern as long as the man was flaunting himself in the main chamber. It was also possible that one had doubled back and had lain in wait for him, stabbing him by the Mill Pool. And perhaps it had been another of them who had finished what the first had started, using a stone when Norbert had finally crawled to where he thought he would be safe. Michael’s sense of unease intensified, and he saw he would have no peace until he had Norbert’s killer under lock and key – whoever he transpired to be.
Bartholomew presented his finished illustration to Michael with a flourish. The monk was impressed. The drawing was very precise, even down to the way the blood had crusted where the hilt met the blade, and he realised the physician had quite a talent for sketching. The monk studied the diagram carefully. The dagger’s handle was depicted as relatively plain, but there was green and yellow glass that would make the thing very distinctive.
‘You saw all this before you dropped it?’ he asked, hoping that his friend had not added the beads to the picture to make it more attractive.