‘Do you really want a Chancellor who has bought the post?’ asked Michael in distaste.
‘Why not, if he can afford it?’ shrugged Tinmew.
‘Why do you prefer Godrich to the other candidates?’ asked Bartholomew curiously.
‘Because Hopeman is a fanatic, while there must be some reason why Michaelhouse refused to reinstate Thelnetham after he resigned. He probably has a dark secret, which means he is not the sort of man we want.’
‘Then vote for Suttone,’ urged Michael. ‘He is neither a fanatic nor a man with nasty secrets. Moreover, like you, he is a College man – and one who lives in a foundation that is home to the Senior Proctor into the bargain.’
But Tinmew shook his head. ‘While I applaud his modern views on women, I cannot vote for someone who thinks we will all be dead of the plague in a few months. It means he is unlikely to develop any meaningful forward-looking policies.’
Next, Michael visited Peterhouse, while Bartholomew went to the King’s Head. Scholars entered this particular tavern at their peril, but most of its patrons were his patients, so while he was not welcomed with open arms, he was at least allowed inside. Unfortunately, everyone claimed that the first they had known about a body on the banks of the King’s Ditch was a horrified screech from Thelnetham.
‘Slugs,’ explained Gundrede. ‘We just assumed that one had bitten him back.’
‘Normally, it would have been me who found Lyng,’ added Isnard, ‘because I go past that spot every Saturday morning, delivering coal to the Austins. But I did something else today.’
‘What?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking the question simply begged to be put, but Isnard turned furtive and refused to reply.
‘Ask the tomb-makers if they killed Lyng,’ suggested Gundrede helpfully. ‘After all, they were conspicuous by their absence today – everyone else came to see what was going on.’
‘It was still early,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Most folk were still in bed.’
‘Then no wonder they take so long to do their work,’ said Isnard contemptuously. ‘I had been up for hours by then, and …’
He trailed off when Gundrede shot him a warning glance. Bartholomew did not want to hear more, lest he learned something he would be obliged to report, so he left the tavern and went to see if Michael had finished in Peterhouse. The monk had, and was standing outside it, talking to Tulyet and Helbye.
‘Lyng was last seen alive on Thursday evening,’ Michael was saying, ‘and while Matt thinks he was probably killed soon afterwards, he cannot prove it. Not surprisingly, no one is able to provide alibis for the whole time.’
‘Thelnetham can,’ said Bartholomew. ‘In the form of Nicholas or his fellow Gilbertines.’
‘So can Egidia and Inge,’ said Helbye. ‘The Sheriff ordered a watch put on them when they went to stay in the Griffin, so they have been under surveillance since Thursday afternoon. And we started monitoring the tomb-makers after Reames lost his brains yesterday.’
‘If you mean the kind of surveillance that you deployed on Moleyns, I am disinclined to trust it,’ said Michael coolly. ‘We have witnesses who say he slipped out of the castle to commit crimes all over the town, and if he could corrupt your guards, then others can, too. I had planned to visit you this morning, to ask you about it, but you have saved me the trek.’
‘What nonsense is this?’ demanded Tulyet. ‘Moleyns did nothing of the sort, I assure you.’
‘He was wealthy,’ said Michael. ‘And your soldiers are poorly paid–’
‘No!’ snapped Helbye, although there was alarm in his eyes. ‘Our men would never put money before their duties.’
‘Who told you this tale, Brother?’ asked Tulyet coolly. ‘A scholar?’
‘I cannot say,’ replied Michael, while Bartholomew suddenly found a hole in his sleeve to examine, which allowed him to avoid Tulyet’s eyes. ‘However, it is true, because I mentioned it to my beadles, and several say they saw Moleyns out without an escort after dark. They assumed it was with your blessing, and were astonished when I told them that was unlikely.’
Tulyet turned so furiously on Helbye that the sergeant took an involuntary step backwards. ‘Tell me this is untrue.’
‘Of course it is untrue!’ cried Helbye. ‘You know how carefully we watched Moleyns. He never went out unless you or I was with him.’
‘My beadles saw him at night,’ said Michael. ‘So I suspect he waited until you were tucked up safely in your beds, then used his purse on less scrupulous individuals.’
Tulyet was appalled. ‘Christ’s blood! What if he had taken it into his head to escape? The King would have had me executed!’
‘No!’ insisted Helbye stoutly. ‘None of this is true. Your beadles are mistaken, Brother. I watched Moleyns every waking moment. I swear I did.’
Tulyet rubbed his eyes. ‘Yes, you are above reproach, Will. However, the same cannot be said for all the villains under our command.’
‘Moleyns preyed on the “friends” who visited him in the castle,’ Michael continued, ‘after he had cajoled them into revealing where they kept their money. He did not steal all of it, of course, as that would have raised eyebrows. But he took enough to keep him in ready cash.’
‘He was always flush with funds,’ acknowledged Tulyet. ‘I often asked him how, given that most of his property had been confiscated, and he always told me that Inge got it for him. Yet he was frequently heavy-eyed in the mornings, but would never explain why …’
‘Vicar Frisby loved carousing into the small hours with him,’ recalled Bartholomew, ‘but sometimes, Moleyns cancelled the revels or claimed he was too tired. I suspect these “early nights” coincided with his rambles outside the castle walls.’
Tulyet sagged against a wall as the evidence mounted. ‘When he first arrived, we crossed swords – he tried to bully me and I resisted. He vowed then that he would make me sorry. Well, it seems he has succeeded, because I shall never live this down.’
‘Could Egidia and Inge have been involved as well?’ asked Michael.
‘Unlikely.’ It was Helbye who answered, his cheeks burning with shame. ‘They had separate rooms – at Moleyns’ insistence. He said it was because he snored, and he did not want to bother them …’
‘But it was to prevent them from seeing what he was doing,’ finished Tulyet heavily. ‘God damn the man!’
‘So let us recap what we know about the relationships between our three victims,’ said Michael, feeling the recriminations had gone on quite long enough, and it was time to change the focus of the discussion. ‘Moleyns and Lyng hailed from neighbouring villages; Moleyns whispered something to Lyng shortly before his death; Lyng and Tynkell were friends and fellow scholars; Moleyns sent invitations for Tynkell to meet him in St Mary the Great …’
‘And Lyng carried messages between them,’ finished Bartholomew. ‘Cook was there, too – not with Lyng, but while the other two chatted. We should speak to him about it.’
‘I had better do it – he is unlikely to cooperate with you.’ Tulyet turned to Michael. ‘Do you think Moleyns used Lyng and Tynkell to help him steal?’
‘I cannot see them burgling the town’s worthies,’ replied the monk evenly, while Bartholomew kept his eyes on the hole in his jerkin again. ‘However, Nicholas said Tynkell changed after Moleyns arrived, and took to shutting himself in his office. Perhaps he was being blackmailed …’
‘Yet Kolvyle told me that their discussion was amiable,’ said Tulyet. ‘Which would not have been the case, if one had been forcing the other to act against his will.’