‘Warnings?’ asked Michael, bemused. ‘What kind of warnings?’
‘Ones that tell me I would be wise to break off my association with scholars.’
‘Who has been saying such things?’ demanded Michael angrily.
‘The notes were anonymous, but Blankpayn is the obvious culprit. He and Candelby want to drive a wedge between the University and any townsfolk who provide it with essential services.’
Bartholomew tried not to smile at the notion that the Brazen George provided ‘essential services’. Michael saw nothing amusing in the situation, though. ‘Lord!’ he breathed. ‘What next?’
‘If Candelby wins this war, he will pit himself against those of us who defied him,’ said Lister miserably. ‘I shall be ruined. So, you must defeat Candelby, Brother. My livelihood depends on it.’
‘I shall do my best,’ vowed Michael. ‘But you have quite destroyed my appetite. Instead of roasted chickens, I shall content myself with half a dozen Lombard slices. Matt will have the same.’
‘Matt does not want anything at all,’ countered Bartholomew, feeling slightly queasy at the thought of eating sticky date pastries so soon after breakfast.
Michael eyed him balefully as Lister left. ‘Please do not refer to yourself in the third person. It reminds me of Honynge. Do you think he is the scholar who hired Ocleye to spy on Candelby?’
‘What would he gain from doing that?’
‘He was living in one of Candelby’s hostels – a place that was seized the moment he moved into Michaelhouse. Obviously, he wanted information about the man who was planning to evict him.’
‘The same is true of Tyrington. However, I suspect Arderne employed Ocleye. We know he did nothing but listen and watch during his first few weeks in Cambridge, learning the lie of the land before he made his presence known. Hiring a spy is an easy way to amass knowledge.’
Michael gave a grim smile. ‘We are both allowing personal dislike to colour our judgement. So, let us review what we know without taking Arderne and Honynge into account, and see what other suspects emerge.’
Bartholomew knew he was right. ‘You start, then.’
‘First we have Lynton, murdered with a crossbow in the middle of Milne Street, in broad daylight. Ocleye was killed the same way, at more or less the same time. It seems obvious that he saw the archer, and was killed to ensure his silence. Do you agree?’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘It cannot have been the other way around – Lynton killed because he saw Ocleye’s killer – because Ocleye was fussing about Candelby after Lynton had been shot.’
‘Ocleye was a spy, not a pot-boy,’ continued Michael. ‘That explains three things: why he was older than most tavern scullions; why he made scant effort to socialise with the other lads from the Angel; and why he seems to have appeared out of nowhere.’
‘Four things,’ corrected Bartholomew. ‘Spies are better paid than pot-boys, and he probably could afford to rent his own house, rather than live in the inn where he ostensibly worked.’
‘And the man he chose as his landlord was Lynton. Perhaps he was Lynton’s spy, then.’
‘It is possible. Lynton had the rent agreement in his hand, and was probably reading it when he died. I wonder who took it from him.’
‘Ocleye?’ suggested Michael. ‘He would not have wanted any links between him and a man who was unlawfully slain – spies do not like that sort of attention. Then he was murdered in his turn.’
‘Carton!’ exclaimed Bartholomew suddenly, recalling something that had happened. ‘He knelt next to Lynton’s body and was straightening the cloak that covered him. Perhaps he removed it.’
‘He would have given it to us, had that been the case – he has no reason to steal such a thing and keep it quiet. Perhaps I am wrong to dismiss Candelby in favour of Honynge. Candelby was present when the crime occurred, and he owns a crossbow. Unfortunately, Maud does not recall him pulling it out and committing murder, and no other witnesses have come forward. How can I catch him? I need real evidence, or he will claim I am just accusing him because of the rent war.’
‘Meanwhile, we have learned facts about Lynton that have surprised us. He kept a long-term lover; he owned a Dispensary near the Trumpington Gate; he was a knight in all but name; and he was a landlord, raking in lucrative profits by renting his houses to wealthy townsmen.’
‘Do you think a disgruntled student shot him? Scholars are losing their homes all over the town, yet Lynton still preferred to lease his properties to rich civilians.’ Michael did not wait for an answer. ‘And what did he do on Fridays, when he never visited Maud?’
‘There is a motive for Candelby wanting Lynton dead: Lynton was Maud’s lover – the woman Candelby still intends to marry.’
Michael was uncertain. ‘Isabel said the affair was a secret, and I have never heard any gossip, so perhaps they did manage to keep it to themselves. Further, Agatha knew they played games of chance together on Sundays, but did not guess the real nature of their relationship – and she knows just about everything in the town, given the number of folk she counts among her kin.’
‘Perhaps Candelby was suspicious about Lynton and Maud, and sent Ocleye to find out what they were doing together.’
Michael nodded slowly. ‘You are right – and that is a good motive for murder. So, we have Candelby as our chief suspect, with a resentful student second. What about Kenyngham?’
‘Kenyngham was not murdered,’ said Bartholomew adamantly.
‘Yes, he was,’ said Michael, equally firmly. ‘I am not blaming you for missing clues, Matt. A mistake is understandable under the circumstances, and we were all upset by his death.’
‘I did not make a mistake,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘I was concerned I might have done, which is why I examined him a second time. However, there is nothing to suggest his death was unnatural.’
‘Poisons are difficult to detect – you said so yourself. You may have overlooked something, because you were not expecting to find it. We shall know after the exhumation. Rougham will–’
Bartholomew was becoming exasperated. ‘I was very careful – both times. And if I could not detect anything amiss, then neither will Rougham. I concede you might learn something if you open him up, but I doubt Rougham will agree to that.’
‘Open him up?’ echoed Michael, round-eyed. ‘You mean dissect him? Oh, Matt!’
‘It is a discussion you started. Tearing him from his final resting place is just as distasteful as anatomising him.’
Michael’s expression was flinty. ‘You have become very ghoulish since you returned from those foreign schools. They have reignited your desire to be controversial and heretical, which is a habit I thought you had grown out of.’
Bartholomew changed the subject before they could annoy each other any further. ‘At least we have Falmeresham home.’
‘What do you think of Arderne’s claim to have cured him?’
‘He cannot possibly have pulled Falmeresham’s liver through that hole in his side. It would be like pulling a heart through a shoulder. Arderne was lying to him.’
‘Arderne did cure Motelete, though. I accept your contention that the lad may not have been fully dead in the first place, but he certainly lay in a corpse-like state for two days. There are dozens of witnesses to that fact.’
Bartholomew nodded towards the Brazen George’s small, but secluded garden. It was a pleasant space with a tiny pond and the kind of vegetation that benefited from a sheltered, sunny position. The tavern had the luxury of glazed windows, and although it was not easy to see through them, he recognised Clare’s personal Lazarus, even so.