‘Not on this scale,’ retorted Michael tartly. ‘You do realise that you will have to resign as Master? We cannot have a killer at our helm.’
‘It has never bothered you before,’ said Langelee, bemused.
‘Right,’ said Michael, becoming businesslike before Thomas could ask Langelee to explain his intriguing remark. ‘We shall take Marishal to a place where he can recover, then I must tell the Lady what has happened.’
‘I will do it,’ offered Langelee. ‘You might forget to ask for the hundred marks – which we should have, because we can name Margery’s killer.’
‘I hardly think a demand for money will make her favourably disposed to accepting our story,’ said Michael coldly. ‘So you had better wait outside. When we have finished, we shall leave Clare. Assuming she lets us go, of course, and does not order our arrest.’
‘Then be careful,’ warned Langelee. ‘You may have found out what happened to Margery and Roos, but there remains another killer at large – the one who claimed Talmach, Godeston and the others. He has you in his sights and will be deeply disappointed to see you still alive.’
‘That is true,’ said Bartholomew to Michael. ‘Whoever it is must think that we are on the verge of unmasking him, although nothing could be further from the truth.’
‘If we had time, we might be able to identify him by applying logic to all we have learned,’ said Michael tiredly. ‘But it is too late. We will tell the Lady what happened to Margery and Roos, and then we must escape this violent little town while we can.’
It was not easy to assist the dazed Marishal up the steep spiral stairs, but they managed eventually. Then they took him to the Constable Tower, where Langelee and Michael stood guard outside while Bartholomew and Thomas settled him in a chair to recover. All three scholars were acutely aware that they were probably being watched by someone who was prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to see them dead.
‘He bears some of the blame for what happened to her,’ said Thomas, regarding his father dispassionately. The steward was regaining his senses fast, and Bartholomew anticipated that it would not be long before he was on his feet again. ‘He knew Roos pestered her, but he did nothing to stop it, because Roos was useful to the Lady.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Bartholomew. ‘A lot of people made poor judgements in this sorry affair.’
Leaving Marishal and Thomas to resolve their differences in private, Bartholomew rejoined Michael and Langelee, and then led the way to the palace. Langelee dragged his heels, desperately trying to think of ways to explain what had happened without it reflecting badly on the College.
‘There is something I forgot to mention in the cistern,’ he said, stopping abruptly for at least the fourth time. ‘Namely the cause of the argument between Margery and Roos.’
‘You did not forget,’ said Michael curtly, continuing to stride on. ‘You told us it was over the letter she sent. Roos objected to being told lies, and I know the feeling.’
‘Wait!’ snapped Langelee, grabbing his arm. ‘Yes, he was angry with her for enticing him here under false pretences, but you have not asked the most important question of alclass="underline" why she went to such lengths to get him to come.’
‘Well, we know it was not for the pleasure of his company,’ said Bartholomew, his interest piqued, even if Michael was too irked to acknowledge that Langelee might still have something important to contribute. He frowned, his mind working fast. ‘He brought her gifts when he came, and Katrina thought they might be important in understanding why she died. Are they?’
Langelee nodded. ‘I heard her say that her previous pleas for him to visit had gone unheeded, and she was desperate. He snarled that he had been disinclined to make another journey after losing an ear. Then she told him that she had had no choice but to lie, because the situation was urgent.’
‘So what did he give her?’ asked Michael waspishly. ‘Do you know or must we guess?’
‘Medicinal herbs,’ replied Langelee triumphantly. ‘At least, that is what she kept asking him to hand over. He informed her that he had not brought any, but she did not believe him, and accused him of withholding them out of spite.’
‘Of course!’ exclaimed Bartholomew in understanding. ‘Mistress Starre in Cambridge sells a concoction of tansy and pennyroyal to end unwanted pregnancies. Thomas mentioned that his mother supplied “herbs and practical advice” to women in trouble, while Anne said that Margery had tried to take over where she had left off – not with a hook, but with potions.’
‘But that is illegal,’ said Michael shortly. ‘And dangerous.’
‘Very,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘Which is why Margery wanted them brewed by someone who knows what she is doing. But it is not something you can send a servant to buy: Mistress Starre is choosy over customers, as she could hang if someone reported her to the authorities. But she will know Roos. We shall ask her when we get home, but I imagine she sold him some.’
‘Then it will have been for Isabel Morley,’ determined Langelee, ‘as she is with child but Quintone declines to wed her. Poor Margery was just trying to save some hapless girl from ruin.’
‘Perhaps Isabel’s case was urgent, but I suspect these “remedies” are needed on a fairly regular basis,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The squires make promises of marriage that they have no intention of honouring, while Bonde is a rapist.’
Michael was unconvinced. ‘But Roos could have sent a pot of the stuff with a messenger. He did not have to deliver it in person.’
‘Would you entrust someone else with that sort of task?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘As you pointed out, it is illegal, and there would have been no end of trouble for everyone concerned if it was intercepted by the wrong people. Besides, I imagine Roos liked the power it gave him over her – knowing he was the only one who could provide what she needed.’
Michael made a moue of distaste. ‘What a vile individual he transpired to be.’ Then he glanced at Langelee, as if the mention of one such person had brought another to mind. ‘You have not told us where you were all last night. We were worried, although we should have known that you can look after yourself.’
‘Weste and I rode further afield than we intended while looking for Jan,’ explained Langelee, ‘and it seemed reckless to continue in the dark, so we camped.’
‘Jan,’ mused Michael bitterly. ‘Now I understand why you so “bravely” offered to hunt for him. It was to find out what he had seen while he crept about the castle in the dark. What will you do if he identifies you as the killer?’
‘That will not be a problem,’ replied Langelee airily, ‘because we did find him, but the only soul he saw that night was Bonde. Incidentally, we found Bonde as well. Unfortunately, you cannot question him, because he is dead.’
‘How did he die?’ asked Michael acidly. ‘By falling on his own dagger, like Roos?’
Langelee shot him a reproachful look. ‘I do not know what happened to him – there are no marks on his body. Jan knows, but refuses to say. Weste and I took him to the priory, in the hope that John can coax the truth out of him. He is there as we speak.’
‘Then go and find out if he has,’ instructed Michael, ‘while Matt and I talk to the Lady. Once you have spoken to John, stay in the priory until we are ready to leave. Do you understand?’
‘Of course,’ replied Langelee stiffly. ‘I am not stupid.’
‘I am not so sure about that,’ muttered Michael venomously.
‘What a wretched mess,’ spat the monk, once Langelee was striding purposefully towards the gate, although it was clear that he resented being in a position where he was obliged to take orders from one of his Fellows. ‘Damn Langelee and his soldierly ways!’