Michael nodded slowly. ‘You are doubtless right.’
Bartholomew sighed as a few more pieces of the puzzle came together. ‘I should have seen this before. Eve said she took Tysilia to Bedford, to keep her occupied for a few days, and Bedford is between Oxford and Cambridge. We all know that travellers gather in large parties when they take to the roads. It is obvious that Richard joined Tysilia’s group, and that is how they met.’
‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Timothy uncertainly.
‘No,’ admitted Bartholomew. ‘But Eve told us Tysilia misbehaved on the homeward journey, which was about two weeks ago. Richard arrived in Cambridge at about the same time.’
Michael thought for a moment, then said, ‘This means that Tysilia met Richard at least twice – once in Bedford and once when he attended Walcote’s last meeting here. However, you treated Dame Martyn for drunkenness the morning after Walcote was killed, and Tysilia was there. Surely you would have noticed had they recognised each other?’
‘Then there are two possibilities,’ said Bartholomew, after a moment of thought. ‘First, it may suggest that Tysilia and Richard did not acknowledge their prior acquaintance for sinister reasons. Or, second, it may be because Richard wore a scarf over his nose to mask the smell of pigs; Tysilia did not see his face and so did not recognise him.’
Timothy raised his eyebrows. ‘The first theory suggests she is your cunning demon; the second that she is even more lacking in wits than I imagined.’
Michael frowned. ‘If Richard had tampered with her on their Bedford journey, he would not want Tysilia squealing a delighted greeting in front of all those disapproving nuns. It would be in his interest to keep himself hidden.’
‘It sounded to me as though Richard had considerable knowledge of St Radegund’s,’ said Timothy thoughtfully. ‘This morning he referred to the nuns as sirens, about whom he had heard rumours. I deduce that Tysilia is telling the truth, and that Richard is more familiar with the convent than he wants us to know.’
‘But why would Richard be involved in these meetings?’ asked Bartholomew, not liking the notion of his nephew being involved in the plot. ‘Everyone else was the head of a religious Order. Richard is certainly no cleric.’
‘No,’ said Michael. ‘But it seems he was involved in these meetings some way or another. We shall just have to leave it to him to tell us why. And there is something else I want to know, too. Ever since he arrived, he has been showing off his new clothes and his new horse. I want to know how he pays for all these things.’
‘The proceeds of crime,’ said Timothy darkly. ‘But I do not think his offences are related to Walcote’s murder. I remain certain that the motive for his death was theft. Someone stole his purse, which was later recovered empty. What more evidence do you need?’
‘What about the meetings?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘A group of religious heads chatting about the Great Bridge and philosophy?’ countered Timothy dismissively. ‘How can such things result in murder?’
‘But Morden said they also discussed the plot to kill Michael,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And what about this alleged theft from the Carmelite Friary? That was mooted, too. Perhaps Walcote was using it to discredit Michael so that he could be Senior Proctor instead.’
‘I do not believe that,’ said Michael immediately. ‘Walcote did not have sufficient presence to take on a man of my standing in the University. Who do you think people would follow: a weak Austin, who is pleasant but ineffectual; or me, who has been Senior Proctor for years and whom everyone likes and respects?’
‘I am not sure everyone would see the alternatives quite in those terms,’ said Timothy diplomatically. ‘They may have seen it as a choice between a weak man, who could be manipulated to their advantage, or a man with known connections to Oxford, who is planning to give away our property to further his own career.’
‘That is not why I am dealing with Heytesbury–’ began Michael angrily.
Timothy patted his arm reassuringly. ‘I am merely voicing an opinion that may be expressed by others. Your years as Senior Proctor have not made you popular with everyone. You have made enemies as well as friends.’
Michael knocked at the gate of Barnwell Priory, and the three men were admitted by Nicholas, who was still ravaged by grief for Walcote. His red-rimmed eyes indicated that he had been crying, and the dirt that was deeply impregnated in his skin and under his fingernails showed that he had been engaged in manual labour in the gardens, perhaps to secure himself some privacy and be alone with his unhappiness.
‘Just the person I wanted to see,’ said Michael, taking the man by his arm and leading him to a quiet corner. ‘I am no further forward in catching Walcote’s killer. I know you two were close, and I want you to tell me anything – no matter how small or insignificant it may seem – that may help us.’
‘I have told you all I know,’ said Nicholas miserably. ‘I have no idea what business Walcote was involved in, which is just as well, given what happened last night.’
‘Why?’ demanded Michael. ‘What happened?’
‘Someone gained access to our grounds,’ explained Nicholas. ‘It must have been nearer to dawn than midnight, because our cockerel had already started to stir. But it was still an hour or two before we were due to rise.’
Michael exchanged a significant glance with Bartholomew. Their own intruders had been busy during the first part of the night, and now it seemed others had been in the Austin Priory near dawn. Were they the same people?
‘And?’ pressed Michael. ‘What did this intruder do?’
‘A lay-brother was stabbed,’ said Nicholas. ‘He is in the infirmary being cared for by Father Urban from the leper hospital.’
‘We will speak with this lay-brother,’ declared Michael, still holding Nicholas’s arm as he began to walk. ‘Take us to him.’
‘I am not sure whether you will be allowed into the infirmary,’ said Nicholas, alarmed by the way he was being steered in a direction he did not want to go. ‘It is full of sick people.’
‘I will be admitted,’ said Michael confidently, dragging the unhappy Nicholas along with him as he made his way through the church. ‘Now, tell me what this intruder did.’
‘He entered Prior Ralph’s solar, and ransacked the chest where we keep all our valuable documents,’ said Nicholas. ‘And then he left.’
‘Was anything stolen?’ asked Bartholomew.
Nicholas shrugged. ‘Prior Ralph says not. But although we own land, we are not really wealthy and we do not have much gold and silver for thieves to take.’
‘What about documents?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Were any scrolls or parchments stolen?’
Nicholas shrugged again. ‘You must address that sort of question to the Prior. I am only a lowly canon, and I have no idea what documents were stored in the chest.’
‘Have you learned anything more about the meetings Walcote organised?’ asked Timothy.
Nicholas took a deep breath, and cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. ‘I know he dealt with powerful men, like the heads of priories and convents. That in itself was sufficient to make me feel that I do not want to know about his business. In my opinion, life as Junior Proctor was dangerous.’
‘Hardly,’ said Michael, surprised by the man’s unease. ‘Powerful men do not always have evil in their hearts, and dealing with them is not always sinister.’
‘It killed Walcote,’ said Nicholas bitterly. ‘Tell him that.’