‘A Carmelite and a Franciscan?’ asked Michael, surprised. ‘They always give the impression that they dislike each other, and that they would never meet on friendly terms.’
‘I do not know whether their meetings were friendly or not,’ said Eve. ‘And I cannot tell you whether they were both present at the same meetings.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Michael.
Eve sighed impatiently. ‘Exactly what I say, Brother. I think I saw Pechem, and I think I saw Lincolne, but I do not remember whether I saw them both on the same night. I cannot tell you whether Walcote’s meetings were always with the same people.’
‘That is interesting,’ said Michael.
Eve went on. ‘If you ask me to swear that it was definitely these men I saw I cannot do it – not because I mean to be unhelpful, but because I am simply not sure. As I said, it was dark.’
‘I saw no one,’ slurred Dame Martyn. She slipped suddenly to one side, so that she sat at an odd angle in her chair.
‘That I can believe,’ said Michael regarding her in disdain. He turned to Eve. ‘Who else?’
‘One other,’ said Eve nervously. ‘Although I do not know whether I should mention it.’
‘You should,’ declared Michael. ‘Who was it?’
‘Master Kenyngham of Michaelhouse.’ She watched Michael’s jaw drop in patent disbelief. ‘See? I knew I should not tell you.’
Chapter 5
‘I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING MORE TO FARICIUS’S murder than a simple stabbing,’ said Michael, as he and Bartholomew walked the short distance from St Radegund’s Convent back to the town.
The day had grown even darker since they had been in the convent, and black clouds slouched above, moving quickly in the rising wind. Rain fell in a persistent, heavy drizzle that quickly soaked through Bartholomew’s cloak and boots. He was shivering by the time they reached the King’s Ditch, and longed to return to the comparative comfort of Michaelhouse, even if it were only to a room that was so damp that the walls were stained green with mould.
‘I said those Carmelites were hiding something,’ Michael went on, warm and snug inside his own oiled cloak and expensive boots. ‘Now I learn that the leader of the Carmelites and the leader of the Franciscans – sworn enemies – were having clandestine meetings with my Junior Proctor.’
‘Eve Wasteneys said she was not sure whether the two were at the same gatherings,’ Bartholomew pointed out.
‘But she did not say they were not,’ said Michael.
‘Do you believe her?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘She and Dame Martyn have no reason to be truthful with you. You threatened them, and they have good cause to dislike you.’
Michael shrugged. ‘Dame Martyn might try to fool me, but Eve is a practical woman who knows that lying to the Senior Proctor is not a clever thing to do. I believe what she said. Also, the fact that she was a little vague about some of the details gives her story a ring of authenticity, as far as I am concerned.’
‘I wonder what Walcote could have been discussing with them,’ mused Bartholomew, trying to imagine the kind of business that would bring the leader of the Franciscans, the fanatical Prior Lincolne and the gentle, unworldly Kenyngham together in the depths of the night at a place like St Radegund’s Convent. ‘Perhaps he was trying to resolve the conflict between the Orders.’
‘No,’ said Michael, after a moment of thought. ‘Eve said the first meeting was in November or December, and there was no trouble to speak of between the Orders at that point. It has only come to a head during the last few weeks – since the beginning of Lent.’
‘But that is when Eve claimed there were several more meetings,’ said Bartholomew.
Michael rubbed his hands together in sudden enthusiasm. ‘This is more like it, Matt! I thought at first that Walcote’s death was a simple case of some embittered student striking a blow at the University’s authority. Now I discover that he was organising secret meetings, and that he had been doing so for months.’
Bartholomew regarded him doubtfully. ‘Why should that make you feel better about his murder? And you do, Brother; you are looking pleased with yourself.’
‘Because this is the kind of mystery that I am good at solving. I possess a cunning mind, and am far better at resolving complex plots than I am at uncovering random acts of violence. We will get to the bottom of this, and we will see Walcote’s death avenged. Now I know that a plot involving the University lies at the heart of it, I am more hopeful of success.’
‘Well, I am not,’ said Bartholomew gloomily. ‘The webs of deceit and untruths spread by scholars are often extremely difficult to unravel. We might still be looking into this at Christmas.’
‘Nonsense, Matt,’ said Michael confidently. ‘We will have this solved by Easter Sunday.’
‘In five days?’ asked Bartholomew uncertainly. ‘I do not think so!’
‘We will. I wager you a fine dinner – with as much wine as you can drink – at the Brazen George that by Easter Sunday we shall have this resolved. Do you accept?’
‘Murder is hardly a matter for betting,’ said Bartholomew primly. ‘You are wrong, anyway. It will be impossible to solve this muddle in five days.’
Michael slapped him on the shoulders. ‘You will see. But one of the first things we shall do is visit the Carmelite Friary. I want to inspect Faricius’s belongings, to see if there is something to indicate that he was not the hard-working, scholarly man everyone seemed to admire. And then I shall ask Lincolne what he was doing with my Junior Proctor at St Radegund’s Convent.’
‘What if he denies it? Eve Wasteneys said she could not be certain.’
Michael rubbed his chin. ‘You are right. Perhaps a full-frontal assault on the man would not be wise, given that we do not have a witness who is prepared to be unequivocal. It may warn him to be on the alert, or he may tell his coconspirators. I shall have to be a little more circumspect.’
As they entered the town through the Barnwell Gate and started to walk down the High Street towards the Carmelite Friary, they met Brother Timothy, who had completed his business with the Franciscans. His covert search for the curious yellow substance that Bartholomew had seen on Faricius and Walcote had been unsuccessful, although he carried a bag of ominous-looking black powder that he was assured would rid the Benedictines of their mice.
‘Nothing?’ asked Michael, disappointed.
The Benedictine shook his head. ‘I had my fingers in all manner of jars and bottles, so that even the herbalist, who loves to talk about his potions and concoctions, was beginning to grow suspicious. I pretended that my spare habit had a yellow stain that I was keen to remove, but I am sure he genuinely did not know the nature of the substance we saw on Walcote.’
‘Did he suggest anyone else who might?’ asked Michael.
Timothy scratched his head. ‘I did not want to press him too hard, because Franciscans are intensely loyal to each other. If the herbalist thought we believed one of his brethren to be involved in a crime, he would close ranks with his colleagues, and we would never be allowed inside the gates again.’
‘Never mind,’ said Michael, not sounding surprised that the yellow stains had led nowhere. ‘We are going to inspect Faricius’s belongings. Perhaps they will yield some kind of clue.’
The Carmelite Friary was a compact institution on Milne Street, the buildings of which were smaller than those of the Dominicans, but which boasted a large and pleasant garden that ran down to the river near Small Bridges Street. Like the other friaries, it was dominated by a two-storeyed building that had a refectory on the ground floor with a dormitory on the upper floor. With it, stables, a kitchen and a chapter house formed a neat quadrangle, while the Prior’s house was a pleasant extension that jutted out to the south. The Prior’s quarters boasted a private chapel on the ground floor, with a chamber on the upper floor that was an office during the day and a bedchamber for Lincolne at night.