‘I hope no harm has come to him. I imagine Talmach and Albon thought they could look after themselves, but look at what happened to them.’
Bartholomew agreed. ‘He is an experienced soldier, but that is no defence against slyly slashed saddle straps and devious ambushes. Let us hope that he and Weste just lost track of time, so were forced to camp. Regardless, I think we should go and look for them.’
‘I do, too.’ Michael stood purposefully. ‘So pack our belongings: we leave as soon as we have tracked them down. I shall be sorry to miss tonight’s ceremony, not to mention the last chance to win a few more benefactors, but Langelee is right – none of this is worth our lives.’
‘And the killer? Or have you given up on solving the case?’
‘I fear we must, much as it pains me to say it. There is no time to work on that and ride out to look for the Master.’
They shoved their belongings into saddlebags, then hurried to the stables to ready their nags. Prior John saw what they were doing, and came to voice his own concerns about the missing men.
‘It would be better if we went to look,’ he said, nodding at Heselbech to make the necessary arrangements. ‘We will bring them back – and hunt for Bonde and the hermit at the same time.’
‘We can manage, thank you,’ said Michael shortly. ‘We are–’
‘We know the area, you do not,’ interrupted John. ‘I shall lead the search myself, while Heselbech minds the priory. We will find Langelee, I promise. And if he and Weste are in trouble, then we are far better equipped to deal with it than you two. No offence intended.’
‘Stay here and hunt killers instead,’ suggested Heselbech slyly. ‘I am sure you would like one last chance to win the hundred marks.’
‘It is kind of you to offer,’ said Bartholomew coolly. ‘But we would rather go ourselves.’
‘Please,’ said John, reaching out to pull the reins from the physician’s hands. ‘I know you were at the Battle of Poitiers, and that you are a highly accomplished warrior, but hacking down an enemy in hand-to-hand combat is not the same as following their scent through unknown territory. Let us do it. It will be safer for all concerned.’
There was a brief tussle over the bridle, but Bartholomew yielded in the end, knowing that John spoke the truth: the friars were better equipped to mount the kind of hunt it would take to find two men who might be anywhere. However, that did not mean he was happy about abrogating the responsibility to comparative strangers, and it was with a sense of deep unease that he watched John begin to choose the horses he wanted to take.
‘Why did you not tell us that Margery planned to leave you a manor in her will?’ asked Michael, whose expression was equally troubled. ‘It would have been helpful to know.’
‘Because she died before she could make her wishes legal,’ explained John, his eyes and most of his attention on the stables and their equine counterparts. ‘So now it will never happen – it is irrelevant.’
‘It is not irrelevant,’ countered Michael. ‘For two reasons. First, it means that you are unlikely to have killed her, on the grounds that you would have waited until the affidavit had been signed–’
‘I hope you did not have any of us on your list of suspects,’ said John indignantly, horses forgotten as he glared at the monk. ‘We might have gone to war in the past, but we are in holy orders now, and we take our vows seriously. If I had any inkling that you thought otherwise, I would not have extended our hospitality to you these last few days.’
‘And second,’ Michael went on, unfazed, ‘it may be a motive for Margery’s murder – that someone did not want the manor to come to you, so killed her to prevent her wishes from being implemented. Thomas and Ella, for example, who may want the property for themselves.’
‘But they did not know what she intended,’ argued John. ‘No one did, other than her and us. Indeed, I cannot imagine how you found out. She did not even confide in her husband, lest he tried to persuade her to leave it to the twins instead.’
‘He would not have done that,’ averred Michael. ‘He does not like them very much.’
‘No one does, but they are his flesh and blood.’ John’s eyes widened in sudden alarm. ‘Or does he fear they are cuckoos in the nest? Lord! I hope he does not remember that I had a mop of golden curls as a youth – much like Thomas’s, in fact. I never went anywhere near Margery, but …’
‘No,’ said Michael flatly. ‘He does not think the twins are your doing.’
‘Thank God for that! It would have been difficult to disprove after all these years.’
John turned back to his duties without further ado. Once the horses were saddled, he picked the roughest and meanest-looking friars to ride out with him, while the remainder were instructed to prevent trouble in the town or guard the priory against attack.
‘We have done our utmost to remain aloof from this feud,’ he told them soberly, ‘but mobs are fickle, and one side may decide to assault us instead. You must all be on your guard.’
And then he and his ruffians were gone in a businesslike rattle of hoofs on cobbles. All were armed with knives and cudgels, and as their functional oiled cloaks covered their religious habits, they looked more like a military fighting unit than a group of clerics.
‘He is right, Matt,’ said Michael, seeing the physician was still far from happy about leaving Langelee’s safety in their hands. ‘They are better at this than us, and I know they will do their best for him. Besides, I cannot say I am averse to having one final crack at catching the killer.’
‘I suppose we can corner Lichet, Thomas and Ella again,’ said Bartholomew without enthusiasm. ‘Bonde is unavailable, so they are the only suspects left.’
‘To the castle, then,’ said Michael.
They had grown so used to the town’s rancorous atmosphere that they barely noticed it as they hurried towards the fortress. They heard snippets of conversation as they went, chief of which was outrage that it was to be Heselbech, not Nicholas, who would preside over the rededication ceremony that evening. There was also anger that the church was to remain closed until then, even though the last of the scaffolding had now been taken down. Bartholomew stopped to exchange brief greetings with Grym, but then wished he had not when he saw Paycock was with him.
‘The castle has no right to prevent us from seeing the fan vaulting we paid for,’ Paycock snarled. ‘All they bought was a south aisle that no one wants.’
‘But closing the church was Nicholas’s idea,’ Grym pointed out reasonably. ‘The castle had nothing to do with it.’
‘Oh, yes it does,’ argued Paycock. ‘Anne told me that Nicholas made that decision purely because he is so hurt about being barred from his own ceremony. And his disappointment is understandable. He has been planning the affair for months, and all of a sudden, the castle chaplain is named priest in charge.’
‘Cambrug should arrive this morning,’ said Grym in a transparent effort to change the subject to something less contentious. ‘He will be delighted by all we have achieved since he left – his lovely fan vaulting covered in beautiful geometrical artwork. He will jump for joy.’
‘Then he will have to do it in the graveyard,’ muttered Paycock venomously. ‘Because he will not be allowed inside the church either.’
Bartholomew left Grym trying to placate him, and hurried to catch up with Michael. They reached the castle, and found it on full alert once again, although the monk was spared from crawling under the portcullis a second time, as their arrival coincided with a delivery of fish, so they were able to walk in behind the cart.