Norys shook his head. ‘But I can ask in Ipswich for you today, although I do not hold out much hope. And, if I am successful, it will be expensive.’ Pointedly he eyed the wooden cross, which Michael prudently wore in the place of his silver one lest someone decided to kill him for it.
‘Try anyway,’ said Michael icily, offended that the pardoner should think he was impoverished. ‘We are staying at the Half Moon.’
‘Are you?’ asked Norys, surprised. ‘You would be better at the Dog. The food is nicer and the landlord is sane. A word of advice: keep your windows open at night, so you will be able to escape if Eltisley sets the place on fire with one of his experiments. It would not be the first time, and his patrons’ luck is bound to run out sooner or later – although I might have a charm I could sell that would protect you against that sort of mishap.’
Bartholomew turned away to hide his amusement, while Michael looked suitably outraged that a man of God should be offered the opportunity to buy such an unashamedly pagan object.
‘No, thank you,’ said the monk stiffly. ‘Were you at the festivities on the green recently?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Norys. ‘I would never miss the Pentecost Fair.’
‘I do not suppose you own such a thing as a long dark cloak, do you?’ asked Michael, while he shoved his piece of linen back in his scrip.
‘Of course I do, Brother. All pardoners wear long dark cloaks. It is part of our traditional costume, so that people recognise us for what we are.’
‘Unfortunately, most people do not,’ said Michael. ‘So, tell me, Master Norys, what it is about this Pentecost Fair that you enjoy, specifically. The food provided by Tuddenham? The drink? The people? Dressing in your finery? Sitting in the church when there is no one else there?’
Norys looked bemused. ‘I am not robust enough to join Tuddenham’s food fight, so I usually bring something from home. Most respectable villagers do, and only the rabble attempt to partake of Tuddenham’s provisions. I saw you try, though, Brother. Very admirable. Were you successful?’
‘Moderately,’ said Michael. ‘But what did you do at the Fair, other than eat your own food?’
‘I spent time with Mistress Freeman. Her husband died recently – he had his throat slit a week ago – and she needs company. In the evening, we took a walk around the churchyard.’
‘That is a curious place for a stroll,’ pounced Michael. ‘The church is scarcely a great distance from the Fair and it is an odd choice of location to inflict on a recent widow. What did you do: dance on Freeman’s grave?’
Norys’s face hardened. ‘What are you implying? That I killed the priest in the church? I can assure you, I had nothing to do with that vile crime. Anyway, because James Freeman was deemed a suicide by Wauncy, he was not buried in the churchyard – we walked nowhere near his grave.’
‘And what do you know about Unwin’s death?’ asked Michael with a predatory smile.
‘There is not a man, woman or child in the village who does not know every detail about that, and has done since the crime was first discovered,’ said Norys. ‘This is the country, Brother; things do not stay secret for long.’
‘Really,’ hissed Michael. ‘In that case, Master Norys, perhaps you will be so kind as to tell me who committed so foul a crime against a man of God? If your village is so terrible at keeping secrets, then who killed Unwin?’
‘If I knew, I would tell you,’ said Norys, his eyes glittering with anger, ‘despite your offensive manner. The whole village was shocked by the murder, and we feel it as a personal loss – he was to have been our priest, you know. But I can tell you two things. First, I am sure you will find it was no common villager who killed the priest – you should look elsewhere for your culprit.’
‘I suppose you are thinking of Roland Deblunville?’ said Michael sarcastically. ‘Well, he is newly wed, and I am sure he had other things on his mind that night than killing priests.’
‘Then you do not know him,’ snapped Norys. ‘Ask him where he was when Unwin died. I wager you St Botolph’s teeth it was not in his wedding bed. And you might do well also to look to the other manors near here. Tuddenham may give you the impression he is on good terms with his neighbours, Bardolf and Grosnold, but they might well tell you a different story. Either one of them might dispatch the priest provided by his powerful new Oxford friends–’
‘Cambridge friends,’ interposed Michael. ‘We do not mention that other place.’
‘…just to prove to him that he is not untouchable. And the second thing I can tell you is that while I was in the graveyard I saw someone leave the church in a great hurry. Mistress Freeman and I thought nothing of it at the time, but with hindsight, I see it might have been the killer.’
‘It might,’ said Bartholomew, glancing at Michael to warn him to silence. Norys was trying to be co-operative, but Bartholomew sensed he would not tolerate much more of Michael’s rudeness. The fact that Michael did not like pardoners was no reason to lose what might prove to be a valuable witness to the murder of their colleague. ‘What did he look like? Did you recognise him?’
‘We just saw him run, zigzagging through the graves and jumping over the wall behind the church, to the fields beyond.’
‘Was it a man or a woman?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘You keep saying “him”.’
Norys frowned. ‘I assumed the killer would be a man. There is nothing to say it was not a woman, though: it could have been either. The only other thing I can remember is that he was wearing new leather shoes with silver buckles, and a leather belt with silver bosses.’
‘How can you remember a belt and shoes when you do not even know what sex the person was?’ demanded Michael, exasperated. ‘This is ridiculous! How can you expect us to believe all this?’
‘I do not care whether you do or not,’ said Norys coldly. ‘But before I became a pardoner, my uncle was training me to be a tanner, like him. I happen to know a great deal about leather, and I nearly always notice shoes and belts and suchlike. For example, I only had a glance, but I could tell you exactly what your saddles were like from when you first rode into Grundisburgh.’
‘This belt,’ said Bartholomew, feeling in his bag for the stud he had found after the body of the hanged man had disappeared from Bond’s Corner. ‘Were the silver decorations like this?’
He handed Norys the boss, and the pardoner inspected it minutely, spitting on it and scrubbing it on his sleeve to see it better. In the end, he handed it back with a shrug. ‘It might be. It would be about the right size, but I cannot be certain because he – or she – was too far away. The same goes for the buckles on the shoes, although they were clearly too small for him – his feet did not fit in them, and they slopped.’
‘I do not suppose you noticed whether this person was wearing a blue doublet sewn with silver thread, and whether he carried an ornate dagger, did you?’ asked Michael heavily, watching Bartholomew put the stud back inside his bag.
Norys shook his head. ‘Whoever it was wore a short cloak that hid his upper clothes – and before you ask, I saw the belt because the cloak caught on one of the trees, and I saw the studs sparkle in the sun as this person tried to free it.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘I almost went to help, but he wrenched free when he saw me watching. It was just as well I did not offer to assist him, or I might have gone the same way as the priest.’
‘Yes, that was lucky,’ said Michael nastily. ‘So, it looks as if the person you saw could well have been the killer – running in such haste from the church that he became entangled on a branch. Very convenient!’
‘What are you insinuating?’ demanded Norys.