‘The Lady does not find your sharpened fangs alarming?’ asked Langelee, more inclined to speak his mind than Bartholomew and Michael, although both were thinking the same thing.
Heselbech grinned, revealing his imposing incisors in all their glory. ‘If she does, she is too polite to mention it.’
‘I was worried about appointing a second friar to the castle after what happened to Wisbech,’ confided John. ‘But the town has Nicholas, and I did not want to be accused of favouritism …’
‘And I am much better at looking after myself than poor old Wisbech was,’ put in Heselbech. ‘You will not catch me swallowing hemlock.’
‘Good,’ said John fervently. ‘You should be especially wary of anything that comes from the squires. They have grown wild of late – terrorising servants, bullying townsfolk and generally acting like despots. Thank God Albon will soon take them to France.’
‘If you think they poisoned a priest, you should inform the Bishop,’ declared Michael. ‘We cannot let that sort of thing pass unremarked. It sets a bad precedent.’
‘And how would we prove such an accusation?’ asked John quietly. ‘There were no witnesses, and no clues left to lead us to the perpetrators.’
‘How do you know there were no clues?’ pressed Michael. ‘Did you investigate Wisbech’s death yourselves? Or did you rely on Grym? I understand he is Clare’s official investigator.’
John winced. ‘Poor Grym! He knows nothing of such matters, but dares not refuse Godeston – not if he wants to be Mayor when the old man retires. But of course I did not entrust such an important matter to a barber. Obviously, I examined the scene of the crime myself.’
‘You are qualified to do such a thing?’
‘More qualified than Grym. But there was nothing to find. Wisbech was in the chapel, lying on his side. To be frank, I thought he had suffered an apoplexy brought on by strain – night offices can be hard on older folk – until Grym mooted the possibility of hemlock in his supper. I saw no evidence of it, but I am willing to accept his professional opinion on that at least.’
‘And we did inform the Bishop,’ put in Heselbech. ‘But letters take a long time to reach Avignon, which is where he has lived ever since falling out with the King. We discussed it with the Lady, too, but she merely informed us that her squires would never stoop to poison.’
‘Having met them, I am inclined to agree,’ said Langelee. ‘They strike me as lads who would opt for a sword or a dagger. Hemlock is too subtle a mode of killing for them.’
‘Nuport is a dimwit, but do not tar the others with the same brush,’ warned John. ‘Thomas is very clever – and sly. But their days with us are numbered, thank the good Lord, and if they survive their experiences in France, they may return as better men.’
‘Oh, they will survive,’ predicted Langelee. ‘Michael says peace is about to break out.’
‘Even with a truce, there will still be skirmishes,’ said John with certainty. ‘His Majesty will not disband his army just yet. Of course, Albon will be of scant use over there. He may be an excellent jouster, but he has never seen real warfare, and I would not trust him with my back.’
‘True,’ agreed Langelee. ‘You can tell just by looking that he is all fuss and feathers.’
‘So have you two known each other long?’ asked Nicholas, taking a huge gulp of wine and settling down in the way old soldiers do when a good tale is in the offing.
‘Years,’ replied John. ‘Not only were we warriors together as boys and men, but we both helped the Archbishop of York with some of his more delicate problems. Of course, it was those that compelled me to take the cowl, so I cannot look back on them with pleasure.’
‘I can,’ countered Langelee with a grin. ‘They were the best days of my life, and I was much happier doing his work than battling debt at Michaelhouse. Being Master is fraught with petty worries, and I have considered resigning more than once of late.’
Bartholomew was sorry to hear it. Langelee might be lacking in academic skills, but he was a good Master – conscientious, fair and able to keep the peace among a large, disparate and argumentative body of men.
‘You will always have a place here,’ said John quietly. ‘We have sworn oaths to help each other make our peace with God, and we will happily include you.’
‘The hermit mentioned those vows,’ said Langelee. ‘Although he made them sound sinister.’
‘Because he does not understand the depth of our desire to save each other’s souls,’ explained Nicholas earnestly. ‘And he is jealous of a camaraderie that he will never share.’
The subject was a dull one as far as Langelee was concerned – he was not an overtly religious man – so he began to entertain Nicholas, Weste and Heselbech with tales of his military past. While he did so, Michael and Bartholomew took the opportunity to chat to Prior John. After all, if they were to be in Clare for the next few days, it was wise to learn more about the feud between the town and the castle, so they would know how to avoid being drawn into it.
‘One of the scholars from Swinescroft has accused Ella and Thomas of murdering Sir William Talmach,’ began the monk. ‘Is it possible? Or was he just prompted by malicious gossip?’
John ran a hand across his shiny pate. ‘One of Talmach’s saddle straps was badly frayed, but there was nothing to say it was done deliberately. And a belt is a very silly place to carry a blade. It sliced through the great vein in his groin, and he bled to death before anyone could help him.’
‘And was Ella pleased to be rid of an unwanted elderly husband?’ asked Michael.
John shrugged. ‘All I can say is that I urged her to think of her immortal soul when she next attended Confession. Perhaps she did, but as her priest was Wisbech, we shall never know.’
‘Was she nearby when Talmach fell?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Or was Thomas?’
John nodded. ‘Both were very quickly on the scene once the alarm was raised, but there is nothing suspicious about that. They were his kin, and families often hunt together.’
‘But what do you think?’ pressed Michael.
‘It is not for me to speculate, Brother. All I hope is that if they did harm Talmach, they do penance for it before their sins are weighed on Judgement Day.’
‘I cannot say I took to Thomas,’ mused Michael. ‘He struck me as arrogant, calculating and untrustworthy.’
‘Most women would disagree,’ said John. ‘They are always giving him presents. It must be his golden curls. I had a mop just like it as a youth, and it did bring the lasses flocking.’
‘What about the others who died?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Roger, Charer and Skynere?’
‘Roger’s death was an accident: he was brained by falling scaffolding. At first, we thought Charer was an accident as well – he was a drunkard, so we assumed that he had lost his footing in the dark. However, he had been weaving his way home along that stretch of river for years, so why would he suddenly fall in? And Grym suggested hemlock for Skynere.’