‘No,’ said Bartholomew stubbornly. ‘He would have shared them with Michaelhouse.’
Michael ignored him. ‘But when the promised returns failed to materialise, he realised he had “borrowed” too much. We began to feel the pinch, and he knew it was only a matter of time before his colleagues started to wonder why. He began to grow desperate–’
‘No,’ insisted Bartholomew. ‘He is not a thief.’
‘He would not have tried to kill Langelee if his intentions had been honest, nor would he have kept the whole thing secret – he would have solicited our help. But we do not have time for protracted deliberations here. I cannot escape the feeling that something terrible is about to happen, and while it is good to have answers to some of our questions, too many still remain.’
‘Such as who killed Joan, why she came to Cambridge–’
‘Such as what King’s Hall is doing with Gosse,’ corrected Michael. ‘That is far more pressing.’
‘Here is Powys,’ said Bartholomew, as the Warden of King’s Hall entered the College at a run. The Junior Proctor was behind him. ‘You can demand answers from him, as well as Paxtone.’
‘I dare not linger,’ gasped Cleydon, pulling Michael to one side. ‘Thelnetham has just made a highly inflammatory declaration, and the Franciscans are howling heresy. One of us needs to be there to keep the peace, or there will be bloodshed for certain.’
‘Do you need more beadles?’ asked Michael. ‘If so, we can use the ones I sent to arrest Gosse and Idoma. Laying hold of felons is not nearly as urgent as preventing a riot.’
‘I have already redeployed them,’ replied Cleydon, his face taut with worry. ‘It seemed reckless to squander resources on a manhunt when we are on the brink of serious trouble.’
‘Send word to Constable Muschett,’ ordered Michael. ‘His soldiers can deal with Gosse.’
‘I have told him, Brother. But he has locked himself in the castle and informs me that he does not intend to come out today. This would not be happening if Sheriff Tulyet were here.’
‘Gosse and Idoma are planning something terrible,’ said Bartholomew, horrified to learn they were still free. ‘We must stop it – whatever it is.’
Michael turned to Cleydon. ‘I will make enquiries about Gosse’s plans while you return to the church. Keep everyone calm and prevent a riot at all costs.’
It was a tall order, and Cleydon did not look happy as he hurried away.
Bartholomew’s mind was spinning as he and Michael walked towards Paxtone. The King’s Hall physician was in urgent conference with his Warden, but they stopped speaking abruptly when the Michaelhouse men came within earshot.
‘You owe us an explanation,’ said Michael coldly.
‘There is nothing more to say,’ replied Paxtone, exchanging a brief and rather furtive glance with his colleague. ‘I encouraged Matthew to accept Risleye as a student because we needed to know what Wynewyk was doing. And you heard Tesdale: Wynewyk was in such deep water that he tried to kill himself, so our qualms were certainly justified.’
‘I was not referring to that,’ said Michael icily, ‘although sending spies to other foundations is unsavoury, and is a matter that will be aired at greater length later. I refer to the rumours that say you have been doing business with Gosse – that he expects to share a considerable fortune with you.’
‘With us?’ asked Paxtone, startled, while the Warden gaped at the charge. ‘I cannot imagine–’
‘Do not play games,’ blazed Michael, patience at an end. ‘Men are dead, and there is something rotten going on that involves your College. You will tell me what.’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ said Paxtone, alarmed.
‘You can start by explaining why you came back to King’s Hall covered in blood on the night that Carbo was murdered.’ Michael’s expression was glacial.
‘What is wrong with you today, Brother?’ cried Warden Powys. ‘You cannot come here and start issuing wild accusations! You already have Shropham in your clutches. Is that not enough? Or do you intend to persist until you have all my Fellows under lock and key?’
Paxtone had looked confused when Michael mentioned the night of Carbo’s death, but suddenly his expression cleared. ‘You refer to the occasion when I left Matthew reading in my room, while I went to bleed Constable Muschett?’
Events suddenly made sense to Bartholomew, too. ‘You were wiping your hands when you came back, and said you were grateful you had worn an apron.’
‘I am not good at phlebotomy,’ said Paxtone sheepishly. ‘And it is not unusual for veins to spurt at me. I went to the kitchens to wash and Tesdale was there. I was embarrassed by my ineptitude, and paid him not to say anything – I suppose he put his own inimical twist on the incident. I do my best with these nasty techniques, but I do not own your skill with them, Matthew.’
Bartholomew ignored the barb and saw that Paxtone might well be telling the truth: Muschett’s summons had been unexpected, and Paxtone was notoriously bad at anything that involved cautery.
‘Then what about the diamonds?’ demanded Michael.
‘Diamonds?’ echoed Paxtone, jaw dropping. ‘What in God’s name are you talking about?’
‘The bag of stones I found in your cupboard,’ explained Bartholomew. ‘They are uncut gems.’
Paxtone continued to gape. ‘They are rocks to help a woman through childbirth. Even you, despite your unorthodoxy, must know certain minerals have the power to alleviate specific conditions.’
Bartholomew was uncertain what to think – Paxtone was convincing – but Michael was less credulous. ‘Tesdale said you and Wynewyk worked together on a project involving rocks,’ the monk said accusingly. ‘And he also said you took care to keep it away from him.’
‘Of course Paxtone did not let Tesdale know his business,’ snapped the Warden, before Paxtone could answer for himself. ‘We were wary of the lad – doubting the wisdom of hiring him – so naturally we made sure he saw nothing of our affairs.’
‘That does not tell us what you were doing with Wynewyk,’ said Bartholomew.
Paxtone sighed. ‘We were discussing Elyan Manor, if you must know. Wynewyk had purchased a share in the mine, and was concerned about who would eventually inherit. He supported our claim, because he knew we would treat fairly with him. We did not discuss rocks – we discussed coal.’
‘We dealt honestly with him, but our decency was not reciprocated,’ added the Warden bitterly. ‘I never trusted him, although we maintained a veneer of friendship. And if you say I malign him, then you are fools. I could not believe it when Langelee gave him free rein with the Michaelhouse accounts, and if you do not find inconsistencies in them, I will dance naked in St Mary the Great.’
‘Something malevolent is at work here,’ said Michael, declining to discuss a colleague, even a treacherous one, with members of a rival foundation. ‘It has already resulted in the deaths of Joan, Carbo, Neubold, Margery and her paramour d’Audley, Wynewyk and Kelyng, and attempts have been made on my life and Matt’s. It is time to bring an end to it. You must help me.’
‘But we have no idea what you are talking about!’ cried Paxtone. ‘Who is Margery?’
‘Neubold is dead?’ cried the Warden. ‘How?’
‘It would take too long to explain,’ snapped Michael. ‘So, for the last time, what is going on?’
‘Nothing is going on,’ declared Powys angrily. ‘At least, nothing involving King’s Hall. You say Gosse claims an association with us, but he is lying. Your accusations are outrageous – and offensive to a foundation that enjoys the patronage of the King.’