‘We had all just made our farewells, and were moving forward again, when a dog ran across the road, which made John’s horse rear.’ Egidia scowled at Tulyet again. ‘He should never have been given such a lively beast.’
‘I did not give it to him,’ snapped Tulyet, nettled at last. ‘My best destriers are not for jaunts to the Market Square. But he told me that was the horse he wanted, and he stamped his foot and sulked like a spoilt child until he got his way.’
Egidia sniffed. ‘You should have resisted. Anyway, he fell off after the dog barked, and pandemonium ensued. Dozens of people came to cluster around us – too many to list. We dismounted, and gave our horses to Helbye, lest someone was trampled, but there was such a crush that it was difficult to reach poor John’s side. It took us an age.’
‘As we said in the church, Moleyns was killed with a long, thin spike,’ said Michael. ‘I assume you have no objection to us looking through your possessions – purely for elimination purposes, of course?’
Inge smiled serenely. ‘I am afraid they are currently being moved to the Griffin – you can hardly expect us to stay in the castle now that Moleyns is dead – but you may see them this evening, after we have unpacked.’
When any such item would have been removed, thought Bartholomew, disgusted.
‘Moleyns was accused of murder thirty years ago,’ said Tulyet, changing the subject abruptly. ‘How was his victim dispatched, exactly?’
‘Thirty years ago?’ echoed Michael. ‘I thought it was more recent – three or four.’
‘He faced charges of unlawful killing more than once, Brother,’ explained Tulyet, and turned back to Egidia and Inge. ‘Is that not so?’
‘He was acquitted of the earlier charge,’ replied Egidia sharply. ‘So your question is irrelevant.’
‘He was acquitted because he chose the jury himself.’ Tulyet tapped a pile of documents, which caused Inge and Egidia to exchange another uneasy glance. ‘I made enquiries about his past when I learned he was to be my guest, to ascertain what kind of man I would be hosting. The verdict of that first trial remains contentious.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Egidia. ‘That particular accusation was a lot of rubbish, and twelve good men agreed with me, which is why they found him innocent. Besides, Peter Poges was a fool, and no one missed him.’
‘Peter Poges was her uncle,’ said Tulyet to Michael and Bartholomew. ‘Lord of the manor of Stoke Poges in Buckinghamshire. After his death, his estates passed to Egidia, where they not only gave Moleyns a centre of power, but brought him to the attention of the King. Without them, Moleyns would have remained a landless nobody.’
‘This is untrue!’ snapped Inge. ‘You–’
‘So how did Poges die?’ interrupted Tulyet, rounding on him. ‘Was he stabbed with a long metal spike?’
‘No,’ replied Inge stiffly. ‘He was poisoned.’
‘Just like Dallingridge then,’ mused Tulyet. ‘How very interesting.’
‘Dallingridge was not poisoned,’ barked Inge crossly. ‘He died of natural causes. Ask anyone.’
‘I asked the Sheriff of Nottingham,’ said Tulyet, patting the documents again. ‘He tells me that Dallingridge was fed a toxic substance on Lammas Day. Ergo, Dallingridge and Peter Poges died in an identical manner. And you two and Moleyns were present on both occasions.’
‘Have you never heard of coincidences?’ demanded Inge scathingly.
‘Yes,’ acknowledged Tulyet. ‘But I do not believe in them.’
The sun had been shining when Bartholomew and Michael had entered the castle, but it was hidden behind a bank of clouds when they stepped into the bailey. The dull light matched Bartholomew’s sombre mood, and he wondered how they would ever learn what had happened to Tynkell and Moleyns, when the killer had left them so little in the way of clues.
‘We will catch him,’ said Michael with grim determination, as Tulyet escorted them to the gate. ‘We must, because I cannot accept a bishopric as long as Tynkell’s murderer is on the loose, while Dick needs a culprit to present to the King.’
‘Then perhaps we had better speak to Petit’s apprentice – Lucas,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He claims to have information to sell.’
‘I will do it,’ offered Tulyet. ‘Straight away, lest he suffers the same fate as Moleyns.’
‘We should speak to Helbye, too,’ said Michael, nodding to where the sergeant was still overseeing the soldiers’ training. ‘He was riding next to Moleyns when he fell, after all.’
‘Poor Will,’ said Tulyet sadly. ‘He is mortified – feels he has let me down.’
‘Well, he has,’ said Michael bluntly. ‘Because Egidia is right: Moleyns should not have died when he was being guarded.’
‘We cannot stop dogs from barking or bad horsemen from taking tumbles.’ Tulyet was defensive of the man who had served him for so many years. ‘Do not be too hard on him.’
He led the way to where Helbye was using a young soldier – Robin, a nephew of Agatha the laundress – to demonstrate the move he wanted practised. The elderly warrior favoured his right knee, while a hand to a hip suggested a problem there, too, and Bartholomew suspected he could not have managed a ‘crosswise thrust’ if his life depended on it.
‘It all happened so fast,’ Helbye began wretchedly, when Michael asked him to recount what had happened. ‘I was close behind Moleyns – very close, as he had no business being on Satan, given that he was such a terrible rider–’
‘Stephen,’ corrected Tulyet crisply. ‘The horse’s name is Stephen.’
‘Well, he answers to Satan, which better suits his evil nature.’ Helbye turned back to Michael. ‘Suddenly, a dog raced out of St Michael’s Lane, and tore right in front of him. Satan reared, which would not have bothered a decent horseman, but Moleyns …’
‘Was Stephen the only beast that bucked?’ asked Michael.
‘The others shied, but the rest of us had them under control, even Egidia. Then, once Moleyns was on the ground, lots of people surged forward, some to help, others to jeer.’
‘Jeer?’ queried Michael. ‘I thought people were keen to win his favour.’
‘The wealthy were – those who wanted him to write nice things about them to the King. However, to normal folk he was just a felon who should not have been allowed out of his cell. They disapproved of the freedom he enjoyed, while those whose crimes are not nearly so serious are locked up in the dungeons.’
‘And who can blame them?’ muttered Tulyet. ‘I was irked about it myself, and would have refused to do it if I had not received direct orders from the King.’
‘So what did you do, Helbye?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Dismount and race to his rescue?’
‘No – all four horses were skittish, so I went to tether them on the other side of the road.’ Helbye’s face was a picture of misery. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing – taking them to a safe distance, so they would not hurt anyone. Or themselves. Satan in particular cost a fortune.’
‘What then?’ asked Michael.
‘The crowd had pressed around Moleyns very tightly, and although I did my best to push through quickly, people kept shoving me back. But it never occurred to me that he was in danger and–’
‘Who was in this throng?’
Helbye recited much the same list as everyone else, although he included two new names: Father Aidan, the Principal of Maud’s Hostel, and Weasenham, the University’s stationer and the biggest gossip in the county.
Michael groaned at the mention of the latter. ‘I am sure he will have plenty to say, and all of it will be pure speculation.’