Michael started to object, but then looked thoughtful. ‘I have not gained his measure, either, and he has been behaving very oddly of late. But even so, I do not see him as a relic-thief.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Bartholomew, although he remained unconvinced.
‘Do you think Gyseburne is telling the truth about his pilgrimage?’ asked Michael, after a short and rather uncomfortable silence. ‘I mean, do you think he actually went?’
Bartholomew regarded him in surprise. ‘Of course he went! Why would he lie about that?’
‘To make us think him a pious man.’ Michael shot a furtive glance behind him before Bartholomew could counter the accusation. ‘Come this way, Matt. We are going to Michaelhouse to interview Yffi and his cronies.’
‘Dick said he was going to do that.’
‘I know, but I would sooner ask my own questions. Hurry up! We do not want him to catch us.’
With grave misgivings about going against the wishes of the Sheriff, Bartholomew followed him home. But when they arrived, it was to find Walter standing in the street, howling a litany of vile curses. It took a moment for Bartholomew to see the reason for his curious behaviour, but when he did, he stared in astonishment. Michaelhouse’s front gates were missing.
‘I went to the latrines, and when I came back they were gone,’ wailed Walter, addressing a furious Master. All the Fellows and a large number of students had gathered, and were standing in the yard.
‘It is not your fault,’ said Clippesby, resting a calming hand on his shoulder. ‘But if you did not see anything suspicious, then what about your peacock? He would have been here, even if you–’
‘We do not have time for this nonsense,’ snapped Thelnetham, pushing the Dominican roughly out of the way. ‘Let me question Walter.’
‘Hey!’ objected Bartholomew angrily, seeing Clippesby stagger. ‘There is no need for that.’
Thelnetham rounded on him with such vigour that he took a step back. ‘Do not tell me what to do, you damned heretic! Your College is under attack, and this is no time to pander to lunatics.’
William interposed his unsavoury bulk between them. ‘Do not call Matthew a heretic,’ he snarled. ‘I am the only one allowed to do that, and only then because he knows I do not mean it.’
Bartholomew knew nothing of the sort. ‘Stealing our gates must be one of these practical jokes,’ he said to Langelee. ‘It is not as clever as assembling a trebuchet in the Guildhall, but it still took ingenuity and planning. They are heavy, and it would not have been easy to spirit them away in broad daylight with no one seeing.’
‘Did they do it with no one seeing?’ asked Langelee, looking around at his assembled scholars. ‘Did any of you notice anything that might be construed as suspicious?’
‘It was Chestre,’ said Valence resentfully. ‘They live nearby, and must have waited until Walter was in the latrines and the rest of us were listening to Master Thelnetham’s lecture on whores.’
‘On what?’ blurted Bartholomew, thinking he must have misheard.
‘On prostitutes in the Bible,’ elaborated Langelee. ‘It was very interesting and had us transfixed.’
‘It did,’ agreed Clippesby ruefully. ‘Even I was fascinated, and I keep my vows of chastity.’
The less said on that subject the better, given that he tended to be in a minority, even among those Fellows who were in holy orders, and Michael stepped forward hastily.
‘I doubt Kendale did this,’ he said, seeing some of the students were keen to march on Chestre and demand answers with their fists. ‘Not so soon after manhandling that trebuchet all around town. We must look elsewhere for the culprits.’
‘I will help you find them,’ said William grimly, and there was an immediate clamour of identical offers from everyone else.
Michael raised an imperious hand. ‘I can manage alone, thank you. And none of you will attempt your own investigations. Do I make myself clear? You may cause Michaelhouse irreparable harm if you go about making wild accusations, and we do not want other parts of our home disappearing.’
He glared until he had reluctant nods from the students, then turned to the Fellows. William was apt to be bloody-minded in such situations, but this time it was Thelnetham causing trouble.
‘I shall do as I feel fit,’ the Gilbertine declared. ‘This is an outrage, and–’
‘You will do as the Senior Proctor suggests,’ said Langelee in a voice that held considerable menace. ‘I may not possess the authority to dismiss Fellows, but there are other ways of making nuisances disappear.’
Bartholomew listened to the exchange nervously, not exactly sure what Langelee was saying but acutely aware that Thelnetham would be wise to do as he was told. Without a word, the Gilbertine stalked away, habit billowing behind him. Langelee watched him go, then turned to Michael.
‘Get the gates back, Brother,’ he ordered. ‘We are vulnerable without them.’
‘Where are the builders?’ asked Michael. ‘Can they not run us up a temporary pair?’
‘Yffi and his boys failed to arrive again this morning,’ supplied William. ‘Blaston is here, making new window shutters, but I doubt he can produce gates on his own. At least, not quickly.’
‘Yffi is missing yet another day of work?’ demanded Michael. He gestured up at the sky. ‘But it looks like rain, and we have no roof!’
Langelee grimaced. ‘If it is not one thing it is another with this place. And what ails Thelnetham? He has always been prickly, but he has never indulged in open rebellion before.’
‘He is probably worried about the camp-ball this afternoon,’ said William. ‘His Order’s honour is at stake, and I happen to know he takes that sort of thing very seriously.’
‘He should,’ said Langelee. He flexed the bulging muscles in his arm, and grinned rather diabolically. ‘But he need not fear. I shall ensure the Gilbertines emerge victorious.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Michael irritably. ‘What are we going to do about the fact that we have no roof, and that great grey clouds are gathering?’
‘I saw Yffi earlier, carrying a lot of equipment to the Carmelite Friary,’ said Langelee. ‘I was going to find out what thinks he is doing the moment Thelnetham finished pontificating on harlots.’
‘I do not want my students learning about harlots, not even the ones in the Bible,’ said Bartholomew, starting to walk across the yard. ‘They are supposed to be studying medicine.’
Langelee darted after him, swinging him around by the arm to peer into his face. He was very strong, and Bartholomew staggered.
‘You are still too pale for my liking, and I do not want you teaching until after the camp-ball,’ the Master decreed in the kind of voice that said objections would be futile. ‘Stroll about the town with Michael if you will, but do not exhaust yourself with students. Besides, Thelnetham is a priest, so they are not going to hear anything too outrageous.’
Bartholomew was not so sure about that, given the rapt attention the Gilbertine seemed to have engendered in his audience. But he could see Langelee meant what he said, and so with great reluctance, he followed the monk across the yard to talk to Blaston about the gates.
The carpenter was in a world of his own as he assembled his shutters, working with deft, confident movements. He jumped when he became aware of Bartholomew and Michael beside him.
‘I was concentrating,’ he said sheepishly. ‘The wood Emma bought is warped, so I need to think about which piece goes where, or you will end up with gaps. And we do not want those.’
‘I wish it was you working on the roof,’ said Michael fervently. ‘Could you not run up a ladder and nail a few tiles down? Yffi does not seem very interested in doing it.’