‘If he pushes you again, tell me,’ instructed Cynric grimly. ‘And I will push him back.’
While Bartholomew had been gone, the women had done their best to return the Franciscan to some semblance of normality. They had scrubbed his hands and face, and although he was still more amber than he should have been, at least he was recognisably human. They had been unable to do much with his habit, though, so Edith had sent Cynric to Michaelhouse to beg one from William. What had arrived was a vile article, thick with filth and fleas, but Bartholomew put it on the body anyway. Then he loaded Kellawe on the bier and sent the beadles away with it.
He walked to Zachary Hostel, and arrived to find Morys refusing to let Michael inside. He was at an upstairs window, Nigellus at his side.
‘You cannot keep me out,’ Michael was stating indignantly. ‘I am the Senior Proctor.’
‘You arrested me on patently false charges,’ shouted Nigellus. ‘So I took legal advice from Stephen. He says that any contact with you should be through him from now on.’
‘It is not you I want,’ snapped Michael. ‘It is everyone else.’
‘Then you should have thought about that before hounding an innocent man,’ Morys shot back. ‘Because you are not coming in.’
Michael spread his hands. ‘How am I supposed to solve Kellawe’s murder if you will not help me? Do you want his killer to go free?’
‘You will not solve it,’ sneered Nigellus. ‘You are an incompetent. Now go away. If you have questions for us, you can ask them through our lawyer. But not today. Stephen’s debilitas is worse and keeps him in his bed. However, he was not too ill to assure me that your University will be obliged to pay me a fortune.’
‘It is your University, too,’ Michael pointed out. ‘And suing it is hardly the best use of its resources. We should be channelling them into averting the trouble with–’
‘We do not want to be a part of it any more,’ interrupted Nigellus. ‘It is corrupt and rotten, and Kellawe was right to want a new one in the Fens. We shall leave in the next few days, to join those who have gone before us. Our new studium generale will be free of vice and cronyism.’
‘There speaks the hostel that controls Tynkell with threats over his mother,’ muttered Michael, as the window slammed closed. ‘I shall be glad to be rid of them. Unfortunately, the fact that they are not leaving immediately suggests they aim to use the intervening time to recruit more scholars to their cause.’
‘Almost certainly,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘And Morys has no alibi for Kellawe’s murder – perhaps he killed him to make scholars think they are in danger here, and will be safer in the Fens.’
‘Surely Morys would have preferred Kellawe alive? Kellawe was fervent in his support of the move, not to mention the fact that he held the licence to absolve Zachary’s scholars from acts of violence.’
‘Would you want a man like Kellawe in your new University? He might be popular with malcontents and fanatics, but rational, decent scholars would recoil.’
‘Rational, decent scholars will not be considering removing to the Fens.’
‘But they are, Brother. The Austins think it is a sensible idea, and other good men will follow. Unless you do something to stop it, your University will be torn in half.’
Chapter 12
Although Bartholomew and Michael spent the rest of the day in a determined effort to identify Kellawe’s killer, they met with no success. Bartholomew lost count of the boots he examined for red and yellow splashes, but whoever had been with the Franciscan in the dyeworks had been clever enough to dispose of any incriminating evidence. In the end they gave up and went home, exhausted by their efforts.
‘We have a number of suspects, both for killing Kellawe and for being the strategist,’ said Michael, as he and Bartholomew stood outside the hall after breakfast the following day. ‘First, Morys, because Kellawe’s fierce tongue was a liability–’
‘And he killed Frenge to cause a rift between University and town,’ nodded Bartholomew, ‘thus encouraging a lot of scholars to think they might be safer in the Fens. Nigellus is innocent of the first, but might have had a hand in the latter.’
‘Second, Shirwynk and Peyn, who live next door to the dyeworks and hate all scholars. Third, Hakeney, because he is under the delusion that Robert stole his cross, and his assault to get it back has certainly encouraged the Austins to want to leave us for the marshes.’
‘I am less convinced about those three. The strategist is clever, and I am not sure they are sufficiently well organised, especially Hakeney.’
‘Fourth, Wauter,’ continued Michael, ‘because we do not know where he is or what he is doing. He is certainly intelligent enough to organise all this trouble. Fifth, Stephen, because he will have more work from townsmen if the University’s lawyers move to the Fens. He denied sending the messages urging the priors to convince Joliet to sue Hakeney, and I thought he was telling the truth, but perhaps I was wrong to be so trusting …’
‘But Nigellus – and Stephen’s maid – said that he has the debilitas. Sick men do not strangle their victims and toss them in vats.’
‘The debilitas comprises a lot of symptoms that cannot be proved – headaches, nausea, stomach pains, constipation, so how do you know he is ill? Have you examined him?’
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘I offered, but he refused.’
‘Interesting,’ said Michael. ‘So I suggest we pay him a visit today and repeat the invitation. His response will be revealing in itself. And sixth, we have the men of King’s Hall. They are violently opposed to a move to the Fens, and killing one of its most vocal proponents might serve to damage its cause. Of course, if so, it means that none of them is the strategist.’
‘I doubt Cew is the culprit, while Dodenho is no more capable of ingenious subterfuge than Shirwynk, Peyn and Hakeney. That leaves Wayt …’
‘Cew also has the debilitas,’ mused Michael, ‘but his sickness has turned him insane. Yet how do we know his madness is real? He might be acting.’
‘I really do not think so, Brother. It seems genuine to me.’
Michael turned to another subject. ‘Edith and Yolande did not tell us the truth, you know.’
Bartholomew regarded him uneasily. ‘About what?’
‘They said their women were with them all night, but Cynric confided that there was actually a good deal of coming and going – some still engage in their old business, despite your sister’s efforts to reform them. I am afraid we cannot discount them as suspects for Kellawe’s murder, so they are seventh on our list.’
‘None of them will be the strategist though – they will not want the University to go, because scholars buy a lot of dyed cloth and … other services.’
‘True, but the strategist might have encouraged one of them to kill Kellawe. Most are impetuous ladies who would not need much convincing that dispatching a thorn in their side would be to their advantage. They are unlikely to have sat down and considered the repercussions. Like so many others, they would have been clay in his manipulative hands.’
Bartholomew was silent for a while, thinking. ‘There are other deaths that should not be forgotten either – Letia, Lenne, Arnold, Irby, Yerland, Segeforde and the Barnwell folk. We do not know why they died, but four of them suffered damage to their stomachs and livers, which I am sure was not natural …’
‘Damage that cannot be attributed to Nigellus, because he does not dispense medicines,’ sighed Michael, then shook his head. ‘And those are the deaths we know about. It occurs to me that this strategist might have claimed dozens of other lives to get what he wants.’