Bartholomew rubbed a hand through his hair, confused and uncertain. ‘They are killers, and you advocate letting them go? What if they harm someone else?’
‘It is a risk we will have to take. I will watch them when we reach Cambridge, see where they go and who they meet.’
It was not an ideal plan, but Bartholomew could think of no better way to discover who had paid the pair to kill – and Cynric was doubtless right in saying they were unlikely to answer questions if he stormed up to them. But Idoma was speaking again, and he strained to hear what she was saying.
‘So who has our property?’ she was asking. ‘We should have retrieved it by now – you have searched all the University’s most likely buildings.’
‘Removing a little something for my pains at each one,’ said Gosse with a grin. Then the smile faded. ‘But I have no idea where it might be. King’s Hall and Michaelhouse seemed the most likely candidates, but it is not in either of them – of that I am certain.’
‘Carbo should rot in Hell for laying sticky fingers on our things,’ Idoma snarled, her face dark, vengeful and dangerous. ‘He had no right!’
‘I wish Neubold had not stabbed him, though.’ Gosse was more meditative than irate. ‘I know we questioned him at length and his answers made no sense, but I am sure we could have broken through his mad ramblings eventually.’
‘And do you know why Neubold killed him?’ Idoma’s voice was pure acid. ‘To save himself! He was afraid Carbo was going to run to the Dominican Prior with tales of his venality.’
‘Neubold was a fool,’ said Gosse dismissively. ‘The Prior would never have believed the likes of Carbo.’
‘And Carbo’s death means we are left with no clue as to where our property might be,’ added Idoma bitterly. ‘Are you sure it is not at the mine?’
Gosse nodded. ‘I spent days watching and searching it when I first realised what he had done. You know this – I told you about the boy I was obliged to stab, who almost caught me. Thank God for Elyan, who buried the corpse because he did not want Suffolk’s Sheriff sniffing around.’
‘And thank God for Neubold, too,’ added Idoma caustically, ‘for inventing the tale that put Carbo in line to take the blame, should word of the murder slip out.’
Gosse’s expression was oddly unreadable. ‘He was a decent lawyer in many ways. It is a pity his crimes caught up with him and took him to a premature end. But it is more of a pity that he did not use his sharp wits to find our property.’
‘What are they talking about?’ whispered Cynric. ‘What property?’
Bartholomew shrugged. ‘Something they think went from Haverhill to the University, which explains why they have only burgled scholars’ homes.’
‘I never thought I would say it, but it is a pity Wynewyk is dead, too,’ Gosse was saying. ‘His role has been ambiguous, to say the least, and I never did trust him. But I am sure he knew where it is.’
‘What about his friend Paxtone? Is it worth questioning him?’
‘It would be more trouble than it is worth.’ Gosse squinted up at the sky. ‘I think enough time has passed now – the travellers are unlikely to see us if they happen to glance back. Can you walk?’
Idoma nodded. ‘We should not waste more time here, anyway, or we will be too late to put our plan into action – and there will not be another chance like this, with all the scholars crammed into the Blood Relic debate. I cannot wait to show them what happens to folk who take what is ours.’
She laughed softly, a sound that made Bartholomew shudder; when he glanced at Cynric, the book-bearer was crossing himself with one hand and clutching his amulets with the other.
‘We will show them,’ Gosse said in a voice that was pure malice. ‘Today shall be a day none of them will ever forget.’
Chapter 11
‘I recommend you stay at the Brazen George,’ said Michael briskly, when the party finally reached Cambridge and the town’s guards had allowed them through the Barnwell Gate. ‘I shall escort you there, and arrange for you to meet Langelee later. It will mean him missing the Blood Relic debate, but I doubt he will mind.’
Bartholomew was sure Langelee would be delighted to be provided with an excuse to escape a lot of theologians pontificating. The Master had never been very keen on public disputations.
‘No,’ said Luneday firmly. ‘We shall go to Michaelhouse now, and ask him for his verdict. We will not deprive him of a chance to display his razor-like wits to his admiring colleagues.’
‘But this great philosopher may be otherwise engaged.’ Elyan pulled distastefully at his travel-stained clothes. ‘And we do not want to meet him looking like peasants.’
‘He probably is busy,’ agreed Michael, eager to brief Langelee before the claimants descended on him. ‘And he will want time to prepare a proper welcome for you.’
‘But that will inconvenience him, and we would not do that for the world,’ argued Luneday. ‘The sooner we all state our cases, the sooner we can go home. So lead on, Brother. You said he is known for speedy decisions, and I miss Lizzie already.’
‘But not Margery,’ muttered Cynric. ‘His woman of several years. His dead woman.’
‘If he gives too swift a verdict, King’s Hall will accuse him of not assessing all the evidence,’ said Michael warningly. ‘So do not expect a decision today. And if the answer to this case were simple, your priests would already have devised a fair and legal solution.’
‘It is complex,’ agreed Hilton. He glanced at Risleye, Valence and Tesdale. ‘But not as complex as the arguments surrounding whether wet dog is more unpleasant than wet horse, apparently.’
‘Then let us go to Michaelhouse, and have an end to it once and for all,’ said Elyan with a petulant sigh. ‘Master Langelee will just have to accept that no man looks his best after enduring the King’s highways. And if we hurry, there may be time to buy some new clothes before we return home.’
Bartholomew’s attention was elsewhere. ‘There is Paxtone,’ he said, spotting his colleague’s impressive bulk and tiny ankles.
He dismounted, eager for news of his patients, but Michael coughed meaningfully, and shot him a look that said he would need the physician’s help when the Suffolk men met the Messiah of Arbitration. The encounter was going to need some skilful manipulation if the visitors were not to know they had been shamefully misled.
‘Is he from King’s Hall?’ asked Agnys, narrowing her eyes. ‘I heard they all wear blue tabards.’
‘Yes. Have you met him?’ asked Michael, making polite conversation. ‘He is one of their Fellows, and might well have journeyed to Haverhill to inspect Elyan Manor and the Alneston Chantry.’
‘No,’ said Agnys sharply, cutting off some reply her grandson started to make. ‘I imagine they took care to avoid our company, given that they are trying to disinherit honest Suffolk folk.’
‘What is happening?’ asked Paxtone of Bartholomew, intrigued by the cavalcade. The physician thought his gaze lingered slightly longer on Agnys than the others, but could not be sure. Perhaps it was because her veil was comically awry from the ride and her heavy boots looked incongruous against the fine cloth of her kirtle.
‘These are claimants against King’s Hall for Elyan Manor,’ Bartholomew explained. ‘They want Langelee to pass judgement.’
‘Langelee?’ Paxtone started to laugh, but stopped when he saw Bartholomew was serious. ‘Lord! I doubt Warden Powys will agree to that. I mean no disrespect, but Langelee would not be my first choice of men to adjudicate complex legal disputes.’