‘I agree,’ said Suttone. ‘So I shall stay in, too, while the rest of you find Langelee and Ayera. I am not very good at fighting, and I am exhausted anyway, from exploring brothels all last night.’
William sniggered, and Bartholomew supposed the Carmelite did look rather the worse for wear, although a gleam in his eye said the experience had not been altogether unpleasant. Despite his habit, Suttone liked the company of ladies.
‘I do not want anyone out tonight,’ said Michael. ‘Servants, students or Fellows. Langelee and Ayera will just have to fend for themselves.’
‘We shall keep everyone in,’ promised William. ‘How long will it be for, do you think? Until after Corpus Christi? Or shall we wait until the next raid is finished before venturing out?’
‘The robbers may not come again,’ said Suttone, although with scant conviction.
‘They will,’ countered William. ‘The only question is when. Personally, I think it will be tomorrow night, when everyone has had too much to drink – for then we will struggle to mount any form of defence.’
‘No,’ countered Thelnetham, unwilling to let anything uttered by the Franciscan pass unchallenged. ‘It will be during the pageant or the opening of the library.’
‘In daylight?’ scoffed William. ‘I do not think so!’
‘These men are professional and ruthless,’ argued Thelnetham. ‘They have taken care to hide their faces thus far, but they may decide that anonymity will not matter once they have fired the town and slaughtered all its inhabitants. They will launch their assault during the ceremonies, because that is when they are least expected – and when they will have the element of surprise.’
‘But they have already lost it,’ objected William. ‘We all know they are coming.’
‘Yes, but we do not know exactly when,’ persisted Thelnetham. ‘And during the festivities, all the soldiers and beadles will be struggling to monitor the crowds, so they will be too busy to notice anything else. The robbers will use this as a diversion to launch their assault.’
‘Our beadles will certainly be distracted if the Common Library’s opponents use these murders as an excuse to disrupt the opening ceremony,’ said Suttone soberly. ‘Its supporters will retaliate, and the resulting fracas will involve every member of the University.’
Michael groaned and put his head in his hands. ‘That means I have one night to find our killer, because Suttone is right: a brawl will provide exactly the “diversion” these villains want.’
‘Cancel the opening,’ said William. ‘Indeed, cancel the library. It never was a sensible idea.’
‘I wish I could,’ sighed Michael. ‘But Chancellor Tynkell has made promises that are difficult to break, and wealthy townsmen will never give us anything again if we spoil Dunning’s day.’
‘That may not matter,’ warned William, ‘if we have no University left to receive gifts.’
Michael groaned again. ‘Thank God Tynkell is retiring soon, because I cannot work with a Chancellor who meddles. Shame on him and his desire to make a name for himself!’
‘The name he makes will not be a good one if his library opens in a welter of blood,’ said William ghoulishly. ‘But do not worry about Michaelhouse, Brother. We Fellows will keep it safe.’
‘And do not look so glum,’ added Suttone kindly. ‘You will catch your villain. No sly killer will best our intrepid Senior Proctor.’
‘I am not so sure,’ said Michael unhappily. ‘I have a very bad feeling about this whole affair.’
Because Michael was silent as they left the College, Bartholomew confided his suspicions about Holm, thinking it would do no harm to review the evidence against the surgeon.
‘You want Holm to be guilty, because you have taken a fancy to Julitta,’ said Michael acidly. ‘And you do not want him to wed her.’
‘You are right: I do not want her life spoiled by a man who only wants to inherit her father’s money,’ Bartholomew snapped back. ‘However, it has nothing to do with my–’
‘Do not dissemble with me. However, while I appreciate that Holm as the villain will please you – especially as you will save five marks if he is hanged – the fact is that there is no proof.’
‘Of course there is proof,’ said Bartholomew impatiently. ‘He is not a real surgeon for a start, yet he still wanders the town at night on the pretext of seeing patients. It must be because he is spying for the invaders. Moreover, he arrived on Easter Day, which is when the raiders claimed their first victim. And he lies about his whereabouts.’
‘Explain,’ ordered Michael.
‘Dunning wanted help with reorganising the pageant after the attack on the castle, but Holm excused himself on the grounds that he would be with the injured. At the time, I assumed it was simple indolence, but now I wonder if he had another motive.’
‘Not necessarily. He is lazy – he was napping yesterday when we visited in the middle of the day, so he probably lied to secure himself a good night’s sleep. Or a frolic with Browne.’
‘Then what about the fact that Browne is missing? Perhaps Browne discovered Holm’s guilt, and was killed to ensure the secret was shared with no one else.’
‘That is not proof, Matt. It is rank supposition without a shred of evidence.’
‘He pestered me and the other physicians for the wildfire formula,’ Bartholomew went on, determined to make Michael see his point of view. ‘He started the moment he found out what we had done, and was talking about it just before I was first ambushed. Perhaps he was among the three who threatened to–’
‘Again, there is no proof.’
‘The singers,’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘He hired singers to entertain Walkelate and his people on the night that Northwood, the Londons and Vale died. Obviously, he did it to mask any noise he might make while he poisoned them.’
Michael shot him a sidelong glance. ‘Julitta must really have captured your heart! It is unlike you to draw wild conclusions from such scant evidence.’
Bartholomew did not respond, reluctantly conceding that perhaps his dislike of Holm did stem from his admiration for Julitta, and it was jealousy speaking. Yet he knew, with every fibre of his being, that there was something amiss with the surgeon, something dark and unpleasant.
‘We had better go to Cholles Lane again,’ said Michael. ‘The more I think about it, the more I feel that place holds the key to unravelling our mysteries.’
‘Yes – it is where Holm lives,’ pounced Bartholomew.
This time it was Michael’s turn not to reply. They met Clippesby as they turned the corner. The Dominican looked fretful, and his habit was stained with wet mud.
‘Frevill,’ he said without preamble. ‘As we could not find Langelee or Ayera, I decided to watch for reconnoitring raiders instead. The water voles invited me to hide near their homes.’
‘They should not have done,’ said Bartholomew, worried for him. ‘These robbers are dangerous men.’
‘Very,’ agreed Clippesby soberly. ‘They even bested Dame Pelagia, although you helped her escape. I was glad, because the voles and I could not have done it.’
‘What is this?’ asked Michael, alarmed.
Bartholomew waved him quiet. ‘What did you hear? What is this about Frevill?’
‘He is one of the raiders,’ replied Clippesby. ‘The voles saw his face quite clearly. He was talking to several other armed men here, in Cholles Lane, and he was issuing them with orders.’
‘Which Frevill?’ asked Michael. ‘The Master of the Guild of Corpus Christi, who has been spiriting his family and valuables out of harm’s way these past two days? Perhaps because he knows for a fact what is about to befall his town?’
‘No, his carpenter kinsman, who works at the Common Library,’ replied Clippesby.