‘No,’ replied Ralph smugly. ‘We Austins are not given to jealousy and feelings of resentment against our fellows.’
Michael gave a snort of laughter. ‘Do not take me for a fool! I am a cleric myself, do not forget. There will be resentment and jealousy wherever there are gatherings of people, and religious Orders are no different from secular folk.’
‘Well, I can assure you that no one here minded Will’s success,’ said Ralph coldly. ‘Indeed, it was generally assumed that it was good for us, because through him we had a certain degree of influence in the University.’
Bartholomew could see that Ralph genuinely believed what he was saying, and the more humble Nicholas had said much the same. It seemed Walcote was exactly as he had appeared – an affable, somewhat quiet man who had probably not enjoyed his duties, but who had continued to perform them to the best of his ability because his priory gained prestige from his appointment.
Bartholomew supposed that Michael would have to look into Walcote’s recent cases, and see whether any of the scholars he had caught or fined might have had a reason to kill him. His heart sank at the prospect. Students were a rebellious lot, and he imagined that Walcote would have dealt with a good many of them over the last year. Cambridge possessed a very transient population, and it was even possible that someone might have returned to the town specifically to exact revenge for some past incident, and had already left.
Ralph began to recite a long list of Walcote’s virtues, to which Michael listened patiently and politely. It was clear the Austin Prior had nothing more to say that could help them, and after a while Michael suggested, very gently, that they should be on their way to continue their investigation in the town. Ralph agreed, and left the shuffling Nicholas to see them out. Timothy walked with him, asking him for his own impressions of Walcote, while Michael nodded approvingly at his new deputy’s initiative.
As they headed towards the gate, a bell chimed to announce the midday meal. The canons began to converge on the refectory building, some spilling out from the chapter house and others coming from the gardens or the nearby fields. All walked briskly and purposefully, suggesting that breakfast had been a long time ago. A few chattered together as they walked, but most were silent, their dark robes swinging about their legs as they hurried towards the delicious buttery smell of baked parsnips and pea soup. Bartholomew spotted a familiar figure with tousled hair and a liberal collection of freckles.
‘Look!’ He grabbed Michael’s arm and pointed. ‘It is Simon Lynne. Remember him? He is one of the Carmelites we questioned about Faricius’s murder.’
‘So it is,’ said Michael thoughtfully. ‘Only those are not a Carmelite’s robes he is wearing. That is the habit of an Austin canon.’
‘He cannot be both,’ said Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘What can he be thinking of?’
‘I do not know,’ said Michael, watching the youth disappearing inside the refectory. ‘But we shall find out.’
‘Now?’ asked Bartholomew, pausing and preparing to visit the refectory there and then.
‘In my own time, when I know exactly what questions to put to him. It seems I was right after all, Matt. There does seem to be a link between the murder of Faricius and the murder of Walcote.’
Michael stepped outside the gates of Barnwell Priory and gave a sigh. The wind had sharpened since they had been inside, and a blanket of thick grey clouds made midday feel like evening. It had started to rain, too, unpleasant little splatters that had the bite of ice in them and that stung uncovered hands and faces.
‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ he said irritably, hauling his cowl over his head and drawing his warm cloak tightly around his shoulders. ‘It is a long walk here, and I expected to gain more than you telling me that Walcote had been hanged – which I already knew – and that I must look outside Barnwell to uncover the identity of his killer.’
‘That yellow stain might be important,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It may have been left there by his killer, and could help us identify the culprit.’
‘Perhaps,’ mumbled Michael ungraciously. ‘Although we do not even know what it is, so I cannot see how it will help us to track down the murderer. If you said it was something used by tanners or by parchment makers or some other tradesman, then we might have been able to act on it. But all we know is that it is a yellowish sticky grease of unknown origin.’
‘The Franciscan friars know a lot about peculiar substances,’ suggested Timothy. ‘Their rat poison is famous from here to Peterborough, so perhaps one of them might be able to identify it.’
Michael rubbed his eyes tiredly. ‘I hope it was not a Franciscan who killed Walcote and Faricius. They are at loggerheads with the Austins at the moment, because of this damned philosophical debate, so I suppose it is possible. But the Franciscans will not take kindly to being accused of harbouring a killer.’
‘Then we shall have to be more circumspect,’ said Timothy earnestly. ‘Ely Hall has mice, so I shall visit the Franciscans on the pretext of asking for a solution. While I am there, I shall have a good look for that yellow stuff. If I see any, I shall report back to you, and we can then decide how to proceed.’
‘Good,’ said Michael, approvingly. ‘That may lead somewhere, and if it does not, we will have antagonised no one.’
‘And what about the presence of Simon Lynne here and at the Carmelite Friary?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘That will probably amount to nothing,’ said Michael gloomily. ‘I wanted to find real clues. I was hoping to discover who killed Walcote quickly – today.’
‘At least we have been thorough,’ said Timothy encouragingly. ‘We needed to inspect Walcote’s body and we needed to visit his priory, just to be certain we had overlooked nothing. Just because we learned little does not make it a waste of time.’
Michael looked as though he disagreed, but the priory door opened, and Nicholas sidled out, casting a quick and agitated glance behind him before he closed it. He was already wearing Walcote’s boots, although they were too small and meant that he walked with a peculiarly mincing gait.
‘I know something that may help you,’ he said in a whisper, even though it was unlikely that he could have been overheard through the thick gates. ‘I did not want to mention it at first, because I promised Will I would tell no one. But then I decided I should tell you anything that might prove relevant to his death, although you probably know what I am going to say anyway. But I thought I should mention it, just in case you did not.’
‘I want to know anything that could have a bearing, however remote, on Will’s murder,’ said Michael, intrigued by Nicholas’s rambling discourse.
‘I do not know whether it has a bearing,’ said Nicholas. ‘It involves certain women, but I am sure you know what I am talking about.’
‘Women?’ asked Michael, mystified. ‘With Will? I always understood his affections ran in other directions – in yours, to be precise.’
Nicholas lowered his eyes and gazed at the ground. ‘We did have a certain understanding,’ he said. ‘We have been close since he arrived at Barnwell ten years ago. But that was not what I meant. Will had dealings with the nuns at St Radegund’s convent. Did you know about that?’
‘What kind of dealings?’ demanded Michael, indicating that he did not. ‘They were certainly not romantic ones. He was too devoted to you to indulge in that sort of thing.’
More tears brimmed in Nicholas’s eyes. ‘Thank you for saying that. But I do not know the nature of his business with the nuns. He never told me. I assumed it was something he was doing in relation to his duties as Junior Proctor, which is why I thought you would know about them.’