‘But this does not tally,’ said Langelee, after a moment of thought. ‘A few days ago you told me that Walcote’s secret meetings started around or just after the time when Michaelhouse’s stolen gold spilled across the Market Square. That was in late November. But Smyth died at Christmas. Ergo, Walcote’s secret meetings had been taking place before he found the letter on the dead Smyth.’
‘We had fathomed that, thank you,’ said Michael testily. ‘According to Morden, Walcote had been anticipating trouble between the religious Orders for months. The meetings were his attempt to understand the causes, so that he could try to minimise the effects. The subject of the intended murder was raised at a later gathering.’
‘But I still do not understand why someone would want to kill you,’ said Langelee, poking the fire again. ‘Have you been involved in any especially dubious business recently that may have upset anyone? We all know about the arrangements with Oxford, of course.’
‘Thanks to you,’ said Michael, not without resentment. It had been Langelee’s announcement regarding his liaison with Heytesbury that had ultimately deprived Michael of the Michaelhouse Mastership. ‘But my Oxford business cannot be the reason. All I am doing is passing some property to Heytesbury in exchange for a couple of names and one or two bits of information.’
‘Controversial information?’ pressed Langelee, keenly interested.
Michael could not suppress a gleeful grin. ‘Not yet, but it will be. Heytesbury is almost ready to sign. He thinks I want to use the information to become Chancellor – which I might, as it happens – but I have other plans for it first. And Cambridge will emerge richer and stronger from it.’
‘Good,’ said Langelee, smiling warmly. ‘It is gratifying to see Cambridge besting Oxford. But what about the other men whom Walcote met? You say one was Morden, and I know another was Kenyngham.’
‘You do?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘How? He refused to speak to me.’
‘He refused to speak to me, too,’ said Langelee. ‘So, I paid a visit to his Prior instead. Gretford admitted that he and Kenyngham had attended about four of these meetings, but told me that the main issues discussed were repairing the Great Bridge – anonymously, so that the town would not expect the University to pay in the future – and the relative merits of nominalism and realism.’
‘Morden said much the same,’ said Bartholomew.
‘It seems to me that the person who wishes Michael dead may well be one of those powerful men who attended Walcote’s meetings,’ said Langelee thoughtfully. ‘To kill a proctor is to strike at the heart of the University’s authority – as I remarked when you first started to investigate this business. Thus, the would-be killer may be a high-ranking cleric.’
‘I think you are right,’ said Michael. ‘He probably kept Walcote alive long enough to learn from him what was happening regarding the investigation of Smyth’s letter, and then murdered him when he started to come too close to the truth.’
‘Then all we have to do is find out precisely who attended these meetings,’ said Bartholomew. ‘That will at least give us a manageable list of suspects. Otherwise, we have to assume it could be anyone – not just in the University, but in the town, too.’
Langelee agreed. ‘You have apprehended a lot of killers in your time, Brother. Many believed their crimes were justified and hated you for thwarting them, while others doubtless had families or friends who might want vengeance.’
‘True,’ said Michael. ‘But luckily, most of them were either killed in the chase or were subjected to the justice of the King’s courts – it was not I who hanged them; it was the Sheriff.’
‘Then what about criminals’ families?’ asked Langelee. ‘There are probably wives, children, parents and siblings who want you struck down for what you did to their loved ones.’
‘That kind of person would not plot to kill Michael,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He – or she – would just strike, not devise elaborate plans and send details via disenchanted beadles.’
‘I agree,’ said Michael.
‘So, let us consider your list of likely suspects, then,’ said Langelee, passing Michael another hunk of yellow cheese and taking an equally large slice for himself. Bartholomew was not halfway through his pie. ‘Who do you know for certain attended these meetings?’
‘Dame Wasteneys and Matilde claim that Kenyngham, Lincolne and Pechem were regular attenders,’ said Michael with his mouth full. ‘Brother Adam added Ralph of the Austins and Morden of the Dominicans. However, Morden denies seeing Kenyngham, and Kenyngham denies seeing Morden and Pechem.’
‘We have explained that, though,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Walcote simply arranged separate gatherings for the two factions of the realism – nominalism debate, because he knew they would squabble if he did not.’
Michael nodded. ‘Eve Wasteneys told us Walcote held eight or nine meetings in totaclass="underline" Morden and Kenyngham both claimed to have attended four or five. Since they were not at the same ones, we can deduce that Eve was telling us the truth about the total number.’
‘Can we be sure that Walcote’s reason for separating the factions was honourable?’ wondered Bartholomew thoughtfully. ‘He may have been playing a game, pitting one group against another.’
‘That would have been risky,’ said Langelee, topping up his own goblet, then doing the same for Michael. Bartholomew had barely touched his, but the Master gave him more anyway, filling the goblet so that a trembling meniscus lay over the top. ‘These are powerful men, who would not appreciate being pawns in the game of a mere Junior Proctor.’
‘Then perhaps that is why he died,’ said Michael soberly.
‘Do you know a novice at St Radegund’s Convent called Tysilia de Apsley?’ asked Bartholomew, changing the subject slightly. ‘She is tall with dark hair.’
‘I know her,’ said Langelee. He gave a salacious grin. ‘And so does every other red-blooded man in the town, I should imagine. Why? Had she worked her charms on Walcote? I thought he had a long-standing affection with one of his Austin colleagues. Still, with a woman like that…’
‘Matt thinks there is more to her than an evening of romping among the pews of the conventual church,’ said Michael bluntly.
‘Walcote’s meetings took place at St Radegund’s Convent,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘It is not the kind of place influential scholars should be seen frequenting, so they must have had good reason for choosing it over one of their own halls. I think the reason was that it suited Tysilia.’
Langelee rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I would dismiss any of our students foolish enough to be caught in that den of iniquity, and something far more important than philosophy would need to be on the agenda to attract the heads of the religious Orders there. However, it is an excellent place for clandestine meetings, because no one would ever think of using it for such purposes.’
‘That is true,’ said Michael bitterly. ‘I certainly had no inkling that they were taking place.’
‘But Bartholomew is wrong about Tysilia,’ Langelee went on. ‘I have never met a person with fewer wits.’
‘No one believes Tysilia is involved, because they say she is too dense,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But what if that is an act? She is related to the Bishop of Ely, who is as cunning a man as I have ever met. Why will no one accept that she may be clever enough to fool us all?’
‘Because you only have to look at her face to see that there is nothing there,’ said Langelee, tapping his temple as he spoke. ‘It is like gazing into the eyes of a dead trout.’