‘No,’ said Michael firmly. ‘You tried that with Godeston, and it did not work. Of course Albon was murdered. Two knights dead in almost identical circumstances within a few weeks of each other? How could it be anything else? And everyone in Clare will know it.’
‘No, they will not,’ insisted John. ‘And it did work with Godeston. We created enough uncertainty to make some folk stay their hands. We can do the same with Albon.’
‘It will fail, John,’ Langelee told him kindly. ‘And may even make matters worse – people will assume you are concealing the truth for sinister reasons of your own. We know your intentions are honourable, but can you be sure that others will think the same?’
John rubbed a hand over his shiny pate. ‘Then how do you suggest we avert trouble? Because you must see that if any more people die, it will create rifts that may never heal.’
‘We avert it by exposing the killer,’ said Langelee, making it sound simple. ‘Michael and Bartholomew will continue their enquiries here, while I hunt for Bonde and the hermit again.’
‘Albon died in Godeston’s woods,’ said Bartholomew, aware that the friars were not as friendly as they had been a few days before. He supposed they had been discussing the murders, too, and had mooted the possibility that the more recent ones were down to strangers. ‘Some of you were nearby when it happened, looking for Jan. Did you see anything that might help?’
‘I am afraid not,’ replied John, ‘because I ordered all the patrols to stay well away from that particular area, lest it annoyed Godeston’s heirs. Is that not so, men?’
Everyone nodded except Weste, who frowned. ‘I thought you were over in that direction, Heselbech. Not in the woods, but skirting around the edge.’
Heselbech bared his pointed teeth in an uneasy smile. ‘Yes, but all I saw was the squires bringing Albon out, slung over his horse like a sack of flour. It was unkind – he would have hated the indignity of being toted through the town with his arse in the air. I imagine it was Thomas’s idea: the others would have fetched a bier.’
‘Do you think one of them brained him?’ probed Michael.
‘Thomas might have,’ replied Heselbech promptly. ‘He is a sly devil, and it is a pity he did not inherit his mother’s goodness. Then Nuport is a vicious brute, not above biting the hand that feeds him. The others are decent lads, though.’
‘With your permission, Father Prior, I would like to help Langelee,’ said Weste, changing the subject abruptly. ‘I enjoyed myself yesterday. It was good to be in the saddle again.’
‘You may go, but not until we have discussed our final arrangements for the Queen’s visit,’ said John. ‘It will not take long. Lord! I hope we can impose some order on the town before she arrives. It would be a great pity for her to see us at each other’s throats.’
Everyone trooped out so that John and Weste could get on with it, and once in the yard, Heselbech began to organise the brethren into peace-keeping patrols. Judging by the number of volunteers, this duty was a lot more desirable than staying behind to pray, cook and clean.
‘They may have taken holy vows,’ remarked Langelee, watching Heselbech’s arrangements approvingly, ‘but they will always be warriors at heart.’
‘And that is what worries me,’ said Michael unhappily. ‘Especially in Heselbech, who would have kept quiet about being near the spot where Albon was killed if Weste had not spoken up. I imagine Weste will be biting his tongue now.’
‘Rightly so,’ said Langelee harshly. ‘He should have kept his mouth shut.’
Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do all ex-soldiers possess this reckless need to protect each other? It is a dangerous game, Langelee, because while you and John may once have been comrades-in-arms, you do not know these others. You may be defending killers.’
‘They are good men whose aim is to prevent a bloodbath,’ argued Langelee stoutly. ‘God’s teeth! This place is worse than Cambridge. I cannot imagine why you were so keen to visit it, Bartholomew. Matilde was wrong when she claimed it to be a lovely town.’
‘Perhaps it was different when she was here,’ said Bartholomew. ‘She had a–’
‘I will escort you to the castle,’ interrupted Langelee briskly. ‘And when you have finished, get the watchmen to bring you back. Do not wander about on your own. Is that clear? I cannot have Fellows slaughtered on my watch. It would be acutely embarrassing.’
Langelee was right to be cautious, as the town felt distinctly uneasy that day. Michael declared a pressing need to attend to his devotions, so they went to the church first, only to find that prayers were being held in the graveyard, as Nicholas had declared the building off limits until the rededication. The vicar’s performance – a startlingly brief one – was indifferent, and all the way through, Anne could be heard waylaying passers-by with demands for gossip and treats.
‘I should become an anchorite,’ muttered Langelee. ‘It is a very comfortable existence.’
‘You would hate it,’ predicted Bartholomew. ‘And I suspect she does, too. She may claim she is content, but she is a gregarious soul who misses the bustle of castle life. It was a cruel punishment to inflict on such a person. Almost worse than death.’
Nicholas came to pass the time of day with them when he had finished officiating at his makeshift altar, although his eyes strayed constantly to the door, where workmen emerged with planks and coils of rope. Bartholomew wanted to peep inside, to see more of the nave without the scaffolding, but Nicholas informed him curtly that it was out of bounds to everyone, with no exceptions.
A combination of unease, exasperation and concern for his College’s future turned Michael brusque, and he addressed the vicar curtly.
‘You are still on our list of suspects for Roos and Margery’s murders,’ he said, ignoring Langelee’s irritable sigh for having ignored his opinion on the matter. ‘Your alibi is Anne, but she was almost certainly asleep at the time, so we are disinclined to accept it.’
‘She was awake!’ cried Nicholas. ‘And I did not kill anyone. Why would I? And more to the point, how could I? I would have had to get past the castle guards, and I never did. Ask them.’
It was a good point, but Michael pressed on anyway. ‘You dislike the Lady for interfering with church business – not only trying to oust you from your spacious home to a poky cottage, but telling you which services you may or may not conduct.’
‘It is irksome,’ conceded Nicholas, ‘but I would not resolve the matter by murdering her steward’s wife and a scholar who was a stranger to me.’
‘Roos was not a stranger – you knew him as Philip de Jevan.’
Nicholas blinked. ‘It is true, then? A rumour to that effect is currently racing through the town, but I assumed it was nonsense. However, it is irrelevant to me, as I had nothing to do with his death, regardless of who he happened to be. Anne! Tell Brother Michael that I was saying nocturns when Margery Marishal and Roos were killed.’
‘I have already told you that he was,’ came the anchoress’s irritable voice. ‘No doubt you think I was dozing. Well, for your information I would love to sleep all night, but my cell is right next to the chancel, and I challenge you to slumber through the racket priests make when they are about their holy business. I was awake, and Nicholas was here.’
Michael’s troubled expression suggested that he did not know what to believe. When there was no reply, Anne changed the subject to one she considered more interesting.
‘Isabel Morley came to me last night, begging for my help. It is a pity that I am stuck in here, because the stars are favourable for my hook today. A few scrapes would solve all her problems.’