Bartholomew recalled what Michael had said about Powys – that he was unlikely to do anything without royal approval. Did His Majesty know that precious stones might be being unearthed in a quiet corner of his realm, and had he charged the Warden of his favourite College to ensure he did not lose out? Bartholomew’s stomach churned at the implications of the remark.
Michael also seemed to accept that the interrogation was going no further now such a powerful player had been introduced. ‘We should all go to Michaelhouse,’ he said coldly. ‘Langelee will be making his decision about Elyan Manor soon, and someone needs to represent King’s Hall if you think you have a right to the place.’
‘We do have a right,’ asserted Powys, equally icy. ‘Far more so than the other claimants.’
He gestured that Michael was to leave his domain, and with no alternative but to do as he was bid, the monk complied. Bartholomew followed, and the two King’s Hall men brought up the rear.
Michael, glanced around uneasily as they walked. ‘Idoma said you have all the pieces of the puzzle now, and I suspect she is right. We just need to put them together and find answers before anyone else dies.’
‘But you heard Powys,’ said Bartholomew, coils of unease writhing in his stomach. ‘The King–’
‘I do not believe that – he is just trying to frighten us. He is involved in something dark, and I can think of no better way to make him show his hand than to take him to Michaelhouse and see what happens when he learns his College has no right to inherit Elyan Manor.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily. ‘It is not dangerous?’
‘Oh, it is dangerous,’ said Michael. There was a gleam in his eye that said he was looking forward to outwitting his enemies. ‘But so are we.’
When Bartholomew and Michael arrived at Michaelhouse, Paxtone and Warden Powys in tow, the deputation from Suffolk was already there. Langelee was entertaining them in the hall, empty of scholars because they were all at the debate, and had donned his ceremonial robes for the occasion.
He was regaling them with details of a camp-ball game he had enjoyed the previous week. Luneday listened with rapt attention, his eyes never leaving Langelee’s face, and Lady Agnys interrupted with several astute observations. Hilton was more interested in the library, while Elyan was covetously fingering the half-finished cloak Agatha had left hanging over the back of a bench.
Michael began to make introductions. Elyan was pleased to meet the King’s Hall men, and began talking about the arrangements Neubold had made on his behalf. Agnys was polite but strangely subdued, especially towards Paxtone, while Luneday was bluff, hearty and insincere.
‘Where is d’Audley?’ asked Langelee. ‘We are all busy men, and cannot wait for him to–’
‘Dead,’ interrupted Michael. ‘Gosse killed him.’
There was a startled silence.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Agnys eventually, the first to recover her composure.
‘Quite sure,’ replied Michael tersely. The confrontations with Tesdale and the King’s Hall men had unsettled him, and made him disinclined to mince words.
‘It is probably good news for me,’ said Elyan, ignoring the warning glare his grandmother shot him. ‘He wanted me dead, because he was so sure he was going to win my estates. I shall sleep easier in my bed knowing he is not after my blood.’
‘We had better make a start,’ said Langelee briskly. ‘I understand that Gosse and his hell-hag sister have something deadly in mind for later, so it is in all our interests to get a move on.’
‘Something deadly?’ asked Hilton, turning white at the prospect. ‘What?’
‘We do not know yet,’ replied Michael coolly, looking around at each of the gathering in turn. Bartholomew did likewise, but could read nothing in anyone’s expression – could not tell if he was among friends or in the presence of people who were in league with some very deadly criminals.
‘Do you think this “something deadly” will happen here?’ asked Elyan, tugging his cloak around him as if he found the hall suddenly too cold. ‘I thought we would be safe inside these thick walls.’
‘We are secure enough,’ said Langelee. He grinned rather diabolically as he patted the sword he wore at his side; it was incongruous against his academic garb. ‘But if not, I can wield a blade with the best of them. I skewered many a villain when I worked for the Archbishop of York.’
‘Did you?’ asked Luneday, impressed. ‘You are indeed a man of many parts, Master.’
‘I am,’ agreed Langelee smugly. He took his sceptre and gave the table several enthusiastic raps to indicate business was under way. ‘This meeting will take the form of all College proceedings: we shall begin with a prayer, then discuss the matter in hand. I will hear all sides of the argument, and then make my decision. Do you all consent to bide by it?’
‘Only if you find in our favour,’ said Powys. ‘I cannot stand by and see King’s Hall dispossessed.’
‘That is not how these things work,’ argued Luneday. ‘You either agree in advance to accept whatever Master Langelee decrees, or you do not – in which case we may as well go home.’
The Warden stood. ‘I do not approve of the way this is being rushed, and you have King’s Hall at a disadvantage. All our colleagues are at the Blood Relic debate, while our most skilful lawyer is in prison. I demand an adjournment until such time–’
‘In prison for what?’ asked Luneday curiously.
‘For something he did not do,’ replied Powys before Michael could speak.
‘We know he did not murder Carbo,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But there are other matters with which he might be able to help us. So he will stay where he is until I have answers.’
‘I say let him out,’ said Luneday. He shrugged when everyone regarded him uncertainly. ‘Just for an hour. He can represent King’s Hall, and then everyone will be happy – they will have their best lawyer, and we shall have our decision. Afterwards, you can lock him away again.’
‘No,’ demurred Warden Powys, looking uneasy. ‘He will not be himself after all this time in a cell, and this is too important a matter for errors. I object most strongly.’
‘You cannot object,’ said Agnys. ‘Your basis for demanding a delay is the lack of a good lawyer. But once Shropham is released, that no longer holds. Or do you have other reasons for wanting this to drag on for years – such as your case not being as strong as you would have us believe?’
‘Well, Powys?’ demanded Michael archly, when the Warden opened his mouth to argue, but no words emerged. ‘Lady Agnys makes a good point.’
Paxtone saw they were cornered, even if Powys was not ready to admit it.
‘Very well,’ he said, ignoring Powys’s immediate scowl of disapproval. ‘Bring Shropham. A respite from that dank gaol will do him good anyway.’
‘I shall fetch him at once,’ said Michael.
‘Good,’ said Paxtone. ‘It means I am not needed, for which I am grateful. The events of the day have distressed me, and I feel the need to rest.’
‘What events?’ asked Agnys immediately.
Paxtone’s smile was pained. ‘College matters, madam. You would not understand.’
Bartholomew followed Michael outside and across the yard, aware that they had left behind them a very unhappy group. Luneday and Langelee were the only two who seemed to be enjoying themselves, although even they were showing signs of strain: Langelee was itching to be done so he could attend his camp-ball game, while Luneday’s jovial bonhomie was beginning to sound forced. Meanwhile, Elyan was growing increasingly uneasy; he kept going to the windows to look out. His grandmother watched him with wary eyes, Hilton played nervously with pen and ink, and Powys was white with barely restrained fury.