‘I do not think so, Matt. We have evidence that Norys killed Unwin and Mistress Freeman; we have nothing but your nasty accusations to show that Eltisley has killed anyone. And do not forget what Dame Eva said – Eltisley could not possibly have left his tavern during the Fair to harm Unwin, because there were people demanding ale and he would have been missed instantly. Perhaps the killer is someone we have not yet considered.’
‘I suppose Deblunville might have killed Unwin to embarrass Tuddenham,’ said Bartholomew, reluctantly trying to generate alternatives. ‘The rumour about him killing his first wife seems to have had some truth, so murder was not wholly foreign to him. But Deblunville died yesterday, and so could not have been burying Norys tonight.’
‘Hamon?’ suggested Michael with a shrug. ‘You said that whoever attacked us was proficient with a sword, and he is a lout.’
Bartholomew nodded slowly. ‘He has a motive: the prevailing opinion is that Norys is Unwin’s killer, and as long as Norys remains at large, Michaelhouse will decline to send another of its members to Grundisburgh like a lamb to the slaughter, and Hamon can therefore select his own priest when he inherits the estate from his uncle.’
‘Tuddenham will live for years yet,’ said Michael dismissively. ‘And once Isilia’s child is born, it will inherit the estates, not Hamon.’
But Bartholomew knew very well that Tuddenham would be cold in his grave long before Isilia’s child made its appearance, and that if it were a girl, Hamon would inherit anyway. If it were a boy, Hamon would run the estates until the child was old enough to manage them himself – if he lived that long and if Hamon did not find some way to wrest them away from him in the meantime.
Michael sighed. ‘It could equally well be Bardolf or Grosnold. None of these lords seem to like each other much. And there is the curious fact of Eltisley seeing Grosnold holding Unwin by the arm shortly before he died.’
‘Eltisley says he saw Grosnold with Unwin,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But who is to say he is not lying about that in order to throw us off his own track?’
‘True. But remember what Bardolf said about his fellow lords – that any of them might kill a priest who tried to promote peaceful relations when each has so much to lose. What a muddle!’
Bartholomew stood and stretched, looking at the sliver of mussel he still held. He walked to the stream that trickled across the village green, and bent down to release it into the persistent tug of the current, watching as it was swept away into the darkness.
When he returned, Michael was still sitting on the churchyard wall waiting for someone from Tuddenham’s household to come and view Norys’s body. The monk’s head was tipped back, and he was gazing up at the glitter of stars in the black night sky, and at the wispy silver clouds that floated across the face of the moon.
‘You know, Matt, we should review what we have learned, just to see if we can reason some sense from it.’
‘Must we?’ asked Bartholomew, sitting next to him. ‘I am heartily sick of all this.’
‘So am I,’ said Michael. ‘But we cannot leave later today unless we are certain that we know who killed Unwin. The Master would never forgive me if I had not done all I could to catch whoever killed Michaelhouse’s best student. So, first we had the hanged man at Bond’s Corner, clearly murdered and found half-burned in a shepherd’s hut. We have no idea who he is, or who killed him and why, although we know he was wearing clothes stolen from Deblunville by Janelle.’
‘No, Brother. First came Alice Quy and James Freemen, both dead in odd circumstances after claiming to have seen Padfoot. Second, we have the hanged man. Third, we have Unwin, stabbed – and his purse stolen, only to appear on Norys’s roof minus its relic.’
‘And we have two different descriptions of someone fleeing the church after his murder, and we have Grosnold seen talking surreptitiously with him just before his death. I remain certain Norys is responsible; you cannot see reason and are inclined to think the culprit was someone else.’
Bartholomew sighed. ‘Fourth, we have Mistress Freeman, dying in her home because she ate tainted mussels – perhaps alone, but probably with Norys and his cat – and then the throat of her corpse slit because someone wanted her death to appear like murder. We do not know why, although it seems to me that someone wants us to believe that Norys murdered her because she declined to provide him with an alibi for Unwin’s death.’
‘Deblunville was fifth,’ said Michael. ‘He died of a wound to his head, which may or may not have been inflicted when he slipped on wet grass. But if someone did kill him, I doubt we will ever know who, given that you say half the county was out that night, looking for golden calves.’
‘Alcote was sixth,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Killed by the explosion that destroyed Eltisley’s tavern. I think it was deliberate; you believe it was an accident. And now seventh, we have Norys. Still, at least we know he did not kill Deblunville or Alcote – he was already dead by then.’
‘What about his green lips?’ asked Michael. ‘Could they be a sign of poison?’
‘They might, I suppose, although there is no blistering or burning. Perhaps the colour has something to do with the bad mussels.’
‘But Mistress Freeman did not have green lips.’
‘True, but Mistress Freeman did not remain out of her grave for a week. The real question is whether these seven deaths are related or isolated. I am sure that Alice Quy, James Freeman and the hanged man are connected, because of Padfoot. Unwin’s murder may be a case of simple theft, although he saw Padfoot, too. Norys’s and Mistress Freeman’s are probably related to each other – if they both ate the same tainted mussels – and although neither was murdered, someone came and tampered with their corpses to make us believe that Norys killed Unwin.’
‘And Alcote?’ mused Michael thoughtfully. ‘How does he fit into all this? He never saw Padfoot, as far as I know, and he is unlikely to be connected to Unwin’s death, although I would not put theft past the man – he may have coveted Unwin’s relic.’
Bartholomew shook his head in exasperation. ‘I can see no pattern in all this. I am inclined to think Eltisley is the root of all evil, and you believe it is Norys. I do not like charlatans who dabble in medicine; you do not like pardoners. We are scarcely thinking like rational men, are we?’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Michael. ‘But I have a plan to see whether you are right and Alcote’s death was no accident. We will see whether it works before we leave for Cambridge.’
‘What is it?’ asked Bartholomew nervously.
Michael assumed the infuriatingly secretive expression that he knew always antagonised the physician. ‘You will have to wait and see. You did not confide in me over Mother Goodman’s charm, and so I am not obliged to reveal my professional secrets to you.’ He glanced up. ‘Here comes Cynric with Tuddenham and his retinue – his mother, his wife, his nephew, his priest and his servants. I wonder he has not brought his hounds and his horses and his hawks.’
‘I did not expect him to come himself,’ said Bartholomew, worried about Tuddenham’s failing health. ‘He should have sent Hamon or Siric.’
‘He probably does not trust them with something like this,’ said Michael, standing to meet them.
Left alone, Bartholomew walked back to the river, listening to its faint gurgle and the hiss of the breeze through the nearby willows. Bats flitted in and out of the branches, hunting down insects that lived near the water, and somewhere an owl hooted, to be answered by another in the distance.