‘It will be dark in a few hours,’ said Michael. ‘And whilst we have explained some of our mysteries, we are a long way from solving the most important ones. We do not know the Sorcerer’s identity, who exhumed Thomas, Margery and Goldynham, or who killed Carton, Thomas or Spynk.’
‘Do you think the Bishop’s men killed Spynk? They were near his body, after all.’
‘It is possible, but their presence in the garden might have been coincidence, and I would rather not challenge them until I have solid evidence of wrongdoing.’ Michael threw up his hands in sudden despair. ‘I am at my wits’ end with this damned business – and I am tempted to take the opportunity for a good night’s sleep, on the grounds that we will almost certainly not have one tomorrow.’
They reached Michaelhouse, but before Bartholomew could take more than a few steps towards the sanctuary of his room they became aware of a rumpus taking place in the conclave. Michael grimaced.
‘I hope Langelee has not invited Osbern and Brownsley in there. I do not want them in the inner sanctum of my home – my refuge from the world.’
They walked up the stairs, and entered the conclave. Langelee was standing by the window with a goblet in his hand. Wynewyk was next to him, while Suttone poured wine from a small cask. The atmosphere was happy and convivial, and William was the only Fellow not present. All attention was on a slight, dark-haired man who sat beaming affably at everyone from the Master’s favourite chair.
‘Clippesby!’ Bartholomew exclaimed in delight, greeting the last of Michaelhouse’s Fellows with genuine affection. Seeing him home again was the best thing that had happened all day. ‘What are you doing here? You are not supposed to be back until September.’
‘Did you come because I am due to give an important sermon tomorrow night?’ asked Suttone, looking flattered. ‘It is to the Guild of Corpus Christi, and I thought I might expound on the plague.’
‘Actually, I came because of Carton,’ replied the Dominican, smiling shyly when Michael grasped his shoulder to express his own pleasure at the wanderer’s return. ‘I thought you might need me for teaching, especially when I heard Mildenale has given his innate oddness free rein.’
‘Oddness?’ asked Michael warily. Clippesby was generally acknowledged to be insane, and had been incarcerated several times for peculiar behaviour, so it was unsettling to hear him accusing someone else of being strange. ‘You are not saying that just because he is a Franciscan, are you?’
Clippesby shot him a reproachful look. ‘I have never denigrated anyone for the colour of his habit. I am not William. And I am not Mildenale, either.’
‘Yes, you have always been reasonable,’ acknowledged Langelee. ‘We are lucky to have you, because I doubt any other Dominican would have put up with William all these years. I am just glad you have not had to endure the last month, because he has grown much worse.’
‘He has fallen under Mildenale’s spell,’ explained Suttone, going to refill Clippesby’s goblet. ‘Mildenalus Sanctus has been whispering poisonous thoughts in his ear, and William is too stupid to dismiss them for the nonsense they are.’
‘Mildenale has always been extreme,’ said Wynewyk. ‘We should have tried to keep him away from William, because with hindsight, it was obvious what was going to happen. William’s foray into more serious fanaticism is partly our fault.’
‘You would not think he needs our protection,’ said Langelee. ‘But you are probably right. Just because he has strong opinions does not mean he has a strong mind to go with them.’
‘I knew Mildenale was dangerous,’ said Clippesby. ‘Not just to my fellow Dominicans, but to the whole town. So I applied for a sabbatical leave of absence specifically to travel to Blackfriars in London, and warn my Prior-General about him. I intended to come home as soon as I had delivered my message, but he kept me there. He said I needed a rest, although I cannot imagine why. I was perfectly healthy.’
‘Does he know you are mad?’ asked Langelee bluntly. ‘That might account for it.’
‘I am not mad,’ said Clippesby mildly. ‘It is the rest of you who are lunatics. However, I did interrupt my interview with the Prior-General to greet a hen, while his cat was a fascinating fellow. Unfortunately, not everyone appreciates the importance of being polite to God’s smaller creatures. Including him, it would seem.’
‘Right,’ said Michael briskly, before they could go too far down a route that was sure to leave them all perplexed. Even Bartholomew did not understand all the peculiar workings of Clippesby’s mind. ‘What did your Prior-General say when you told him about Mildenale?’
‘That he should be monitored before any action was taken, to assess the extent of the danger he poses. I assumed he would choose me to keep him informed, but he appointed Carton instead.’
‘Carton?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘But he is a Franciscan, and …’ He trailed off, thinking about what he knew – that Thomas had been suspicious of Carton, because the Franciscan convent in London had been flooded on the date of his alleged ordination. And Carton had been party to building plans in the Dominican Priory, something a member of a rival Order should not have known. The answer was suddenly blindingly clear. ‘Carton was a Black Friar!’
Clippesby nodded. ‘Since he was fifteen years old. But the Prior-General said the best person to obtain Mildenale’s confidence would be another Franciscan, not a man from a different Order. Pretending to be a Grey Friar cannot have been easy for Carton, and it was a brave thing to have done.’
‘He was uneasy, though,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He wore an amulet to protect him.’
‘Yes, he did,’ said Clippesby, nodding. ‘A holy-stone, which he told me was imbued with great power against the Devil and wolves. He was a bit superstitious, but a good man, for all that.’
‘Lord!’ exclaimed Suttone suddenly. ‘This means we have buried him in the wrong cemetery!’
‘I do not think it matters,’ said Clippesby. ‘The Franciscans are decent men, and will not mind a Dominican among them.’ He looked around, and saw his colleagues were not so sure. ‘But I can talk to Prior Morden and arrange a transfer, if you think it is necessary.’
‘I do,’ said Michael firmly. ‘We do not want him excavated and tossed in the street when the two Orders are next at each other’s throats. In fact, we had better retrieve him as soon as possible.’
‘Clippesby’s news explains a great deal,’ said Langelee, holding out his cup for more claret. ‘Carton was always particular about privacy, and hated his students rifling through his belongings. It was because he really did have secrets.’
‘One secret was that he owned books popular with Dominicans,’ said Bartholomew, recalling what he had found when he had checked the contents of the man’s personal library. ‘Some expounded the Black Friars’ stance on Blood Relics – which he probably told Mildenale and William he was going to burn – and on the way to Barnwell Priory last week he forgot he was supposed to be a Franciscan and started arguing the “wrong” side of the debate.’
‘He was very devout,’ said Langelee. ‘I never believed he lied about taking holy orders, despite Prior Pechem pestering me to look at the documentation about it. And he only denounced Dominicans when pressed by one of his so-called cronies. That must have pained him, but he would have had to do it or risk exposure. Being a spy is not easy; it takes more skill than you imagine.’
‘What about the guide to witchery he owned?’ asked Michael of Clippesby. ‘And his enthusiasm for watching covens with Cynric? Just how superstitious was he?’