‘It must have been important, though. Why else would it have figured so prominently in Gosslinge’s death?’
‘Who knows?’ asked Bartholomew, dispirited. ‘I certainly do not.’
The winds had raged so hard the previous night they seemed to have blown the cold away, and the weather had grown milder. This brought its own dangers, for it weakened the snow’s grip on roofs and trees, and huge loads were constantly being precipitated downward. There were rumours that a potter’s neck had been broken as he walked down Henney Lane, and people were vying for space in the very centre of the High Street, away from eaves and overhangs. The narrower lanes and alleyways were conspicuously empty of people.
A group of singers stood in the Market Square, performing secular and religious songs. Their faces were red from the cold, and all had their hands under their arms in an attempt to keep them warm. Their discomfort did not improve their performance, and what should have been cheerful, celebratory tunes sounded like dirges. Bartholomew felt sorry for them, and tossed them some coins as he passed. One detached himself from the group and followed them.
‘Now look what you have done,’ grumbled Michael disapprovingly. ‘We will never be rid of the fellow now that he believes you have funds to spare.’
‘We sing for private houses and institutions,’ said the musician hopefully. ‘All we ask is a little bread for our supper and a cup of warmed ale.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Michael stiffly. ‘We have the misfortune of owning our own band of entertainers this season.’
‘You mean the Chepe Waits?’ asked the singer, his face displaying a good deal of disgust. ‘You are from Michaelhouse? Frith said he had secured a good arrangement with Michaelhouse.’
‘He certainly did,’ grumbled Michael. ‘Food, beds and, because they are not very good, they are not even obliged to perform that often.’
‘Why keep them, then?’ demanded the singer eagerly. ‘Why not hire us instead?’
‘Because we are loath to throw folk into the streets while the weather is bad.’ Michael did not sound at all compassionate.
The singer sneered. ‘You should keep your sympathy for those who need it. The Chepe Waits will never spend a night in the open. They will always inveigle themselves a bed somewhere, and if that fails, they can use their personal fortunes to hire a room in a tavern.’
‘Their funds do not run to those sorts of expenses,’ said Bartholomew, surprised that the singer needed to be told this. ‘They are itinerants, like you.’
‘No,’ said the singer bitterly. ‘They are not at all like me. If I had their money, I would not be standing here, losing my fingers and toes to the weather. I would be in a warm inn with a pot of spiced ale at my elbow and a hot wench on my knee.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘That they are wealthy?’
‘I know the Chepe Waits from when we perform in London. They have friends in high places, who arrange for them to play in the best houses. Then they steal small items – not jewellery or gold, you understand, but little things no one will miss immediately. These they deposit with a friend, so that when accusations are levied, nothing is ever found.’
‘Quenhyth told me that,’ said Bartholomew to Michael. ‘He did not mention that stolen goods were deposited with a third party, but he said a chalice had disappeared from his father’s home. He thought the Waits were responsible.’
‘Well, your Quenhyth was mistaken, then,’ said the singer. ‘The Chepe Waits would never take something as valuable as a chalice. That would cause a stir, and would tell other households they should not be hired. They are cleverer than that and only take objects that can be sold with no questions asked.’
‘Like glass salt dishes, knives, brass skewers and inkpots?’ asked Michael, naming four of several items that had been reported ‘lost’ at Michaelhouse.
‘Exactly!’ said the singer. ‘Everything they steal is small, unimportant, difficult to identify and can be sold openly. Not chalices.’
‘But these paltry objects will not buy them warm beds and decent meals in taverns,’ Bartholomew pointed out.
‘A little stolen regularly over long periods will make pennies add up. Also, remember that all their meals and beds are provided by the people who hire them. When you have no living expenses you can amass a fortune quickly, even if you are only adding a few coins a day.’
‘Ingenious,’ said Michael. ‘But it sounds a slow and tedious way to gain riches to me.’
‘That may be so, but it is easy and, if you are careful never to take too much, it is safe. It is better than standing in icy marketplaces singing to people who would rather you were silent.’
‘The Waits stole a sizeable sum of money at the King’s Head,’ said Michael. ‘If they are only interested in pennies, then why did they take Harysone’s gold?’
‘That is obvious: because they had not been hired by the King’s Head,’ replied the singer impatiently. ‘The tavern was so full of travellers that it would have been impossible to pin the blame on any one person.’
‘Sheriff Morice pinned it on the Chepe Waits,’ said Michael. ‘He knew the identity of the thieves immediately.’
The singer was suddenly furtive. ‘I imagine someone must have slipped him a hint.’
‘I see,’ said Michael, raising his eyebrows and treating the singer to an amused smile. ‘I wonder who that could have been.’
‘If the Waits are known for petty theft, then why has no one denounced them?’ asked Bartholomew.
The singer shrugged. ‘I do not think their habits are well known – not here, at least – and who would believe me if I started making accusations? People would say I was just trying to steal their custom, or that I was jealous because my troupe has not been hired by a wealthy College.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘And they would be right.’
‘I do not think the Waits have friends in high places, though,’ said Bartholomew, thinking about another of the singer’s claims. ‘They were the last to secure employment this year.’
‘Not quite the last,’ the singer pointed out bitterly. ‘I have no idea why they are in Cambridge. They were doing well in Chepe, where they have their influential friends. They secured a lot of business there – to the exclusion of the rest of us, I might add – over the last five years or so. I cannot imagine why they abandoned such a lucrative situation to come here.’
‘You said they give what they steal to a friend, who sells it for them,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Is this friend with them now? Is it the same person, or do they vary their “friends” between towns?’
‘I have no idea,’ said the singer. ‘I only know what I do because Frith once confided in me when he had fleeced a particularly wealthy patron, and was of a mind to brag. Doubtless he has since wished he held his tongue.’
‘Have you told anyone else all this?’ asked Michael.
The singer grimaced.‘Several people, although none have listened as long as you. But you should hire us instead, Brother. I promise we will not take your salt dishes or your inkpots.’
‘Perhaps next year,’ said Michael. ‘Here are a few coins. Buy yourself and your companions some spiced ale, and you may find your singing is the better for it.’
CHAPTER 9
‘That was interesting,’ said Bartholomew, as he and Michael picked their way between the walls of snow in the High Street. ‘The Waits have been seen with Norbert, Gosslinge and Harysone. I wonder if any of them is the “friend” who takes their stolen property and converts it to pennies.’
‘Not Gosslinge,’ said Michael. ‘He was in the employ of a respectable merchant. Why should he waste his time with pennies?’
‘It might explain why he was wearing rags,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘He exchanged his livery for shabby clothes as a disguise while engaged in illegal activities.’
‘It might, I suppose. And then he and the Waits had a falling out, and Frith rammed the vellum down Gosslinge’s throat. But would they kill the man who was going to sell their goods? I imagine you need to be very careful about who you trust when you turn criminal, and new and reliable accomplices would not be easy to find.’