‘I shall make him parish priest at Girton soon,’ he whispered. ‘He objects, of course, as he loves being here. But he will need what remains of his eyesight to settle into his new life.’
‘I draw chickens, too,’ Willelmus was saying shyly, smiling up at Michael.
‘Chickens?’ asked the monk, amused. ‘Is there much call for fowl in sacred manuscripts, then?’
Willelmus nodded fervently. ‘You would be surprised at how often they can be inserted, Brother. They are lovable beasts, and it amuses me to immortalise them.’
‘Right,’ said Michael, regarding him as though he were short of a few wits.
‘Meanwhile, Jorz here does climbing foliage,’ boasted Etone. ‘And devils.’
Jorz smiled rather diabolically. ‘It is good to remind people that not everything is pretty flowers and happy hens. The occasional demon lurking in the greenery is a warning that Satan is never far away. People should remember this, even when reading their scriptures.’
‘There are rather more imps here than angels,’ remarked Michael, squinting over Jorz’s work. Willelmus was not the only one whose eyesight was not all it had been. ‘Is that appropriate?’
‘Prior Etone says I must not draw cherubs and devils with the same hand,’ explained Jorz. ‘So I paint fiends with my left, which is comfortable, but I am clumsy with my right, so angels take longer and are not so fine when I have finished. That is why there are more demons.’
Etone shrugged when Michael regarded him questioningly. ‘I was afraid there might be an urge to make them overly similar, otherwise. And then where would we be, theologically speaking?’
‘I specialise in depicting weapons,’ declared Riborowe, cutting into the bemused silence that followed. ‘And my bows, bombards, swords and ribauldequins have dispatched many a chicken and sprite. I get the manuscripts last, you see, to add the finishing touches.’
Michael’s eyebrows almost disappeared under his hair. ‘You amaze me! I would have thought there was even less demand for weapons in sacred texts than for poultry and denizens of Hell.’
‘The Bible is a very violent book,’ said Riborowe approvingly. ‘It is full of wars, battles, fights and murders, and people are always smiting enemies. So is God. Look at the ribauldequin I have drawn here. It is a perfect copy of the ones used at Poitiers.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Michael doubtfully.
‘Because I was there,’ declared Riborowe proudly. ‘I was a chaplain with the English army.’
‘Lord!’ exclaimed Michael. ‘How many more of our scholars are going to confess to taking part in that vicious occasion? We have three so far, with you, Holm and Matt.’
‘So I have heard,’ said Riborowe, shooting Bartholomew an unpleasant glance before going to fetch more ink from a little antechamber at the far end of the room. He called back over his shoulder, as he went, ‘However, I did not wield a weapon and nor did I side with the French, like Holm.’
‘You are limping,’ observed Bartholomew. He might not have remarked on it, but Dame Pelagia’s words about men with leg wounds clamoured at him, and Riborowe’s look had irritated him.
‘I tripped running away from a batch of ink that exploded,’ said the friar, rather coolly. He held up red-stained hands. ‘See the mess it made?’
‘When did–’ began Bartholomew.
‘Look at this manuscript,’ interrupted Jorz, brandishing a sheaf of pages that were a blaze of colour. ‘It is a gift for Sir Eustace Dunning – a Book of Hours.’
‘If we give it to him,’ said Etone grimly. ‘I have not forgiven him for depriving us of Newe Inn yet. Or for facilitating the establishment of a Common Library.’
‘Speaking of Newe Inn, do any of you know what Northwood was doing in its grounds?’ asked Michael. ‘Or why he should have been there with Vale and the London brothers?’
‘I have no idea at all,’ replied Riborowe. ‘We have a lovely garden here, in the friary.’
‘When did you last see him?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘Tuesday evening,’ supplied Riborowe. ‘He said he was going to find somewhere quiet to read. The next day, we noticed that his bed had not been slept in.’
‘Was that unusual?’ asked Bartholomew.
It was Etone who answered. ‘No. He was an avid reader, even at night when he was obliged to use a lamp. He told me he was looking forward to your success with good fuel, Matthew, because Willelmus’s plight had shown him what happens to those who strain their eyes.’
‘I understand he liked alchemy,’ said Michael. ‘Do you think he might have decided to investigate that particular matter himself, in competition with the medici?’
‘He might have done,’ said Etone, silencing Jorz’s immediate denial with a raised hand. ‘But I think he would have told them. He had his failings, but deceit was not one of them.’
‘What failings?’ pounced Michael.
‘Voting in favour of the Common Library,’ said Riborowe immediately. ‘He was the only White Friar to flout our Prior’s instructions. None of the rest of us want such a vile place in our midst.’
‘No,’ agreed Etone. We considered the scheme inadvisable before Dunning provided Newe Inn for the purpose, but we are even more opposed to it now.’
‘That was Northwood’s only fault?’ probed Michael.
Etone sighed. ‘No. If you must know, he was vain about his intellect and impatient with those he deemed inferior.’
‘I never found that,’ said Bartholomew, feeling the judgement uncharitable.
‘That is because he admired you, and went to some trouble to cultivate your friendship,’ said Etone with a pained smile. ‘He thought your mind was worthy of his notice. However, he was considerably less amiable with those who had not won his approbation.’
‘And he was a bully,’ Willelmus muttered, while the novices nodded fervently. ‘He worked the boys very hard, then dismissed their efforts as inadequate.’
‘He often made us stay late,’ added one. ‘And we were afraid that we would grow as blind as Willelmus, because he kept us here long after sunset, when we could barely see.’
‘For the money, it would seem,’ said Michael, ‘which he kept for himself.’
Etone pursed his lips. ‘He was not a thief, Brother. And if you do not believe me, then inspect his cell. You will find no ill-gotten gains there.’
‘Very well,’ said Michael agreeably. ‘Lead on.’
Etone was piqued that Michael was unwilling to take his word about Northwood’s probity, but ordered Riborowe to take the monk and his Corpse Examiner to the dormitory anyway. Sniffing, to indicate his disapproval, the thin priest led the way out of the scriptorium, across the yard, and up a flight of stairs. The dormitory was a large, airy room with flies buzzing around the rafters, and an enormous hearth at each end, to keep the friars warm during inclement weather.
The cubicle that had been occupied by Northwood was about halfway down. There was nothing in it except a bed, a box containing some writings on alchemy, and a spare habit.
‘You see?’ said Riborowe triumphantly. ‘These tales about his greed are lies.’
‘Unless someone guessed that we might inspect his possessions, and made sure all was in order,’ said Michael sombrely. Bartholomew had been thinking the same thing.
‘That is a dreadful charge to lay at our door!’ declared Riborowe indignantly. ‘How dare you!’
Michael was silent for a moment. ‘I have a legal and an ethical obligation to find out what happened to Northwood, and if that means poking into matters that are awkward, distressing or embarrassing, then that is what I must do. I take no pleasure from it, and nor will I gossip about what I learn, but it must be done if the truth is to come out.’