‘Fisheries,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘Fiscurtune was a fishmonger, and so was Turke. Now we learn that Ailred hails from a village with fisheries. Perhaps there is a connection here.’
‘Fiscurtune village is small,’ Michael went on. ‘So, assuming I am right, and the murdered John Fiscurtune and Ailred hail from the same settlement, then it follows that they must have known each other. Indeed, I feel they knew each other rather well. Was there any physical resemblance between Fiscurtune and Ailred, Dick?’
‘Fiscurtune had no teeth,’ said Tulyet apologetically. ‘It changed his face so much it is impossible to say.’ His expression became thoughtful. ‘However, now that I think about it, I do vaguely recall Fiscurtune mentioning a kinsman who was the head of a Cambridge hostel.’
‘Ha!’ exclaimed Michael with immense satisfaction.
Bartholomew walked briskly towards Ovyng Hostel, urging Michael to hurry. He sensed that Ailred had the answers to many questions, and wanted to speak to him as soon as possible. Michael puffed along behind him, growing more breathless and red-faced with every step. The thaw was continuing apace, and the town was a morass of sticky slush and sloppy, ice-spangled puddles. Snow was dropping from roofs in clots, and Bartholomew paused for a few moments to excavate a cat that was buried by a sudden fall. It clawed him when it was freed, and raced down one of the darker runnels, as if mortified by its sodden fur and bedraggled appearance.
‘There is Robin of Grantchester,’ said Bartholomew, pointing to a hunched figure that was making its way uncertainly down the High Street. ‘Robin!’
The surgeon leapt in alarm and started to run. It was an instinctive reaction, and something he often did when someone hailed him. It usually meant he had lost a patient and was afraid the deceased’s family were out for revenge.
‘Oh, it is you,’ said Robin, relieved when he saw it was Bartholomew who had caught his arm and arrested his desperate flight. ‘I thought it was a relative of Dunstan and Athelbald.’
‘Why would they chase you? You did not treat them – I did.’
‘They are both dead, and people tend to associate me with deaths, even though I am not usually there when they happen.’ Bartholomew knew that was true: Robin’s patients died of fright, pain or poisoned blood days or hours after he had finished his grisly business with his rusty knives. ‘Fifteen years ago I extracted a nail from Dunstan’s hand. I thought his kinsmen might believe that brought about his demise.’
‘Dympna,’ said Michael, pronouncing the name with relish. ‘Tell me about Dympna.’
Robin’s small eyes narrowed. ‘What are you talking about? I know no one of that name.’
‘It is a money-lending charity,’ said Bartholomew, watching Robin shift and turn uneasily, like a cornered rat. ‘And you are one of its four members.’
‘Clippesby,’ said Robin in disgust. ‘I had a feeling he was eavesdropping when I confided in Helena. She is my only true friend, and I often talk to her when I am lonely or have enjoyed a little wine and wish for a companion who will listen without interrupting.’
‘She sounds like a saint,’ said Michael. ‘But I do not know her.’
‘My pig,’ said Robin. ‘A man needs friendship, and there is none better than that offered by an animal. They are loyal and do not judge you. Clippesby feels the same way, and likes to spend time with the horses in the stables of the Gilbertine Friary, near my house. Doubtless he heard me confiding in Helena then.’
‘And he assumed the disembodied voice came from the horses,’ said Bartholomew, amused. ‘I wondered why information from his animal friends is so often accurate. It is not because the animals speak to him, but because he overhears other people’s conversations.’
‘It is almost impossible to know he is there,’ said Robin disapprovingly. ‘He sits still and quiet for so long you think you are alone, and then he hears your innermost secrets.’ A horrified expression twisted his face. ‘He did not mention Mayor Horwood’s goat, did he? I would not like that bandied about the town!’
‘Fortunately not,’ said Michael with a shudder. ‘But what can you tell us about Dympna? Did it ever make a loan to Norbert?’
‘Of course not,’ said Robin scornfully. ‘The money is used for pious and deserving cases, not for folk who will spend it on themselves. I have my own ideas about recipients, of course, but the other members seldom listen to me. They never lend money to the cases I bring before them.’
‘Why not?’ asked Michael.
Robin effected a careless shrug. ‘I suppose they think the causes I support might benefit me personally, although I am an honest and compassionate man, and would never do such a thing.’
‘I see,’ said Michael, in a way that indicated he held his own views on the matter of Robin’s honesty and compassion. ‘Why have you never mentioned your involvement with this worthy charity before? You must realise that helping the sick and desperate is a thing to be proud of?’
‘I would love people to know that I have been working for years to alleviate pain and suffering,’ said Robin resentfully. ‘But the others pay me a retainer on the understanding that I will lose it if I mention Dympna to anyone. Money is money, and not to be refused. So, I obey their rules, and the only person I tell is Helena. I suppose I will be deprived of that income now you know about Dympna.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Michael. ‘We can be discreet.’ Bartholomew noticed he did not say he would be discreet.
Robin went on, in full flow now the secret he had kept so well was out. ‘I am a member, but I do not know how much money Dympna owns. The other three tend to exclude me from the financial discussions, and I am only involved when they ask for a list of my current patients or when they want me to deliver something for them.’
‘Like food and fuel to Dunstan?’ asked Bartholomew.
Robin nodded. ‘And gold for the Carmelites’ new robes, or to help that potter through the inconvenience of a lost foot. I arranged for Bosel the beggar to borrow a cloak for the winter, and I did most of the organising when the Franciscans needed a new roof. It is me who tells folk they will only be lent money if they do not tell anyone how it came about.’
‘You did not ask Dunstan not to mention Dympna,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘You left the food, fuel and Yolande de Blaston, then went home.’
‘That was different,’ replied Robin. ‘Dunstan was the town’s most active gossip when Athelbald was alive, but that changed the instant he died. I doubt Dunstan even knew I was there. There was no point mentioning the fact that the food and fuel came courtesy of Dympna.’
‘Dick Tulyet said the funds for Dunstan did not come from Dympna,’ said Bartholomew.
‘Of course they did,’ replied Robin waspishly. ‘I have no money to throw away on dying men, while Kenyngham and Ailred are friars, who have little in the way of worldly goods. Perhaps the two of them acted quickly and did not have time to consult Tulyet.’ His smile became malicious. ‘Now he will know what it is like to belong to a group that does not bother to solicit his opinion!’
‘Ailred was certainly aware of Dunstan’s case,’ said Bartholomew thoughtfully. ‘We mentioned it when we were at Ovyng, and he knew all about it.’
‘We have taken up enough of your time, Robin,’ said Michael. ‘Thank you for your help. And give our regards to Helena.’
Bartholomew and Michael continued towards Ovyng, where both scholars felt they would have better answers from Ailred than those they had squeezed from Robin. It was obvious that Robin was not involved in the more important decisions, and that Tulyet had been correct in saying he had been invited to join only as a way for the group to know which of the townsfolk had hired his services and so might be candidates for Dympna’s charity. Robin received payment for his membership, indicating that the others knew he was the kind of man whose help and silence needed to be bought.