'Cut throats and no shoes. Signature enough, would you not say?'
'Have you noticed anything else?' persisted Bartholomew.
Tulyet regarded him suspiciously. 'What sort of thing did you have in mind, Doctor?' he asked softly, disconcerting Bartholomew with his icy stare.
'Nothing specific,' Bartholomew lied badly. He wished he had not attempted to question Tulyet. He should have left it to Michael, who was more skilled at investigative techniques than him. He recalled the rumours that Michael, de Belem and Stanmore had told him, that the Sheriff was not investigating the deaths as carefully as he might, and began to wonder whether there might be a more sinister reason for his inactivity.
Tulyet moved closer to him, fingering a small dagger he wore at his belt. 'Are you hiding information from us, Doctor?' he asked menacingly. 'Have you learned something about this while you have been after the Chancellor's business?'
Bartholomew inwardly cursed both de Wetherset for sending him on this errand when the clerks seemed to have been spreading news of their investigation all over the town, and his own inabilities to mislead people convincingly. Michael would not be experiencing difficulties now, and neither would de Wetherset. He shook his head and rose to leave. Tulyet forced him to sit back down again. Bartholomew glanced out of the open door. He could overpower Tulyet as easily as he could a child, for the man was slight and Bartholomew was far stronger, but he would never be able to escape across the bailey and through the gate-house without being stopped by Tulyet's men. Tulyet had been watching him, and shouted for two guards to stand by the door.
'You are right, Doctor,' he said, drawing his dagger and playing with it. 'If you were to run, you would never leave the Castle alive. I could arrest you now and question you until you tell me what I want to know, or you can volunteer the information. Which is it to be?'
Bartholomew thought quickly. He had come to Tulyet with the intention of telling him the little he knew about the murders of the women — the circle on their feet and its possible link to the guilds, the link between the goat in the coffin and witchcraft, and the fact that the murders of the women might somehow be related to Nicholas of York. But now he had doubts. How could he be sure that Tulyet was not a member of one of the guilds that dabbled in black magic? His reaction to the goat had been odd, to say the least. Perhaps he already knew who the killer was, but his hands were tied because of his membership of a guild. From what Bartholomew understood of guilds, Tulyet would be unlikely and unwilling to arrest a fellow member.
'I know nothing more than what I have told you, except,' Bartholomew said, trying to quell his tumbling thoughts, 'that I wondered whether the other dead women might have been marked in some way. Perhaps with something from a goat, like the mask on the woman we found this morning.' He convinced himself he was telling Tulyet the truth. He knew very little, and was merely guessing at the tenuous links between the murders, witchcraft, the guilds, and the University.
'What nonsense are you speaking?' said Tulyet angrily.
'You saw four of the victims yourself. Did you notice a goat attached to them?' "I did not say it would be a whole goat,' said Bartholomew testily, 'and you asked me what I knew, and I am telling you. I am only trying to ascertain whether there was something common to all victims that might give some clue as to the murderer's identity.'
'Well, your suggestion is ludicrous,' said Tulyet. He replaced his dagger in its sheath and leaned close to Bartholomew. "I will let you go this time, Doctor.
But you will report to me anything that you discover about the deaths of the whores while you investigate the body in the chest. If I think for a moment that you are withholding information from me, I will issue a warrant for your immediate arrest, and no amount of protesting and whining from your University will be able to help you.'
Bartholomew rose, not particularly unsettled by Tulvet's threat. The Sheriff was underestimating the combined power of the University and the Church. His arrest would be considered a flouting of the University's rights to be dealt with under Canon law, and the Sheriff would have no option but to release him once University and Church swung into operation. This protection was exactly the reason why most University scholars took minor orders.
Tulyet shadowed him out of the Castle, and Bartholomew was aware that he was watched until he was out of sight.
He deliberately dawdled, stopping on the Great Bridge to see how much more of its stone had been stolen since the last time he looked. If the Sheriff had time to waste on trying to make him feel uncomfortable, let him waste it, he thought, leaning his elbows on the handrail and peering down at the swirling water below.
Later, back at Michaelhouse, he told Michael what had happened.
'I will tell de Wetherset and the Bishop,' said the fat monk. 'They will not countenance your arrest. Tulyet must either have a very inflated idea of his own powers, or what you said must have rattled him.'
'But why?' said Bartholomew. 'Is he connected? Is that why he has made so little progress in catching the killer?'
Michael thought for a while. 'It is possible,' he said, 'and I am even more prepared to think so because I do not like the man. I wonder why he reacted so oddly at the mention of the goat mask.'
'Perhaps he is a member of one of the guilds that is connected to witchcraft,' said Bartholomew. 'I have been told that the Devil is supposed to appear in the form of a goat/ 'Yes. Cloven feet and horns,' said Michael. 'Like the painting of the Devil devouring souls on the wall of our church.'
Bartholomew thought about the painting. Depictions of hell and purgatory were common in all the town's churches. No wonder people like Father Cuthbert and Nicholas joined guilds that denounced sin so vehemently, if they thought they would end up like some of the characters in the paintings. But equally, why would others risk that to become members of covens? 'I am going to Ely tomorrow,' said Michael, i want that spare set of keys, and I must report what we have discovered to my Lord the Bishop.'
'Ask him about witchcraft,' said Bartholomew.
Michael looked amused. 'Now why do you think a Benedictine bishop would know such things?' he said, humour twinkling in his green eyes.
'Because any Bishop that did not make himself familiar with potential threats to his peace would be a fool,' said Bartholomew. 'I am sure your Bishop will have clerks who will be able to furnish you with a good deal of information if you were to ask.'
Michael stood and cracked his knuckles. 'Time for something to eat before bed,' he said. 'I may be in Ely for several days, so be careful. I will warn de Wetherset of Tulyet's threat to you. You can talk to Froissart's family, or Janetta of Lincoln, if they deign to appear.
Otherwise, do nothing until I return with orders from the Bishop.'
Bartholomew watched him amble across the courtyard to the kitchen. He heard an angry screech as he was evidently caught raiding by Agatha, and then the College was silent. Only the richest fellows and students of Michaelhouse could afford to buy candles in the summer, and so once the sun had set and the light became too poor for reading, most scholars usually slept or talked. Here and there groups of students sat or stood chatting in the dark, and the sound of raised voices from the conclave indicated that the Franciscans were engaged in one of their endless debates about the nature of heresy.
One of the groups outside comprised Cray, Bulbeck, and Deynman, and Bartholomew smiled as he heard Bulbeck, in exasperated tones, repeating the essence of Bartholomew's lecture on Dioscorides. Deynman mumbled outrageous answers to Bulbeck's testing questions, which made Cray laugh. The light was fading fast, and Bartholomew turned to go to his own room before it became too dark to see what he was doing. He undressed and lay on the hard bed, kicking off the rough woollen blanket because the night was humid.