‘Matt and I are about to apprehend a killer,’ said Michael, making it sound like a pleasant excursion to a country meadow in summertime. ‘You can help us, if you will.’
‘Us?’ asked Suttone nervously, casting an anxious glance at Kenyngham. ‘I am only a poor friar, Brother. I have no experience in wrestling with vicious killers in the middle of the night – nor do I want to gain any, thank you very much.’
‘I am not asking for physical assistance, just for a little information,’ said Michael reassuringly. ‘The night Runham died, you and Master Kenyngham attended compline in St Michael’s Church. It is what proved neither of you had a hand in his murder.’
‘I wish I had not gone,’ said Kenyngham sadly. ‘I wish I had stayed here, so that I might have been able to prevent such wickedness.’
‘If you had, the killer would merely have waited for another opportunity,’ said Michael practically. ‘But can you recall who else was at compline at St Michael’s Church that night?’
Kenyngham and Suttone exchanged a mystified glance.
‘I do not remember,’ said Kenyngham, scratching his head. ‘It was days ago, and I have attended many offices since then. They have begun to blur in my mind.’
‘Well, there was that loutish bargeman who used to sing bass in the choir,’ said Suttone, frowning thoughtfully. ‘He spent the entire time pawing some woman in the shadows at the back. There were a couple of men from Ovyng, and a handful from Physwick Hostel – they use St Michael’s regularly, as you know. Then there was that skinny fellow from Bene’t, and I think it was Friday that some folk from the Market Square attended the service …’
‘Which skinny fellow from Bene’t?’ Michael pounced.
‘I do not know his name. He speaks with a Fenman’s accent and has terrible teeth. When Master Kenyngham was at the high altar, he joined me near Wilson’s tomb and we prayed there together for some time. We did not speak, and I do not know whether he will recall the incident or not.’
‘Why did you not mention him earlier?’ asked Michael.
Suttone shrugged. ‘I did not want you hunting this man down, and then him claiming he did not remember me next to him. Think how it would have looked had he failed to corroborate my story. I would have looked as guilty and suspicious as does Clippesby.’
‘I will give my full attention to Clippesby in the morning,’ said Michael grandly. ‘But first I am off to Bene’t, to catch the villain who shoved Raysoun off the scaffolding; smothered Wymundham in Holy Trinity Church; and then stabbed Brother Patrick.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Suttone curiously. ‘It is not that vicious Osmun, is it? I have heard stories about his brutality, Brother. Be sure to take plenty of beadles with you.’
‘Matt and I will deal with this alone,’ said Michael confidently. ‘But we should be on our way. I want to make an end of it as quickly as possible.’
Leaving Kenyngham and Suttone to lock the gate behind them, Michael led the way up St Michael’s Lane and began to head towards Bene’t, his thumping footsteps very loud in the still town. It was a cloudy night, and there was no gleam from the moon to light their way. They moved slowly, wary of the water-filled potholes and of the slippery, sewage-encrusted drains that meandered down either side of the road. There was no wind, and the stench from the ditches was thick in the still air, overlaid with the smell of ancient animal dung, rotting waste that had been hurled from the houses into the street in the vain hope that it would be washed away by rain, and spillages from the tannery and the potters’ workshops.
Michael stumbled in the dark, swearing viciously when he skinned his knuckles against a wall. Somewhere a dog barked furiously, warning its owner that someone was moving down a road that should have been deserted except for the beadles and the Sheriff’s patrols. A window shutter opened, sending a sliver of golden light slanting into the street, but was then closed quickly when the dark shadows of Michael and Bartholomew glided by.
Eventually, they reached Bene’t, a dark edifice laced with scaffolding, as though some skeletal hand had reached down from the sky and had seized it. Bartholomew shuddered, and tried to push such fanciful images from his mind.
‘We are early,’ whispered Michael. ‘The bells have not chimed midnight yet. We should hide in St Bene’t’s churchyard and wait, or Walter might not be ready for us.’
‘I hate this,’ complained Bartholomew as he followed Michael through the long, wet grass of the cemetery. ‘It is not normal for two respectable Fellows to be skulking among graves in the middle of the night.’
‘It is no good leaving it until tomorrow,’ said Michael. ‘By then, Simeon may have killed de Walton, and I am not sure if we can rely on Walter to help us again. It is now or never. And do not tell me you would rather it was never. Do you not want to see the killer of Raysoun, Wymundham and Brother Patrick brought to justice?’
Bartholomew sighed. ‘There is the midnight bell. Let us get this over with, so that we can go home and solve the murder in our own College.’
They walked stealthily back to Bene’t’s main gate and tapped softly on the wicket wood. Immediately Walter’s white face peered out.
‘I do not like this at all,’ he whispered fearfully.
‘You are not alone,’ muttered Bartholomew. ‘So, where is this hut in which Simeon is supposed to have de Walton secreted away? We need to release him, and take him back to Michaelhouse as quickly as possible.’
‘But he has leprosy,’ objected Walter in horror. ‘You cannot take lepers to Michaelhouse! He will kill everyone he sets eyes on!’
‘Leprosy does not spread quite like that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘As far as I can tell, it is passed–’
‘Nevertheless, Walter is right,’ interrupted Michael quickly, before the physician could deliver a lecture. He rubbed his chin, making a soft rasping sound in the darkness. ‘We cannot take a leper back to Michaelhouse.’
‘Why did you not think of this before?’ asked Bartholomew in exasperation. ‘You have been considering this plan all evening.’
‘I cannot think of everything,’ snapped Michael. ‘You are the physician – you should have raised the point.’
‘We will take him to the hospital near the Barnwell Priory,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But let us get on with this business before my nerve fails me and I go home.’
‘Come on, then,’ said Walter, pulling them inside and closing the door. He led the way through the gatehouse, and peered carefully all around the courtyard before turning back to them. ‘You must cut across to the south-east door – I made sure it is open – and then take the path that runs through the vegetable garden to the orchard. Right at the bottom of the orchard, surrounded by nettles, is an old lean-to that is used for storing apples. De Walton is in there.’
‘Will you not show us the way?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘No fear!’ said Walter. ‘That was not part of the arrangement. I will leave the main gate open so that you will be able to get out, but I am off right now. I will spend the rest of the night in Michaelhouse, thank you.’
He was gone before either scholar could object, scurrying out through the gate at an impressive pace and with evident terror.
‘Come on, Matt,’ whispered Michael. ‘Follow me. We will keep to the shadows at the edge of the court – that is what Cynric would have done.’
‘I wish he were here,’ muttered Bartholomew, trying to walk softly as they moved across the slippery cobbles. A rat scuttled in front of him and he took a sharp intake of breath that made Michael regard him in weary exasperation.
The gate that led to the grounds behind the College was ajar, as Walter had promised. Wincing at the croaking squeak that sounded very loud in the silence, Michael eased it further open and stepped through, waiting for Bartholomew to follow. Once away from the half-finished buildings where the scholars slept, Bartholomew began to relax a little, thinking that he and Michael could always run to the end of the garden and scramble over the wall to Luthburne Lane should they be followed and challenged. It was also not so necessary to remain quiet, and they were well concealed from any sleepless Bene’t scholar by the trees and fruit bushes that lined the path.