‘Albon certainly had reservations about them,’ mused Michael. ‘I am sure that is why he offered to find Margery’s killer – he was frightened of travelling to France with a murderer in his train. He wanted his squires to be pretty angels, all adhering to his own chivalric ideals.’
‘Then there is Lichet,’ said Bartholomew, ‘who is determined to have a hundred marks, and perhaps decided to reduce the competition to one other investigation.’
Langelee sighed. ‘You two are making this very complicated, and some philosopher or other once said that the simplest answer is usually the right one. I cannot recall who he was offhand …’
‘Occam,’ supplied Bartholomew, unimpressed that the Master could not remember something so basic. ‘His “razor” contends that in competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should always be chosen first.’
Langelee snapped his fingers. ‘Occam! There is the fellow! Well, in this case, I suggest that someone from the town made an end of Albon for daring to trespass in Godeston’s woods. And you know what that means.’
‘Not really,’ said Michael, ever wary of the Master’s idea of logical analysis.
‘That we will never solve the crime, because we are strangers here and we do not know the people involved. I think we should cut our losses and leave. I know we want the Lady’s money, but it is not worth our lives, and the town and the castle will stage a pitched battle soon. I sense it with every fibre of my being.’
‘So do I, but the Austins will stop it,’ said Michael. ‘And if they cannot, we have faced pitched battles between opposing factions in the past.’
‘But you two are my responsibility,’ argued Langelee. ‘And the University cannot manage without its Senior Proctor, while Matilde will be irked if anything happens to Bartholomew. Moreover, unmanly though it is to admit it, you two are my friends and I do not want you dead. Ergo, we go home today.’
‘We cannot leave empty-handed,’ objected Michael, dismayed. ‘Michaelhouse will founder without money, and it will break my heart to see it closed down.’
‘Besides, if we disappear all of a sudden, people may assume that we are the culprits,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘That we are fleeing the scene of our crimes because we feel the net tightening around us. It is Monday today, and the rededication is tomorrow evening. I suggest we wait until then before going – it is what we told everyone we would do.’
‘Very well,’ agreed Langelee, although he was clearly unhappy. ‘But we must be on our guard. And we are not going to the ceremony. It would be too dangerous. We shall slip away the moment it starts, so that if anyone does accuse us of anything untoward, we shall have a head start. We will not be missed until it is over.’
‘Now that really would look furtive,’ said Bartholomew, raising his eyebrows. ‘And what about Simon Freburn? Is it not asking for trouble for the three of us to travel at night?’
‘I will beg a couple of sturdy friars from John,’ determined Langelee. ‘And Pulham, Donwich, Badew and Harweden will come with us, as they will not want to be left behind.’
‘I suppose we can do that,’ conceded Michael, ‘if it makes you happy. So, it means we have roughly thirty-six hours to expose the killer and save Michaelhouse from an ignominious end.’
‘Is that feasible, Brother?’ asked Langelee tiredly. ‘You had only just finished telling me how you have no proper leads to follow.’
‘Perhaps not, but I still have my list of suspects, which is much more manageable now I have decided that Marishal is innocent. I know genuine grief when I see it – he did not kill his wife. That means we are down to Nicholas, the twins, Lichet, Bonde and Heselbech.’
‘And John,’ murmured Bartholomew, although not loud enough for Langelee to hear.
‘How can it be Heselbech?’ demanded Langelee impatiently. ‘He saw the killer sneaking around the castle. He cannot have done that if it was himself.’
‘Because he is a proven liar,’ replied Michael, ‘which means we cannot believe a word he says. He probably invented this hooded figure to mislead us.’
‘Well, you are wrong,’ said Langelee firmly. ‘And the culprit is not Nicholas either. He and Heselbech are old soldiers, for God’s sake.’
‘Quite,’ said Michael. ‘So I recommend we begin our day by seeing what we can learn about the pair of them.’
‘Not me,’ declared Langelee in distaste. ‘If you want to indulge in that sort of thing, you can do it yourself.’
‘So how will you spend the rest of our time here?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Convincing the good people of Clare that Michaelhouse is deserving of all their spare money?’
‘No, I shall hunt for the hermit again. He is in danger as long as Albon’s accusation hangs over him, because someone may decide to avenge Margery without waiting for a trial.’
‘I am not sure that anyone took Albon’s claims seriously,’ said Michael. ‘Other than a couple of squires, perhaps. But you are right. If Jan is still alive, he must be protected.’
‘John will lend me a horse.’ Langelee stood and began to don clothes suitable for a jaunt in the rain. ‘If Jan is out there, I will bring him back.’
‘Do not forget to look for Bonde as well,’ Michael reminded him. ‘He disappeared with suspicious haste when it became clear that the murders of Margery and Roos would be investigated properly. And of all our suspects, he is the one who has committed murder before.’
‘I know,’ said Langelee. ‘But unless he is a complete fool, he will be long gone by now.’
Rain fell steadily as the scholars walked to the Prior’s House, Langelee to beg for help in finding Jan and Bonde, and Michael and Bartholomew to ask if John had learned any more about the murders – including Albon’s – while he and his friars had patrolled the town the previous night. Langelee and Michael had heard them come home at midnight, cold, wet and weary, when the inclement weather had finally driven the last of the troublemakers indoors, although Bartholomew had slept through the commotion their return had generated.
Everything dripped, and the sky was a dull, sullen grey. It was not far from the guesthouse to John’s quarters, but water was trickling down the back of Bartholomew’s neck before he reached it anyway. He had decided against wearing Albon’s cloak that day, lest someone accused him of callousness, and his old one was wholly incapable of keeping him dry in such a deluge, especially with so many holes burned in it.
‘Not a word about Heselbech and Nicholas being on your list,’ warned Langelee before he knocked on the door. ‘John will not let us stay here tonight if he knows you entertain suspicions about two of his friars.’
Bartholomew and Michael readily agreed. It was no time for sleeping under hedges, and they were unlikely to find accommodation anywhere else in Clare that night – not on the eve of a royal visit, when any free rooms would be waiting to receive far more important guests than mere scholars from the University at Cambridge.
They were conducted to John’s solar by a servant, and arrived to find him in conference with his senior officers, including Weste and Heselbech. All looked tired and anxious. John’s bald head was beaded with sweat, Weste’s face was pale against his black eyepatch, while Heselbech gnawed nervously at his lower lip; his filed teeth had made it bleed, but he was too agitated to notice.
‘Albon’s accident is a bad business,’ said the Prior unhappily. ‘It will aggravate the trouble between castle and town for certain.’
‘How do you know it was an accident?’ asked Michael shortly.
John regarded him stonily. ‘Because a murder will result in a full-blown riot. It was an accident, Brother, and you had better tell everyone so or face the consequences.’