‘But dead men do not walk,’ intervened Michael firmly, never a man to exercise patience with superstition. ‘The solution to all this is perfectly clear: someone removed the body after we left.’
‘Why would someone do that?’ asked Wauncy, tearing off a fragment of crust with bony fingers and cautiously placing it in his mouth. ‘If the man were dead, why bother to spirit the corpse away?’
‘To claim his jewels and dagger, of course,’ said Alcote impatiently. ‘And to steal his clothes.’
‘But that does not explain why the whole body disappeared,’ said Michael. ‘A thief would have stripped the corpse where it lay, not removed the whole thing.’
‘It is more likely that the body was stolen to prevent an investigation into its death,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is difficult to solve a murder when there is no corpse.’
‘True,’ said William, anxious to join in the conversation and demonstrate his deductive skills – skills he hoped Michael would report to the Chancellor when they returned to Cambridge, and that would see him appointed as the University’s Junior Proctor. ‘But it seems that the killer was interrupted before he had finished his business. When Matthew cut the body down, the man was still alive – just for a few moments. We–’
He jumped suddenly, and leaned down to rub his shin. Michael glared at him, while Bartholomew felt his heart sink.
‘You cut down the body of a man who might, for all you knew, have been lawfully executed?’ asked Tuddenham, shocked. Isilia and Dame Eva exchanged a look of horror, and Wauncy shuddered. ‘That is scarcely a wise habit, gentlemen!’
‘Professional hangmen do not abandon their victims before they are dead,’ said Bartholomew curtly, deciding there was little point in denying what they had done. ‘It was clear this man had not keen killed legally.’
‘Nor do hangmen abandon their victims’ clothing,’ added Michael. ‘They usually consider those part of their payment. As Matt says, there was something peculiar about the man’s death, and we sought only to avert a possible miscarriage of justice. We were right: whoever we saw die was not executed after a fair trial.’
‘Perhaps he took his own life,’ said Wauncy, still chewing slowly. ‘And then, when you saved him, he just walked away, seeing his rescue as an act of divine intervention.’
‘He was dead,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘I am a physician – I know a corpse when I see one.’
‘But there are certain illnesses and potions that make a man appear to be dead when he still lives,’ observed Wauncy. ‘I have heard stories where grieving families were delighted to discover that a loved one was not dead after all.’
Bartholomew had been wrongly accused of misdiagnosing a dead man in the past, and was not prepared to let it happen again. ‘His neck was broken, so he could not have walked away even had he wanted to. And he was not breathing. The only plausible explanation to all this is that someone took the corpse away, so that it would not be found.’
Tuddenham scratched his scalp through wiry grey hair, and gave a heavy sigh. ‘I can see this business has distressed you, and I sense you will not give your full attention to my advowson until it has been satisfactorily resolved.’
‘That is not true,’ began Alcote hurriedly. ‘This incident is wholly unimportant to us–’
Tuddenham raised a hand to silence him. ‘I am a fair and law-abiding man, and I shall do all in my power to investigate this affair. I will send my steward, Siric, to Peche Hall later this morning to tell my nephew Hamon to meet me near the river with six armed men.’
‘Do not involve that oaf!’ advised Dame Eva with feeling. ‘He will do more harm than good with his short temper and lack of common sense.’
Tuddenham overrode her. ‘Meanwhile, Master Wauncy can ride to our neighbours – Grosnold at Otley and Bardolf at Clopton – and tell them what has happened. Then, while Master Alcote and Father William remain here to work on my advowson, Doctor Bartholomew and Brother Michael will ride with us to visit Deblunville, so that we can satisfy ourselves, once and for all, that nothing terrible has befallen the man.’
‘But today is Sunday, Sir Thomas!’ protested Wauncy immediately. ‘I have masses for the dead to say.’
‘You seem to do nothing but say masses for the dead these days,’ said Tuddenham accusingly. ‘It is just as well Unwin will soon be able to help you, since you spend far more time with your deceased parishioners than your living ones.’
‘The plague-dead need my prayers,’ said Wauncy in a superior tone of voice. ‘They will never escape from Purgatory without them.’ He gave Tuddenham a sepulchral look that was about as comforting and friendly as a greeting from the Grim Reaper. ‘All mortals should take heed: unless they wish to spend an eternity in Purgatory, they should leave a decent endowment so that masses can be said for their sinful souls.’
‘And at fourpence a mass, the endowment needs to be decent indeed!’ muttered Michael under his breath.
‘Say your masses later, Master Wauncy,’ said Tuddenham. ‘This morning you will tell Grosnold and Bardolf that I plan to visit Deblunville today.’
Wauncy was unrelenting. ‘I do not believe that is wise, Sir Thomas. Deblunville will not take kindly to a dozen soldiers from neighbouring manors appearing on his doorstep unannounced – particularly if one of them is Hamon. You know they do not like each other.’
‘And who can blame Deblunville,’ mumbled Dame Eva. ‘Hamon is an ill-mannered lout.’
‘According to our guests, Deblunville is not a man we need be concerned about again,’ said Tuddenham. ‘With the exception of saying masses for his soul, of course. Let us hope he has left a suitable endowment.’
‘But there is no real evidence that it was Deblunville the scholars saw,’ objected Wauncy. ‘They cannot know him because they have never met him.’
Tuddenham nodded. ‘Nevertheless, I will satisfy myself that Deblunville is alive, and that one of my neighbours has not grown weary of his black deeds and taken the law into his own hands.’
‘But what about the Pentecost Fair?’ asked Wauncy desperately, wringing his skeletal hands. Bartholomew regarded him thoughtfully. Did the priest have hidden reasons for not wanting Tuddenham to visit Deblunville, or was his agitation genuinely the thought of losing the opportunity to earn fourpences for his masses?
‘The villagers do not need you or me to enjoy the Fair,’ said Tuddenham dryly. ‘In fact, I imagine you will find they will welcome relief from our watchful eyes for a few hours.’
‘Very well,’ said Wauncy stiffly, in the tone of a man who still feels he is correct. He reached bony hands behind his head and drew his cowl over it, so that his skull-like face was in shadow. The whiteness of his skin and the metallic glitter of eyes from deep inside the hood was the stuff of which nightmares are made, and Bartholomew wondered whether the priest deliberately cultivated his death’s-head look in order to remind people of their own mortality, so that they would be sure to put money aside to pay him for his prayers when they died.
Tuddenham treated the scholars to a flash of his long teeth. ‘As soon as we return, having satisfied ourselves that Deblunville is alive, I will recommence work on the advowson with you.’
William glanced up from his salted fish disapprovingly. ‘It is Sunday, Sir Thomas. We men of God do not sully a Holy Day by labouring.’
‘But the advowson is God’s work,’ Alcote put in quickly. ‘While Bartholomew and Michael resolve this business concerning your neighbour, I will continue work on the deed.’
Tuddenham was pleased. ‘Good, good. I want it ready as soon as possible.’
‘You seem very keen to have the deed completed,’ observed Alcote. ‘I do hope the reason is not because the Master sent too many scholars and you feel we are an imposition on your hospitality.’