‘She knows nothing,’ said Spynk contemptuously. He turned to the monk. ‘However, I can repeat what I told you when we first learned Danyell was dead. He was a regular visitor to our Norwich home – I cannot recall all the times I found Cecily entertaining him. When I heard de Lisle’s other victims were going to formalise their complaints in London, I asked him to travel with us, and do likewise.’
‘He was the best company in Norfolk,’ added Cecily, shooting her husband a look that showed the remark was intended to wound. ‘He made me laugh. I imagine you like a joke, too, Doctor?’
‘He never laughs with women,’ said Michael, moving to interpose his bulk between predator and prey. ‘He prefers men.’
‘The best ones always do,’ sighed Cecily, with a grimace of resignation.
‘We are supposed to be talking about Danyell,’ said Michael irritably, trying to bring the discussion back on track. ‘You told me the last time we spoke that he went for a walk alone, even though he was not in the best of health. Why did he do that?’
‘Perhaps he wanted to consult a medicus,’ replied Spynk, shrugging in a way that said he thought the question was an irrelevancy.
‘He did not see Paxtone, Rougham or me,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And we are the only physicians in Cambridge. Or are you saying he went to consult a different kind of healer?’
‘He might have done,’ admitted Spynk. His tone was distinctly cagey. ‘He thought witches’ cures are more efficacious than those of book-trained men.’
‘I see,’ said Michael. ‘What else did he think? That sorcery offers more answers than the Church?’
Cecily smiled at him, and ran her fingers down his sleeve. ‘We all think that, Brother. I used to be a devout Christian, but then the plague came and showed me that priests are no better than the rest of us. However, I am ready to be persuaded otherwise.’ She winked at him.
‘My wife makes a good point,’ said Spynk, stepping forward to grab her hand and pull her back. ‘Who can respect an organisation that has de Lisle as one of its leaders?’
‘De Lisle worked untiringly during the Death,’ said Michael quietly. ‘Some prelates deserted their posts, but he went out among the sick and the dying, giving what aid he could.’
‘Perhaps that was why so many of his parishioners died,’ suggested Spynk. ‘God declined to answer the petitions of such a sinner. Do not try to make him a saint, Brother. He is a villain, and men like him are the reason why so many of us have lost our faith – not in God, but in the Church.’
‘The Church is run by men,’ added Cecily, her eyes fixed on the monk. They seemed to glisten. ‘And we all know how fallible men can be.’
‘Danyell,’ prompted Michael, ignoring her. ‘You suggested he went out that night because he wanted a cure for his illness. Which healer did he intend to consult?’
‘He heard Mother Valeria was good,’ replied Cecily.
‘No,’ said Bartholomew, his mind working fast. ‘You claimed a few moments ago that a sample stone was stolen from his body, but why should he carry such a thing to Valeria? It sounds to me as though he was going to see a potential client. You have developed business interests here, so perhaps he did, too. He was a mason, and there is always a demand for good craftsmen.’
Spynk inclined his head. ‘You may be right. He specialised in tile floors, and never lacked for clients. I hear Sewale Cottage is in need of a new floor and that Michaelhouse will lay one as part of the terms of its sale. You should ask whether any of your colleagues secured his services, Brother. After all, he did die opposite that very house. And then he died before he could buy his cure.’
‘No Michaelhouse Fellow would have opened such negotiations without telling the rest of us,’ said the monk. ‘It is not how we operate.’
‘Really?’ asked Spynk slyly. ‘Your Franciscans are a law unto themselves, and neither you nor the Master seem able to silence their vicious tongues. Maybe one of them decided to see if he could get a good price for a new floor.’
‘And then chopped off Danyell’s hand to make it look as though witches killed him,’ added Cecily.
‘Cecily has taken a fancy to you, Matt,’ said Michael, as they left Spynk’s house. ‘Perhaps she hopes her amorous attentions will improve their chances of getting Sewale Cottage.’
‘Her interest faded the moment you made that remark about me preferring men. Now she will concentrate her efforts on you instead.’
Michael did not seem as discomfited as the physician felt he should have been. He smiled. ‘I will be a better proposition, anyway. You pay little attention to what transpires at Fellows’ meetings, so she was wasting her time if she expected you to put in a useful word on her husband’s behalf.’
‘I doubt that was her intention – there is scant affection in her marriage, and I suspect she is more likely to hinder Spynk than help him. Shall we go to see Mother Valeria, to ask if Danyell visited her the night he died?’
‘You can do that later, after dark, when hopefully no one will see you. We need to know whether she gave him a “cure” that may – deliberately or otherwise – have hastened his end.’
Bartholomew did not like the implications of that remark. ‘She is a healer, Brother. She does not kill her clients. Besides, I thought you had accepted my diagnosis that Danyell died of natural causes.’
‘I am inclined to keep an open mind, because nothing is as it should be at the moment. Perhaps the Sorcerer has an ability to bring about seizures, and saw Danyell – who seems to have been a fellow heathen – as competition. Or perhaps Valeria killed him because she wanted a dead man’s hand. You told me yourself that such items are believed to hold dark power.’
Despite the warmth of the sun, Bartholomew shuddered. ‘I will talk to her tonight.’
The monk sighed. ‘I dislike this kind of case – where we are obliged to tackle people’s religious convictions. I can tell Eyton that Goldynham did not scratch his own way out of his grave until I am blue in the face, but there is nothing I can do to make him believe me.’
‘It cannot last. Something will happen to show that all these events have perfectly logical explanations.’
‘Unfortunately, I suspect folk will be looking for supernatural ones for everything from now on, and that sort of thing is virtually impossible to combat. For example, William used a piece of cheese to mark his place in a library book last week, and it left a greasy stain. Deynman scattered the book with mugwort – a witch’s remedy – and this morning the blemish was gone. He says the Sorcerer is responsible, because the book was about astrology.’
Bartholomew looked sheepish. ‘That was me. I rubbed out the mark with chalk powder, because I could not sleep after the business with Goldynham, and it seemed a good way to pass the time.’
Michael grimaced. ‘But no one will believe you. It is much more exciting to think the Sorcerer mended the book, than a physician with chalk and time on his hands.’
They walked in silence for a while. It was a market day, and wares were being ferried to and from the stalls behind St Mary the Great. The heat was causing tempers to run high, and there was a fierce confrontation between Isnard and a butcher. The butcher was incensed by the accusation that he was selling bad produce, and hurled a kidney at the bargeman. It missed and struck a dog, which sniffed the missile, then trotted away with a whine and its tail between its legs.
‘Agatha says she will not buy any more meat until the Sorcerer has mended the weather,’ said Michael unhappily, watching the Sheriff’s men step in when punches began to fly. ‘According to her, he intends to chant a few spells that will bring the heatwave to an end.’