‘Gone where?’ asked Michael.
‘Not to Folyat,’ said Luneday. ‘She would not want to return to gatekeeping, not after the luxury she enjoyed at Withersfield. But you do not seem surprised by my news. Why not?’
‘Because we think she knows more about Neubold’s death than is innocent,’ replied Michael.
Luneday’s eyes narrowed, and Bartholomew braced himself for another skirmish, wishing the monk had phrased his remark in a more tactful manner.
‘What are you saying?’ Luneday demanded. ‘That she dispatched Neubold?’
‘Not without help,’ said Michael baldly. ‘However, it was obvious that she hated him, and she did go out the evening he was murdered. We also know she led Folyat away from his duties at the gate, thus allowing someone to carry Neubold’s corpse to the Alneston Chantry.’
Bartholomew expected Luneday to deny the charges, and was astonished when he closed his eyes in apparent despair. ‘I should have guessed she intended mischief when she crept out that night – her grandchildren had spent most of the day at Withersfield, so she should not have needed to see them again so soon.’
‘You did not mention this yesterday, when you found Neubold gone from the barn,’ said Michael, rather accusingly.
‘Why would I? I thought he had escaped to Haverhill, and only learned of his death later. The moment I did hear, I realised I would have to talk to my woman about it, but I have been busy. Then, when I returned from my piggeries this afternoon, I discovered her missing.’
‘You do not think she has been harmed, do you?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily, wondering whether her accomplice had decided it would be safer if she was permanently silenced.
‘I might have done, had she simply disappeared. But she left with all her belongings, and some of mine. So no, I do not think she has been harmed. I think she realised the net was closing in around her, and has run for safety.’
‘Why did she dislike Neubold so intensely?’ asked Michael. ‘I do not think I have ever seen more venomous looks than the ones they exchanged on Wednesday night.’
‘For two reasons. First, he offered to fabricate writs of annulment – for her marriage and mine – which meant she could have wed me. She was eager for him to do it, because it would have made her a real lady of the manor. Unfortunately, he wanted ten marks, which is beyond my meagre means.’
‘Would you have paid, had he agreed to charge less?’ asked Michael curiously. ‘Bearing in mind that false annulments would not have made your union legal in any case?’
‘Of course. We do that sort of thing all the time around here. Why do you think there is so much fuss about who will inherit Elyan Manor? Someone’s nuptials were not all they should have been!’
‘And the second reason?’ asked Michael, declining to comment.
‘Neubold told me she had commissioned him to create forged documents that would see me inherit Elyan Manor. She was furious with him for revealing what she had charged him to do – I want to inherit, but not by cheating. So perhaps she did kill him – she is a strong lass. She would have needed help to cart the corpse to Haverhill, though.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ asked Michael. He released his grip on Luneday’s saddle and took a deep breath, nerves steady at last. ‘Hunt for her, and demand an explanation?’
‘She will be halfway to Paris by now. She has always had a hankering to see the place. There is no point mounting a search – the wretched woman has essentially escaped.’ Luneday sounded bitter.
‘She will not like Paris,’ predicted Michael, although he had never been, so was hardly in a position to make such a judgement. ‘And I have colleagues there – I shall write and warn them to be on the lookout for her. She will not escape, believe me. But enough of her. I have reason to believe you have misled us, Master Luneday.’
‘Misled you about what?’ asked Luneday. He sounded thankful to be talking about something else.
‘Wynewyk, five marks and some pigs,’ replied Michael coolly.
‘We have just been chatting to d’Audley, who was rather more open than you have been.’
‘Damn! I knew he could not be trusted. His big mouth has just cost me twenty pigs, and the best of Lizzie’s litter. And a long and dangerous journey to your manor at Ickleton to see the herd settled.’
‘You do not deny it, then?’ asked Michael, taken aback by the abrupt capitulation.
‘There is no point, not if d’Audley has blathered. I am sorry, Brother, but your Wynewyk struck a very hard bargain, and I was relieved when I heard he was dead. And you cannot blame us for trying to be as wily with you as he was with us. But we are caught, so we will all honour the debt.’
‘You used the five marks to invest in Elyan’s mine, too?’ asked Michael.
Luneday spat. ‘I would never waste good money on that foolish venture! No, I wanted it to buy new sows – Lizzie is not getting any younger, and it is time I experimented with fresh blood. A man cannot rest on his laurels where pigs are concerned.’
‘Right,’ said Michael. He gestured to Luneday’s horse. ‘You said Margery would be halfway to Paris by now, which means you are not looking for her. So, where are you going at such an hour?’
‘To Elyan Manor. I have decided it is time to resolve this inheritance issue once and for all, because I am weary of the ill-feeling among us. I plan to ask d’Audley and Elyan to come to Cambridge with me and meet the scholars from King’s Hall. Then we can review the documents like civilised men, and decide justly and truthfully what is to be done. If I lose my claim, then so be it.’
It was a noble idea, but Bartholomew foresaw problems. ‘No one will accept anyone else’s interpretation, especially if some deeds are missing or ambiguous. You will need to appoint a mediator – someone to make fair decisions – but I doubt all three parties will agree on a candidate.’
‘They will,’ said Luneday with conviction, ‘because I know the perfect man – someone with integrity and good judgement. In other words, your Master Langelee. You say he is blessed with outstanding wisdom, and he also knows pigs. I have never met a bad fellow who deals with pigs.’
Michael gaped at him. ‘You want Langelee to decide the rightful heir to Elyan Manor?’
Luneday nodded. ‘I will bide by his verdict, and I shall urge the others to do so, too.’
‘See where your dishonest tongue has led us, Brother?’ muttered Bartholomew, not liking to imagine what would happen when Luneday met the paragon of virtue that Michael had portrayed. ‘We could have got away with Suttone or Thelnetham. But Langelee? What are we going to do?’
‘When will you go to Cambridge, Luneday?’ asked Michael uneasily.
‘Sunday,’ replied Luneday. ‘I would say tomorrow, but we shall need a day to put our business in order. The road to Cambridge is long and dangerous, after all.’
‘This is not a good idea,’ said Michael desperately. ‘Elyan and d’Audley are unlikely to–’
‘They will come,’ Luneday assured him. ‘They are as tired of the uncertainty and growing mistrust as I am. D’Audley will agree to arbitration, and Elyan will agree to be there. I recommend you travel with us, given that there appear to be robbers at large.’
‘If they were robbers,’ said Bartholomew to Michael, watching Luneday ride away.
Michael nodded grimly. ‘And we know they were not – they wanted our lives, not our purses.’
It was dusk by the time they reached Haverhill, and the first drops of rain were beginning to fall. They paid their toll to Gatekeeper Folyat, whose small house was full of roosting hens, and walked towards the Queen’s Head. The tavern was busy when they opened the door and stepped into its stuffy interior, and there was a convivial atmosphere as men drank ale and devoured platters of roasted pork. The students were playing dice in a corner, and Cynric was regaling a small group of fascinated listeners with a colourful and not very accurate account of the battle of Poitiers.