Yolande was cooking – meals were often included in the arrangement she had with Isnard; it was not the first time they had found her stirring something delicious over a pot in his hearth. Hospitably, Isnard indicated that his visitors should sit at the table and share his supper.
‘Thank you,’ said Valence, immediately taking a seat and pulling a horn spoon from his belt. ‘College food is getting worse by the day, and I am tired of buying my own all the time.’
‘Isnard and I always have a stew on a Thursday evening,’ supplied Yolande conversationally. ‘We work up quite an appetite during our sessions together.’
Bartholomew saw Cynric purse his lips prudishly and Valence start to snigger, so he hastened to change the subject before Yolande or Isnard noticed, suspecting neither reaction would please them.
‘How is your family, Yolande?’
‘Well enough, but hungry all the time. This winter is particularly hard.’
‘I help her all I can,’ whispered Isnard, when she went to stir her concoction. ‘But fourteen children is a lot to feed. I am glad Blaston has work at Michaelhouse, because there is not much call for carpenters these days, not when people think it is more important to spend money on bread.’
Bartholomew looked at the telltale bulge around Yolande’s middle, and wondered when the fifteenth child would make its appearance. While she added the finishing touches to her stew, he rubbed a soothing balm on Isnard’s one remaining knee, then sat at the table while she ladled the food into bowls. The soup and the conversation of friends served to lift his spirits a little more – until Valence began to hold forth about Drax.
‘In other words, the killer took the body to Michaelhouse, and dumped it there,’ the student concluded indignantly. ‘It was fortunate Agatha chased that dog, or it might have been ages before it was discovered, because Yffi has not been around much for the last few days.’
Isnard shuddered. ‘Poor Drax! I liked him – he owned several lovely taverns.’
‘You like everyone, Isnard,’ said Yolande disapprovingly. ‘But my Robert said he was not very nice. Apparently, he bought himself an expensive pilgrim badge because he knew he was going to need it when his soul was weighed. And you do not spend a fortune on indulgences unless you have a guilty conscience.’
‘Or unless you think you might be about to die,’ added Cynric soberly.
Bartholomew looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Cynric shrugged. ‘Just that Drax might have known someone was going to harm him, so he bought a signaculum while he was still able.’
‘I heard Emma buys a lot of pardons, too,’ said Yolande confidentially. ‘And the prayers she needs from Michaelhouse are costing her a new roof, so she must have a very guilty conscience.’
‘Emma?’ queried Isnard, startled. ‘Never! She is a dear, sweet old lady.’
Everyone regarded him askance.
‘I am talking about Emma de Colvyll here,’ said Yolande. ‘Who is your “dear, sweet old lady”, because we are not discussing the same person.’
‘We are,’ said Isnard, stung. ‘She has been nothing but charming to me.’
‘You do business with her?’ asked Bartholomew.
Isnard nodded. ‘She hires my barges to transport materials through the Fens – mostly stone and wood for repairing the various properties she buys. She deals with me honestly and fairly.’
‘But she has a reputation,’ said Yolande darkly.
‘One designed to stop people from trying to cheat her,’ argued Isnard. ‘She has a generous heart. Take Michaelhouse, for example. She is mending its leaking roofs out of love for her fellow man, and all she asks in return is a few masses from its priests.’
‘But my Robert says she will want more in time,’ said Yolande. ‘And Michaelhouse hates being in her debt. Master Langelee told me so when I entertained him last week. He said her charity has caused the biggest rift between him and his Fellows since he took the Mastership. But he said he had no choice – it would have been churlish to refuse her on the basis of their dislike.’
‘It would,’ agreed Isnard. ‘His Fellows are being churlish if they are suspicious of kindness. They should learn to accept that not everyone has sly motives.’
‘Did you see the ox and cart on the Gilbertines’ roof?’ asked Bartholomew, changing the subject before there was an argument. Cynric and Valence looked ready to pitch in with their views, which were unlikely to be complimentary to Emma, and would annoy Isnard.
‘Yes, it was very clever,’ said Yolande, smiling. ‘But not nearly as amazing as when the hostels lit up St Mary the Great.’
‘I disagree!’ cried Valence. ‘The trick at the church was just the flinging together of a few flammable substances, whereas the ox and cart required real ingenuity. It took Brother Michael days to achieve what we … what the Colleges managed in a single night. And Brother Michael is no fool.’
‘I do not like that Kendale,’ said Isnard sullenly. ‘He called me a drunkard – him, who cannot pass a tavern without stepping inside for an ale! And all his lads are fond of a drop or two.’
‘They are out a lot at night, too,’ added Yolande, while Valence nodded vigorous agreement with Isnard. ‘I see them when I visit my clients. Tell Brother Michael to watch them, Doctor, because I am sure they mean mischief.’
‘Their home, Chestre Hostel, is haunted,’ said Cynric matter-of-factly. ‘It did not use to be, but those hostel men brought an evil aura with them, and now it pervades the building.’
‘Cynric!’ said Bartholomew sharply, aware that this was the sort of tale that might be repeated and then blown out of all proportion. He did not want the hostels to accuse the Colleges of rumour-mongering, thus providing an excuse for the full-scale war that everyone sensed was brewing.
‘Actually, he is right,’ said Yolande. ‘There is something nasty about Chestre. Why do you think Drax tried to raise the rent? To get rid of them! Of course, it saw him dead for his pains.’
‘You think Chestre killed Drax?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Do you have any evidence to suggest–’
‘I do not need evidence,’ declared Yolande loftily. ‘Because I have intuition. Kendale and his horrible students live near where Drax died and where he was dumped, and they objected to the fact that he wanted to raise the rent. Of course they are the culprits.’
‘Did you hear that Celia Drax was robbed?’ asked Isnard, when the physician was silent. ‘She lost a pilgrim badge, which is odd, because a number of them have gone astray recently.’
Yolande nodded. ‘Poynton had one filched off his saddlebag, and the Mayor told me just today that he had two pinched from the Guildhall. Then there is Meryfeld the physician – he thought his had fallen off his cloak, but in the light of these other thefts, he has reconsidered.’
Bartholomew stood. It was getting late and he was tired. He thanked Isnard for his hospitality.
‘Be careful,’ said the bargeman as he left. ‘You may think Cambridge is safe at the moment, because we have had no serious trouble for weeks, but there is something nasty in the air. Perhaps it is the hostels itching for a fight. Or perhaps it is the thief with his penchant for pilgrim relics, which is as black a sin as any. Regardless, our town feels very dangerous to me.’
His warning sent a tingle of unease down Bartholomew’s spine.
Cynric slipped away on business of his own when they reached the main road. Bartholomew was tempted to call him back, not liking the notion of him being out alone after what Isnard had said, but then he came to his senses. Cynric was a seasoned warrior, and knew how to look after himself.