Cook scowled. ‘You scholars are obsessed with logic, yet we barbers see “impossible” happenings on a daily basis. No one should accept the word of a physician on this matter.’
‘Well, we do,’ said Tulyet shortly. ‘Matt is the University’s Corpse Examiner, and has been giving us his opinion on suspicious deaths for years. We trust him implicitly. You, on the other hand …’
He eyed Cook with such obvious contempt that the barber bristled, and to avoid another unseemly row, Michael showed Inge and Egidia the note he had found in Tynkell’s office.
‘He and my husband liked to discuss weaponry,’ explained Egidia with a careless shrug. ‘They often met here on the pretext of attending Mass. Well, why not? It was convenient for them both, and these rites can often be very dull. They needed something to keep them entertained.’
‘Weaponry?’ echoed Tulyet sharply, before Michael could remark that the University’s Chancellor was not a man to be bored with his religious duties. ‘Are you telling me that Tynkell was going to provide my prisoner with arms?’
‘Of course not,’ said Inge impatiently. ‘Tynkell was interested in siege engines, and planned to write a treatise on them when he retired. Moleyns had seen them in action, and was willing to give him eye-witness accounts.’
‘Tynkell was fascinated by war machines,’ acknowledged Bartholomew. ‘He often talked about them to me.’
‘Then why meet Moleyns furtively?’ asked Michael doubtfully. ‘He could have gone to the castle for these sessions.’
‘Perhaps he found the place objectionable,’ suggested Egidia, looking at Tulyet out of the corner of her eye. ‘And who can blame him?’
‘I never saw Moleyns with Tynkell, here or anywhere else,’ said Tulyet, ‘but I will ask Helbye. He usually escorted Moleyns on his excursions, and will know what he did. If there was anything untoward in this association, he will find it.’
Chapter 3
The men who wanted to be Chancellor were still quarrelling when Bartholomew, Michael and Tulyet left the Lady Chapel, although Lyng flung up his hands in resignation before walking out, claiming he wanted no part of such an unbecoming spectacle. Scholars from the hostels nodded approval, while others came to shake his hand when he reached the street.
‘He is popular,’ mused Michael. ‘Suttone will have to ooze charm to defeat him, so let us hope he is equal to the task. After all, there is only so much I can do to facilitate his election without eyebrows being raised.’
Tulyet laughed. ‘Watch your words, Brother. It sounds as though you intend to cheat.’
Michael did not smile back. ‘I cannot work with Lyng.’
‘Why not? He seems a decent soul, albeit far too old.’
‘Because he will refuse my advice, on the grounds that he thinks he knows everything already. But times have changed since he was last in power and–’
‘There is that cowled man again,’ interrupted Bartholomew irritably. ‘I wish he would just come to talk to us. I dislike the sense of being watched all the time.’
‘Could he be the killer?’ asked Tulyet sharply, preparing to give chase if so. ‘Monitoring you to assess whether you are closing in on him?’
‘The killer will be eager to stay as far away from us as possible,’ replied Michael with conviction. ‘We must bide our time with this shadow. He will approach us when the time is right.’
Bartholomew wanted to argue, but a sudden hammering drew their attention to the Great West Door, where Kolvyle was nailing up a notice. He was with scholars from King’s Hall, who were patting him on the back.
‘His demand for an election,’ predicted Michael sourly. ‘Well, he shall have one, although his favourite Godrich will not win. I shall write a statute to keep upstarts like Kolvyle in their place when all this is over. I dislike youthful arrogance.’
‘So Suttone will be Tynkell’s successor?’ asked Tulyet. He reflected for a moment. ‘He is better than the others, I suppose. Godrich is only interested in furthering his own career, Hopeman is a reckless zealot, Thelnetham dresses wrongly, and you have just said that Lyng would not be suitable.’
Bartholomew was not sure the Carmelite would be much better. He liked Suttone, who was a good man on the whole, but he would be another Tynkell, a meek nonentity ruled by Michael. Except that Michael would be in his See, and thus not in a position to guide him, so what would happen to the University then? Would chaos reign, because a strong Chancellor was needed to govern a lot of opinionated, unpredictable and vociferous academics?
‘I cannot believe the audacity of this killer,’ Michael was saying to Tulyet, dragging Bartholomew’s thoughts away from University politics. ‘Moleyns’ murder was especially bold.’
‘Yes and no,’ said Tulyet. ‘It was dark and the torches did more to confuse than illuminate, so it was difficult to see anything well. I would argue it was a very good time to choose.’
‘I saw a woman in a cloak with an embroidered hem,’ said Bartholomew suddenly, as Tulyet’s words jolted his own memory of the flickering confusion that had ensued after Moleyns’ fall. ‘She was shouldering her way out of the press, which was odd when everyone else was craning forward.’
‘What else did you notice about her?’ asked Tulyet keenly.
‘Her hood was up, so I did not see her face. But it was cold, so everyone else’s was up as well, including my own. There was nothing suspicious about that.’
‘Could it have been Egidia?’ pressed Tulyet. ‘She does not seem overly distressed by her bereavement, and I did say that I would look to her, should any harm befall her husband. She will certainly benefit from his death, because not only will she inherit all his worldly goods, but she is now free to live wherever she wants.’
‘She was free before,’ said Michael, frowning. ‘She was not forced to keep him company in prison – she chose to do it.’
‘Because he held all their money – or what remained of their wealth after the courts had seized most of his assets,’ explained Tulyet. ‘Had she gone to live alone, she would have been as poor as a church mouse. She begged him any number of times for an allowance, but he always refused. She resented it bitterly, and so did Inge, who was also obliged to rely on Moleyns’ largesse. Such as it was.’
‘Inge has no funds of his own?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘He did, but they have long gone – he expected Moleyns to be released within a few weeks, and never imagined the ordeal would drag on for years. He could have left and struck out alone, but then what? He had sold himself to Moleyns, body and soul, so his only option was to hold fast and hope that Moleyns would one day be in a position to reward his loyalty.’
‘Now Egidia can reward it,’ remarked Michael. ‘I assume she is Moleyns’ sole heir?’
‘She is,’ nodded Tulyet. ‘She has already laid claim to the store of money he kept in his room, which was no mean sum, and I am sure Inge will help her spend it. I have the sense that they are rather more than just lawyer and client, which makes them both prime suspects for his murder in my book.’
‘But they were in the Market Square when Tynkell died,’ said Bartholomew. ‘With you. And we have decided that Moleyns and Tynkell were claimed by the same hand.’
‘Moleyns was with me,’ corrected Tulyet. ‘Egidia and Inge had gone to St Mary the Great to look at the tombs.’
‘Why would they do that?’ asked Michael suspiciously. ‘So they would know what to commission when Moleyns needed one?’