Aidan gave a tight smile. ‘He knew Tynkell very well. They were good friends, and Tynkell often sought his advice about University affairs.’
‘Did he indeed?’ murmured Michael.
Aidan looked away. ‘But as for Moleyns … well, I cannot say I am sorry he is dead. He was a felon, and it vexed me to see him strutting freely about our town. Lyng did not like it either.’
‘Then why did he whisper to him during services in St Mary the Great?’
‘You are mistaken, Brother. Lyng would never have interrupted his devotions to chat to a criminal. He despised Moleyns, and said so several times.’
‘Did he explain why?’
‘Is it not obvious? Moleyns was a thief and a murderer. Did you not hear about the man he killed in order to inherit Stoke Poges – his wife’s uncle? He was acquitted only because he was allowed to choose his own jury, a travesty of justice that shames our legal system.’
‘Did Lyng also feel strongly about this?’
Aidan pursed his lips. ‘What you are really asking is: did Lyng kill Moleyns on a point of principle? Well, the answer is no. Lyng is a gentle man.’
‘Will you show us his room? There may be something in it that will tell us where he has gone.’
‘There will not,’ predicted Aidan. ‘Besides, I cannot let just anyone rummage through my masters’ chambers. It would be a violation of their rights.’
‘I am not “just anyone”,’ objected Michael. ‘I am the Senior Proctor, investigating the murder of our Chancellor and a friend of the King – which Moleyns was, no matter what you think of him. Now, unless you want me to tell His Majesty that Maud’s was uncooperative …’
‘Follow me,’ said Aidan quickly, and led the way up the stairs.
The upper floors were as opulently appointed as the ones below, and Lyng had been allocated a wood-panelled chamber overlooking the yard. It smelled of lavender and sage, and was scrupulously clean, although north-facing and so gloomy. Above the bed was a row of books that would have any theologian drooling with envy, while the table was well supplied with ink, pens and parchment. An unopened letter had pride of place. Michael picked it up and raised questioning eyebrows.
‘It arrived yesterday morning, but he said he would open it later,’ explained Aidan.
‘Who is it from?’
‘I have no idea – the seal is not one I recognise.’ Aidan blushed when he realised that this remark revealed that he had inspected it rather more closely than was polite.
‘The parchment is expensive,’ noted Michael. ‘Another wealthy scholar, perhaps?’
‘It is possible. Put it back, Brother. Not even the Senior Proctor can open private correspondence without good cause.’
Reluctantly, Michael did as he was told.
Once outside, Michael decided that he was hungry, so they headed for his favourite tavern. Such places were off limits to scholars, but he saw no reason why this should apply to the Senior Proctor, and was such a regular visitor to the Brazen George that Landlord Lister had set aside a chamber at the rear of the premises for his exclusive use. It was a pleasant room that overlooked the garden, although the shutters were closed. Dusk was approaching, and the temperature was dropping fast.
‘We shall have snow soon,’ said Lister conversationally, as he fussed around his guests. ‘I feel it in my bones.’
‘Perhaps it will arrive on Wednesday,’ said Michael hopefully. ‘And will force scholars to stay indoors and leave appointing chancellors to those who know best. Namely me.’
He ordered one of his gargantuan repasts of meat and bread, then sent a potboy to invite Tulyet to join him. He had scant new information to share, but felt it was important to liaise with the Sheriff as often as possible.
‘Who should we believe about Lyng’s relationship with Moleyns, Matt?’ he asked while they waited for Tulyet to arrive. ‘Kolvyle or Aidan? Because they both cannot be right.’
‘Actually, they could. Perhaps Moleyns forced Lyng to carry messages to Tynkell, which would mean that Kolvyle was telling the truth. And as Lyng would resent being pushed around by a felon, he might well have told Aidan that he disliked Moleyns.’
Michael regarded him askance. ‘And why would a respectable priest allow himself to be browbeaten by Moleyns?’
Bartholomew shrugged. ‘It is something we will have to find out.’
Michael was thoughtful. ‘Yet your thesis does make sense. It means that Lyng dispatched Tynkell because he wanted to be Chancellor, and he killed Moleyns to rid himself of a bully. I know you are reluctant to see a cold-hearted killer in that seemingly gentle old man, but even you must admit that his relationship with Moleyns is suspicious.’
At that moment, the door opened and Tulyet walked in, although his expression of eager anticipation faded when Michael indicated that he had nothing of significance to report. He slumped on a bench and wearily rubbed his face with his hands.
‘Reames is dead,’ he said. ‘Do you know the lad I mean? The lattener’s apprentice, who always dressed like a courtier.’
Bartholomew blinked. ‘But I saw him not long ago, walking home from the castle with Lakenham and Cristine. You had been interrogating them about Lucas’s murder – which they could not have committed themselves, because they were with you at the time.’
‘I should have kept them in the castle for their own protection – Petit believes they are responsible for Lucas’s death, and I should have anticipated a revenge attack. Petit was in St Mary the Great when Reames was dispatched, and has alibis to prove it, although the same cannot be said of all his apprentices.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Michael, holding up a plump hand. ‘Are you saying that Reames was murdered? We have a fourth suspicious death to investigate?’
‘I am afraid so. Yet I do not believe his life was claimed by the rogue who killed Moleyns and Tynkell. He was attacked from behind, and his brains were bashed out with a rock – a frenzied attack, rather than a cool spike in the heart.’
‘Matt will inspect his corpse anyway,’ determined Michael.
Tulyet nodded his thanks, then sighed morosely. ‘It was a bad day for the town when these warring tomb-builders arrived. I shall monitor them constantly from now on, and the next time one commits a crime, we shall have him.’
‘Good,’ said Michael. ‘My beadles will help.’
At that point, Lister began to bring food to the table, and the Sheriff gaped his astonishment as platter after platter of meat and bread were set down.
‘Was my entire garrison included in the invitation to dine here, Brother?’
‘It is just a morsel,’ declared Michael, fastening a piece of linen around his neck to protect his habit from greasy splatters. ‘We all have healthy appetites, after all.’
Tulyet declined to comment, but listened with interest as the monk told him what Kolvyle had said about Lyng relaying messages between Tynkell and Moleyns during the Mass in which the Almighty had been begged to spare Cambridge from a second wave of the plague.
‘I attended that service,’ he said. ‘Lyng did hobble up to Moleyns and begin whispering, although I did not see him go to Tynkell.’
‘I was there, too, but noticed nothing amiss,’ said Michael. ‘Incidentally, I need to talk to Egidia and Inge about a rider on a brown horse with a pilgrim-staff embossed on his saddle – Thelnetham says that he galloped away shortly after Moleyns’ murder. Perhaps they did not commit murder with their own hands, but hired a trusted retainer from Stoke Poges to do it.’
Delighted by the prospect of a lead, Tulyet surged to his feet. ‘We shall do it now.’