‘What happened to it?’
‘Godric found it among some reeds when he was looking for Ailred’s body. The Carmelites paid him a princely sum for its safe return and Ovyng Hostel now has fuel and food aplenty.’
‘I did not think for a moment it was a real relic. I always thought it was Gosslinge’s thumb.’
Michael shuddered. ‘That would have been perverted, Matt! Men do not adorn themselves with the severed digits of their servants. Even fishmongers from Chepe.’ He chuckled suddenly. ‘Speaking of perversions, Agatha claimed Norbert visited Robin’s pig, to bestow affections on it. But, of course, Norbert was not visiting the pig at all. He was slipping into Robin’s house by the back door, hoping to persuade him to extend the loan Dympna had made.’
‘But Norbert could not have known Robin was a member of Dympna,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I know Robin was the man who dispensed agreed funds – and so was the person the successful applicants met – but Norbert had been turned down by the official Dympna. By the time Norbert had his loan, Ailred was being helped by Frith.’
‘No. Ailred was making illegal loans before Frith arrived. Frith only became involved when Kenyngham discovered what had been happening, and set his ultimatum for Ailred to retrieve what had been lost.’
‘So, Ailred used Robin to dispense the illicit loans?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘And Robin was blithely unaware of the fact that these were made without the consent of Dick and Kenyngham? I suppose that makes sense from the things they all told us.’
‘Robin should have mentioned Norbert’s visits,’ said Michael resentfully. ‘He has been apologetic ever since, but we would have solved his murder sooner had everyone been honest.’
‘William persuaded his Prior to declare Harysone’s book heretical,’ said Bartholomew, after a pause. ‘Anyone owning a copy is obliged to take it to the Franciscan Friary, where it will be burned. I do not approve of incinerating books, even ones like Harysone’s.’
‘I would normally concur, but Harysone’s was worse than hereticaclass="underline" it was full of errors and insulting to its readers. The world will not suffer from the loss of that particular tome. Indeed, I imagine it will be a good deal better off: someone like Deynman might have read it and thought it was true. It would not do for him to live the rest of his life imagining God as a gigantic pike.’
Bartholomew laughed, then became serious. ‘Harysone said he sent a message to Ailred, telling him he was coming to Cambridge. I think if Ailred had received that missive, the case would have ended very differently – especially for him. He and Frith would not have murdered Turke, but would have gone along with Harysone’s plan to continue blackmailing him. Ailred would have used his share of the money to repay the bad loans he had made, and Kenyngham would have forgotten the whole mess.’
‘Harysone claimed he sent a note,’ said Michael. ‘But there is nothing to say he was telling the truth. He was probably lying, as he lied about everything else.’
‘You were right about him. He did come here intending mischief.’
‘I knew it as soon as I clapped eyes on the fellow,’ declared Michael. ‘I have dealt with too many murderers and malcontents not to be able to identify a criminal when I see one. I should have told Sergeant Orwelle to deny him permission to enter the town. Then matters would have turned out differently.’
‘But not much. Ailred and Frith would still have killed Turke, and Gosslinge would still have choked on vellum.’
‘We were correct to be suspicious about the deaths of Turke and Gosslinge. I thought Turke’s demise was odd, and you thought it strange that Turke and his servant should die in such quick succession. We were both right. You were also correct in believing Norbert’s death was linked to Turke’s: if Turke had not gone looking for the murder weapon, he might never have provided Frith and Ailred with a chance to force him on to thin ice.’
‘And we were right to think fish was a strand that tied the whole thing together,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Norbert’s tench, won from Harysone in a bet, was badly salted; bad salting was what initiated the final quarrel between Turke and Fiscurtune; and Harysone was a fishmonger, but his business – and his inheritance – were lost to Turke’s Fraternity of Fishmongers’ machinations. However, Quenhyth being the son of a fishmonger was merely coincidence.’
‘Harysone wrote that dreadful treatise about fish, and the very name “Fiscurtune” should have alerted us to the connection much sooner. Also, we should have noticed that both Frith and Ailred professed to hail from the vicinity of Lincoln.’
‘Lincoln is a large city, Brother. It might have been a spurious link. But, although we may have been right about many things, we made mistakes, too.’
‘You mean like you telling me Gosslinge had died from the cold, when he had in fact choked to death? Or you assuming Turke’s death was an accident when he had actually been murdered?’
Bartholomew winced. ‘Actually, I was thinking about Harysone. You were convinced he played a role in Gosslinge’s death, but he did not. Your feral belief was wrong.’
‘Only in the details,’ retorted Michael. ‘I was wrong about which particular crime Harysone committed, but I was right in my assumption that he was guilty of something.’
‘We made a mistake with Giles as well. We thought he was involved in something sinister, but he was not. The few times he did venture out on his painful feet were to buy a book on Philippa’s behalf, to indulge an idle and harmless curiosity about Dympna, or to arrange for Turke’s embalming. And when he was so clearly relieved to hear us say we would not investigate Turke’s odd death, it was not because he had a hand in it, but because he did not want his sister distressed. He was being kind.’
‘He was being a fool,’ said Michael disparagingly. ‘He allowed Philippa to borrow his cloak and that silly feathered hat without asking why. All this relates to your observation about distinguishing features – you said a really prominent characteristic will mask all else, and Philippa used Giles’s hat to do just that. Harysone knew about distinguishing features, too, and adopted those teeth. His disguise fooled his kinsmen, as well as Giles. It was a pity Philippa was not more skilled in the use of her dagger. If she had stabbed Harysone properly, then he would not have dragged his cousin to a watery grave or locked me in a damp cellar for so many hours.’
‘Matilde was right and wrong, too. She knew there was something sad about Philippa, which was correct, but it had nothing to do with love, as she surmised.’
‘And we were definitely wrong about Dunstan and Athelbald,’ said Michael, chuckling fondly. ‘I still cannot believe they were so deeply involved in the case. The old devils! Still, it is good they had the last laugh. I shall miss them.’
‘So shall I,’ said Bartholomew quietly.
Michael nudged him in the ribs, wanting to dispel the sudden pall of gloom that had descended on them. ‘There is another thing: I know the identity of the rogue who fashioned that wicked but very clever model of William out of marchpane.’
‘You do?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily.
‘Oh, yes. There is only one man in the College who has a talent for drawing and other artistry, and a pair of skilled hands.’
‘I see,’ said Bartholomew, smiling. ‘However, I did not know the thing was disguised under all those veils purporting to be the Virgin, nor that the marchpane was made from salt, so do not blame me for either of those.’
‘You must have known about the salt,’ said Michael in disbelief. ‘Do not tell me you did not take a bite when you were labouring over those details!’
‘I am not you, Brother. Gorging myself on the marchpane Gray provided for his prank did not cross my mind. Supposing there was not enough to finish it properly?’
Both scholars looked up when the latch on the orchard gate clanked, heralding the arrival of someone else. It was Philippa, leaning on her brother’s arm and escorted by Cynric. Unfortunately, the sudden thaw had confounded the embalmer’s calculations, and the resulting problems with Turke’s body had kept her and Abigny in Cambridge longer than they had intended.