‘Perhaps Gosslinge wanted more money, but they refused.’
‘And killed him? Why? It is not as if Gosslinge could go to the Sheriff with his information, because that would see him hanged, too.’
‘Then what about Norbert as the accomplice?’
‘Norbert seldom left the town. He could not have helped with stolen goods in Chepe.’
‘The singer said he did not know whether the accomplice travelled with them, or whether they had different help in different places. Norbert may have been their Cambridge man.’
‘But, like Gosslinge, Norbert died five days after they arrived,’ Michael pointed out. ‘Does that mean he was not good at his job, and so they stabbed him?’
‘Perhaps he tried to cheat them. Who knows what sort of arrangement they had?’
‘But, again like Gosslinge, why kill their accomplice when replacement partners in crime would be difficult to come by? I am more inclined to believe that the accomplice is Harysone.’
‘I wonder why that does not surprise me,’ muttered Bartholomew dryly. ‘On what grounds?’
‘His behaviour, for a start. He told you about meeting the Waits when you went to treat his back. He wanted to make sure you understood it was a chance encounter. He anticipated someone would tell you they had been seen together, and he wanted you to believe the meeting was meaningless before it figured in our investigation. But he is our man. Why else would he be here?’
‘To sell copies of his book?’
Michael pulled a face to show what he thought of Harysone’s attempts at scholarship. ‘His “book” is not worth the parchment it is written on. It is a ruse – an excuse for his presence here so no one will ask questions.’
Bartholomew gave a sudden laugh. ‘Did you hear William complaining about it this morning, after you excavated me from the snow? He is supposed to tell Langelee whether it is suitable for the library, and is enjoying it because it is not. He does not know whether to be amused or shocked. He read me the parts he considered most damning.’
‘What did they say?’
‘All sorts of rubbish, but what really caused him to launch into one of his tirades was Harysone’s statement that fish are angels. Harysone’s logic is that fish have silver scales, but their brilliance fades after they die; this is because the angel’s soul leaves the fish to go to Heaven. He also says angels are the only creatures on Earth that do not breathe air. Ergo, angels are fish.’
Michael gazed at him in open-mouthed astonishment. ‘Harysone really wrote that?’
‘You should borrow the book from William before he wears it out with his aggressive thumbing and browsing.’
‘I could not bring myself to touch it,’ said Michael primly. ‘But all this merely confirms my suspicions: Harysone is the Waits’ accomplice.’
‘Because he writes heretical books?’ asked Bartholomew, laughing. ‘You will need something better than that to convict him! However, remember that if Harysone is the Waits’ accomplice, they would not have relieved him of his gold in the King’s Head.’
Michael was not pleased to see his argument thwarted. He muttered something incomprehensible, then declared they would pay Harysone a visit immediately. Bartholomew saw that the monk obviously preferred to trust his own instincts about the pardoner than the physician’s scientific analysis of the facts.
It took a long time to reach the King’s Head, partly because it was difficult to walk, but mostly because people kept stopping them to ask for help or to enquire whether they had seen someone who was missing. Matilde was out, taking bread and milk to those in need, assisted by Yolande de Blaston’s older children. They struggled through the snow carrying baskets and jugs, putting their feet in her footprints, so that Bartholomew was reminded of the legend about the sainted King Wenceslas. She waved to him, but was too busy with her charity to stop and talk. They met Langelee near Bene’t College. Looking pleased with himself, he waved a bag of coins at them.
‘Five pounds,’ he said with satisfaction, bracing himself against the monstrous pile of snow outside that College in order to let Robin of Grantchester slink by without touching him; the drift made the road very narrow at that point. A trail of red in the white after Robin had passed indicated the surgeon had been practising his trade that morning.
Michael grinned conspiratorially. ‘You persuaded Harysone to part with five pounds? That is five times what he wanted for one of his miserable books. I knew he would be unable to resist!’
‘St Zeno’s finger,’ said Bartholomew, looking from one to the other. ‘You sold Harysone the relic Turke gave you?’
‘For a modest sum,’ bragged Langelee, clearly delighted. ‘I played on his love of fish, as you suggested, Michael. I thought I might have to exaggerate Zeno’s association with fishermen to make him bite – so to speak – but he already knew all about the Saint of Anglers, and all I had to do was appear to be reluctant to part with the thing.’
‘I was going to inspect that,’ said Bartholomew, disappointed to learn it was no longer in Michaelhouse’s possession. ‘I thought it might be Gosslinge’s thumb.’
‘More than likely,’ said Langelee carelessly. ‘I had a good look at it myself, and it is definitely a human digit of some kind or other. It was blackened and covered in dried skin. I saw many relics when I worked for the Archbishop of York, and I sensed Turke’s was a fake from the beginning. When I touched it, and was not struck down by the Wrath of God, I knew I was right.’
‘That was a risky way to find out,’ said Bartholomew, disapprovingly. ‘You should have asked Kenyngham to assess it first. If anyone can identify saintly objects, it is him.’
‘He did,’ said Michael, shooting the Master an admonishing look for telling only part of the story. ‘Kenyngham blessed it, but said it felt tainted. We decided to rid Michaelhouse of the thing as soon as possible. And who better than to a pardoner with an obsession for fish?’
Langelee jingled his coins in boyish glee. ‘I must go – to consult with Agatha about how best to spend five whole pounds!’
Harysone was sitting in the main chamber of the King’s Head when Bartholomew and Michael arrived. Lounging elegantly near the hearth, he was enjoying the company of two merchants who also wanted the warmth of a fire that winter day. He wore the relic bag around his neck, and was fingering it as he spoke. The merchants looked pleased when Michael beckoned Harysone away, glad to be rid of him. Bartholomew saw one of them held a copy of Harysone’s book, and supposed the pardoner had been working on a sale.
‘Cordwainers,’ said Harysone, revealing his teeth in a predatory smile. ‘They love to hear about my escapades in Chepe, among the best and most ruthless traders in the country.’
‘They did not look as though they were loving it to me,’ said Michael rudely. ‘They looked bored to tears.’
‘Chepe?’ pounced Bartholomew. ‘When were you in Chepe?’
‘I do not remember precisely,’ said Harysone carelessly. ‘A year ago, perhaps. When you travel a lot, as I do, you tend not to recall details. Perhaps it was not Chepe at all, but Smithfield or the Fleet. They, too, have great markets.’
‘But you said, quite categorically, that Chepe merchants are among the “best and most ruthless in the country”,’ pressed Bartholomew. ‘How can you now say you may have been referring to traders from other markets?’
‘I am tired, and my back is paining me,’ snapped Harysone, irked at being caught out in a falsehood. He went on the offensive. ‘What have you done about the student who stabbed me? You seem willing to quibble about the locations of markets, but have you caught the man who inflicted this grievous wound on my person?’