‘Neither were we,’ objected Ailred miserably. ‘He often left and did not return for days. You know that. I used to report his absences, but you seemed as tired of hearing about them as I was of telling, and I thought we had reached a tacit agreement not to bother each other with his transgressions.’
‘I suppose we did,’ said Tulyet with a sigh. ‘But it is unfortunate he was not missed sooner. Then he might have been saved.’
‘It would have made no difference,’ said Bartholomew, kneeling to inspect the body. ‘Both injuries are fatal ones, and finding him sooner would not have changed the outcome.’
‘Both injuries?’ questioned Michael. ‘I only see a wound to his back.’
Bartholomew parted Norbert’s hair, frozen like old fur, to reveal an indentation in the skull. ‘It looks as if he was stabbed and tried to run away – there is enough blood to suggest he did not die immediately and that he spent his last moments on the move. His assailant delivered the blow to the head when he reached the hostel door, although the knife wound would have killed him anyway.’
Tulyet closed his eyes. ‘Horrible! It seems that whoever did this was determined that poor Norbert should die. But I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky to find the body today.’ He cast a mournful glance at the leaden sky. ‘More snow will fall this afternoon, and who knows when it will melt?’
‘I have never known such weather,’ agreed Ailred, obviously grateful to discuss something other than the awkward subject of the death of a student in his care. ‘I am certain winters were not so hard when I was a boy in the fair city of Lincoln.’
‘Who do you think did this?’ asked Michael of the friar, indicating the corpse with a nod of his head. ‘Norbert made a nuisance of himself with my beadles, and few regarded him as pleasant company – I am sorry, Dick, but it is true – but can you think of anyone who disliked him sufficiently to want him dead?’
Ailred was startled. ‘Why are you asking me? It is obvious that Norbert visited some tavern, and his drunken tongue landed him in trouble with a townsman.’
‘That is not obvious at all,’ said Michael sharply. ‘And I shall be obliged if you keep those kind of thoughts to yourself, Father. We do not want the University rioting because it believes one of its number has been killed by an apprentice – especially now.’
‘Why especially now?’ asked Ailred, puzzled.
Michael made no secret of his exasperation. ‘Because it is only three days before Christmas, when students traditionally elect a Lord of Misrule to lead the festivities for the Twelve Days. Some of these might just as well be called “Lords of Incitement to Riot”, since they urge their fellow students to engage in all sorts of michief against the town. I do not want to give them an excuse to justify violent behaviour.’
Ailred was disdainful. ‘I had forgotten that unseemly custom. We do not indulge in pagan traditions at Ovyng; we are friars!’
Michael grimaced, knowing perfectly well that clerics were just as likely to misbehave as secular students, but he declined to argue. ‘Regardless, keep your accusations to yourself until we understand what really happened. For all we know, one of his classmates may be the killer.’
‘No!’ exclaimed Ailred, appalled.
‘My suggestion has as much evidence to support it as the solution you proposed,’ said Michael crisply. ‘So, I suggest we all refrain from jumping to conclusions before we have the facts. What can you tell me about Norbert?’
Ailred cleared his throat and glanced at Tulyet, clearly unhappy with the whole situation.
‘It is all right, Father,’ said Tulyet wearily. ‘Norbert’s failings were no secret, and we all know what kind of man he was. However, giving him virtues he never possessed will help no one, so you may be honest.’
‘If you insist,’ said Ailred reluctantly. He turned to Michael and spread his large hands, as though in apology. ‘Norbert mocked our Order. He did not enjoy lessons, and he disrupted any he attended. He was lazy, disrespectful and selfish, and I do not think any of my students will claim him as a friend.’
‘Then why was he tolerated here?’ asked Bartholomew, who imagined that most masters would dismiss a student who was so badly behaved.
Ailred hesitated again.
‘Money,’ supplied Tulyet dryly. ‘My father paid handsomely to have Norbert tutored here, and Ovyng is not a wealthy institution.’ He turned to Michael. ‘I want Norbert’s killer caught, Brother. Since he was a student, his death is a University matter, and must be investigated by proctors rather than the Sheriff.’ Bartholomew was certain he heard Tulyet add ‘thank God’ in an undertone. Tulyet was obviously as unimpressed by his replacement as was the rest of the town.
‘I shall do my best,’ said Michael. ‘But this will not be an easy case to solve. Norbert was not popular, and I shall have to sift through all kinds of petty rivalries and dislikes in order to identify who took a fatal dislike to him.’
‘I know,’ said Tulyet tiredly. ‘But I will help you in any way I can, and so will Ailred and the Ovyng students. I take it I am right to promise this, Father?’
‘Of course,’ said Ailred with a sickly, anxious smile. ‘You can question them now, if you like, Brother. They are inside, waiting for lessons to begin.’
Bartholomew glimpsed a shadow flicker inside the door when the students were mentioned, and saw they were still eavesdropping on the discussion. He wondered whether Norbert’s killer was among them.
‘Who first saw the dogs uncovering the body?’ asked Michael, who fully intended to interview Ailred’s students, but in his own time.
‘My assistant, Godric,’ replied Ailred. ‘We were returning from celebrating a mass when he spotted the dogs digging. When he went to drive them away, he saw they had unearthed a hand. He fetched a spade and we all watched while he completed what the mongrels had begun.’
‘Did you observe any particular reactions among your charges?’ asked Michael, without much hope. ‘Any guilty glances or unease?’
‘We were excavating a corpse, Brother,’ replied Ailred acidly. ‘Of course there was a degree of unease. We did not know whom we were about to discover. However, I can tell you for certain that I saw no “guilty glances”. We were shocked, but none of us will prove to be your culprit.’
Michael watched while Bartholomew carefully pared away the rest of the snow that covered Norbert, hoping that the killer might have abandoned the weapon he had used, and that it might lead them to its owner. However, the culprit had done no such thing, and the physician had nothing to show for his painstaking excavation. The student had died face down, probably after a violent attack from behind. There was nothing to suggest he had known his assailant, but nothing to suggest he had not. The stab wound was wide and deep, indicating that it had been caused by a fairly large blade, but not one of abnormal size that would be easily identifiable.
Bartholomew sat on his heels and tucked his frozen hands under his arms in a vain attempt to warm them. He thought about the fear the young man must have felt, as he staggered towards the hostel already fatally wounded, and wondered why he had not shouted for help. The thought jarred something buried deep in his memory.
‘You say he failed to come home on Tuesday night?’ he asked. Ailred nodded.
‘Why?’ demanded Michael immediately. ‘What have you found?’
‘Nothing, but I was summoned to tend Dunstan the riverman then. He has an affliction of the lungs that produces an excess of phlegm, and–’
‘We know,’ interrupted Michael, forestalling what might prove to be a detailed description of some particularly unpleasant symptoms. ‘You have been dragged from your bed for Dunstan several times since the weather turned sour. Did you see Norbert on Tuesday night?’
‘I heard something: a screech. Then a man jumped out of the shadows and knocked me over. I told you about it the next day.’