‘Yes, they had helpmeets,’ acknowledged Bartholomew. ‘But it was Inge who masterminded the scheme. And when he is arrested, he will give Dick the names of his accomplices.’
‘But he may be as ignorant as Egidia. He might hail from the Fens, but he is not a local, and no stranger could have outfoxed the Sheriff and his men all this time. Of course, there are rumours about who is the real brain behind this operation …’
‘And who do these tales accuse?’ Bartholomew had already guessed what was coming.
Edith grimaced. ‘You know who: Isnard. I appreciate that you are fond of him, Matt, but Gundrede is bad news, and Isnard should have kept his distance.’
‘It is not Isnard,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘He would never have taken Wilson’s lid or struck at St Mary the Great, because he loves Michael and the choir.’
‘Does he? Or does he feel betrayed, because Michael is going to Rochester? And even if you are right about him, Gundrede owns no such allegiance and Isnard is clay in his hands.’
‘Is there evidence to prove these allegations?’ asked Bartholomew, a little coolly, knowing there was not, or Tulyet would have acted on it.
‘Well, first, there is only one way to transport heavy goods over long distances: the waterways, which Isnard knows like the back of his hand. Second, he owns suitable craft. Third, Gundrede was a metalsmith, who knows how to sell such goods illegally. And fourth, both he and Isnard have been gone a lot recently.’
‘That is not evidence, it is supposition. Besides, why can’t the goods be moved by road?’
‘Because Tulyet watches them like a hawk – no cart gets past him without an inspection. Moreover, horses or oxen can pull heavy wagons short distances, but not all the way to London.’
Bartholomew was not sure what to think, but sincerely hoped she was wrong.
He hurried from patient to patient through streets that buzzed with excitement as news of the reward began to spread. Any number of folk – students and townsmen – were determined to have it, and skirmishes broke out when searchers invaded the property of those who objected.
Most Regent masters, however, were more interested in the election, and were beginning to form factions. Unfortunately, the largest ones comprised not supporters of Suttone and Hopeman, but those of Lyng, Godrich and Thelnetham, who felt that events had conspired to deprive them of a voice. Emotions were running high and altercations were frequent, although so far confined to words and the occasional jabbing finger.
‘Psst! Doctor!’
Bartholomew knew without looking that it was Isnard who hailed him so slyly. He hesitated, not sure whether to respond given what Edith had just said, but then he relented. Isnard was a patient, and might need medical help. The bargeman was beckoning frantically from a nearby alehouse, an establishment that sold cheap ale to those with undiscerning palates. He and Gundrede were in the shadows of the porch, both looking tired, unshaven and furtive.
‘We are hiding,’ said Isnard, somewhat unnecessarily. ‘From the Sheriff, who thinks we stole the University’s bell.’
‘Can you prove you did not?’ asked Bartholomew, speaking frostily, because Edith had been right about one thing: Isnard had not made a good choice of friends in Gundrede.
‘No,’ replied Gundrede gloomily. ‘Because I was spying on Lakenham – from shortly after you fixed my nose, right up until dawn. Obviously, he had no idea I was there, which means he cannot give me an alibi.’
‘And the same goes for me,’ said Isnard. ‘Except that I was minding Petit. We are tired of being accused of their crimes, so we decided to monitor them ourselves – to catch them in the act and prove our innocence.’
‘That was unnecessary,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The Sheriff is doing it.’
‘Yes, but his men slip away for quick drinks or to stretch their legs,’ explained Isnard. ‘Whereas we do not leave our posts for an instant. Our good reputations are at stake here, so we are much more careful than guards with no vested interest.’
‘We minded them most of Sunday and all Monday night,’ Gundrede went on, yawning. ‘Which is why we are so tired now. However, our exhaustion will not stop us from starting again, once we have had a bit of bread and cheese to fortify us.’
‘Unfortunately, the rogues decided to take those particular times off,’ said Isnard glumly, ‘and they both stayed in. Indeed, I think they were asleep.’
He sounded indignant that they should dare do such a thing when he had been waiting to witness something criminal.
Bartholomew was thoughtful. ‘The bell went missing between nocturns and dawn. If you were watching Lakenham and Petit at those times, then it means that neither of them can have taken it.’
‘Damn it, Gundrede!’ cried Isnard in alarm. ‘We have proved their innocence, but put nooses around our own necks! I told you it was a stupid idea.’
‘Then maybe they sent one of their apprentices to do it,’ said Gundrede, thinking fast. ‘Or a wife – that Cristine would have no problem lifting a bell.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Isnard in relief. ‘That must be what happened – she is a strong lass. But speaking of lasses, that is why we hailed you: to ask you to visit Yolande. She usually sees me on a Tuesday, as you know, but today she refused to open her door. Something is wrong.’
‘Perhaps she is busy with someone else,’ suggested Bartholomew, unwilling to be drawn into a dispute between a man and his prostitute.
‘She would never give my spot to another client,’ declared Isnard, affronted. ‘And I am afraid that Barber Cook has got at her, because I saw him leave her house. He should not be allowed to physick a goat, let alone a person.’
‘I cannot abide Cook,’ spat Gundrede. ‘He was sewing up a cut on my leg when the Chancellor fought the Devil on the tower, and he would not let me outside to watch.’
‘Cook was with you when Tynkell was stabbed?’ asked Bartholomew urgently. ‘Are you sure? Because if you are, then it means that Cook is not the killer.’
‘You had him on your list, did you?’ asked Gundrede. ‘Well, I do not blame you, because he is a devious bastard. However, he did not kill the Chancellor. He was with me and half a dozen others when Tynkell was up on the roof.’
‘I watched that fight,’ said Isnard, while Bartholomew struggled to mask his disappointment. It was unworthy of him, he knew, but it would have been so very satisfying to see the loathsome barber charged with murder. ‘I was so shocked to see Chancellor Tynkell challenge Satan that I sat down hard and hurt my back, if you recall. But by the time Gundrede came to carry me home, the excitement was over. He had missed it all.’
‘Then, a bit later, we were among those who saw Moleyns fall off his horse,’ Gundrede went on. ‘Unfortunately, so was Cook, and he spent the whole time demanding to be paid for tending my leg. So he did not kill Moleyns either.’
‘I wish you had mentioned this sooner,’ groaned Bartholomew. ‘It would have saved a lot of wasted time.’
‘Why would we want that?’ asked Gundrede artlessly. ‘The longer Tulyet takes to solve the murders, the less time he has to persecute me and Isnard.’
The two townsmen led Bartholomew on a circuitous route to the Blaston house, partly because they were keen to avoid meeting the Sheriff, but also because Milne Street was still blocked by Trinity Hall’s rubble, and there was a lot of irritable jostling from those who wanted to squeeze down the narrow opening that had been punched through the middle of it.
They arrived at the Blastons’ home to hear loud sobbing emanating from within. Isnard and Gundrede exchanged uneasy glances, wished Bartholomew luck, and melted away before they were seen.