‘There is the mine,’ said Bartholomew, pointing. The guards prowled, more alert than they had been, presumably because of the trouble the previous night. ‘Kelyng is buried over to the right.’
Prudently, Michael did not look in the direction he indicated. ‘Do you think Carbo killed him? Hilton told us a tale of Carbo killing someone by the mine, if you recall.’
‘He also said he did not believe it. And if Kelyng and Neubold were killed by the same person, then Carbo is innocent – he was dead long before someone hanged his brother.’
Michael glanced around uneasily. ‘I wish we had asked Cynric to accompany us to Elyan Manor. You are right: it does not feel safe here.’
Elyan and his grandmother lived in style. Their home was larger and grander than Luneday’s, and was supported by well-stocked stables, a sizeable kitchen block, pantries, granaries and a dovecote. Before they could knock at the door, a servant appeared and conducted them to a pleasant solar on the first floor. Both Elyan and Agnys were there, drinking mulled wine. She poured some for the visitors, while Michael quizzed Elyan on why his mine warranted so many guards.
‘Coal is valuable,’ replied Elyan. ‘Why do you think these vultures circle, waiting for me to die so they can inherit my manor? It is not for the sheep and the water meadows, believe me. And someone came a-spying only last night – my watchmen chased two villains intent on mischief.’
‘How do you know they were intent on mischief?’ asked Michael curiously.
Elyan raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, they were not there for a pleasant stroll, not in all that wind and rain. Clearly, the villains waited for a foul night in the hope that the guards would be less vigilant – that they would be hiding inside their hut. But my men take their duties seriously.’
Not that seriously, thought Bartholomew, given that he and Cynric had managed to excavate a grave and refill it before the guards had realised something was amiss.
‘I have seen coal mines in Wales,’ he said. ‘But none of those were protected by armed guards.’
Elyan looked smug. ‘But my mine is the only one in Suffolk, which makes it unique. Moreover, its coal is exceptionally hard and pure. Carbo told me so, when he discovered it in the summer.’
‘Carbo?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘Why should you believe anything he said? He was ill.’
‘He was not always so, and he claimed his knowledge of minerals came from God. I believed him because … well, suffice to say he proved himself to me.’
‘Proved himself how?’ pressed Michael.
Elyan sighed, resenting the interrogation. ‘Because he excavated some very fine specimens. When we find more – which I hope we will – they will make us rich, and I shall be able to buy any clothes that take my fancy. Have you seen the girdles worn by the King’s knights these days? They comprise a wide belt with the most fabulous buckles.’
Bartholomew took a sip of the wine, and was taken off guard when the taste summoned a vivid image of Matilde – it was identical to the brews she had prepared for him on cold winter nights. The intensity of the recollection took him by surprise, and he wondered whether he would ever stop thinking about her. He became aware that Agnys was staring at him.
‘You have tasted its like before,’ she said, while Michael struggled to drag her grandson’s attention away from clothes and back to minerals. ‘And it pains you. Shall I fetch you something else?’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew quickly. ‘It is not an unpleasant memory.’
‘A lost lover?’ she asked sympathetically. ‘You are a scholar, so it cannot have been a wife.’
Bartholomew did not often talk about Matilde, but he was seized by a sudden urgent and wholly irrational desire to do so now. While Michael did his utmost to learn about Joan, coal and Wynewyk – and Elyan regaled him with an analysis of courtly fashions instead – the physician told Agnys all about the woman he had loved. He was not normally given to confiding in strangers, and could only suppose it was the result of a sleepless night and the shock of finding Kelyng. Agnys listened without interruption or comment, even when he described Matilde in the most impossibly eulogistic terms.
‘You still hope she will return to you,’ she said, when he eventually faltered into silence.
‘Logic tells me she is gone for ever, but I cannot bring myself to believe it. However, I would settle for knowing she is safe and happy. The King’s highways are dangerous places for lone women.’
‘Your Matilde would not have let robbers best her,’ said Agnys, patting his knee encouragingly. ‘She will have arrived at her destination unscathed, never fear.’
Although she had no grounds for making such an assured statement, Bartholomew found her words oddly comforting; more comforting than reason dictated he should. He smiled, and when he took another sip of the wine, the experience was much less unsettling.
‘You told me yesterday that you knew our colleague Wynewyk,’ Michael was saying to Elyan. He sounded exasperated, and the physician could tell he was reaching the end of his patience.
‘Actually, I did not,’ countered Elyan. He also sounded irritable, indicating they had managed to rile each other. ‘You asked if I knew him, but d’Audley started to gabble before I could reply.’
‘Wynewyk said he knew you,’ lied Michael. ‘He told me you sold the best coal in Suffolk, and was pleased to have done business with you. He has been commending you to friends in other Colleges.’
‘I very much doubt that,’ said Elyan flatly.
Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘And now we reach the crux of the matter. Your dealings with him were not honest – that is why you sit there so certain he would not have mentioned you to anyone else.’
Elyan glowered in a way that made Bartholomew certain that Michael was right, but made no other reply. Agnys also noticed her grandson’s reaction, and became sharp with him.
‘Our manor has always held a reputation for fair dealing, Henry. If you have flouted that tradition, you had better speak now, so the matter can be rectified before any harm is done.’
Elyan tried to ignore her, but there was a steely glint in her eye that warned him to do as he was told. ‘All right, I knew Wynewyk. But I did not sell him the coal I import from Ipswich – we had another arrangement.’
‘He paid you eighteen marks,’ stated Michael. ‘He wrote it our account book.’
‘Eighteen marks?’ echoed Agnys, shocked. ‘You did not tell me this when we enjoyed our pork and ale in the Queen’s Head yesterday. Eighteen marks is a vast sum of money, and I might not have been so willing to agree to an exchange of information, had I known the stakes were so high.’
Michael grimaced. ‘But you did not exchange information, madam – you promised to look into the matter of Wynewyk, but you had nothing to give us at the time.’
‘Then we had better rectify the matter: an arrangement is an arrangement, and an Elyan’s word is her bond.’ Agnys turned to her grandson. ‘Where is this eighteen marks, Henry? I hope you have not spent it on clothes.’
‘Wynewyk gave it to me because he wanted a share in my mine,’ said Elyan sullenly. ‘To invest in its running in order to enjoy its profits. I did not spend it on clothes. Although, I admit there was a rather nice red tunic that just happened to be–’
‘He invested?’ breathed Michael, appalled. ‘But your venture will founder, and eighteen–’