Alcote sat at the table near the window with his scrolls and deeds, while Bartholomew and Horsey were employed in sorting through a large box of household accounts that Dame Eva had discovered in her chamber the previous day. None were relevant to the advowson – which was why Alcote was prepared to accept their help. Meanwhile, Michael stood over the tanner with Tuddenham; Deynman, not trusted with documents – even unimportant ones – was looking after the morose Cynric; and William was out questioning the remaining villagers.
When Siric had returned from Ipswich a second time without tracing Norys, Michael had decided that the only way forward was to question the tanner again, and had asked Tuddenham to arrest him, hoping that a night in Tuddenham’s cellars might frighten him into revealing his nephew’s whereabouts. Since William had declared such an interrogation could not take place on a Sunday – none too subtly implying that anyone who disagreed with him was in league with the Devil – the tanner had been left in peace until dragged from his bed at dawn on the Monday, interrupted in the very act of downing a cup of Eltisley’s black tonic to fortify him for a day with his leathers.
Bartholomew had gone with Hamon to fetch him to Wergen Hall, because he felt sorry for the little man and was sure he knew nothing of Norys’s disappearance or Unwin’s murder. He wanted to make sure that Hamon did not use more force than was necessary, although he need not have been concerned: Hamon had been hostile and angry, but not rough.
‘Anyone could have thrown that bundle on to our roof,’ the frightened tanner protested bleatingly, as Tuddenham paced in front of him.
‘Brother Michael tells me that it was cunningly concealed next to the chimney,’ said Tuddenham coldly. ‘I ask you again, Master Tanner, where is your nephew?’
The tanner was almost in tears. ‘Please believe me! I do not know where he is – he has been away since Wednesday, and no one in the village has seen him since.’
‘But you admit these bloody clothes and the murdered priest’s purse were on your roof?’
‘Of course I do!’ cried the tanner. ‘I was there when they were found. But they do not belong to me or my nephew. I have never seen them before. The cloak is not his – he is not very tall, and it would be too long for him.’
‘And what about Unwin’s purse?’ asked Michael, in a kinder tone than the one used by Tuddenham. ‘In it, he had some chrism and a few hairs from St Botolph’s beard wrapped in parchment. The chrism has been left – holy oil does not fetch much of a price unless you happen to know any witches or warlocks – but the relic is missing.’
‘I do not know where it is,’ whispered the tanner, swivelling to look at Michael. ‘Really, I do not. And my nephew would never steal a relic – it would earn him eternal damnation.’
‘He was prepared to ask around Ipswich market for a relic of St Botolph for me to take home as a souvenir,’ said Michael. ‘He was most obliging on that front.’
‘But obtaining a relic to sell to you is not the same as stealing one,’ said the tanner. ‘My nephew knows lots of merchants in Ipswich, and he is very good at finding people things they want. But he does not steal.’
‘You really should consider being more co-operative,’ said Tuddenham sternly. ‘Or I might begin to suspect that you have something to do with all this, as well as your nephew.’
‘No!’ The tanner was on the verge of dropping to his knees in front of Tuddenham to plead with him. ‘I know nothing about any of this. And my nephew is not a violent man. He would never harm anyone, let alone a priest.’
‘And you have no idea where he might be?’ pressed Tuddenham. ‘You do not have him hidden away somewhere, waiting until all the fuss has died down so that you can enjoy the spoils of your wicked crimes at your leisure?’
‘I do not!’ cried the tanner, tears trickling down his leathery face. ‘My nephew has not been seen since he went to Ipswich. In fact, the last people to see him were these Cambridge men. Perhaps they killed him, and threw that bundle on to our roof so that Eltisley will be freed and they will not have to stay in the Dog instead of the Half Moon.’
Bartholomew wondered whether he and Michael really appeared to be the kind of men who would kill in order to reside in the tavern of their choice.
‘So, we had better release Eltisley, then,’ said Hamon, from where he leaned against the wall watching the scene in some disgust. ‘It is clear that this bloody knife Siric found in the landlord’s garden was tossed there by Norys as he ran from the scene of his crime.’
‘That is not clear at all,’ said Bartholomew. ‘There is no evidence to support such a conclusion.’
Hamon spat into the rushes. ‘Evidence! You scholars are not interested in justice, only in finding ways to weave and twist your way around the law.’
‘Accusing Norys of throwing the knife into Eltisley’s garden is not justice,’ said Bartholomew.
‘Matt,’ warned Michael. He turned to Tuddenham and Hamon, both of whom were looking angry at Bartholomew’s interruptions. ‘He is still shocked from being attacked in Barchester…’
‘And I suppose that was Norys, too?’ said Bartholomew caustically. ‘All the evidence you have against Norys is circumstantiaclass="underline" no one actually saw him enter or leave the church, or saw him with this bloody knife, or saw him put the bundle of clothes and Unwin’s purse on the tanner’s roof.’
‘And what about the cloak?’ asked Michael. ‘Who, but a pardoner, would own a long cloak?’
‘Many people, I expect,’ said Bartholomew. ‘This is not a poor village, and a number of people might be able to afford such a garment. In any case, perhaps the person who was seen running from the church was not the killer at all. It might have been some innocent who stumbled on the body and was too frightened to raise the alarm lest he be accused of the crime. It does not prove that Norys is Unwin’s murderer.’
‘Perhaps not, but it all adds up to a pretty good indication that Norys is involved in something untoward,’ said Michael. ‘And now he is missing. But we should let Sir Thomas go about his business, so that Eltisley can be released.’
‘Eltisley was freed as soon as I heard about this bundle,’ said Dame Eva from her wicker chair near the hearth. Tuddenham looked startled, and she shrugged. ‘I told you yesterday that I did not think Eltisley killed Unwin, Thomas. He was in his tavern all that day, serving ale to the villagers. There was no way he could have slipped out and murdered someone, without there being a riot by villagers demanding their drink. The Fair was in full swing when Unwin was murdered, remember?’
‘That sullen troop who are here for crop-weeding would have mutinied had Eltisley slipped away, even for a few moments,’ agreed Isilia. She cast Hamon a disgusted look. ‘I do not like them. They huddle over their ale in the Half Moon like a band of cut-throats, and have no place in a village like ours. They should not have been hired.’
‘They were the only men available for work,’ said Hamon defensively. ‘It is not easy to find labourers these days.’
‘So you hired a band of ale-swilling louts,’ said Dame Eva disdainfully. ‘Typical of you!’
‘What do you mean by that?’ demanded Hamon, looking belligerent.
Dame Eva shook a pitying head at him. ‘Only that Thomas is wrong to believe that you will make a good heir for his estates. My husband would never have agreed to leave them to you.’