‘The Senior Proctor will never let that happen,’ said Michael, hearing her last words as he came to join them. ‘Of course, Matt will lose my protection when I am appointed to an abbacy or a bishopric and I move to another town. And it is only a matter of time before important people recognise my worth, so I do not anticipate being here much longer.’
‘Modestly put, Brother,’ said Bartholomew dryly. ‘Perhaps that is why your grandmother is here: to size you up for promotion.’
‘No, she would have told me,’ said Michael, quite seriously. ‘She is here for something much more grave, and I cannot help but wonder whether it is to do with the raid on the castle.’
‘You think she led an armed invasion?’ asked Bartholomew. He would not put it past her.
‘Do not be ridiculous! I meant she might be here because she heard some rumour of trouble in the offing, and came to prevent it.’
‘Then she did not do a very good job,’ said Agatha. ‘Incidentally, Robin thought he recognised one of those brigands last night. He said it was Principal Coslaye of Batayl Hostel.’
‘Then he is mistaken,’ said Michael firmly. ‘Coslaye is still mending from the head injury he suffered at the Convocation, and would not be strong enough to fight.’
‘I beg to differ,’ said Agatha, while Bartholomew nodded in agreement: Coslaye had made a complete recovery. ‘And he is a rough-tempered brute, obsessed with battles.’
‘Well, yes, he is, but he still would not have joined a raid on the castle,’ argued Michael. ‘However, if Robin goes around telling folk that he did, the town will fight the University for certain. Order him to desist, Agatha. He will listen to you. Go now, before the tale seeps out.’
Agatha inclined her head, and sailed majestically towards the gate.
‘As soon as we have completed our duties at church, we had better visit Coslaye,’ said Michael, walking across the yard to where their colleagues were gathering. The service would be later than usual because it was Sunday.
Bartholomew blinked. ‘You think there might be truth in Robin’s claim?’
‘Of course not, but Robin will need to be convinced that he is wrong before we can trust him to stop gossiping, and the best way to do that will be to tell him Coslaye’s alibi.’
‘If he has one,’ warned Bartholomew. ‘The raid was before dawn, when most people were asleep. His students may not be able to prove that he did not wake up and slip out.’
‘We shall cross that bridge when we come to it.’ Michael fell into step at Bartholomew’s side as Langelee led the procession out of the College and up the lane. ‘Meadowman and I spent much of last night in Newe Inn’s garden, monitoring the pond. Just when I was beginning to think we were wasting our time, the gate opened, and we had a visitor.’
‘And?’ prompted Bartholomew, when the monk paused.
‘And he began poking about its rim with a stick. I charged forward to grab him, but Meadowman and I fell over each other in the dark, and the fellow escaped. However, the incident tells me that the pool definitely warrants further investigation.’
‘What will you do?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Dredge it again?’
Michael nodded. ‘More thoroughly this time. Hopefully, when we find what that fellow came for, we will understand what caused four of our scholars to die.’
‘Do you have any idea who this visitor was?’
‘None. He was cloaked and hooded – obviously a disguise, because the weather is mild.’
‘Was there anything distinctive about his cloak? Or his gait?’
‘I thought he was limping, but could not be sure.’
Bartholomew frowned. ‘Do you think he was one of the men who attacked me?’
‘Why would he be? They wanted your formula for wildfire, so why would one go to Newe Inn’s garden? It is not likely to be there!’
Bartholomew fiddled with a frayed seam on his sleeve as he thought. ‘We believe Northwood, Vale and the London brothers were competing with my medical colleagues to develop a clean-burning lamp. We are always being told that this invention will be worth a lot of money, so perhaps these mysterious men are interested in any new discoveries.’
‘It is possible, I suppose,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘And then, when Northwood and the others declined to share the fruits of their labours, these men killed them. Or perhaps they did talk – for a price – and as they drank a victory toast with their new partners, they were poisoned.’
‘The men who accosted me did not offer to pay for information,’ said Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘They made it perfectly clear that they were going to take what they wanted by force. But perhaps you should discuss this with your grandmother. I doubt it was coincidence that she was to hand when those men tackled me, and I have a feeling that she knows exactly who they are.’
But Michael shook his head. ‘You are wrong, Matt – it was coincidence. I dined with her yesterday, and she confided that she is here to hunt down a dangerous French spy.’
‘So she did lie about being here to see you,’ said Bartholomew, not surprised.
Michael smiled suddenly. ‘She is an incredible woman, though, do you not think? I wish I had known her in her prime, when she won knife-throwing competitions against the King’s best warriors, and was the most feared spy the French had ever known.’
She was more than impressive enough for Bartholomew in her dotage, and the thought of her young, strong and lithe was deeply unsettling. He changed the subject to the attack on the castle.
‘Mercenaries were hired, but the one who was captured refuses to talk. His son, John Ayce, was murdered, apparently, and he still grieves. He does not care what happens to him.’
‘I remember that case,’ mused Michael. ‘Young Ayce sold eggs to the castle, but he was a brute, and his father was the only one who mourned him. His killer – one William Hildersham – escaped while being transported to the Bishop’s prison in Ely. I recall being pleased when I heard.’
‘Why?’ It was unlike the monk to condone murderers evading justice.
‘Ayce was a bullying brawler who had terrorised and even injured other scholars. Hildersham claimed self-defence, and the University believed him. We all thought Ayce had been given his just deserts.’
‘Yet the secular jury found Hildersham guilty. There must have been some reason why–’
‘Secular juries always find against us, you know that. Their verdict meant nothing.’
‘Ayce’s father does not think so,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He is bitter and angry.’
‘No parent likes to see his offspring stabbed, no matter what the circumstances. But it happened years ago, and cannot matter now.’
‘On the contrary, Brother. It led Ayce to join the force that tackled the castle.’
Michael sighed. ‘Cambridge was like a town under siege last night, its streets thick with soldiers. I rousted out all my beadles, too. I do not want these villains attacking the University.’
‘You think they might?’ asked Bartholomew, alarmed.
Michael shrugged. ‘I have no idea, but precautions never go amiss.’
It was peaceful in St Michael’s Church that morning. Sunlight filtered through the east window, and its thick walls muted the rattle of hoofs and iron-shod wheels on the cobbled streets outside. A dove cooed in the rafters, and the only other sound was Suttone chanting mass. Someone, probably William, had swept the church the previous day, and had put flowers on the windowsills, so their sweet scent mingled with the more pungent aroma of incense.
Afterwards, Michael requested that he and Bartholomew be excused from breakfast, slyly not mentioning that there might not be any if Agatha was still at the castle with her nephew.
‘Why?’ asked Langelee. ‘Have you learned who tried to dash out Coslaye’s brains at the Convocation at last?’