‘I wonder where Badew and Harweden are,’ said Michael worriedly. ‘They should be hammering at the gate, demanding an explanation. They were Roos’s friends, after all.’
‘Donwich and Pulham are here, though,’ said Bartholomew, nodding to where Lichet was in the process of ordering the two Clare Hall men to read to everyone in the hall, on the grounds that no one could gossip if they were listening to a story. The Red Devil did not wait to see if they did as they were told – which they did not, of course – and descended on Heselbech instead.
‘You want me to make Margery a coffin?’ asked Heselbech, startled. He still looked shabby from his excesses the previous night, although at least he was no longer reeling or slurring his words. ‘But I am a friar, not a carpenter. It is–’
But Lichet had already gone, informing Ereswell in a self-important bawl that the task of securing supplies for the Lady’s greedy paroquets was now his responsibility. Ereswell gaped his astonishment at the commission, after which Lichet strode away to pounce on someone else. Heselbech came to speak to the three Michaelhouse men, although he was watching Lichet with an expression that made no secret of his disdain.
‘This is a sorry business,’ the chaplain began. ‘What was Roos doing here with Margery in the first place? I was under the impression that all three Swinescroft men hated the Lady and her people. Of course, I did see Roos and Margery talking together a couple of times yesterday …’
‘So did I,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And at another point, he ogled her shamelessly.’
‘Perhaps Badew and Harweden killed them both for being on friendly terms with each other.’ Heselbech turned to Michael. ‘Langelee tells me that you are the University’s Senior Proctor. Does that mean you will investigate the crime? If so, be warned – the Lady may not like it, and it could cost your College its legacy.’
‘That is a good point,’ said Langelee worriedly. ‘Perhaps we should let Lichet do it instead.’
‘Lichet could not catch a snail, let alone a killer,’ declared Michael. ‘And I am not a man to shirk my obligations. Besides, it is entirely possible that my skills will encourage the Lady to favour Michaelhouse even further.’
‘Then be careful,’ said Heselbech. ‘Because if you pick up rocks, who knows what manner of vermin may lurk beneath?’
While they continued to wait for the key, Michael watched all the gawpers who contrived to walk past the Cistern Tower, aware that the killer might well be among them – he knew from past experience that some murderers liked to revisit the scene of their crimes, to savour the commotion they had generated.
‘There are three hundred people living in the castle at the moment,’ Langelee told him. ‘Plus God knows how many in the town. All with secrets, alliances and animosities. You may never find the culprit, Brother – not when we are strangers, with no notion of where to start.’
‘We shall see,’ said Michael, who had rather more faith in his abilities as a solver of mysteries. He nodded towards the tower on the other side of the bailey. ‘Here is Albon, emerging from his lair at last. He is still surrounded by admirers, despite the fact that his late appearance suggests he is not a man who can be relied upon in an emergency.’
The knight’s train was not as large as it had been the previous day, as many of his retainers were in the hall, gossiping, but it was still impressive and so was he. He was clad in red robes that would not have looked out of place on a monarch and his grey-gold mane had been brushed until it shone. However, there were pouches under his eyes and he seemed subdued.
‘Perhaps he drank too much ale last night,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘Like Langelee.’
‘Or he did away with Margery and Roos, and is stricken by conscience,’ countered the Master. ‘I have never trusted showy warriors. Some are lions in battle, but most are lambs, and it is impossible to know which they will transpire to be until it is too late.’
‘He does not look very leonine at the moment,’ mused Michael. ‘Indeed, he seems troubled. Perhaps he is our culprit, and it has taken him until now to muster the courage to show his face.’
‘He is watching the squires.’ Bartholomew nodded to where the young men were making a show of inspecting a horse with a damaged leg, although the animal was gaining nothing from their ministrations, and clearly itched to be back in its stall with a bag of hay. ‘I think he is afraid that one of them is responsible, and he does not want the company of a killer in France.’
‘He should want the company of a killer in France,’ countered Langelee. ‘They tend to come in useful when one is fighting a war. Unless he is afraid that he might be the next victim – that the killer may decide he is not worth all the adulation he has been given.’
While they were talking, Lichet strode past again, bawling for Quintone to bring him his lute. Michael caught the Red Devil’s arm and jerked him to a standstill.
‘We cannot take Roos to the chapel because the cistern is locked,’ he said. ‘And we are reluctant to press Marishal for the key when he is so obviously distressed. You must do it – preferably before you disappear to enjoy yourself with music.’
‘My intention is not to enjoy myself,’ snapped Lichet, freeing his arm irritably. ‘It is to calm everyone down. I shall gather them in the hall, and play until the panic and consternation have eased. Music is the best remedy in these situations. It is a medical fact.’
‘Is it indeed?’ muttered Bartholomew.
‘You can lull everyone to sleep in a moment,’ said Michael. ‘But first, please fetch the key.’
‘Later,’ hedged Lichet, glancing at the steward and evidently deciding that he did not want to be the one to intrude on his grief either. ‘When I am not quite so busy.’
‘So what happened down there?’ asked Michael before the Red Devil could stride away again. ‘We know that Roos and Margery were stabbed, but how did they end up in the cistern?’
Lichet assumed a haughty expression. ‘My enquiries are at a very preliminary stage, so I cannot possibly answer questions yet. However, I can tell you one thing: Roos should not have been here. He was ousted from the castle with his two Swinescroft cronies yesterday, and he had no right to return uninvited.’
Michael tried a different tack. ‘Then tell us how the bodies came to be discovered. Was it on a routine inspection?’
‘We do not include the cistern on our regular patrols. What would be the point? It is just a big well filled with water. However, it supplies the kitchens, but nothing was coming out of the pipe this morning, so Adam the baker was sent to find out why. Quintone! Come here. Is that my lute? Good. Now go and tell Master Marishal that Brother Michael wants the key.’
‘Me?’ asked the servant uneasily. ‘But he looks so … why can’t you do it?’
‘Because I told you to,’ snapped Lichet. ‘Well, go on, man. We do not have all day.’
Quintone slouched away reluctantly, and Michael resumed his attack on Lichet.
‘You live above the cistern. Did you see or hear anything suspicious at–’
‘No, and now you must excuse me,’ interrupted Lichet, pulling his lute from its covers. ‘I have important work to do. You may speak to me later, if I have time.’
He turned and flounced away. Michael watched him go through narrowed eyes, wondering if the Red Devil’s disinclination to answer perfectly reasonable questions should be regarded as suspicious.