‘I have questions for you,’ said Tulyet, sweeping the arsenal on to the floor with one swipe of his hand before sitting down and indicating that Bartholomew and Michael were to perch next to him.
The faces of both knights darkened in anger as their precious swords and daggers clattered on the flagstones. Bartholomew hoped Tulyet knew what he was doing, feeling it was rash to antagonise such brutes. It was the first time he had studied them closely, and he could not help but notice the array of scars, thickened ears and callused hands, especially on Norbert. All were signs of lives spent fighting.
‘What questions?’ snarled Leger, retrieving his sword and inspecting it for damage.
‘We can begin with what you discussed with the Girard men the morning they were murdered,’ said Michael. ‘Then you can tell us why you did not bother to mention it to us.’
The pair exchanged glances. Leger’s expression was calculating, but there was a flash of panic in Norbert’s eyes.
‘Who told you–’ the bigger knight began belligerently.
‘That does not matter,’ interrupted Tulyet. ‘The point is that you were seen, and I demand an explanation.’
‘You demand?’ echoed Leger incredulously. ‘We are representatives of His Majesty, personally appointed by him to oversee Cambridge’s preparations for war.’
‘And I am his Sheriff,’ retorted Tulyet. ‘So I outrank you. Now, answer our questions or I shall send you back to the King in disgrace.’
Norbert bristled, but Leger was intelligent enough to know that Tulyet meant it, and began to answer the question, albeit sullenly. ‘We did not know they were Spital lunatics at the time. We just saw them walking along, and we could tell, just by looking, that they were warriors, so we asked why they had not been to the butts.’
‘How did they respond?’
‘We could barely understand them,’ shrugged Leger. ‘One was mute, while the other had a toothache that mangled his words. Our English was not equal to the conversation, so we forced them to use French, which was better, but only marginally.’
It was impossible to tell if the two knights had fallen for the Jacques’ ruse, although Bartholomew wondered why the Girards had gone out in the first place, as it was a reckless thing to have done.
‘Did they tell you they were from the Spital?’ he asked.
‘No, they said they were fletchers, and thus exempt from the call to arms,’ growled Norbert. ‘It is only now that we learn they were lunatics – and lying lunatics into the bargain.’
‘We are going to the Spital this afternoon, to assess the rest of them,’ added Leger. ‘If they seem as rational as the pair we met, I want them all at the butts.’
‘I would not recommend putting weapons in the hands of madmen,’ said Bartholomew hastily. ‘They might run amok and turn on you. And that is my professional medical opinion.’
It was pure bluster, but the knights agreed to leave the Spital men in peace anyway.
‘Now, let us discuss the fire,’ said Tulyet. ‘Where were you when it began?’
Norbert regarded him coolly. ‘I hope you are not accusing us of setting it.’
‘Just answer the question,’ barked Tulyet.
Norbert came to his feet fast. Tulyet did not flinch, even though the other man towered over him. Prudently, Leger gestured that his friend was to sit back down.
‘We cannot recall, Sheriff,’ he said with a false smile. ‘Our remit is to train troops, so we spend a lot of time trawling taverns for likely recruits. We were in the King’s Head at one point on Wednesday morning, but I cannot tell you precisely when.’
‘The King’s Head is near the Spital,’ remarked Bartholomew.
Leger ignored him and continued to address Tulyet. ‘So you will just have to take our word that we were elsewhere at the salient time. That should not present too great a difficulty, given that we are fellow knights.’
‘Why should he believe you?’ asked Michael acidly. ‘You failed to report meeting two of the victims not long before their murders, which hardly presents you in an honest light.’
‘It slipped our minds,’ shrugged Leger. ‘It was a discussion about nothing, so why should we remember? Or do you think we should tell the Sheriff every time we exchange words with men of fighting age? If we did, none of us would get any work done.’
He regarded the monk with sly defiance, and it was clear that pressing the matter further would be a waste of time, so Tulyet showed them the weapons that had killed Paris and the Girards. Leger gave them no more than a passing glance, but Norbert took them and studied them carefully.
‘Such fine craftsmanship,’ he breathed appreciatively. ‘Where did you find them?’
‘One was planted in the back of an elderly priest,’ replied Michael pointedly. ‘The other was used to murder defenceless lunatics.’
Norbert handed them back to Tulyet. ‘Then the killer is a fool for leaving them behind. And if he is a fool, even you should be able to catch him.’
There was no more to be said, so Bartholomew, Michael and Tulyet took their leave.
‘Do you believe they “forgot” their encounter with the Girards?’ asked the physician when they were out in the bailey again. ‘Because I do not. Moreover, they cannot prove where they were, and I can certainly see them dispatching a family with ruthless efficiency.’
‘So can I,’ replied Michael. ‘Leger’s answers were too glib, and I sense there was more to the encounter than they were willing to confess.’
‘I agree,’ said Tulyet, ‘although I am not sure it involves murder. They are not poisoners – they would have stabbed everyone, including the children.’
‘So are they on your list of suspects or not?’
‘They are,’ said Tulyet. ‘Just not right at the top. But I shall show both weapons to the garrison, and if Leger and Norbert ever owned them, I will find out – soldiers notice such things. And if that yields no answers, I shall flash them around the town. Someone will recognise them, I am sure of it.’
But Bartholomew had a bad feeling the Sheriff’s confidence was misplaced.
Bartholomew and Michael headed for St Radegund’s. To reach the convent, they had to pass through the Barnwell Gate, which was manned that day by some new and vigilant sentries, who had been given the choice of a week’s military service or the equivalent time spent in gaol as punishment for brawling with scholars. Among them was Verious the ditcher. All were under the command of the sullen Sergeant Orwel and his helpmeet Pierre Sauvage. Orwel sported a new hat that was black and rather feminine, leading Bartholomew to suppose he had stolen it from the nuns the previous day.
‘Stop,’ Orwel ordered roughly, whisking the headpiece out of sight when he saw the physician staring at it. ‘The Barnwell Gate is closed today.’
‘Is it?’ asked Michael coolly. ‘Then why has that cart just driven through?’
‘You cannot pass, Brother,’ said Verious apologetically. ‘Sir Leger thinks there are French spies in the area, and we are under orders to keep them out.’
‘We are not French spies,’ said Michael. ‘Moreover, we want to leave, not come in.’
Verious became flustered, unwilling to annoy the man who provided his choir with free victuals or the physician who never charged him for medicine when he was ill. He turned to the others for help. ‘Brother Michael makes a good point. He is–’
‘I am in charge here,’ snapped Orwel. ‘And I say the gate is closed. Sir Leger told me that anyone might be a French spy, even folk we know.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ snapped Michael irritably. ‘I am the University’s Senior Proctor!’
‘I do not care what you call yourself,’ growled Orwel. ‘Now bugger off.’