‘And what about the interdict?’ asked Polmorva archly. ‘We have been told that prevents any Oxford citizen from being decently laid to rest.’
‘We shall bury them first and worry about the relevant dispensations later,’ replied Michael. He smiled at Duraunt. ‘Then, even if permission is refused, no one will want to exhume them, especially once Matt has described the diseases that might be unleashed in so doing.’
‘Thank you,’ said Duraunt, taking Michael’s hand in both of his own. ‘When will you perform the rite? It is Friday now and Chesterfelde died on Saturday. The sooner he is laid to rest the better.’
‘Today,’ said Michael, wanting the bodies out of St Michael’s well before the Visitation. He did not like the notion of the Archbishop stepping inside and declaring it reeked of the dead. ‘Before vespers. I hope you will all attend.’
‘We might,’ said Eu cautiously. ‘It depends on what else is happening.’
‘I will come,’ declared Duraunt. ‘And so will Polmorva.’ Polmorva looked none too pleased that he had been volunteered, but he inclined his head in reluctant assent.
Michael had arranged for Spryngheuse to be carried away by pall-bearers he had commandeered from Michaelhouse. Deynman and Falmeresham were more than happy to escape the monotonous tones of Master Langelee reading a text he did not understand, while Cynric was always willing to help the monk. The book-bearer nodded amiably at Abergavenny and exchanged a few words in Welsh, while Bartholomew and the students lifted Spryngheuse into the parish coffin. Then Cynric and Bartholomew took the front of the box, and the others grabbed the back.
‘What did he say?’ asked Bartholomew of the Welshman.
‘He asked me to keep you from dissecting Spryngheuse once you have him in your domain – but that if I cannot, then I am to make sure Duraunt and Polmorva do not find out.’
Bartholomew frowned. ‘What did he mean by issuing such a request? That he hopes no one will examine Spryngheuse, because there is evidence that he did not kill himself ? And that Duraunt and Polmorva have a good reason for wanting such information kept hidden?’
‘Or that they are more likely to make a fuss,’ suggested Falmeresham practically. ‘That pair seem opposed to anatomy in any form, but especially when practised by you.’
‘Or that you may discover Spryngheuse was a suicide, which means he cannot be buried at St Michael’s,’ offered Cynric. ‘A suicide and a man under interdict is banned from hallowed ground on two counts.’
Bartholomew recalled Michael’s contention that Abergavenny was a man clever enough to kill and evade justice, and wondered whether the monk had been right. Tulyet was still convinced Eu was involved in more than he had revealed, while Bartholomew had not shaken his conviction that the blustering Wormynghalle was the villain. He grimaced when he recalled the way the tanner had levelled his accusation regarding the astrolabe, and supposed the dislike was mutual.
They reached the church, where Bartholomew ensured Spryngheuse was arranged neatly and covered with a clean blanket. Polmorva watched him with the eyes of a hawk, while Duraunt knelt nearby and prayed. Neither scholar made a move to leave the chapel, so Michael announced it was time for his mid-morning repast and begged them to excuse him. Bartholomew was bemused, because Michaelhouse did not run to additional meals during the day, and supposed the monk intended to inveigle an invitation to King’s Hall again. He followed him along the High Street and into St Michael’s Lane. After a few steps Michael doubled back, peering around the corner.
‘There they go,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘I knew they would not linger once we had gone. Come on, before the Franciscans arrive for their vigil.’
He grabbed the physician’s arm and hauled him back to St Michael’s, where he barred the door to make sure the Oxford men did not return and catch them unawares.
‘Hurry,’ he ordered peremptorily. ‘We do not have long, and I need answers.’
‘I am not sure about this,’ said Bartholomew unhappily. ‘Duraunt asked me not to determine whether the death was suicide or murder, because he wants Spryngheuse buried in the churchyard.’
‘We shall put him there regardless,’ said Michael. ‘The wretched man was terrified out of his senses these last few days, and we always bury lunatics in hallowed ground, no matter how they die.’
‘He claimed a Black Monk was following him,’ said Bartholomew, making no move to comply.
‘Then that proves he was addled,’ said Michael. ‘I know every Benedictine in this town, and none is in the habit of stalking people. Spryngheuse imagined this spectre, which is why no one else ever saw him. Come on, Matt. I need to know what happened.’
Bartholomew examined the marks around the dead man’s neck, trying to be fast and thorough at the same time, eager to be done before Polmorva or Duraunt returned. It was not long before he had learned all he could. He turned to Michael.
‘When we stood by the tree, looking at Spryngheuse’s body, I noticed fresh scratches on the bark, and here you can see corresponding marks on his shoes. They suggest he climbed the trunk of his own accord. His hands are not tied, and there are no signs of a struggle. Also, the noose’s knot is just behind his ear. I have noticed it is nearly always there when death is self-inflicted, whereas it tends to be at the back when someone else lends a hand. Can you see the bruising caused by the rope is in an inverted V? With murder it tends to be more of a straight line, although there are exceptions, of course. However, in this case, I am almost certain it was suicide.’
‘When did it happen?’
Bartholomew knew from experience that time of death was difficult to estimate with any degree of certainty. ‘He was last seen at dawn – so some time between then and when we found him.’
‘Thank you, Matt. However, I had worked that much out for myself. Can you not be more specific?’
‘Not really. The body is cool to the touch, blood has pooled in its hands, and it is beginning to stiffen around the eyes and jaws, so I suppose he died closer to dawn than to now.’
‘And he perished by hanging? You will not later claim there was a bite in his throat or that he was knocked on the head?’
‘It is difficult to be sure about anything you do not actually witness, but you can see for yourself that his throat is intact.’
‘Polmorva claimed that Spryngheuse did not want to die, and we saw for ourselves that he was terrified, which does indicate a desire to live. Why would he suddenly give up on life?’
‘It was not sudden: remember what he was doing at the Great Bridge on Sunday? Perhaps he decided it was better to die than to live too frightened to eat, sleep, or even go for a walk.’
Michael sighed. ‘There is only one thing that is clear in this case: all our victims are connected to Oxford. It started with Gonerby, bitten during that city’s riots. Next was Okehamptone, an Oxford scribe, whose murder was disguised to appear as a fever. And now Balliol’s Chesterfelde and Merton’s Spryngheuse – two men accused of instigating the St Scholastica’s Day disorder – are dead.’
‘None of Okehamptone’s companions examined the body, not even out of curiosity,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘Do you not think that is odd?’
‘Most folk do not share your fascination with the dead, Matt. And anyway, the University’s Senior Proctor and a Corpse Examiner came to do that for them. So, what does this tell us, other than that their trust in my abilities was sadly misplaced?’
‘That the killer was relieved when his plan passed off without a hitch. Do you recall any odd reactions among the Oxford men that day?’