‘And peace reigns in our town again,’ finished Weste happily.
‘It will not last,’ predicted Michael. ‘You agreed not to excommunicate the squires in exchange for an abject apology, and they are suitably chastened. But their mortification will wear off, and they will soon turn bored and vicious again.’
‘Nuport will not,’ said Bartholomew soberly. ‘He died this morning, from wounds sustained in the stampede to escape Margery’s ghost.’
‘And the rest will not be here,’ said John. ‘Clare is too small for such an unruly horde, so Langelee has offered to take them to France.’
‘I have a hankering to see the place again,’ explained Langelee, ‘and they will fare better with me than with poor old Albon.’
‘They will,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘But are you sure you want to go?’
Langelee nodded. ‘I have my own penance to make, and the King’s army will be a lot more enjoyable than a pilgrimage. Peace will be declared in a few weeks, but His Majesty will still need men to help him keep the concessions he has won, so there will be plenty for me to do. Besides, academia has been fun, but I am ready for a new challenge.’
‘You will be missed,’ said Bartholomew sincerely, watching Weste and John leave, both sensing that this was a discussion they did not need to hear.
‘I know,’ said Langelee. ‘But it will not be for ever, and I shall come back to Michaelhouse eventually. Until then, you can put my stipend in the College coffers. It will help a little, along with these donations.’
‘Not to mention the Lady’s hundred marks,’ said Michael smugly, and upended a heavy purse on the table. Coins spilled from it and lay in a gleaming pile.
‘How in God’s name did you manage that?’ gasped Langelee, gazing at him in disbelief.
Michael smiled haughtily. ‘By telling her who killed Margery.’
‘Did you tell her who killed Roos, too?’ asked Langelee uneasily. ‘Marishal will not blab – he promised to keep quiet on condition that I take Thomas and Ella to France when I go. But I thought you had agreed to keep my role in the affair quiet. For Michaelhouse’s sake.’
‘I gave her the truth,’ replied Michael. ‘Namely, that Roos stabbed Margery in a fit of pique, and was mortally wounded in the struggle that followed. The Lady was so relieved to put the matter behind her that she virtually threw the money at me.’
Bartholomew was more concerned with the arrangement that Langelee had made with the steward. ‘You cannot take Ella to war. She is not a squire.’
Langelee waved a dismissive hand. ‘Neither twin will go to war. I will drop them off in Paris, along with the pregnant Isabel Morley and poor scarred Suzanne de Nekton. The four of them plan to settle there together.’
‘But Thomas is not free to go off and live in another country,’ said Michael. ‘The stewardship of Clare is hereditary – he will have to stay here and do his duty.’
‘Not if Marishal has other children,’ explained Langelee. ‘And he will take a new wife at the end of the year. Katrina de Haliwell offered to do the honors and he has accepted.’
Bartholomew laughed. ‘Well, she did say she wanted a secure future, and she does not care who provides it. Marishal will suit her perfectly – he will be busy with the Lady’s business most of the time, leaving her free to do as she pleases. She must be delighted with her good fortune.’
‘Poor Margery,’ sighed Michael. ‘Of all the victims in this sorry tale, she is the one who grieves me most. She was a good woman, and it is just that her killer was dispatched in his turn.’
‘I am glad you feel that way,’ said Langelee, ‘because it means you might say a few Masses for me. None for Anne, though. If we include all the people who died in the fight, she claimed twenty-three lives in the end, not to mention some serious injuries. She is doubtless perched on the Devil’s shoulder as we speak, furious that she did not kill ten times that number.’
‘And Nicholas will be next to her,’ added Michael. ‘I knew from the moment I set eyes on him that he was a rogue, and I was right. You two should have listened to me.’
‘We should,’ agreed Langelee. ‘Because he was a thief as well as an accomplice to murder. We found his cart in the woods today, loaded up with all the church’s silver.’
Michael turned to Bartholomew. ‘Please tell us what Badew whispered before he died. Was it the secret he came here to share? The one he refused to divulge as long as the Lady is alive?’
‘I believe so,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘But it was not a secret, it was an accusation – one final, vicious attempt to hurt her when she was not in a position to defend herself. He aimed to tarnish her memory, in the hope that Clare Hall would rename itself as Badew Hall. It was shabby and sly, but it might have worked.’
‘And this accusation entails what, exactly?’ asked Michael keenly.
But Bartholomew shook his head. ‘It cannot be true, so what is the point of making it public? It is best that such a distasteful allegation dies with him.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Michael, determining to wheedle it out of him later. ‘Yet I cannot say I am looking forward to the journey home – not carrying all this money. Freburn will be delighted if he happens across us, but my ears will not.’
‘Freburn will not bother us,’ declared Langelee confidently, then made an impatient sound at the back of his throat when Michael started to ask what made him so sure. ‘Think, Brother. Who else chopped off someone’s ears recently?’
‘Nuport? You think he was masquerading as Freburn? I do not believe you!’
‘Well, you should, because he told me so himself. Bartholomew asked me to carry him to Grym’s house for medical treatment, and the rogue mistook me for Albon in my nice new cloak – he bleated a confession before I could stop him.’
‘No,’ said Michael, shaking his head. ‘This cannot be true. Roos would have recognised him when he was attacked after the last council meeting.’
‘Nuport was not a total fool – he wore a mask to hide his face. Apparently, the real Simon Freburn and his sons were hanged months ago, but Nuport started a rumour that they were alive and in this area, which allowed him to terrorise travellers as he pleased. He did it for the riches, and because inflicting pain gave him pleasure.’
‘Then some of his cronies helped him do it,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Because “Freburn” was always accompanied by his “sons”. And you are about to take them to France. What if they decide they like the look of your ears?’
‘Then they will lose their own,’ shrugged Langelee, unperturbed. ‘But they are different lads now they are away from Nuport’s malign influence, and I should like to give them a chance to make something decent of themselves. You will see what I mean on the way to Cambridge.’
‘They will escort us there?’ asked Michael uneasily.
Langelee nodded. ‘To make sure you and the money arrive safely, and so that Suzanne can spend a few days with Matilde, learning how to disguise scars. Besides, I must tender my resignation as Master properly, or our colleagues will speculate.’
And if they did, even their wildest imaginings would not come close to the truth, thought Bartholomew wryly. Then he groaned as an unpleasant thought occurred to him.
‘Oh, Lord! There will have to be an election.’
‘Will you stand, Brother?’ asked Langelee.
‘No, of course not,’ retorted Michael. ‘I shall tell the others that I am taking the post, and they will accept my offer with suitable gratitude. I should have done it years ago, because I am sure I can use my University connections to secure Michaelhouse a better future.’