‘Can you prove that?’ asked Bartholomew. He had suggested this particular solution earlier, but had discounted the possibility because he could not think of a plausible motive.
Frith sneered, in a way that suggested he could not.
‘Gosslinge, then,’ said Michael. ‘Did you kill him by stuffing vellum into his throat?’
‘We did not!’ denied Jestyn hotly, the knife even more unsteady in his sweating hand. ‘What kind of folk do you think we are? We have killed no one!’
‘We have not,’ agreed Frith. ‘Indeed, I even tried to save Gosslinge when he started to choke, but the vellum was lodged too deeply inside him. It later occurred to me that his corpse was being kept above ground for an unnaturally long period of time, and I thought the physician here might be planning to dissect him for some anatomy lesson. I was afraid he might find the vellum, and associate Gosslinge with Uncle Ailred and Dympna …’
‘Ha!’ exclaimed Michael. ‘So you were the intruders in St Michael’s Church that night.’
‘But we did not do anything,’ said Jestyn in a voice that shook with tension. ‘Those priests arrived before we could have a proper look for the thing, and as soon as they left we heard a commotion outside. We saw we were going to have no peace, so we escaped while we could.’
‘I searched your room the night that blizzard raged,’ said Frith to Bartholomew, gloating at the appalled expression on the physician’s face when he realised that he had slept through the invasion. ‘But when I saw what had become of the vellum after a week in a corpse, I could not bring myself to touch it. However, I was fairly certain that nothing would be legible, anyway.’
‘But we killed no one,’ said Jestyn, returning to a theme that was clearly important to him. He stepped forward and brandished his knife in a way that made Bartholomew think it would not be long before the juggler claimed his first victim. ‘No one.’
‘I shall make my own mind up about that,’ said Michael, disdainfully watching the knife that quivered in the man’s hand. Bartholomew nudged him, sensing Jestyn was near the end of his tether. As long as the Wait was brandishing a weapon, he did not think it was wise to aggravate him.
‘Then let us return to Turke,’ said Michael, the tone of his voice making it clear that he still had the entertainers marked as responsible for the death of both Norbert and Gosslinge. He looked at them one by one. ‘Did you force him on to the ice against his will?’
‘We were not there,’ said Makejoy, casting another uneasy glance at Frith, as though she was not sure that was true of him.
‘No one killed Turke,’ said Frith firmly. ‘I would have knifed him, as he killed my uncle, to let him see his life blood drain away and know that there was nothing he could do to save himself. And Ailred did not do it, either, before you think to abuse his good name.’
‘If you divide Dympna between you – I assume you plan to share with Ailred – how will he explain his sudden riches?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Surely it will raise questions, especially so soon after the mysterious disappearance of a large sum of money from his keeping?’
He saw Frith look at Makejoy, asking silently whether Yna was sufficiently recovered. He obviously wanted her alert and mobile, so they could leave and put an end to the uncomfortable inquisition. Makejoy examined Yna, then indicated that more time was needed.
‘He can say it is a legacy from a kinsman,’ said Frith. He grimaced. ‘Perhaps even from his brother, John. That would be an ironic twist to the tale, would it not? Besides, no one will be looking at Ailred’s finances when all attention is fixed on Michaelhouse. Fires are always breaking out in the winter, when the weather is cold and people are careless with their hearths. The one that starts here today will give people enough to talk about.’
‘But you said if I gave you the chest you would leave with no violence,’ objected Kenyngham.
‘I never intended you to live,’ said Frith coldly. ‘I love my uncle, and I do not want you alive to denounce him as a thief. It would break his heart.’
‘So will being an accessory to murder,’ said Bartholomew.
‘I do not know about this, Frith,’ said Makejoy uneasily, exchanging an agitated glance with Jestyn. ‘It is not what we agreed …’
‘We cannot back down now, unless you want to hang,’ said Frith, silencing her with a look. ‘This is our only way out. If you leave these men alive they will set Sheriff Morice after us and we will all die.’
‘That is not true,’ said Bartholomew desperately. ‘No one need–’
‘I have made up my mind,’ interrupted Frith. ‘I will not leave you scholars in a position to harm us. Uncle Ailred will assume the fire started by accident, just like everyone else and will never know your deaths were a deliberate act.’
‘But other people share our suspicions,’ argued Michael untruthfully. ‘We are not the only ones who know about Ailred’s abuses of Dympna and your role in the affair.’
‘Who?’ demanded Frith, furiously. He approached Michael with menace in his eyes, fingering his knife. He drew back his arm, and with horror Bartholomew saw he intended to stab the monk there and then, perhaps in the hope of frightening the others into telling him what he wanted to know.
The physician cast around desperately, looking for something – anything – he could use as a weapon. Frith stood over Michael and assessed the monk coldly, as if deciding which part he should pierce first. With mounting panic, Bartholomew saw there was nothing available, that he would be obliged to watch while his friend was butchered. Then his frantic gaze fell on the open box of coins at his side. He dropped his hand and snatched up as many as he could hold, then flung them as hard as he could in Frith’s face.
As the sharp edges cut into him, Frith howled in pain and Jestyn sprang forward with his dagger poised to strike. Jestyn was agitated, fearful that Frith’s plan would see him hanged even if they did manage to escape with the gold, and Bartholomew saw again that he was irrational enough to kill all three scholars just because he did not know what else to do. The physician braced himself as Jestyn lurched forward, ready to fight back if he could.
With cool aplomb, Kenyngham thrust out a foot and Jestyn stumbled into Michael. The monk gave the Wait a hefty shove that sent him sprawling into the two women. With shrieks of pain and outrage, Makejoy and Yna were bowled to the ground for a second time that day.
Bartholomew leapt to his feet and flung more coins at Frith, wondering how long he, Michael and the elderly friar could hold off strong, armed men like the Waits. He yelled for Langelee, shouting even more loudly when he saw the two women – Yna was now fully recovered – draw small, nasty-looking knives of their own. He lobbed more coins in their direction, then backed away in alarm as Frith uttered a howl of fury and advanced on the physician with his dagger stretched in front of him and his left hand raised to protect his bleeding face from further injury.
There was a loud thump at the door and everyone jumped in alarm. Even Frith stopped in his tracks. Then there was a crash, and the blade of an axe could be seen glinting through the wood before it was torn out again. Langelee was coming to rescue his colleagues.
Frith glanced at Jestyn, and Bartholomew saw them reach an unspoken understanding. Not wanting to find out what it entailed, he went on the offensive. He lunged for Jestyn but missed, and the burly Wait raced past and hurled himself at one of the tall windows. Glass flew in all directions as he hurtled through, leaving a jagged hole behind him. Frith followed, lumbering like an ox, while the women were more agile as they disappeared. Bartholomew darted forward, half expecting to see them lying with broken bones on the ground below. But all were up and running, and heading for the open gate.
‘Catch them!’ he yelled to Quenhyth, who was gaping stupidly at the spectacle. ‘Do not let them escape!’