Inge ignored them. ‘And he failed to protect Moleyns. It is his fault that my only client is dead. Moleyns would have repaid my loyalty tenfold when the King pardoned him, and Tulyet’s incompetence has deprived me of a comfortable future.’
Helbye frowned. ‘I thought you killed him. You were right next to him when he died, and you had good reason – you dutifully shared his imprisonment, but he treated you like dirt. Besides, I thought our business here was to earn you enough money to ditch the man.’
‘It was so I would not have to rely on him for life’s little luxuries,’ corrected Inge. ‘But leaving him was never part of the plan – not after investing three years of my life in him. We would have done great things together once he was free.’
‘So who did kill him then?’ pressed Helbye. ‘Egidia? There was no love lost between them, and I was under the impression that she preferred you.’
‘She does,’ said Inge smugly, ‘but neither of us wanted him dead. I suppose the culprit was one of the crowd that gathered when he fell.’
‘Aye, but which?’ mused Helbye. Then his expression hardened. ‘You should have told me that Yevele let him out to steal. Not knowing made me look stupid – got the lads thinking that I am too old for my duties.’
Norys and his ruffians exchanged the kind of glances that suggested they still did.
‘You do understand why he did it, do you not?’ asked Inge. ‘To punish Tulyet for denying him his rights and privileges when we first arrived. When he was back at Court, he was going to tell everyone that Cambridge Castle’s security is a joke.’
Bartholomew could see Tulyet’s hands clenched tightly behind his back.
‘The witness in the embroidered cloak will tell me who killed Moleyns,’ said Helbye. ‘Then I will stick a knife in the bastard’s gizzard for you.’
‘Speaking of killing, when shall I dispatch the prisoners?’ asked the man in the aqua tunic, strolling towards the pile of sheets and picking up Tulyet’s sword.
Bartholomew did not know whether to be gratified, angry or sorry when he saw it was Cook, although he was certainly not surprised. With hindsight, evidence of the barber’s involvement shone out like a beacon. First, Helbye had almost certainly injured his arm doing something criminal – not chasing a suspicious barge, as he had claimed – and Cook had rushed to tend him lest he blurted something incriminating. And second, Cook had also joined the fray at the Griffin, which had allowed Inge to escape. As if on cue, the barber began to brag.
‘You would all be hanged by now, were it not for me,’ he said, swishing the sword from side to side, although so clumsily that Bartholomew could tell he was no warrior. ‘Lucas had guessed the truth, and was going to sell it to the Senior Proctor, while that ridiculous Reames would certainly have betrayed us if the Sheriff had questioned him a second time.’
‘He nearly betrayed us the first,’ said Inge with a shudder, and ran his fingers lightly over Dallingridge’s feet, no doubt anticipating the price they would fetch. ‘The fool went to the castle with lead stains all over his hands! I was sure Tulyet would put two and two together.’
‘I dashed out Reames’ brains to keep you safe,’ boasted Cook. ‘And I stabbed Peres, because he caught me prising Cew’s brass off the wall. Do you hear that, Sheriff? I killed them, and you had no idea! You are stupid, and I shall be glad to leave your nasty little town. I am only sorry that you and Bartholomew will not be alive to tell everyone how I bested you.’
‘You do not like Cambridge?’ asked Helbye, surprised. ‘I would have thought it was the perfect place for you, with no other barber-surgeon to compete for business.’
Cook grimaced. ‘I like cutting hair, but what I really wanted was another patient like Dallingridge. Unfortunately, Bartholomew watched me like a hawk, so I dared not risk it.’
‘Dared not risk what?’ asked Inge, frowning. Then his jaw dropped. ‘You mean Dallingridge’s claims were true? He really was poisoned?’
‘I slipped a little something into his drink on Lammas Day,’ replied Cook airily. ‘And then I earned a fortune by providing the necessary medical care afterwards, although I was disappointed when he failed to remember my devotion in his will.’
‘That resin you swallowed,’ said Helbye to Inge, shooting Cook a wary glance. ‘How did it splash in your mouth, exactly? Was it when he happened to be holding the bucket?’
‘Poor Helbye has a fever,’ said Cook quickly to the lawyer. ‘But I have a potion that will quell these wild delusions. Of course I did not splash the resin in your face on purpose.’
‘I bet he did,’ countered Helbye sullenly. ‘And I bet he did something bad to my arm. There must be some reason why it hurts so much.’
There was, thought Bartholomew bleakly, and the reason was that Cook aimed to have the sergeant’s share of the profits as well as his own. Perhaps he intended to have Inge’s, too.
‘It hurts because it is mending,’ said Cook shortly, and held out a small phial. ‘Here, drink this. It will soon make you well again.’
Wisely, Helbye declined. Inge had been quaffing wine, but he set down his cup quickly, giving Cook a suspicious glance as he did so. Then he became businesslike, clearly unwilling to challenge the barber when their association was almost at an end anyway.
‘We will all travel to London on the barge at first light,’ he determined. ‘Except Helbye, who must direct any patrols away from this part of the Fens until we are clear. When the hue and cry has died down, he can join us in the city.’
‘What about Egidia?’ asked Helbye. ‘You cannot leave her in gaol.’
‘She confessed, so she must live with the consequences,’ said Inge, showing that Cook was not the only one with a ruthless streak when dealing with accomplices. He pointed at Dallingridge’s feet. ‘We shall load these now, and be ready to sail at dawn. You had better start back to the castle, Helbye, before you are missed and have awkward questions to answer.’
‘And I shall dispatch the prisoners,’ declared Cook, grinning his delight. ‘What a coup – Bartholomew and Tulyet on the same night! That will teach them to annoy me.’
Bartholomew ducked back into the undergrowth as the thieves emerged from the warehouse. Inge turned towards the barge, holding aloft a lantern that illuminated all eight soldiers toting Dallingridge’s feet. Helbye started back towards Quy, while Cook remained inside with Tulyet. Bartholomew tensed in an agony of indecision. Was there any point in running after the sergeant, to remind him of Tulyet’s affection and trust in the hope of winning an ally?
But when he peered back through the hole, he saw he would not have time. Cook was testing the edge of Tulyet’s sword for sharpness. Frantically, Bartholomew stumbled towards the door, slowed by drifting snow and the bitter cold that had numbed his legs. He drew his little knife with frozen fingers. It was not much of a weapon, but it might be enough to save Tulyet’s life. He flung open the door, holding the blade ready to lob.
And lowered it in astonishment.
Tulyet was free. The ropes that had bound him lay on the floor, along with the sack from his head. He held the sword, and Cook was pressed against the wall with its tip at his throat.
‘It seems no one ever taught Norys how to tie proper knots,’ he explained, when he saw Bartholomew. ‘Even you seem to have slipped them. Where is Harold? He will not be part of this unsavoury affair.’
‘Drowned,’ whispered Bartholomew, glaring at Cook.
‘He cannot be!’ cried Cook. ‘But if he is, it had nothing to do with me.’
‘He will be avenged,’ declared Tulyet hotly.