When the bell rang for dinner, Cynric was waiting to tell him that the Chancellor had arranged for Froissart and the unknown woman to be buried that afternoon.
The ceremony would not be an open one, and Gilbert had told Cynric that the coffins had already been sealed to keep their contents from prying eyes.
Dinner was eaten in silence, apart from the voice of the Bible scholar who read a tract from Proverbs. His Latin was poor, and Bartholomew was not the only one of the Fellows to glance up at him in puzzlement when his pronunciation or missed lines made what he was saying incomprehensible. Beside him, Michael grumbled under his breath about the food, tossing a piece of pickled eel away in disgust when he found it rotten. Bartholomew felt little inclination to eat the fish and watery oatmeal, but he was hungry and ate it all. He noted that there was barely enough to go round, and many scholars left complaining they were still hungry.
'Damn the plague,' Michael muttered. The sickness has gone, but now we will starve to death.'
By mutual consent, Bartholomew and Michael resumed their discussion of the night before in the deserted conclave. The sun streamed through the windows, and Michael reclined drowsily among the cushions of the window seats. Bartholomew paced restlessly, trying to make sense of everything.
"I am certain that Janetta is involved in all this,' he said. 'Perhaps she killed the women.'
'Janetta?' said Michael in disbelief. That is notpossible, Matt. She is not strong enough.'
'How strong do you need to be to cut someone's throat?' said Bartholomew. 'Perhaps she had help from one of those louts that always surround her. Perhaps it was her I saw in the orchard after Frances's murder.'
'But Sybilla saw the killer, and she said it was an average man, remember? There is no earthly chance that Janetta could be mistaken for an average man. Even wearing a man's clothes she would be too small.' He mused. 'But Nicholas is of average size.'
'So is Buckley. We have failed to find him, and it cannot be coincidence that he disappeared the night the friar died.' "I think the killer might be Tulyet,' said Michael.
Bartholomew stopped pacing. 'He has good reason to be out at night while he keeps the Sheriffs peace, and he and his father are obviously involved with this Guild of the Coming.'
'If we knew the identity of the high priest, we would probably have the solution to all this in our hands,' said Michael. 'Did you see nothing at all that might give us a clue? A limp, a distinctive walk?'
Bartholomew shook his head. 'All I know is that he wore a similar mask to the one I saw on the man in the orchard. We should have raided All Saints' Church and had Jonstan arrest the lot of them.'
That would have been outside Jonstan's power,' said Michael. 'He only has jurisdiction over University affairs, and there is not a shred of evidence that anyone from the University is involved. And we could hardly ask Tulyet to do it!'
Bartholomew rubbed his forehead, becoming exasperated with their lack of progress. He switched to another avenue of thought. 'So if you think Tulyet is the killer, it is likely that Tulyet is also the high priest, otherwise how would he be able to predict that there would be another victim before the new moon?'
Michael pulled at some stray whiskers at the side of his face. 'Yes,' he said slowly. 'Before the new moon, when it is especially dark.'
After a while, they realised that they were getting nowhere with their discussion. They could generate as many theories as they wanted, but progressed no further as long as they lacked the evidence to prove or disprove their ideas. Eventually, they left Michaelhouse to attend the funerals in St Mary's Church. The afternoon sun was blazing in a clear blue sky and the air buzzed with flies. They made their way to the crypt where Gilbert waited restlessly for de Wetherset and Father Cuthbert to arrive so that the ceremony could begin. There was a buzz of flies there, too, hovering over the coffin in which Froissart's remains were sealed.
Bartholomew wandered over to look at the coffins, and wondered how secret their presence could be. He saw that both had been securely nailed down, and frowned.
He ran his fingers over the rough wood of the woman's coffin and leaned to inspect a join where the wood did not meet properly. Gilbert and Michael watched him in distaste.
'Who ordered the coffins sealed?' he asked Gilbert.
'No one,' said Gilbert. 'But I have been given the duty of ensuring that their presence is kept secret. I do not need to tell you how difficult that has been in this warm weather. I sealed them myself. If anyone had managed to gain entry to the crypt, a sealed coffin presents a far more formidable obstacle than an open one.'
Bartholomew looked up as de Wetherset arrived, ushering Cuthbert in front of him, and pulling the gate closed.
"I have four clerks to help,' he said, rubbing his hands together in a businesslike fashion to conceal his nervousness. 'They have been told we are burying two beggars. We will carry the coffins out of the crypt ourselves so that no one will detect how long they have been here.'
The others moved towards the coffins, but Bartholomew held back. This is perhaps an odd request,' he began, 'but they have been lying here for some time. I would like them opened to make certain that we know whom we are burying this time.'
De Wetherset looked at the coffins in distaste, while Gilbert was visibly angry. 'What for? Can we not just get this foul business over and done with? I am tired of all this death and corruption!'
The Chancellor patted the arm of his distraught clerk sympathetically. "I am sorry, Gilbert. What I have asked you to do over the past week has been beyond your clerkly duties. I will see that you are well rewarded.'
Gilbert shook his head. 'You do not need to pay me for my loyalty. I want an end to this business with corpses and coffins. Let us just put these poor people in their graves and leave them in peace.'
De Wetherset nodded. 'You are right.' He bent to lift one of the coffins, and gestured to Bartholomew to pick up the other end.
Bartholomew stayed where he was. "It will not take a moment,' he said. 'Wait outside if it distresses you, and I will do it alone.'
'What are your reasons for this?' asked de Wetherset, setting the coffin back down and eyeing Bartholomew with resignation.
Bartholomew pointed to the woman's coffin. 'When we exhumed the body of the lady, she was in an advanced state of decay. The coffin is flimsy, and the lid does not fit properly. If the woman was in there, Master de Wetherset, you would need more than a few bowls of incense to keep her presence from being known. She would be smelt from the porch.'
De Wetherset let out an exclamation of dismissal.
'Rubbish! The shock of the exhumation has addled your brain, and now you are suspicious of everything.
Gilbert is right. Let us just get this done.'
Bartholomew looked at Michael for help. Michael raised his eyes to the ceiling, but rallied to his side. "It will take only a few moments. What harm can it do?'
'Why can we not just let the poor souls rest in peace?' muttered Cuthbert. 'Both murdered, and now, even in death, they are not safe from desecration!'
De Wetherset was torn. He looked at Gilbert's pleading eyes and grey, exhausted face, and then back to Bartholomew. He sighed. 'In the interests of thoroughness, and to satisfy the Doctor's unpleasant curiosity, I suppose the coffins may be opened. Do it if you must.'
Gilbert backed out of the door. "I want to see no more decaying corpses. I will wait in the church.' "I will wait with you,' said de Wetherset. "I too have had my fill of sights from beyond the grave.'