‘Just Albon, although he was at the front, as near to the chancel as he could get, whereas I kept to the back. He was already kneeling there when I went in, and he stayed after I left. He spends a lot of time praying – probably asking God for an excuse to get him out of going to war.’
‘Then God has given him one,’ said Bartholomew, going to put the paroquet back with its companions. ‘He has vowed not to leave Clare until Margery’s killer is caught.’
‘The Lady will not allow him to wriggle out of his obligations that easily – she wants the squires out of her hair.’ Katrina sighed. ‘Yet I wish I did have something useful to tell you. Margery was my friend, and I should like to help you catch her killer.’
‘Perhaps you can,’ said Bartholomew, and told her about Roos’s double life. ‘We do not know why she summoned him, but it must have been important, as she told a terrible lie to get him here.’
Katrina frowned thoughtfully. ‘Margery liked him to bring her things when he came. I assumed they were from London, but perhaps they were from Cambridge …’
‘What sort of things?’
‘She never said, but you might want to look into it – it could be important.’
She changed the subject then, and told him how she had been invited to work at the castle after being widowed. She had accepted with alacrity, because her husband had left her penniless, and it was an opportunity to secure a suitable replacement.
‘Have you found one?’ Bartholomew hoped she would not set her sights on Langelee, because the Master was likely to take what was offered, then trot home without a backward glance.
Katrina sighed ruefully. ‘Originally, I thought one of the squires would do. They are young, vigorous and have good prospects. But it transpires that they are scum – they grab what they want, then move on, leaving broken hearts behind them. Nuport was my nemesis: once he had added me to his tally, he went after the baker’s sister.’
‘I see.’
‘Thomas is all right, though – he has a sense of humour and I like men who laugh. But he is too much in his sister’s sway, and I do not want to wed twins. So I have decided to make a play for Albon – I think I can secure him before he goes to war. He will treat me well, although he is as dull as ditch-water and a coward into the bargain.’
Bartholomew blinked. ‘You would pay that price for a secure future?’
‘You would never ask that question unless you had experienced real love yourself. Well, I wish you joy of your paragon, but I must take what I can get. Albon will suit me well enough.’
‘Suzanne de Nekton. Was she one of the squires’ victims?’
Katrina shook her head slowly. ‘They may be callous, but they are not rapists. It was another man who destroyed Suzanne. She had to ask Anne for help, but there were problems …’
‘Were there problems? Anne told me that Suzanne just screamed a lot.’
Katrina winced. ‘She whimpered. However, Anne told Suzanne to stay up here and rest when she had finished, and Grisel sensed her distress – it was him who screamed, not Suzanne. Unfortunately, the noise attracted attention, with the result that Anne is walled up in the church, and there is no one left to help needy girls.’
‘Perhaps it is just as well. Scraping inside them with a hook is dangerous.’
‘Giving birth is dangerous,’ countered Katrina. ‘I have lost several friends to childbed fevers. Anne provided a valuable service, and it is a wicked shame that she was punished for it.’
It was an uncomfortable conversation for Bartholomew, and although he had always been able to see both sides of this particular argument, it was not something he was about to discuss with a stranger. He hastened to move on.
‘Anne said Suzanne was sent to a nunnery.’
‘A place where she is safe from ruthless men – including her loathsome father, who claims she shamed him. He is a tanner, but you would think he was a lord from the way he acts.’
Bartholomew left the Oxford Tower full of dark thoughts. Matilde wanted children, but she was old for first-time motherhood. What would he do if there was a choice between losing her and wielding a hook? He sincerely hoped he would never have to find out.
Chapter 9
The next morning was Sunday, and the scholars were woken by the joyful jangle of Sabbath bells. Langelee was heavy-eyed and weary, having spent another evening with his warrior friends. Michael had also stayed up late, reviewing what he had learned about the murder of Roos, but Bartholomew had gone to bed early and slept like a log, so he rose refreshed and alert. He set about washing and shaving, full of vigour and high spirits, the black thoughts of the previous night forgotten. For now, at least.
‘Do not splash,’ snapped Langelee, flinching from the flying droplets. ‘And do not inflict that dreadful singing on us either. It is unkind.’
‘We have a lot to do today,’ said Michael, primping in front of a mirror, ‘because the Lady’s hundred marks should go to Michaelhouse – not to Albon, and certainly not to Lichet. Will you be available to help, Matt, or are you more concerned with the Lady’s birds? Or is it their keeper who has caught your eye?’
‘I do not blame you,’ said Langelee before Bartholomew could reply. ‘That Katrina de Haliwell is a handsome lass, although she has the appetite of a horse if the tales in the kitchens are true. But watch yourself – you do not want tales getting back to Matilde. Women can be touchy about that sort of thing.’
‘What tales?’ objected Bartholomew. ‘All I did was examine her paroquets.’
‘Of course you did,’ said Langelee with a man-of-the-world leer. ‘But tread with care. She wants a husband to replace the one who died, and will accept anyone who can provide her with a decent standard of living.’
‘Well, that eliminates Matt then,’ quipped Michael. ‘Because he will not earn enough to keep himself once he leaves Michaelhouse. He will be almost entirely reliant on Matilde.’
‘What did you two do while I was busy earning five marks for Michaelhouse?’ asked Bartholomew archly, electing to overlook the fact that the money would not be theirs until the Lady was satisfied that he had actually done something useful.
‘Quite a lot, actually,’ replied the monk. ‘We contrived to slip into the Constable Tower behind Lichet’s back, but Marishal was slumbering so deeply that neither of us could get any sense out of him. Then we visited all the taverns in Clare, asking after Bonde and the hermit.’
‘Oh,’ said Bartholomew, conceding that they had achieved rather more than he had. ‘What did you learn?’
‘That everyone is worried about Jan, because they like having a holy man in their town, but they are glad to be rid of Bonde, who they think is dangerous.’
‘He is dangerous,’ said Langelee soberly. ‘You can tell just by looking that he is violent. He could well be our culprit, lying low until the fuss dies down, at which point he will strut back and resume his role as the Lady’s favourite henchman. Of course, the hermit was also wandering around the castle at the time of the murders …’
‘He was,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But I discovered last night that he has a deep-rooted terror of underground places, and could no more enter the cistern than fly. Moreover, he adored Margery, as she not only built his cottage but gave him money for his weekly shopping. The townsfolk believe that he witnessed the killer emerge bloody-handed from his crime, and fled in terror.’
‘Perhaps he saw Bonde,’ suggested Langelee, ‘who then set off after him. That would explain why both have gone.’