‘I cannot tell you – not because I am refusing to cooperate, but because I do not know. It moves between members, so no outsider will guess where it is and steal it – a chest of coins is a tempting target for thieves. It is Kenyngham’s turn to be keeper at the moment.’
‘Kenyngham?’ asked Michael doubtfully. ‘You entrust all that gold to a man who cares so little for worldly possessions? What if he forgets where he has stored it?’
Tulyet laughed. ‘He is not that absent-minded. But we know accidents happen – it would be unfortunate if the keeper died, and no one knew where the box was hidden. So, the keeper always tells one other member as a safeguard. He must have told Ailred, because I do not know, and we do not let Robin near the actual money. The temptation might prove too much.’
‘How long has it been with Kenyngham?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘Three weeks, perhaps. Ailred had it before him. Why? Are you saying that Norbert’s death has something to do with the chest being passed from Ailred to Kenyngham? That Ailred stored it somewhere in Ovyng, where Norbert lived?’
‘It is possible,’ said Michael. ‘The timing certainly fits, because Norbert has been dead for twelve days now, and he started to receive letters from “Dympna” about a week before he died. That is roughly three weeks in total. Do you really have no idea where Kenyngham keeps it?’
Tulyet’s face creased in a frown of concentration. ‘I imagine it is with the Gilbertine friars. I expect you would have noticed a chest in Michaelhouse.’
‘How big is it?’ asked Bartholomew, trying to envisage potential hiding places.
‘It is a walnut chest, perhaps the length of my forearm, and about two hand widths deep.’
‘I know where it is,’ said Bartholomew, smiling as he recalled various incidents that should have warned him sooner that something was amiss. ‘The conclave.’
‘It is not,’ said Michael firmly. ‘The conclave’s contents comprise benches, a table, two chairs and some rugs. There are no walnut-wood boxes there, because we would have noticed.’
‘About three weeks ago – the time the chest passed to Kenyngham – the floorboards in the conclave became uneven,’ said Bartholomew. ‘We have all stumbled over them, and William hurt himself quite badly. I suspect that is where Kenyngham has stored Dympna.’
‘I do not see Kenyngham prising up floorboards to make himself a secret hiding place,’ said Michael scornfully. ‘He is not sufficiently practical.’
‘That is probably why the floor is now uneven,’ said Bartholomew. ‘However, he did tell Langelee that he worked with wood before he became a friar. Remember?’
Michael gnawed his lower lip. ‘I do, now you mention it. And I recall his odd reaction when he learned the students planned to use the conclave for the duration of the Twelve Days. He was appalled, and that surprised me because he does not normally care about such things. He was not concerned about his personal comfort, as we all assumed: he was worried about access to his chest.’
‘And once I saw him working on some documents,’ said Bartholomew, remembering the first night he had been driven by cold to spend the night in the conclave. ‘I asked him what he was doing, and he declined to tell me. Doubtless that was Dympna’s business, too.’
‘We shall look into it, and recommend the thing be moved to the Gilbertine Friary,’ said Michael. ‘I do not want our students unearthing it – especially this week, when we have a Lord of Misrule to make stupid suggestions about how it should be spent.’
‘You say Dympna refused to lend Norbert money?’ asked Bartholomew of Tulyet, wanting to bring the discussion back to the student’s murder.
‘He did not meet our two basic criteria – that the money is for a worthy cause and that it will be repaid. Where are these messages? May I see them? I may recognise the writing.’
‘All destroyed,’ said Michael. ‘I have searched Norbert’s possessions on at least three occasions, and found nothing.’
‘Perhaps Godric was lying about them,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘Ailred said he has peculiar ideas about love-letters and suchlike.’
‘Norbert received them,’ said Michael firmly. ‘The other Ovyng lads saw them too, remember?’ He turned to Tulyet. ‘And you are sure Kenyngham, Ailred or Robin have not written to Norbert in Dympna’s name?’
‘I am sure Dympna gave nothing to Norbert. We discuss every loan made – no one person is allowed to act alone, because that would leave us open to charges of corruption.’
‘Ailred,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He had the chest, and Norbert lived in his hostel. There is a connection here. Perhaps Norbert found the chest and stole from it, so Ailred sent messages demanding it back. Or perhaps Ailred made an exception for Norbert, because he was a member of his hostel.’
‘Made an illegal loan, you mean?’ asked Tulyet doubtfully. ‘Ailred is an honest fellow. I do not see him breaking our rules – especially for Norbert, who would have spent the money on his own pleasures.’
‘Well, we shall have to ask Ailred himself,’ said Michael, draining the wine in Bartholomew’s goblet as he prepared to leave. ‘And we shall ask him about the murdered Chepe fishmonger John Fiscurtune, too, since I have reason to believe he and Ailred were related.’
Bartholomew and Tulyet gazed at him in astonishment, and Michael’s face became smug when he saw he had startled them.
‘Fiscurtune?’ asked Tulyet. ‘The man Turke killed, whom I told you last night that I had met many years ago?’
Bartholomew had forgotten Michael’s mention of a previous association between Tulyet and the dead fishmonger. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Tulyet spread his hands to indicate he knew little of interest.
‘I met Fiscurtune before the Death, in the market at Chepe. He sticks in my mind for two reasons: first, because he was unforgivably rude, and second, because he was totally devoid of teeth. Fortunately, an excess of gums rendered his speech indistinct, so most folk could not understand him. But I am not surprised someone tired of his offensive manners and murdered him.’
‘We should see Ailred, Matt, and ask him about Fiscurtune. I think he has met the fangless fishmonger far more recently than Dick has done.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Tulyet, surprised. ‘Fiscurtune had no association with Cambridge as far as I know. He has certainly not been here recently, because I assure you I would have noticed him.’
‘I came across the information last night, when Matt was visiting Edith,’ said Michael, pleased with himself. ‘I trawled through some University documents and discovered that Ailred hails from near Lincoln – not Lincoln itself, but a small village just outside it.’
‘We know that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is no secret: he is very proud of the fact that he is a Lincolnshire man.’
‘The name of his manor is Fiscurtune,’ announced Michael momentously.
‘It is a common name,’ warned Tulyet. ‘I imagine any village with some kind of fishing industry may have taken the Saxon word “fisc” for fish, and added “tun” for village or manor. You cannot connect Ailred with your dead fishmonger on that evidence alone.’
‘I do not believe in coincidences,’ said Michael pompously and untruthfully. ‘Anyway, when I learned where Ailred spent his early years, I visited Sheriff Morice, who gave me permission – for a price – to refer to the taxation lists compiled in the days of the Conqueror. They are a good source of information about places in obscure parts of the kingdom.’
‘Lincolnshire is not obscure,’ said Bartholomew, amused by Michael’s description.
‘Morice asked for money before he let you see Domesday?’ asked Tulyet, horrified. ‘It is just as well he is not investigating Norbert’s death, because I do not want to be presented with a bill for his labours, as well as with a killer!’
‘It is your fault for resigning,’ retorted Michael unsympathetically. ‘But I learned from Domesday that Fiscurtune boasts three and a half fisheries.’