‘Even during the night?’ asked Michael sceptically.
‘Yes,’ replied Hopeman firmly. ‘Even then.’
‘Except when he was in private conversation with God,’ put in one of the deacons helpfully. ‘Which was quite often, given that he is a favoured Son of Christ.’
‘But I keep my holy audiences short,’ said Hopeman hastily, and the disciple received a look that was none too friendly. ‘I assure you, Brother, I have had no time to kill anyone.’
‘And you, Godrich?’ asked Michael.
‘I do not have to answer that,’ retorted Godrich, but something in Michael’s face caused him to reconsider the wisdom of this response, because he added sullenly, ‘I spent most of it visiting convents and Colleges, outlining my vision of the University’s future.’
‘And the rest of the time?’ asked Michael.
Godrich raised his voice, to ensure that everyone could hear. ‘I have decided to buy books for some of our poorer foundations, so their masters have been flocking to King’s Hall to make their cases to me – day and night. And when I was not dispensing my largesse to our less fortunate colleagues, I was with Whittlesey.’
‘It is true, Brother,’ said Whittlesey with a smile. ‘I was with my cousin every moment that I was not with you.’
Michael turned to another matter. ‘How well did you know Moleyns?’
‘Not at all,’ replied Whittlesey pleasantly, although the question had actually been directed at Godrich. ‘Other than by reputation, of course.’
‘Nor did I,’ put in Hopeman. ‘I do not count felons among my acquaintances.’
‘That is curious,’ said Godrich slyly, ‘because I saw you with him at the castle – twice. Or are you going to tell us that you went there to save his soul?’
‘I did, as a matter of fact,’ said Hopeman, flushing angrily. ‘But it was too steeped in sin for rescue, even by me. However, you were his friend – you went to Stoke Poges like an errand boy, spying there, to see what was happening on his behalf.’
‘What is this?’ demanded Michael, eyes narrowing as he regarded the King’s Hall man intently. ‘You did favours for Moleyns?’
Godrich shrugged carelessly, although his eyes revealed his dismay. ‘I happened to be passing, so I looked in on the place for him. However, it was Lyng who should have done it, not me. Tell him why, Thelnetham.’
While Godrich and Hopeman were being grilled by Michael, the Gilbertine had been standing quietly to one side with Nicholas. He started in surprise when Godrich whipped around to address him, and stepped forward reluctantly.
‘Not here, Godrich,’ he said softly. ‘Not when Lyng lies dead in the–’
‘He is past caring,’ interrupted Godrich, a callous remark that had a number of listeners exchanging glances of disapproval. ‘Now tell the Senior Proctor what you know.’
‘Lyng hailed from the village next to Stoke Poges,’ replied Thelnetham, although he spoke with obvious reluctance. ‘Last term, he regaled me with an account of the delights of Buckinghamshire for an entire evening.’
‘Why did you not mention it before?’ demanded Michael. ‘You must see it is important.’
‘Is it?’ asked Godrich slyly. ‘Why? Did you suspect Lyng of being the killer then?’
‘Of course not,’ lied Michael. ‘But these coincidences matter. I should have been told.’
‘How can they matter?’ asked Nicholas, defensive of his friend. ‘All Moleyns’ estates – including Stoke Poges – were confiscated when he was convicted.’
‘Yes, but the King promised to restore them to him,’ argued Michael. ‘And Moleyns certainly considered himself Lord of the Manor still.’ He scowled at the Gilbertine. ‘What about Tynkell? Will I later learn that he had connections to Stoke Poges as well?’
‘He hailed from Hertfordshire,’ replied Thelnetham. ‘Miles away. However, he was working on a scheme to get Stoke Poges’ chapel for the University, so he must have visited it at some point. After all, how else would he have known that it was worth having?’
‘He did what?’ exploded Michael. ‘He never mentioned it to me.’
‘Perhaps he was afraid you would stop him,’ shrugged Thelnetham, ‘which he would not have wanted, as it represented his last chance to make his mark on the University.’
‘I would have stopped him,’ declared Michael vehemently. ‘We cannot accept property from a place with links to a convicted felon! What would our other benefactors think?’
‘Thank God that Tynkell is dead,’ brayed Godrich. ‘He was a fool with his reckless ideas. After all, look what happened when he tried to foist a new College on us.’
‘And a Common Library,’ put in Principal Haye of White Hostel. ‘A venture doomed to failure from the start. Poor Tynkell! We shall have to ensure he is not forgotten by building him a nice tomb instead.’
Hopeman was more interested in exploiting the revelations about Stoke Poges. ‘Moleyns’ old manor is a popular place. Godrich, Lyng and Tynkell all visited it. Oh, and so did Thelnetham, of course. In the summer. He told me so himself.’
Michael turned to the Gilbertine, only to find he was no longer there.
‘He has gone to attend terce,’ explained Nicholas. ‘He will not forsake his sacred offices, even if others put their devotions second to gossiping in graveyards.’
Several listeners nodded approvingly, although others resented the censure, and as a ploy to gain votes, the remark had probably lost Thelnetham more support than it had won. As the Gilbertine was unavailable, Hopeman resumed his attack on Godrich.
‘He was Moleyns’ bosom friend,’ he declared, stabbing an accusing finger. ‘And I have always said that one can judge a man by the company he keeps.’
No one spoke, but all eyes went to the grim-faced fanatics who were ranged behind him.
‘Are you disparaging Moleyns, Hopeman?’ asked Godrich sweetly. ‘Then I must tell the King. Moleyns was a favourite of his, and I am sure he will be interested to know what you–’
‘I cannot waste time here when there is holy work to be done,’ interrupted Hopeman, sensing he was on uncertain ground, and so opting to exit on his own terms. ‘Come, brothers. Let us be about our saintly business.’
He and his deacons marched away, chanting a psalm. Their voices were loud, and it was still early, so a number of lamps went on in the houses they passed. Bartholomew winced, sure there would be complaints about the racket later.
The rest of the morning was taken up with trying to ascertain exactly what had happened to the hapless Lyng. A more detailed examination of his body revealed brown dust on his heels – it matched the road’s, suggesting that he had been attacked in the open and dragged out of sight afterwards. Michael and Bartholomew started their investigation in the Hall of Valence Marie, the buildings of which were closest to the scene of the crime.
‘And you noticed nothing amiss?’ asked Michael of its Master, John Tinmew. ‘No quarrel in the street, or mysterious shadows along the King’s Ditch?’
‘Of course not, or we would have told you,’ replied Tinmew. ‘Yet I cannot say I am sorry that Lyng is dead. He was not as kindly as he wanted everyone to think, and was too fond of the hostels for my liking. Now he is out of the running, Godrich will be Chancellor.’
‘Will he indeed?’ murmured Michael. ‘What makes you think so?’
‘He has the backing of all the Colleges except Michaelhouse, and Lyng’s death means the hostels will switch their support to him – because of his free-book campaign.’