‘You are resourceful. You will find a way around these problems.’
Tears began to fall in earnest. ‘But it would make him so miserable! He would gain me, but lose the other things he loves – Michaelhouse, teaching, his patients and their horrible ailments, his colleagues. He will loathe preparing horoscopes for the wealthy, and I will not inflict that life on him. I want you to promise that you will not tell him I am here.’
‘I shall do no such thing,’ declared Michael indignantly. ‘He has a right to know.’
‘Then I shall have to leave Clare,’ sobbed Matilde. ‘And I have found a measure of peace and happiness here. Please do not take it from me, Brother.’
Michael regarded her unhappily. ‘I wish Agnys had not thrown us together, because now I do not know what to do – and it is not often I am bogged down in moral quandaries.’
‘She brought you because she suspected I was the woman Matt had told her about, but did not want to raise his hopes if she was wrong. She has agreed not to break my trust. Now you must do the same.’
‘But I will never be able to look him in the eye again,’ objected Michael, dismayed. ‘Do you realise the enormity of what you are asking? You want me to betray my closest friend!’
‘I know. But it is because I love him so very dearly that I will not condemn him to a life that will make him unhappy. You must see I am right. And if you love him, too, you will do as I ask.’
The journey to Cambridge the following day began long before dawn. It started badly, and went from there to worse. The wet weather of the past few days meant the road had degenerated even further since their outward journey, and was all but impassable in places. Progress was painfully slow, which was worrying when robbers were at large and determined to prey on the large party that straggled through their various domains. And it was a large party, because d’Audley, Elyan, Agnys, Luneday and even Hilton had brought all manner of servants and retainers. In fact, there were so many of them that Bartholomew wondered whether anyone was left in the two villages.
Their troubles began when Luneday had a brush with thieves as he made his way to Haverhill to meet the rest of the group, although he claimed to have driven the culprits off with no problem. Then the travellers were thrown into disarray when a volley of arrows was loosed at them near Hadstock. But Cynric, ever alert, quickly whisked them under cover, and so saved them from harm.
A little later, Bartholomew glimpsed someone wearing a scarf around his face lurking on the track ahead. Cynric was eager to stand and fight, but Agnys marshalled the party into a tight group, then led them in a furious gallop, so that any ambush that had been planned never had the chance to materialise.
‘Lord!’ breathed Cynric, regarding her in admiration. ‘I shall have to remember that tactic.’
‘I visited Essex once,’ Agnys confided darkly, but did not elaborate.
When he was sure the danger was over, Cynric spurred his horse forward to ride next to the physician. ‘I know we are unpopular in Suffolk – what with demanding thirty marks and exposing lies, deceit and murder – but I did not think the villains would go to these lengths to be rid of us.’
‘What do you mean? These raids are the work of highway thieves – nothing to do with our investigations.’
‘What makes you so sure?’ asked Cynric. ‘Or have you forgotten the murderous attack on us in Withersfield, and the ambush that drove you and Brother Michael into a ditch?’
‘No, but–’
‘The second incident was definitely sinister,’ Cynric went on, getting into his stride. ‘It would have been easy to incapacitate you and steal your purses, but the archers were more concerned with concealing their faces – until you provoked them to come out into the open. Now why was that?’
‘In case they did not kill us, and we were later able to identify them?’ suggested Bartholomew.
‘Because you knew them,’ corrected Cynric. ‘And that means they want you dead for reasons relating to your enquiries. Now, some of these attacks today no doubt have been the work of common criminals, but not all. Do not relax your guard for an instant, boy.’
Bartholomew was not sure whether to believe him. ‘Our Suffolk companions have managed to make us a very attractive target – Elyan’s elegant clothes, Luneday’s fine horses, d’Audley’s fabulous amount of baggage. I imagine half the villains in the county cannot believe their luck–’
‘Do not deceive yourself – someone wants you dead,’ replied Cynric with absolute conviction. He indicated their fellow travellers with a flick of his dark head. ‘And it may be one of this lot.’
‘Then why did you recommend we ride with them?’ asked Bartholomew uncomfortably.
‘For two reasons. First, there are robbers along this road, and they have already killed a man, so being in a big group is definitely better from that standpoint. And second, if one of these lordlings is responsible, then it is better to have him where we can see him. I have been watching them all very carefully, gauging their reactions.’
‘And what have you deduced?’
‘Nothing,’ admitted Cynric, reluctantly. ‘Yet.’
Uneasily, Bartholomew studied each rider in turn, to see if he could detect any hints of disappointment that the raids so far had been unsuccessful.
Luneday headed the procession and seemed to be enjoying himself – he kept stopping to point out ‘interesting’ features, such as lightning-struck trees or particularly well-made fences. Obviously, he was not the one who had ambushed Bartholomew and Michael by the ditch, because he had rescued them. Or had he? Perhaps the whole thing had been an elaborate hoax, in order to gain their confidence. Bartholomew could not imagine why Luneday should play such games, but that did not mean he had not done it. And what about Luneday’s woman? Margery had not killed Neubold and taken his corpse to Haverhill on her own, so who had helped her?
Immediately behind Luneday, keeping a wary eye on his back, was d’Audley, nervous and unhappy in wrinkled, reddish-pink clothes that put the physician in mind of an earthworm. D’Audley hated the scholars for exposing his dishonesty regarding Wynewyk’s loan. He also had good reason to hire assassins.
Michael was next, followed by the students and Hilton. Risleye, Valence and Tesdale had contrived to draw the priest into one of their interminable quarrels, and the four of them were arguing furiously over whether wet horse smelled worse than wet dog. Bartholomew stared at Hilton. He seemed a decent man, but what secret was he withholding about Joan? Would it be something that could solve the riddle of her death? Her murder, thought Bartholomew, finally acknowledging that Edith was probably right, and the sudden demise of her friend was indeed suspicious.
Elyan and Agnys brought up the rear, with the enormous gaggle of servants trailing at their heels. Elyan, immaculately attired in black tunic and cloak, was sombre and brooding. He was returning to the place where his beloved wife had died, so was that the reason for his bleak mood? Or was there more to it?
Bartholomew turned his attention to Agnys, but could gauge nothing at all from her bland expression. Moreover, he was no longer sure what to make of her. He had been inclined to trust her at first – he liked her common sense and pragmatism – but her dismissive attitude towards her lost pennyroyal bothered him profoundly.
When Cynric wheeled away to conduct one of his sporadic scouting missions the physician dropped back to ride with Michael, who had been oddly uncommunicative ever since he had returned from Clare the previous day. Bartholomew did not understand it: the monk claimed his discussion with the Austin friars had been fruitful, so why was he so morose?