‘Peas,’ said Bartholomew helplessly. ‘She wanted to know if they are better eaten with meat or fish. She was considering her own contribution to the question as she hurried along the Causeway, which is why she failed to notice her attacker until it was too late.’
‘That means he struck not long before we passed this way ourselves,’ said Michael uneasily. ‘I do not suppose she noticed anything to help us catch him?’
‘She claimed it was Satan, wearing handsome boots over his cloven hoofs and a fine brooch on his hat. She says she snatched it from him, although I think her mind was wandering at that point.’
‘Are you sure? Because there is something shiny by her hand.’
Bartholomew peered into the grass and saw Michael was right. It was a pilgrim badge, like the one de Wetherset wore. The monk gazed at it in alarm.
‘I hope she is not suggesting that the Chancellor attacked her!’ He flailed around for a better explanation. ‘She mentioned handsome boots. De Wetherset’s are not noticeably fine, but Aynton’s are.’
Bartholomew regarded him soberly. ‘Aynton’s are as ugly as sin – he is not the attacker. It is de Wetherset – he always wears this badge in his hat.’
‘Then someone stole it to incriminate him,’ argued Michael. ‘The killer is trying to lead us astray – and he is succeeding if you think the Chancellor would kill a nun.’
‘Think, Brother! We told de Wetherset that Isabel had witnessed Orwel’s murder and could identify the culprit. But we delayed coming here, because he told you to go to the Jewry first, after which you wanted to release Meadowman. He must have dashed straight to St Radegund’s to prevent Isabel from–’
‘No! The other nuns would have mentioned a visit from the University’s Chancellor.’
‘They did not mention it because he never got that far – he saw Isabel trotting along this road first. He dispatched her in exactly the same way that he killed Orwel and Wyse, with a stone.’
‘You are wrong! De Wetherset would not–’
‘We know a scholar sat in the Griffin and waited for Wyse to leave, because witnesses described a portly man with a good cloak, inky fingers and decent boots. It is de Wetherset!’
‘But why? Why would de Wetherset dispatch a harmless ancient like Wyse?’
‘To stir up trouble between us and the town.’
Michael was becoming exasperated. ‘That is the most ridiculous claim I have ever heard! No Chancellor wants his University in flames. What would be the benefit in that?’
‘Because he cannot rule properly as long as you are Senior Proctor – you are too strong and hold too much influence. But you are responsible for law and order, so what better way to discredit you than to create a situation that you cannot handle? He wants everyone to clamour for your dismissal so he can reign alone.’
Michael regarded him askance. ‘There are easier ways to remove a man from office than destroying the University and its peaceful relations with the town.’
‘Yes – like ransacking your office in the dead of night, undermining your trade agreements, and appointing a lot of useless beadles in your name.’
‘Hah! De Wetherset was not the driving force behind all that – Heltisle was. You are wrong about de Wetherset, Matt. He probably would like me gone, but he would never harm the University to achieve it. Heltisle, on the other hand, is ruthless, and exactly the kind of man to frame a friend to benefit himself.’
Bartholomew considered. Heltisle as the culprit made more sense than de Wetherset, who had always been the more reasonable of the pair. ‘So you think Heltisle disguised himself as de Wetherset and came to kill Isabel?’
‘I think it is easy to remove a badge from a hat, and Heltisle was also present when we claimed that Isabel could identify Orwel’s killer. And while the Chancellor would never provoke a war between the University and the town to oust me, Heltisle might. Although this is a dreadful accusation to make …’
‘And Heltisle is a dreadful man.’
Chapter 14
Michael paid a passing carter to take Abbess Isabel to St Radegund’s, where she was received with grief, shock and dismay. Important heads of houses came to demand an explanation, so it was some time before he and Bartholomew managed to extricate themselves – although it would have been longer still if Prioress Joan had not intervened. Sensing their rising agitation at the delay, she ordered her colleagues to silence.
‘They will tell us when there is more news,’ she informed them briskly. ‘Until then, I would rather they hunted Isabel’s killer than stood around here chatting to us.’ She turned to the scholars. ‘So go – do your duty while we pray for this saintly lady’s soul.’
Michael gave her a grateful nod, and he and Bartholomew hurried back to the town. Both were appalled by how many troublemakers from the villages were flooding in, eager to fight a foundation they had always resented, and the monk began to drag his heels.
‘You do realise that someone may be manipulating us,’ he said. ‘That the killer wants me to accuse the Vice-Chancellor of a serious crime, so that we will be weak and divided when the crisis comes?’
‘Then do not accuse him,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘Just ask what he did after we said we were going to talk to Isabel. If he is innocent, he has nothing to fear.’
‘It is not his fear that worries me,’ muttered Michael. ‘It is his indignation.’
They avoided the market square, which was almost certain to be thronged with angry tradesmen, and threaded through the maze of alleys opposite the butts instead. They were just walking up Shoemaker Row when they were hailed by Clippesby.
‘There you are!’ he cried in relief. ‘Ethel told me that I would find you if I looked long enough, but I was beginning to think she was wrong.’
‘What is the matter?’ asked Bartholomew anxiously. He had seen that wild-eyed, frantic expression before, and it meant Clippesby was in possession of some troubling fact.
‘Last week, Ethel – the College’s top hen – heard Heltisle claim that Suttone had run off to get married. In other words, it was not fear of the plague that made him resign, but lust. Ethel did not believe it, so she wrote to Suttone, begging the truth. His reply arrived an hour ago. It is–’
‘Not now!’ snapped Michael, trying to push past him.
‘Wait, Brother! Listen! Suttone explains everything. It was not the plague or a woman that made him go. He went because Heltisle forced him to. Here. See for yourself.’
Michael snatched the letter and read it, his face turning angrier with every word. Clippesby summarised it for Bartholomew.
‘Heltisle threatened to destroy our College with lies unless Suttone did as he was told, and as Michael was away, Suttone had nowhere to turn for help. He bowed to the pressure, because he felt it was the best way to protect the rest of us.’
‘Mallett overheard Suttone and Heltisle arguing the night before Suttone resigned,’ said Bartholomew, recalling what the student had told him while they had tended the riot-wounded together. ‘He thought Suttone was close to tears …’
‘What in God’s name did Heltisle threaten to do?’ breathed Michael, staring at the letter. ‘Suttone does not say.’
‘Something very nasty,’ said Clippesby, ‘or he would have held his ground. But he crumbled, and Heltisle arranged for de Wetherset to be elected in his place.’
‘So there we are,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Yet more evidence that Heltisle is less than scrupulous. We must stop him before he does anything else to further his ambitions.’