‘Not me,’ said Whittlesey carelessly. ‘I was busy with other matters at the time.’
‘What other matters?’ demanded Bartholomew, thinking the question begged to be asked.
‘It was personal,’ said Whittlesey shortly, before going to sit by Walter’s fire. He settled himself comfortably and helped himself to the peacock’s ale. ‘Go and do your duty, Michael. I shall wait here until you return. Then we shall talk.’
‘Is he a friend?’ asked Bartholomew, as he and Michael hurried towards St John Zachary. ‘Because I cannot say I took to him.’
‘He is an acquired taste,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But no, he is not a friend, although I have always admired his intellect and ambition. He will go far in the Church and in our Order.’
Bartholomew was sure he would, although he was less certain that it would be a good thing for either organisation.
They arrived at St John Zachary, where Bartholomew was dismayed to learn that Lucas’s body lay at the bottom of his brother-in-law’s vault. With Tulyet’s help, he hastened to haul it out, lest Edith heard about the desecration and came to see for herself. Once Lucas had been retrieved, it did not take Bartholomew long to ascertain how he had died.
‘Stabbed in the back.’ He pointed to a trail of bloody spatters that ended with a discarded chisel. ‘With that, I imagine.’
At that point, there was a commotion at the back of the church, which heralded the arrival of Petit and his remaining apprentices. They stormed to the chancel en masse, demanding to know what had happened. Tulyet told them tersely.
‘He volunteered to stay late,’ wailed Petit, and jabbed an accusing forefinger at Bartholomew. ‘He and his sister are always urging us to work faster, so I agreed, thinking to appease them. Poor Lucas! He was such a diligent boy.’
‘It was not diligence that kept him out tonight,’ said Michael bluntly. ‘It was money – he was going to meet us at the witching hour, and sell us the name of the person who killed Tynkell and Moleyns.’
‘But he did not know it!’ cried Petit. ‘If he had, he would have told me. I was like a father to him.’
‘That chisel,’ said Bartholomew, nodding towards it. ‘Is it yours?’
Petit gaped at it. ‘It is Lucas’s, which means the culprit used the poor boy’s own tool to dispatch him.’ He turned accusingly to Tulyet. ‘This is your fault. You should have been out hunting this vile murderer, not listening to Lakenham whine about stolen brasses. If you had done your duty, a third innocent life would not have been lost.’
‘Is Lucas the killer’s third victim, Matt?’ asked Michael in a low voice, as the mason continued to rail at Tulyet, his apprentices clamouring their agreement at his side.
‘I do not believe so,’ Bartholomew whispered back. ‘First, Moleyns and Tynkell were stabbed cleanly, whereas Lucas has five separate and very messy punctures – this killer did not know what he was doing. Second, they were stabbed in the front, but Lucas was attacked from behind. Third, they were murdered publicly, while this was an assault on a lone man in the dark. And finally, Moleyns and Tynkell were dispatched with a thin spike–’
‘A burin,’ interrupted Michael, looking pointedly at the masons.
‘Possibly a burin,’ corrected Bartholomew. ‘Whereas a chisel was used on Lucas.’
Petit chose that moment to stop haranguing the Sheriff and hurl himself across Lucas’s body in a dramatic expression of grief. The freckled Peres hurried to comfort him, although Petit’s distraught sobs abated when Bartholomew, Michael and Tulyet retreated to the far side of the chancel to talk, and there was no audience.
‘I agree,’ said Tulyet, when Bartholomew had outlined his conclusions. ‘This is not the work of the rogue who dispatched Moleyns and Tynkell with such surgical precision. We have two killers here, not one.’
‘Perhaps this death is an escalation of the feud between latteners and masons,’ suggested Michael. ‘The stakes are high, with a chancellor and a favourite of the King needing tombs. We had better see if Lakenham has an alibi for Lucas’s murder – he has access to this church at the moment, because he is making a memorial brass for Cew.’
‘It would be a tidy solution,’ said Tulyet. ‘The only problem being that Lakenham does have an alibi – he was with me when Lucas died. We were discussing his stolen supplies.’
‘Then perhaps he hired someone else to do it,’ suggested Michael.
‘Does he have that sort of money?’ asked Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘He has won no major commissions since Knyt – Cew’s little plate cannot have earned him much.’
‘Then maybe Cristine did it,’ suggested Tulyet. ‘She is a powerful and determined lady, quick to take offence. Of course, we should not discount Petit as a culprit either. I am unconvinced by his showy display of grief, and he is certainly callous enough to sacrifice one of his own lads to compromise a rival.’
‘I agree,’ said Michael, looking to where the mason had abandoned Lucas’s body now that no one was watching, and was ordering Peres to rinse off the chisel.
‘And nor can we forget Isnard and Gundrede,’ added Tulyet. ‘They also have a hearty dislike of these tomb-builders.’
‘Who found Lucas?’ asked Michael, cutting across Bartholomew’s immediate defence of the bargeman. ‘Frisby?’
‘I did,’ replied Tulyet. ‘Frisby is in his house, drunk.’
‘What were you doing here in the dark?’ asked Michael curiously.
‘Looking for Lucas. He refused to speak to me earlier, so I came to press him again. He was still warm to the touch, and I wish to God I had arrived a few moments sooner. Then we might have had answers, and he would still be alive.’
‘His murder comes under your jurisdiction,’ said Michael, ‘so you investigate him, while I concentrate on Tynkell and Moleyns. It will be the most efficient use of our time.’
But Tulyet shook his head. ‘I will take Lucas, you can have Tynkell, and we will share Moleyns. I cannot delegate the murder of a prisoner, Brother. The King would not approve.’
‘Very well,’ said Michael. ‘But we must meet regularly, to compare notes.’
Tulyet smiled. ‘The University and the town working together to thwart criminals. Are you sure you would not rather be a chancellor than a bishop, Brother? Cambridge needs you.’
‘It does,’ agreed Michael immodestly. ‘But so does Rochester.’
Chapter 5
As it was not every day that a member of Michaelhouse was offered a bishopric, the Fellows celebrated with considerable vigour that night, merrymaking with an abandon rarely seen in the College. As a consequence, there were sore heads aplenty the following day, and the students, who had been kept awake by the racket, spoke in deliberately loud voices, in a concerted attempt to make their teachers wince. It was disappointingly easy with all the Fellows, except two.
Bartholomew rarely drank to excess, lest he was summoned by a patient. He knew other medici did not allow such considerations to limit their pleasures, but he hated the notion of failing someone for the sake of a few cups of wine. He had still enjoyed himself enormously, but was quite happy to sip watered ale and smile at the antics of the others. Meanwhile, Kolvyle had sat in sulky silence all night, plainly jealous of the monk’s good fortune. His colleagues treated his pouting envy with the contempt it deserved by ignoring it.
‘There was something wrong with that wine last night,’ whispered Michael, as he joined his colleagues in the yard to process to Mass. He looked very much the worse for wear, with a pasty face and bloodshot eyes. ‘It has given me a headache.’