Ailred was astonished by the suggestion. ‘I would not do it in the dark; I would not be able to see. Once you left us, I barred our doors and allowed us the luxury of an extra log on the fire. It was a bitter evening, and no one in his right mind would have ventured out unless he had no choice.’
‘What would give him “no choice”?’ asked Michael, detecting a caveat in Ailred’s denials.
Ailred was becoming impatient, although whether it was because he genuinely did not understand why Michael was questioning him, or because he had something to hide, Bartholomew could not decide. ‘A number of things,’ the friar snapped. ‘Bartholomew has no choice when he is summoned by a patient; I have no choice when there are sacred offices that need to be recited.’
‘But not last night?’ asked Michael.
‘Not last night,’ replied Ailred firmly. ‘We had our evening meal at six o’clock, which was fish stew, then we sat around the fire playing merels – the board game, where you have nine holes and must use wit and cunning to prevent your neighbour’s pieces from occupying them. Since it is the Twelve Days, and given that my previous policy of austerity seemed to produce in my students a desire to visit taverns, I decided I should relent and allow them a little fun.’
‘Merels!’ said Michael scathingly. ‘That must have made for a thrill-filled evening.’
‘It was most entertaining,’ said Ailred, evidently unaware of Michael’s sarcasm. ‘We all enjoyed it very much, and tonight we shall play backgammon. I have borrowed a board and game pieces from Robin of Grantchester for the occasion. But why do you ask about our whereabouts? Have you learned something new about the death of Norbert?’
‘Two people visited St Michael’s last night, and we do not know why. It was a passing thought that you might have been one of them, perhaps with a student. We do not know what these folk were doing, so we are not accusing anyone of anything untoward.’
‘Good,’ said Ailred firmly. ‘Because it was not me – or any of us, for that matter. You can ask my students, and they will all tell you the same thing: we were at home last night. But now you must excuse me: I have a mass to celebrate.’
He turned abruptly, and began to lay out the vessels he would need for his devotions. Meanwhile, Godric and his students waited patiently some distance down the chancel, whispering in low voices as they stood with their hands tucked inside their sleeves and their cowls thrown back to reveal their tonsures. Michael caught Godric’s eye, and beckoned him over, confident both that Ailred was too absorbed in his preparations to notice what the monk was doing and that the student had not overheard the exchange with his principal.
‘What transpired at Ovyng last night?’ said Michael. ‘What did you do? Where did you go?’
‘We played merels,’ replied Godric heavily. It was evident that while Ailred considered the board game a risqué form of enjoyment, Godric did not share his enthusiasm. ‘I have not played merels since I was a child, and I confess it is not what I had in mind when I pressed Father Ailred to allow us a little levity during the Christmas season. Still, merels will be better than backgammon, which is what he has planned for tonight.’
‘When did you start these games? Immediately after your meal?’
‘Later. Ailred had some errands to run, and I wanted to go the Market Square, to see whether the traders would sell me anything cheaply, since the day was over.’
‘Really,’ said Michael, his eyes gleaming. ‘And what time did you all return?’
‘I do not know. Ailred buys cheap hour candles, and they burn at variable rates, so we never really know what the time is. But I think we barred the door, with all inside, by perhaps half-past eight or a little later.’
‘Thank you, Godric,’ said Michael, grinning wolfishly. ‘However, this is not what Ailred told me, so we had better keep this discussion between you and me, eh?’
‘What did he tell you?’ asked Godric in alarm, horrified by the notion that he might have done something wrong. He shot an agitated look at his principal, but Ailred had not yet noticed that the monk had taken him at his word and was indeed asking the scholars to confirm his story.
‘He told me you all stayed in,’ said Michael. ‘Return to your prayers, lad, before Ailred sees that you have gone.’
Godric hurried back to his friends, but his mind was no longer on his devotions. He seemed pale in the dim light, and nervous fingers twisted one of his sleeves. He was late with his responses, and his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. Bartholomew watched him thoughtfully, thinking he seemed more dismayed than he should have been by Michael’s mention of discrepancies between his and his principal’s stories. Did he know that Ailred or one of the other students had been doing something he should not have been, and was aware that he had just ruined what could have been a perfectly sound alibi? Or was he afraid for himself, realising that the differences in stories revealed him to be a liar?
Ailred completed his preparations, then turned to the waiting scholars. ‘Before we start, Brother Michael would like to ask about our activities last night. He wants to know what we did after we ate our fish and immediately turned to our games of merels.’
‘Nicely put,’ murmured Michael to Bartholomew. ‘No leading statements here.’
‘Nothing,’ came a quiet chorus of voices.
‘Did any of you go out after the meal?’ asked Michael.
Godric stared ahead and did not answer, and Bartholomew saw his hands were clenched so hard that his knuckles were white. No such agonies afflicted the other friars. They glanced at each other as though they were mystified, and shook their heads to deny that they had left Ovyng.
‘And after the merels?’ asked Michael, raising his eyebrows.
‘We retired to bed,’ said Godric, meeting his eyes. The others chorused their agreement, and Bartholomew supposed they were telling the truth about that, at least. However, according to Godric’s initial statement, the games could have started relatively late – perhaps even after the escape of the two intruders from the church. It was entirely possible that they had fled immediately to Ovyng and settled down to play merels until it was time to sleep.
‘And what about the interval between the meal and the games?’ pressed Michael, to be sure of his facts.
There was a brief pause as the friars exchanged more uncertain glances, and then someone seemed to recall that Ailred had already told them the answer he wanted them to give. ‘There was no interval,’ he said, and everyone obligingly agreed, although there were a few downcast eyes and shuffling feet: some of the friars were uncomfortable about lying in a church. Godric was one of them; he gazed at the floor with his cheeks burning. Ailred, however, was smiling his victory at Michael, and did not notice his colleagues’ discomfort.
‘Interesting,’ murmured Michael to Bartholomew as they went to continue their search of the north aisle. ‘I think Godric is telling the truth and Ailred is lying. Now, why would Ailred lie, do you think? I did not seriously imagine last night’s intruders would be from Ovyng, because I cannot imagine why they would feel a need to enter by force when they own a key, but something odd is going on. Something very odd indeed.’
When their devotions were completed, the Franciscans lined up to walk back to Ovyng, leaving the church deserted and silent again. Bartholomew and Michael turned their attention to the nave and then the Stanton Chapel. The nave was basically bare, and there was not so much as a leaf on the flagstones, since it had been swept and cleaned for the Christmas season. There was a bench against the back wall, set there for the old or the infirm who were unable to stand, but there was nothing else except the line of smelly albs and a chest so ancient and fragile that only water jugs for flowers were kept in it.
The Stanton Chapel was much the same. There was the founder’s elaborate tomb, which had been decorated with holly boughs and a sprig of ivy, and on a windowsill stood a tiny chest containing pebbles that were supposed to have come from Jerusalem – although Bartholomew thought they were identical to ones in the river near the Great Bridge. He rummaged through the box, wondering whether something might have been stored among the stones, but found nothing there.