Bartholomew shot him a withering glance. ‘I have included nothing I did not see. Will it do?’
‘It will do very nicely,’ said Michael, nodding his satisfaction. ‘And the first people we shall try it on are the Franciscan friars of Ovyng, who may know more than they are telling about this peculiar business. I have just learned they were in the King’s Head the night Norbert died, although Ulfrid believes the friars and Norbert did not see each other. However, I shall reserve judgement on that.’
‘I think you will achieve more success when you show it to Philippa and Giles. You know what I think Turke was doing when he fell through the ice.’
Michael gave a hearty sigh. ‘You cannot be more wrong. In order to kill someone you need a motive, and Turke had no reason to murder Norbert. However, now Agatha has revealed that Harysone was asking after Dympna, we can conclude he had a connection with Norbert – more than just two men dicing for fish together. I shall show your picture to him, too.’
‘Agatha’s information must have pleased you. You have had Harysone marked down for a criminal act ever since he arrived.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Michael happily. ‘And it is good to know my instincts have not misled me. But we should hurry, or the Ovyng lads will be in their beds. These Franciscans retire early in the winter, and it is almost six o’clock already.’
They walked briskly to Ovyng. The temperature had fallen dramatically with the approach of night, and the air almost cracked with cold. The ground underfoot was as hard as stone, and any moisture had long since frozen like iron. Few people were out, and those that were huddled deep inside their cloaks.
‘Another beggar froze to death last night,’ said Michael as they struggled through the snow. ‘I am going to ask Langelee to keep St Michael’s open. Beggars are useful sources of information for us proctors, and I do not want to lose them all this winter.’
Bartholomew smiled, knowing Michael was hiding his compassion for the poor by pretending their welfare was in his own interest. ‘We should visit Dunstan before we go home,’ he said, thinking it might take more than Robin’s provisions to keep the old man alive that night. ‘I want to make sure Yolande has banked the fire.’
They knocked on Ovyng’s door, and were admitted by Godric, who had a smear of ink on his face and held a sheaf of parchment. He wore thick hose and outdoor boots against the cold, and his woollen habit looked bulky, as though he had pulled on as many clothes as he could underneath it. Even so, his fingers had a bluish tinge at their tips, and he was shivering as he stepped aside to let Bartholomew and Michael in.
A small fire was burning in the hearth of the main hall, but it was wholly inadequate to warm a large, stone-built room that had gaps in its window shutters and a wide chimney, both of which allowed the wind to blast through them. All the student friars and Ailred were present, sitting around a table that had been placed as close to the fire as possible, and looking as chilled and miserable as did Godric. Ailred had a pile of sad-looking fish in front of him, which he was patiently gutting. He was leading a debate on the sermons of Thomas Aquinas at the same time.
Some of the fish were cooking over the meagre flames, and the distinctive aroma of food that was past its best pervaded the hostel. Two loaves of bread were being warmed in an attempt to disguise the fact that their outsides were blue with mould, and a bucket of cloudy ale stood behind the hearth, so that some of the chill might be driven from it. Godric kept glancing towards the fire. Bartholomew had the feeling he was hungry, and the visit from the Senior Proctor meant that his meal was being delayed.
‘Finances,’ he said in a subdued voice, seeing the Michaelhouse men absorbing the details of their frigid room and paltry meal. ‘I know we friars are supposed to seek ways to deny ourselves bodily comforts, but freezing solid and eating food unfit even for animals is not generally recommended by our Order. Norbert’s death has been a bitter blow for Ovyng.’ He scowled at Ailred.
‘Tulyet has stopped paying for Norbert’s education,’ said Bartholomew in understanding, thinking the dead man’s family must have been charged some very princely fees if their cessation resulted in such sudden and abject poverty at Ovyng. ‘But you must have anticipated their loss when he died, so you cannot be surprised.’
‘We are not surprised,’ said Ailred, a little testily. ‘But we did not expect the weather to turn quite so bitter before we could think of ways to manage the shortfall. We have food, but little fuel.’
‘Food of sorts,’ muttered Godric under his breath. ‘Stinking fish that even the cat would not touch, and blue bread.’
‘You should mention your plight to Robin of Grantchester,’ said Bartholomew to Ailred. ‘He conjured peat faggots and wood from thin air when Dunstan the riverman was in need.’
‘That is different,’ said Ailred stiffly. ‘Dunstan’s is a case of genuine hardship, whereas we are merely uncomfortable. We will not die from the cold.’
‘We might,’ muttered Godric resentfully, and Bartholomew concluded that their reduced circumstances were something about which the two men did not agree. Some of the students nodded, and the physician saw that they definitely sided with Godric.
‘We shall have to get out our begging bowls,’ said one, while the others muttered rebelliously. ‘We will not survive the winter if we do not do something to help ourselves.’
‘We shall manage,’ said Ailred sharply. ‘You must remember that however cold and hungry you feel there is always someone worse off than you. Do not complain unnecessarily, and give the saints cause to increase your hardship.’
‘I have come to ask you about Master Harysone the pardoner,’ said Michael conversationally in the silence that followed. ‘He speared himself while dancing in the King’s Head, and has accused a Franciscan of holding the knife. Does anyone have anything he would like to tell me?’
Ailred looked horrified. ‘I can assure you that no one here would set foot in a house of sin like the King’s Head.’
‘Which houses of sin do you set foot in, then?’ asked Michael, aware that the students were not so quick to deny the accusation. They were exchanging guilty, anxious glances, and clearly wondering whether their Michaelhouse colleagues had betrayed them.
‘None!’ protested Ailred, appalled at the notion. ‘Such behaviour would break University rules. I do not need to tell you that, Brother.’
‘What about you, Godric?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘We are not interested in whether you imbibe in the King’s Head regularly, just whether you were there on St Stephen’s Day, when this particular incident occurred.’
‘I do recall a brief sojourn in a tavern around that time,’ replied Godric ingenuously, making it sound as though it was of so little importance that it had all but slipped his mind. ‘And I do recall a pardoner doing strange things with his body. It was why we left, actually.’
‘We?’ pounced Michael. ‘Who was with you?’
Godric grimaced, angry with himself at being caught out so easily. ‘A few of us,’ he replied, deliberately vague. He turned defensively to Ailred. ‘Well, what do you expect, Father? It is Christmas, and our hostel is as cheerless and cold as a charnel house. All we wanted was a little spiced ale to drive away the chill, and a taste of plum cake.’
Ailred closed his eyes, disgusted. ‘But look where it has brought you, boy. You break the rules and bad things happen. Now you are accused of letting a pardoner dance on to your knife.’
‘We had nothing to do with that,’ declared Godric vehemently. ‘We listened to him spouting all manner of nonsense about fish, but we did not argue with him. He offered to sell us his book, and we declined politely. We watched – appalled – when he began to twist and turn to music, but we did not linger long.’