‘Oh, yes,’ sneered Alice. ‘Pick on the innocent nun again. Well, I have killed no one, although that might change if you persist with these ridiculous charges.’
‘Stop your whining – it is tedious beyond belief,’ snapped Joan, then turned to Michael, tapping the dagger with a thick forefinger. ‘This is similar to the other one you showed me, and the more I think about it, the more I suspect I did see its like in Winchelsea–’
‘Which proves I am innocent, as I have never been there,’ put in Alice triumphantly.
‘Oh, yes, you have,’ countered Katherine. ‘You visited us in Lyminster a few months ago, delivering letters from your own convent.’
‘Lyminster is not Winchelsea,’ argued Alice. ‘They are more than sixty miles apart. I went to one, but not the other, and you cannot prove otherwise.’
‘Actually, I can.’ Katherine gestured to Alice’s clothes. ‘There is Winchelsea-made lace at your wrists and Winchelsea-made buttons on your habit. Moreover, your Prioress told me that you took far longer to complete the return journey than you should have done, which is indicative that you treated yourself to a major diversion.’
Alice glared malevolently at her. ‘There were floods and other perils, so I had to make my way along the coast instead of plunging straight back inland. It means nothing.’
Katherine regarded her with contempt. ‘I knew you were a liar, a cheat and a whore, but I am shocked to learn you are a killer as well.’
‘I am not!’ cried Alice furiously. ‘So what if I stopped briefly at the port where Joan saw those particular weapons? It does not mean–’
‘Where will you keep her, Brother?’ interrupted Joan. ‘Not near Dusty, I hope.’
Michael hesitated. The proctors’ cells were full of angry young men from the riot, and he could hardly put a nun among those, not even one as unlikeable as Alice.
‘Leave her to us,’ said Katherine, guessing his dilemma. ‘St Radegund’s has cellars.’
Bartholomew was relieved when Alice was marched away, although Michael fretted over what a public announcement of her crimes might do to his Order.
‘Is she the killer?’ the monk asked worriedly. ‘She is vicious and deranged, but only against those she thinks have wronged her. What could she possibly have had against Bruges? Or any of the victims, for that matter?’
‘Question her again later,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘Once she is confined, she may be more willing to cooperate. And even if she is innocent of the murders, she still has the rumours to answer for – rumours that may yet spark more trouble.’
‘True,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But before we do anything else, we should see what Amphelisa has to say about these weapons being made near Rouen.’
They set off towards the Spital, both acutely aware of the atmosphere of rage and resentment that continued to simmer after the previous night’s skirmish. Townsmen knew they had suffered more casualties than the University, and were keen to redress the balance, while scholars itched to avenge the deaths of four students with promising futures.
The Trumpington road was busy, and Bartholomew noted with alarm that most people were going to or from the Spital – Tulyet was right to predict that it might suffer from the decision to shelter the peregrini. They arrived to find the gates closed and Tangmer’s family standing an uneasy guard atop the walls. Outside was a knot of protestors, who were vocal but not yet physically violent. They were being monitored by Orwel and a gaggle of soldiers from the castle, all of whom bitterly resented being there.
Michael knocked on the gate, which was opened with obvious reluctance by the huge Eudo. He and Bartholomew were pulled inside quickly before it was slammed shut again. This provoked a chorus of accusations from those outside, who jeered that the Senior Proctor and his Corpse Examiner had gone to confer with fellow French-lovers. Inside, any staff not guarding the walls had clustered at the gate, ready to repel anyone who tried to enter by force.
‘My wife is not here,’ said Tangmer, who was pale with worry. ‘She went to tend the wounded in the Franciscan Friary again. I hoped her compassion to the injured would make everyone think more kindly of us, but you all still howl for our blood.’
‘The claim is that we sheltered spies,’ put in Eudo, clenching his ham-sized fists in impotent anger. ‘But all we did was take pity on frightened women and children.’
‘And eleven men,’ his little wife Goda reminded them. She was wearing a new fret in her hair, which had been sewn with silver thread and looked expensive. ‘Six of whom were Jacques. We should not have done it, as it made us enemies in the University and the town.’
‘Look at this dagger,’ said Michael, presenting it. ‘It and the ones that killed Paris, Bonet and the Girard family were made in or near Rouen.’
‘Amphelisa hails from there,’ said Goda at once. ‘So do the peregrini.’
‘Yes,’ said Michael, watching Tangmer shoot her an agonised glance, while Eudo delivered a warning jab to the ribs that almost knocked her over. ‘I know.’
‘It is not Amphelisa’s,’ said Tangmer quickly. ‘She does not own weapons. She is a gentle soul, dedicated to helping those in need, regardless of their colour or creed.’
‘Then what about you?’ asked Michael. ‘Is this a gift from those grateful “lunatics”? We have reason to believe that daggers like these were seen in Winchelsea, which is where your peregrini settled after fleeing France.’
‘They gave us a little money,’ said Tangmer. ‘They had to – we could not have fed them otherwise. But they never offered us gifts.’
‘Delacroix and his friends carried plenty of knives,’ said Eudo, ‘but I paid them no heed. If you want to know if this blade is theirs, you will have to ask them. Unfortunately, they left us last night, as I am sure you have heard.’
‘Without leaving the money for the food they ate last week,’ put in Goda sourly. ‘So if you go after them, perhaps you will collect it for us.’
Bartholomew and Michael stayed a while longer, quizzing every member of staff about the dagger, but no one admitted to recognising it. Eventually, they took their leave.
‘Well?’ asked Bartholomew, once they had run the gauntlet of the taunting, jeering throng outside and were heading back towards the town. ‘What do you think? I have no idea whether any of them were telling the truth.’
‘Nor do I,’ admitted Michael. ‘I doubt we will have it from Amphelisa either, but you had better go to the friary and try. Take the dagger with you. I will find Dick, and tell him we have arrested Alice. I imagine he will want to be there when I question her again.’
Bartholomew was glad to reach the Franciscans’ domain, which was an oasis of peace after the uneasy streets. Yet not even it was immune to the festering atmosphere outside, and Prior Pechem had made arrangements similar to those at the Spital – guards on the gate and archers on the walls.
Bartholomew arrived at the guesthouse to find all his students there, ranging from the boys who had only recently started their studies, to Islaye and Mallett who would graduate at the end of term. There were so many that the wounded had been allocated two apiece. The reason soon became clear: tending the sick was a lot easier than the punishing schedule he expected them to follow at Michaelhouse, and they were eager for a respite. He was tempted to send them all home, but then decided that there was nothing wrong with some practical experience. Moreover, it would keep them too busy to join in any brawls.