‘Neither did many other patrons,’ added one of the students helpfully. ‘We were among a number of folk who left when he began his display.’
‘Did you notice anyone taking a particular interest in him or his dancing?’ asked Michael. ‘You say people left, but was the reverse true?’
‘The other pardoners left immediately,’ said Godric thoughtfully. ‘But one stayed. He watched intently when it started, and was still staring when we slipped away.’
‘One of the pardoners,’ said Michael, sounding pleased. Bartholomew was sure the monk would love to arrest a pardoner for the attack on Harysone. ‘What did he look like?’
Godric frowned. ‘I am not sure. He was smaller than me. He wore a dark cloak and a hat.’
‘Disguised?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking it was odd for someone to be swathed in hat and cloak in a crowded tavern that was likely to be stuffy. And being smaller than Godric was no kind of description – Godric was a sturdy man.
‘The landlord was having problems with snow in his chimney, so the fire was unlit. It was cold, and a number of us were wrapped in outside clothes, with hoods or hats pulled down.’ He gave an apologetic shrug. ‘That is all I remember: one man watching Harysone from under a hat.’
‘Whoever attacked Harysone left the end of his blade in his victim’s back,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Can we inspect everyone’s knife, to see whether one matches the break?’
‘Please do,’ said Ailred, gesturing to his friars to comply, although most were already producing blades from belts and scrips. Michael studied each one in turn, but, like those belonging to the Michaelhouse Franciscans, none were missing their tips. Godric’s knife was of a better quality than the rest, and the monk regarded it thoughtfully.
‘It is new,’ said Godric, seeing what Michael was thinking. ‘But I have had it for about a week, not two days. I threw the old one away, because the hilt was cracked. My sister, who is Prioress at Denny Abbey on the Ely road, sent me another.’ He brightened as a thought occurred to him. ‘She is a kind and generous lady. If I were to write to her about our condition–’
‘No!’ snapped Ailred. ‘We cannot accept alms from nuns. Supposing they deprive others in order to help us? It would be unconscionable.’
‘I do not suppose this is the knife you discarded?’ Michael extracted Bartholomew’s drawing from his scrip and passed it to Godric, watching him intently for a reaction.
‘No, mine was plain,’ said Godric. He held up the picture for the students to see. ‘Have any of you seen this before?’
There were shaken heads all around, and if any recognised it as being the one ‘with the cracked hilt’ that Godric had discarded, no one said so. Most huddled deeper into their cloaks and denied knowledge of the thing with polite uninterest. Others made more of an effort, and at least examined the parchment first.
‘What about the blades used for cooking?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking the metal he had extracted from Harysone was from a fairly substantial implement, not from something small like the knives the friars carried for cutting their food.
‘Please look,’ invited Ailred. ‘Godric will help you. And while you play with our greasy cooking utensils, Brother Michael can tell me about the progress he has made with Norbert’s case.’
Godric took Bartholomew across to a bread oven set into the wall near the hearth. Two pots stood there, one scrubbed, clean and ready for use, the other half full of some grey material that was evidently the remains of the meal the friars had eaten the day before. It looked worse than the fish they planned to dine on that evening, and Bartholomew was not surprised that Godric and his students sought edibles from outside. The knives were hanging on the wall and the physician inspected each one with care: none was missing its end.
‘We still know very little about Norbert’s death,’ Michael admitted to Ailred. ‘Although we think we have discovered the weapon that killed him.’ He nodded to the illustration lying on the table, where the last of the friars to inspect it had set it down.
‘That?’ asked Ailred eagerly, moving forward to look at the picture again. ‘Are you sure?’
The friars craned towards the diagram a second time, more interested now they knew it had caused the death of their colleague and was not just a weapon used to injure a pardoner. But despite their apparent willingness to help, no one was able to say he had seen it before.
‘You can take it to the taverns,’ suggested Ailred. ‘Someone there might recognise it.’
‘I know,’ said Michael sharply, not needing to be told how to do his job. ‘The King’s Head is a good place to start.’ He looked hard at the novices. ‘Why did you not tell me you were all there the night Norbert was killed?’
‘What is this?’ cried Ailred in horror. ‘What are you saying?’ He turned to his students. ‘Tell him this is not true.’
‘It is true,’ said Godric softly. ‘But the reason we did not mention it was because we did not know Norbert was there. Ulfrid has since told us he was frolicking in a private chamber with a lady while we drank our ale, but, as God is my witness, none of us set eyes on him that night.’
‘You should not have concealed this,’ said Michael sternly. ‘You must see how it appears.’
Godric hung his head. ‘I know we were wrong to visit the King’s Head. But since we could tell you nothing about Norbert’s death, we saw no point in confessing that we had broken the University’s rules. We have enough spare coins for the occasional hot ale, but we cannot afford to pay the kind of fines Father William will now levy on us. He is the reason we have remained silent on the matter.’
There was a growl of agreement from the others. ‘I shall say nothing about it to William,’ said Michael tiredly. ‘However, more important than your rule-breaking at the moment is gathering information about Dympna. I am sure she is relevant.’
‘Not this again,’ groaned Ailred. ‘How many more times will you raise this subject? We have told you all we know, and I cannot see how she relates to Norbert’s death.’
‘I think she does,’ countered Michael. He eyed the students coolly. ‘So, I repeat: what can you tell me about her?’
‘No more than we told you the first time you asked,’ said Godric, watching Bartholomew take a meat knife and examine it, while Ailred sighed his annoyance at the monk’s persistence. ‘Surprisingly, her notes to Norbert were not romantic or filled with affection; they just told him to be in St Michael’s at a particular time, and were followed by a set of numbers.’
‘Why surprisingly?’ asked Michael.
Godric gave an abashed grin and gazed down at his booted feet. ‘Well, if a woman takes the trouble to write to a man, you assume she would pen something loving, to encourage him to meet her and sample the delights of her company.’
‘You have very colourful ideas about courtship,’ said Michael, eyeing him sceptically.
‘Godric believes in romantic love,’ said Ailred wearily to Michael. ‘I mentioned that before. It is as well he decided to become a friar and forgo relationships with women, because otherwise he would have been wounded deeply when he learned that not all are virtuous virgins.’
‘Many are,’ protested Godric, offended. ‘Dympna must be. She could have dispatched some grubby boy with a spoken message to Norbert, but she chose to write. That shows she cared for him: she took time and trouble to pen a message – or she hired someone to scribe it for her.’
‘Did any of you ever follow Norbert to see what happened when he met this paragon?’ asked Michael, more interested in Norbert than in Godric’s misguided ideas. Ailred made an impatient sound at the back of his throat, as though he could scarcely credit that Michael was still pursuing the subject when there were far more relevant and important issues to be considered.
‘Several times,’ replied Godric, ignoring his principal’s reaction. ‘But whomever he met was elusive. We shadowed him to the church, but when we entered through the north porch, she left through the south entrance, and when we had someone posted at both doors, she slipped away through the tower. I glimpsed a hooded figure once, but could tell nothing about her.’