‘All of us will go,’ said Albon quietly. ‘Although the squires must change first.’
‘Why?’ asked Nuport, startled. ‘Mistress Marishal loved bright things, as Thomas reminded us just an hour ago. We donned these colourful hose in her honour.’
‘They are colourful,’ acknowledged Albon in distaste. ‘But they are inappropriate in the black presence of Death. Besides, there is a difference between “bright” and “gaudy”, and you have not hit the right note at all. She liked pale, discreet shades, not scarlet, emerald and orange.’
Lichet thrust his lute at Quintone, and stalked towards Michael, aiming to claw back the authority that was draining away with every word that was spoken. Quintone rolled his eyes, which made some folk laugh, although they stopped when the Red Devil glared furiously at them.
‘Well, monk?’ Lichet demanded coldly. ‘What did you learn from visiting the scene of the crime? Do you know the name of the killer?’
‘It will take days of painstaking detail-gathering before that becomes clear,’ replied Michael. ‘So when will you start your enquiries, Master Lichet? I am sure a man of your vigour does not need to eat or sleep, and can catch a killer, pay court to the Lady and run the castle while Marishal is indisposed.’
Lichet thought fast. ‘I have decided to delegate the murders to you. However, you will report to me and only to me. I shall then decide what should be done with any solutions you might devise. Is that clear?’
Michael inclined his head in acquiescence, a gleam of amusement in his green eyes that Lichet should be so easy to manipulate. ‘You will be the first to know anything of import.’
It was such a vague promise that Bartholomew knew Lichet was unlikely to benefit from it. To prevent Lichet from thinking the same, Michael furnished him with a brief account of his findings to date. When he had finished, Lichet strode to the front of the dais and cleared his throat loudly, to attract everyone’s attention.
‘Through the careful application of logic and skill,’ he announced in his booming voice, ‘I have ascertained that Mistress Marishal and Master Roos were stabbed by an unknown assailant, and their bodies tossed into the cistern in the expectation that they would sink and be lost for ever. However, the culprit should know that I have ordered an investigation, and I will catch him.’
‘No, Lichet,’ said Albon, coming to his feet and giving a toss of his glorious mane. ‘I will catch him. I swear it by God and by my honour. This vile deed is an affront to the chivalric code by which I live.’
‘But you are leaving for France soon,’ Lichet pointed out. ‘And the monk has just told me … I mean it is my learned opinion that the mystery may take longer to solve.’
Albon smiled thinly. ‘I shall go nowhere until the culprit is hanged.’
A groan of dismay went up from nobles and servants alike. Yet there were a few smiles. Two serving girls exchanged pleased grins, and so did several young ladies-in-waiting, after which their eyes turned to Thomas, who winked at them.
‘If my mother had been stabbed, I would join Albon in vowing to catch her killer,’ muttered Langelee to Bartholomew. ‘Not simper at my conquests. And look at Ella. I am sure I saw those pink pearls on Margery yesterday – she did not wait long before raiding her dam’s jewellery box.’
‘Maybe she donned them in tribute,’ suggested Bartholomew charitably.
Langelee shot him a disbelieving glance. ‘There is no doubting their sire’s grief, though, so I think we can eliminate him as a suspect for the murders.’
‘It may be grief,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But it might also be guilt. It is often difficult to tell.’
Chapter 6
It quickly became apparent that Albon had no idea how to conduct a murder investigation, because if he had, he would not have listened to Lichet. The Red Devil advised him to lock everyone in the hall until they had been questioned, which was a bad strategy on several counts. First, it meant that no one could tend livestock or prepare food. Second, as the interviews were conducted in public, it would give the killer an opportunity to listen to others’ replies and adapt his own accordingly. And third, a seemingly random assortment of people were allowed to leave. Donwich, Pulham, three dozen courtiers, ten servants and two squires were among those who contrived to sail out unchallenged.
‘I do not know who is the greater fool – Lichet or Albon,’ muttered Michael, watching the Red Devil stride away to resume his lute playing, although now to a considerably reduced audience.
‘Is Lichet a fool?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Or is he trying to sabotage your enquiry?’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Langelee, frowning. ‘He has just appointed Michael as his official investigator, with the obvious aim of stealing any solutions and claiming them as his own.’
‘Because he is the culprit,’ replied Bartholomew promptly. ‘Do not forget that Margery and Roos were killed in the Cistern Tower – where he lives.’
‘Yes, we shall certainly ask him where he was all night,’ said Michael. ‘He raced away before I could press him earlier, but it will not happen again. Lord! What is Albon doing?’
The knight had ordered a throne-like chair set up on the dais. He sat, then beckoned to Quintone and proceeded to stare intently at him, leaning forward until he was so close that their noses almost touched. Uncomfortable, Quintone tried to back away, but Albon gripped his wrist to prevent it. The servant gazed back, nonplussed and wary.
‘Quintone,’ Albon intoned eventually. ‘Did you kill Mistress Marishal?’
‘God in Heaven!’ breathed Langelee in understanding. ‘He thinks he will catch the culprit by reading the guilt in his eyes. The man is deluded!’
‘Yes,’ agreed Michael. ‘But go and monitor him anyway. Someone may admit to being near the cistern last night, and if so, it would be helpful to know who they are. In the interim, Matt and I will corner the suspects on our list.’
‘No,’ said Langelee firmly. ‘I would rather secure us some new benefactors.’
‘I would rather you did, too, but Lichet has allowed the richest courtiers to leave, and there is no point in wooing paupers. Listen to Albon – that is the most useful thing you can do for us now.’
Langelee glanced at the people who had gathered to watch Albon at work. Most were servants, who were unlikely to have money to spare for a foundation that none of them had ever heard of. He conceded reluctantly that Michael was right, and made for the dais with an expression of grim determination.
‘We have been told that it was the baker who raised the alarm,’ said Bartholomew, watching the Master go. ‘So we should question him first.’
The baker transpired to be the lad with the floury hands and lame leg who had challenged Lichet’s orders earlier. His name was Adam, and he had been cornered by Nuport and two of the other squires. They were amusing themselves by pushing him from one to the other, all the while imitating his ungainly efforts to keep his balance.
‘Enough,’ ordered Bartholomew sharply; he had never liked bullies. ‘I cannot see Albon approving of such low antics. He obviously sets great store by the chivalric code.’
Nuport sneered. ‘So do we, but it only applies to fellow nobles – servants and cripples do not count. Now piss off, fool.’
‘It is you who are the fool,’ flashed back Bartholomew, ‘for tormenting the man who bakes your daily bread. Or do you like eating spit and rat droppings?’