Bartholomew tried to recall what else Wynewyk had said. ‘He told me he and Gosse had some sort of spat that turned violent. Gosse’s servant was killed when daggers were drawn.’
‘The Carmelite novices saved him from a trouncing and there was a fatality – you gave me a verdict, if you recall. But I suspect Wynewyk had realised by then that he was on a slippery slope to nowhere: he was sans lover, he had taken too many liberties with the College accounts to put right, he was responsible for our Bible Scholar’s death…’
‘Gosse killed Kelyng,’ said Bartholomew stubbornly. ‘They fell over each other when they were spying on Elyan’s mine.’
‘But who ordered him there?’ demanded Michael harshly. ‘Wynewyk was a villain, Matt. He even tried to kill Langelee, and when that failed and he knew his game was over, he ate nuts in earnest. But Tesdale got him first.’
‘But why kill himself? Why not go to London?’
‘I think he could not bring himself to leave Cambridge in the end,’ replied Michael. ‘But it was all for greed. For these wretched diamonds – Carbo’s so-called magic stones.’
‘And the irony is that the whole thing was a hoax. First, diamonds do not occur in England – and they certainly do not appear in seams of coal in Suffolk. And second, the rocks in the bag Carbo stole from Gosse were not diamonds anyway.’
The last point was news to Michael. His jaw dropped.
‘They were, Matt! They were raw diamonds – uncut, and so unfamiliar to most of us. But they scratched glass, and everyone knows–’
‘Many minerals scratch glass, Brother.’
Michael regarded him thoughtfully. ‘What about the sack of pebbles Joan buried in Edith’s garden?’ Edith had noticed freshly turned soil, and asked Bartholomew to investigate, although he and Michael both knew what they would find. Joan had buried it there, in the hope that its disappearance would prevent men like Wynewyk, Paxton, Warden Powys and d’Audley from harming her child.
‘Poor Joan,’ said Bartholomew. ‘No wonder she was distressed for the last few weeks of her life. She knew she had to dispose of the “diamonds” – the ones the husband she loved hoped would make him rich, and that she knew really belonged to Osa Gosse. It cannot have been an easy decision to make.’
But Michael was more interested in the physician’s claim that the precious gems were a hoax. ‘Can I assume from your remarks that you performed some kind of experiment on them?’ he asked.
‘I borrowed a real diamond and a ruby from Edith, and both scratched what Joan had buried – which means Elyan’s stones are softer. I did some reading, and deduced that they are actually rock crystal, which is quarried by the bucket-load in Greece.’
Michael sighed. ‘I should not be surprised, given that the originator of the tale was Carbo – a madman. Elyan was a fool for believing him, and everyone else was a fool for believing Elyan.’
‘According to Sheriff Tulyet, who returned today, a box of rock crystal was stolen from a Suffolk jeweller last summer. Clearly, Gosse is the culprit, and no doubt he intended to pass them off as raw diamonds at some point in the future. Just as Wynewyk tried to do.’
‘But Carbo found them first, and told Elyan they had come from his mine.’
‘I doubt Carbo lied – he probably believed it himself. Poor Carbo! It is a pity, because in other ways he was regaining his wits – he came to Cambridge to expose his felonious brother. And Neubold killed him for it.’
‘Elyan is no innocent, either,’ added Michael. ‘He told Gosse the “diamonds” had been distributed around the University, so Gosse would leave him alone and pick on someone else. Did I tell you he has gone on a pilgrimage to Walsingham, to atone for all his sins?’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘The whole affair was horrible. It led Gosse to kill Kelyng, Margery and d’Audley; Wynewyk to kill himself – with Tesdale’s help; and d’Audley to hang Neubold. It brought Wynewyk into fatal contact with Joan; and induced Gosse and Idoma to try to poison the entire University.’
‘And Risleye was killed by the duplicitous Tesdale,’ finished Michael. ‘Incidentally, in an effort to save himself, Gosse became very verbose. He told me King’s Hall had hired him and his sister.’
‘Hired them to do what?’
‘To break into Michaelhouse and retrieve documents about the diamonds from Wynewyk. But they could not find any, so they made off with the Stanton Cups instead. He also said they were paid to follow us to Suffolk and dispatch us there, because King’s Hall was worried that we planned to take up where Wynewyk had left off.’
Bartholomew regarded him in horror. ‘Do you believe him?’
Michael was silent for a long time. ‘Gosse also said that King’s Hall promised him a lot of money – enough to buy a decent house in our town and enjoy a life of luxury. Powys assures me that his College does not have that sort of cash to hand. But who knows the truth? I do not.’
Bartholomew shook his head, sickened. ‘So King’s Hall tried to murder us? Paxtone and Powys? I thought they were our friends!’
‘They were not friends once the prospect of diamonds appeared,’ said Michael bleakly.
‘But they must have been aware that we knew nothing about these wretched gemstones – they had a spy in our midst, after all.’
‘Risleye. But we were suspicious of him – or I was, at least – and took care never to say anything we did not want him to hear. He was next to useless to King’s Hall.’
Bartholomew thought about his student. ‘I should have known something was amiss when he and Paxtone remained on friendly terms. How could I have been so blind?’
‘Because you are too willing to see the good in people, as I have told you before. You need to develop a more cynical attitude to your fellows – present company excepted, of course.’
‘Did Shropham know about the diamonds?’ asked Bartholomew, not wanting to think too much about his colleagues’ shortcomings. He had liked the men from King’s Hall and was shocked by what the investigation had taught him about them.
‘No – just Powys and Paxtone. Did I tell you Powys has resigned as Warden? And Paxtone plans to leave Cambridge and practise medicine in Lincoln?’
Bartholomew nodded unhappily, but made no other reply.
‘Gosse also claimed it was King’s Hall’s idea to poison the wine at the debate, but I know he was lying about that. Powys turned out to be corrupt and greedy, but he does not bear a grudge against the entire University. That particular piece of nastiness belonged to Gosse and Idoma alone.’
‘Good,’ said Bartholomew bleakly, supposing it was some comfort.
Michael tried to lighten the mood. ‘However, one good thing came out of this wretched affair: I was spared taking part in the Blood Relic debate.’
Bartholomew regarded him askance. ‘I thought you were disappointed about that? You wanted the chance to show everyone that you are bishop material.’
‘I did – but I would have failed. Thelnetham was ruthlessly savaged by the Franciscans, and he is better versed in the dispute than me. I had a very narrow escape.’
It was late by the time Bartholomew and Michael arrived in Suffolk. They stopped in Haverhill first, to visit Agnys, and found her entertaining Luneday. Both were lonely, with Margery dead and Elyan on pilgrimage, and had taken to keeping each other company of an evening. Agnys was teaching Luneday how to cheat at dice, and she was learning a great deal about pigs in return.
The next morning, she took the scholars to the mine, where Kelyng was excavated and placed in a chest, ready to be carried home. Then Bartholomew went to inspect Lizzie: her humours were awry, and Luneday would not let the scholars leave until the physician had examined her.