‘I immortalised Roos in my Book of Hours?’ breathed Weste, stunned. ‘I had no idea! All I can tell you is that “Jevan” had nasty glittering eyes that belied his avuncular white hairs. I sensed at once that there was something distasteful about him.’
‘And you were right,’ said John, lips pursed in disapproval at Langelee’s revelations. ‘The only crime worse than the breaking of sacred oaths is betraying one’s friends. You were perceptive to have depicted him as Satan.’
‘I agree,’ said Heselbech, baring his terrifying teeth in a grimace, while there were fervent nods from all around the refectory. ‘It is despicable, and the Devil will certainly have his soul now.’
‘So you think Roos got his just deserts?’ fished Michael.
Heselbech regarded him evenly. ‘Yes, if you want the truth. However, we did not kill him. I was asleep in my chapel, and everyone else was here, celebrating nocturns.’
‘You were not asleep,’ Bartholomew told him. ‘Katrina de Haliwell heard you praying.’
Heselbech blinked. ‘Did she? Goodness! I have no recollection of it at all.’
‘I am not surprised, given the state of you,’ smirked Langelee. ‘You did not really ring the bell either – you clutched the rope for support. Then your hands slid down it and you fell over.’
‘It was I who recited nocturns in the castle,’ announced Weste, and raised his hands apologetically when everyone looked at him in surprise. ‘I knew Heselbech would be incapable, and I did not want him in trouble with the Lady, who attends that ceremony on occasion. So I followed him and Langelee to the chapel, and I did the honours at the altar, while he snored in the corner.’
Heselbech clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You are a good friend, Weste! The Lady would have docked my stipend if she had caught me napping, so I appreciate you looking out for me.’
‘Well, I do not,’ said Michael sourly. ‘Why did you not mention this sooner? You must see it is important. We wasted hours pondering over the mysterious second priest.’
Weste was unrepentant. ‘It is not important, because I neither saw nor heard anything to help your investigation. And I did not tell you, because I did not want Heselbech’s condition to become a subject for gossip. Of course, he has made no effort to conceal his shortcomings himself …’
Heselbech grinned. ‘And rightly so, because it has done my popularity the power of good. Castle folk like me more now they realise that I am just like them.’
‘So who else was in the chapel?’ asked Michael angrily, glaring at Weste. ‘Or will you lie about that as well?’
Weste made a placatory gesture. ‘Just two people – which is why the office had to be said. Katrina de Haliwell and Sir William Albon.’
‘I cannot believe this,’ said Michael in disgust. ‘Lies and deceit from fellow clerics! How am I supposed to solve these murders when even friars regale me with falsehoods?’
‘You should have confessed sooner, Weste,’ said John admonishingly. ‘But what is done is done, and we are not in the business of recrimination. Judgement is for the Lord to dispense, not us, so we shall say no more about it. Agreed, Brother?’
Michael looked as though he had a very great deal more to say, but confined himself to an angry sniff, and for a while there was silence, the only sounds being the clank of knives on pewter plates and the occasional murmur of thanks as platters were passed. Eventually, Langelee spoke.
‘I do not like Anne. She is not very religious, and I am surprised the Church does not pull her anchorhold down and send her on her way. Why do you tolerate her, John?’
‘Guilt,’ explained the Prior sheepishly. ‘When I first learned that she poked about inside pregnant girls with hooks, I was appalled, and it was my horror that compelled the Lady to punish her. Anne’s crimes might have been overlooked otherwise, as there is an unspoken but widely held belief that she did a lot of good.’
‘So why did you not order the sentence commuted?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘Only a physician with a reputation for heterodoxy could pose such a question,’ said Heselbech before John could speak for himself. He eyed Bartholomew coolly. ‘Because it is wrong. A life is a life, and it is not for Anne to decide who should live and who should perish on a hook.’
There was a second uncomfortable silence, which again was broken by Langelee, who tended to be immune to chilly atmospheres.
‘I have been thinking about the hermit, Brother. You believe he is dead, but you may be wrong, and if you are, we should hear what he has to say. So I will hunt for him today.’
‘I will keep you company,’ offered Weste, his one eye gleaming at the prospect of an adventure. ‘I am sure Father Prior can spare me for a few hours.’
‘Perhaps we can all go,’ suggested Heselbech, surging to his feet with a grin of happy anticipation. ‘I would not mind an excursion and–’
‘No,’ interrupted John, raising his hand with a tolerant smile. ‘The Queen will arrive the day after tomorrow, and we do not have time for jaunts. If you want exercise, Heselbech, help Nicholas. He still has a lot of scaffolding to remove, and I am sure he would be glad of another pair of hands.’
Heselbech walked away, shoulders slumped dejectedly, as did most of the others, although Weste and Langelee set off towards the stables with a spring in their step.
‘Watch out for Simon Freburn,’ John called after them. ‘We do not want you to come back sans ears.’
‘No fear of that,’ declared Langelee, clearly delighted by an opportunity to gallop around the countryside with a sword at his side. ‘No mere outlaw will get the better of us.’
‘I hope his confidence is not misplaced,’ said Michael worriedly.
It was raining, so Bartholomew and Michael returned to their lodgings to collect cloaks. Bartholomew picked up his shabby, burned academic one and regarded it with regret.
‘You will have to wear Albon’s,’ said Michael. ‘Of course, it is far too good for the likes of you – you will ruin it within a week. If it was black, I would take it for myself.’
‘Then I am glad it is red,’ said Bartholomew, making a vow to look after it. Once he left the University, and was no longer obliged to wear Michaelhouse’s uniform, he would need a new one, and Albon’s gift would fit the bill perfectly. Moreover, he was sure Matilde would like to see him wearing more becoming colours.
‘With the exception of a dry afternoon here and there, it has been raining for weeks,’ grumbled Michael, sitting on the bed to exchange shoes for boots. ‘We are lucky Roos and Margery were found – that cistern must be full to overflowing by now.’ He shuddered. ‘What if someone was trapped down there, with the water steadily rising?’
‘I imagine most people know to stay out of it. And the well needs to be deep to serve hundreds of people in the event of a blockade. Lack of fresh water is one of the main reasons for the fall of fortresses in–’
‘Those rough Austins have brought out the warrior in you,’ interrupted Michael accusingly. ‘Because I never expected to hear you waxing lyrical on the intricacies of siege warfare.’
‘It is the mechanics of the cistern that intrigue me,’ explained Bartholomew. ‘Not the purpose for which it might be used.’
But Michael was not listening, his mind back on the investigation. ‘We had better find out what Marishal has to say about the death of his wife first, and when we have finished, we will re-interview Thomas, Ella, Lichet, Albon and Nicholas. That should keep us busy for the morning.’