‘And you only mention this now?’ cried Michael. ‘After Dick and I have been running ourselves ragged in a hunt for clues?’
‘I have been busy,’ shrugged Clippesby. ‘Heltisle keeps lying about how many copies of my treatise have been sold, while Theophilis insists on entangling me in theological dis–’
‘The killer,’ snapped Michael in exasperation. ‘His name, please.’
‘Olive and Henrietta did not see his face,’ said Clippesby. ‘But his cloak fell open as he passed, revealing his scholar’s tabard. There was also an academic hat tucked in his belt.’
‘Did you recognise the livery?’ pressed Michael.
‘No, because it was too dark.’
‘So how do you know it was the killer you saw?’ interrupted Bartholomew.
‘Because he held a bloodied rock, which he tossed into the copse where Olive and Henrietta were sleeping. It is what caught their attention, you see, otherwise they might have dozed through the entire incident.’
‘Were they asleep?’ asked Theophilis with a sly smile. ‘Or philosophising?’
Even Clippesby was beginning to tire of Theophilis’s persistence. ‘I just told you – hedgehogs do not engage in academic pursuits. Olive and Henrietta wanted a rest, away from the fuss generated by the chickens’ theories.’
‘In other words, stop asking stupid questions,’ translated William. ‘The hens have already written all they know about nominalism and realism, so if you want to delve any deeper into the matter, you will have to consult with me.’
Theophilis laughed and the others joined in. Their mirth was short-lived, though, as William glanced out of the window to see Commissary Aynton walking across the yard. As he could think of no clever riposte to put his colleagues in their place, he vented his spleen on the visitor instead.
‘Here comes one of the Chancellor’s dogs,’ he sneered. ‘Do you want me to send him packing, Brother? I will do it if your Junior Proctor is unequal to the task.’
Michael made a warning sound in the back of his throat as Theophilis started to reply. No foundation liked outsiders to know its members quarrelled, so by the time Aynton was shown in, he might have been forgiven for thinking that all Michaelhouse Fellows loved each other like brothers.
‘Good morning, Commissary,’ said Michael pleasantly. ‘How may we help you?’
‘I am here to help you, Brother,’ said Aynton, beaming. ‘With a report. De Wetherset, Heltisle and I questioned witnesses while you lay around in bed this morning. Not that there is anything wrong with sleeping, of course. I am sure you needed the rest.’
‘I did,’ said Michael stiffly. ‘I was up all night.’
‘So were we,’ said Aynton. ‘Working for the University’s greater good. We discussed the riot ad nauseum, although we reached no firm conclusions.’
‘I imagine not,’ said Michael haughtily. ‘There are none to reach with the information currently available. If there were, I would have drawn them myself and acted on them.’
‘Of course you would,’ said Aynton, so condescendingly that Bartholomew glanced uneasily at Michael, knowing that umbrage would be taken. ‘I would never suggest otherwise.’
‘Good,’ said Michael, controlling himself with difficulty. ‘So make your report. What did these witnesses tell you?’
‘Well, we started by asking all those scholars who attended the butts if they knew who gave the order to shoot. They did – it was a townsman.’
‘Any particular one?’
‘They did not see, as he skulked behind his cronies. However, we know his motive – to avenge that old rogue Wyse by taking the lives of innocent scholars. Every University man we interviewed said the same thing, so it must be true.’
Michael gave a tight smile. ‘But every townsman who was there claims the culprit is a scholar. So who should we believe, when everyone is convinced of his own rectitude?’
‘Why, scholars, of course,’ replied Aynton, astonished he should ask. ‘Townsmen are given to lying. Besides, the command came from their side of the butts. I heard it myself.’
‘So did I,’ put in Theophilis. ‘I agree with Aynton – a townsman is responsible. But we will catch him, Brother. You and me together.’
‘Let us hope so,’ said Michael. ‘Is there anything else, Commissary, or are you ready to resume your enquiries into the murders of Paris and the others? Unless you have solved the mystery already, of course?’
Aynton chuckled. ‘Not yet, Brother, not yet. But before I set off, I must pass you a message from the Chancellor: he would like to see you in his office at your earliest convenience. He asks if Bartholomew would attend, too, as he has more griping in the guts.’
‘Probably from listening to you and Heltisle spout nonsense all night,’ muttered William, and for once, Bartholomew thought the friar might be right.
Michael did not go to St Mary the Great immediately, aiming to make the point that the Senior Proctor could not be summoned like a minion. And as de Wetherset’s medical complaint was not urgent, Bartholomew went to replenish his medical bag first.
Eventually, both were ready and they walked across the yard towards the gate. Before they could open it, Tulyet arrived with Sir Leger and Sergeant Orwel. Orwel was a bristling bundle of hostility, and looked around the College with calculated disdain. Leger was pale, and seethed with anger and grief for Norbert.
‘I did all I could for him,’ Bartholomew said gently, ‘but his wound was too severe.’
‘I know,’ replied Leger, softening a little. ‘The Spital woman – Amphelisa – told me.’
‘He confessed things before he slipped into his final sleep,’ said Bartholomew. ‘About being cornered in St Radegund’s on Monday, probably by Sister Alice, who urged him to kill the French spies hiding in the Spital.’
There was a moment when he thought Leger would deny it, but then the knight inclined his head. ‘It surprised us – we are not used to nuns encouraging slaughter.’
‘I hope it was not you two who started the rumour about the Spital,’ said Tulyet coolly. ‘The one that is all over the town this morning.’
Leger regarded him levelly. ‘The nun confided in Norbert on Monday, but, as you have just remarked, the tale was not “all over the town” until today. If we were responsible, it would have been common knowledge on Tuesday or Wednesday, would it not?’
Bartholomew felt like reporting what Norbert had told him about the delay, but then decided against challenging a knight who was loaded with weapons. Besides, the spreaders of the tale were far less important than its originator.
‘Why did you not mention this at once?’ demanded Tulyet crossly. ‘Surely, you must see it has a bearing on the murders we have been struggling to solve?’
Leger shrugged. ‘We did not believe it could be true, so we dismissed it as malicious nonsense. Moreover, Norbert did not see this nun’s face, and she certainly did not tell him her name. If it was Sister Alice, this is the first I know about it.’
‘I will go to St Radegund’s this morning,’ determined Michael. ‘If she hates the French enough to want them lynched by an ignorant mob, then she might well have stabbed Paris, Bonet, the Girards and now Bruges. After all, she did visit the Spital on the day of the fire.’
Bartholomew was suddenly aware that Orwel was listening rather gleefully, as if he was pleased by the route their suspicions had taken.
‘Where were you when the order was given to shoot last night?’ Bartholomew asked him sharply.
Leger spoke before the sergeant could reply for himself. ‘He was with me – at the front of the crowd, and in the plain sight and hearing of many witnesses. But I am sure you were not about to accuse him of being the culprit, just as I am sure you would not accuse me. Why would you? You have no evidence to suggest that either of us was responsible.’