‘I know he does,’ said Bartholomew ambiguously.
Hoping to be spared a journey to the castle, Bartholomew asked to search Dickon’s room. His mother made no objection, although the missing purse was not there. There was, however, an alarmingly large collection of knives, and some crudely drawn sketches of naked women. Mistress Tulyet gaped her horror.
‘My students have some of those,’ Bartholomew informed her reassuringly. ‘It is quite normal for adolescent boys to–’
‘I do not care about the pictures,’ she interrupted. ‘I am more concerned about the weapons. Does he aim to declare war on the town single-handed?’
Bartholomew would not put it past him. ‘He is just preparing for France,’ he said soothingly. ‘Do not worry.’
He took his leave and turned towards the Great Bridge. As he went, he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was following him! Quick as a flash, he ducked down one of the alleys that ran to the river, then slipped into a doorway to wait. Moments later, Gille and Elsham hurried past. They reached the end of the lane, and looked around irritably when they saw he had vanished.
‘Looking for me?’ he called, watching with satisfaction as they jumped in alarm.
‘Of course not,’ snapped Gille, rather too quickly. ‘We saw that young pickpocket – Ulf – scamper down here. He stole Elsham’s purse the other day, and we want it back.’
No one had entered the lane other than the three of them, so Bartholomew knew they were lying.
‘I am going to the castle,’ he said coolly. ‘Then King’s Hall. Will that make dogging my footsteps any easier for you?’
Gille looked set to continue blustering, but Elsham knew the game was up. ‘You are Brother Michael’s closest friend. Of course we must monitor you, lest you launch a scheme that will benefit him at Donwich’s expense.’
‘Actually, I am trying to find out who pushed Aynton to his death.’
‘He intends to accuse Donwich of it,’ said Gille to Elsham. ‘Michael cannot weave a web of lies himself, not with the Archbishop’s men demanding his presence in St Mary the Great, so he has ordered his henchman to do it instead.’
‘Donwich will not be accused unless there is evidence to warrant it,’ said Bartholomew shortly. ‘But perhaps you can exonerate him. Was he with you two during compline on Wednesday?’
‘No,’ replied Elsham. ‘He was–’
‘We do not need to tell you anything, Bartholomew,’ interrupted Gille angrily, glaring at his friend for being ready to cooperate with the enemy. ‘And do not think of accusing us of harming Aynton. We went nowhere near him.’
‘Can you prove it?’ asked Bartholomew and raised his hands when both looked indignant. ‘All I want is to eliminate you from the enquiry. Surely you cannot object to that? He was a member of your College, after all.’
‘Not a very loyal one,’ muttered Gille. ‘He should have supported Donwich, but instead he told everyone to vote for Michael. It was an outrage, and we would have ousted him from Clare Hall had he lived.’
‘So you had a good reason to want him dead,’ pounced Bartholomew. ‘Revenge.’
‘There are other ways to destroy a man besides murder,’ said Gille in a voice that was full of menace. ‘As you will learn, if you try to meddle in our affairs.’
‘Enough, Gille,’ said Elsham tiredly. ‘You are making him think we are guilty.’
‘Let him,’ snarled Gille. ‘It will waste his time and serve him right.’
‘But mud sticks,’ Elsham pointed out crossly. ‘And if he asks impertinent questions about us all over town, people will assume we do have something to hide. That will harm us, Donwich and Clare Hall.’
‘It will,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘So I repeat: where were you when Aynton was killed?’
‘About an hour before compline, we decided to go out,’ began Elsham, ignoring his friend’s angry sigh. ‘As we left the College, we saw Aynton hiding near the main gate. He was waiting to see if Donwich would visit Lucy, aiming to follow him, and then accuse him of breaking one of the University’s rules.’
‘The most ridiculous one,’ growled Gille. ‘Namely, forbidding red-blooded men access to women. It runs contrary to nature!’
‘We assumed Donwich would remain in the hall with his guests that night,’ said Elsham. ‘So we surmised that Aynton was wasting his time.’
Gille laughed coarsely. ‘But the lure of his lady love proved too much. Donwich left not long after we did, although we never saw him.’
‘We went to the Swan Inn,’ Elsham went on. ‘John Godenave drinks there on a Wednesday, and he owes us money – we wanted to collect it. We had a few ales with him, but left when we heard the commotion as Aynton’s body was found.’
‘Ask anyone in the Swan,’ said Gille with a gloating smirk. ‘They will tell you that we have plenty of alibis for when Aynton was killed.’
As the Swan was just across the road, Bartholomew decided to do what they suggested. Godenave was there, and confirmed that two surly brutes from Clare Hall did indeed come to demand money from him on the night of the murder. There had been a spat when he had tried to short-change them, which every patron remembered. Without a shadow of a doubt, Gille and Elsham had not killed the Chancellor.
However, they had said nothing to make Bartholomew think Donwich was innocent, so their Master remained firmly at the top of his list.
Chapter 9
Bartholomew arrived at the Great Bridge to find it frantic with activity, with workmen swarming all over it. Many were skilled strangers, who had been waiting to offer their services the moment the call went out for specific types of craftsman, and the rest were casual labourers from the town. The wooden balustrade had already been dismantled, and the rest of the structure was swathed in scaffolding and rope.
Several boats were moored at the pier below. This was a ramshackle affair that was rarely used, as most bargemen preferred the sturdy structure owned by Michaelhouse, with its easy access to the market. All were laden with ready-hewn lumps of limestone. The cumbersome wagon that Morys had allowed to pass through the Trumpington Gate the previous day was there, too, and masons had already started to carve decorative corbels from the fine stone it had carried.
The first person Bartholomew saw as he joined the back of the ferry queue was Chaumbre, who looked uncomfortably hot in his fine clothes. He was smiling, though, and hummed happily under his breath.
‘Shardelowe has made impressive progress,’ remarked Bartholomew, watching the whirlwind of organised chaos with the builder at its centre. ‘Moreover, it usually takes weeks for supplies to arrive, but his are here already.’
Chaumbre pulled a wry face. ‘Morys is Mayor and Shardelowe can afford bribes, so the council’s decision was never in doubt. But building in stone is the right thing to do. Aynton disagreed, of course – he liked to say “wood is good” and was passionate about it.’
‘You mentioned discussing it the day he died,’ said Bartholomew, also recalling that Chaumbre had called Aynton a ‘meddlesome arse’, which he now professed to regret.
‘I did,’ said Chaumbre. ‘You referred to it as a quarrel, and wondered if it had given me cause to kill him.’
Bartholomew was alarmed – not that Chaumbre knew he was a suspect, but that he might tell Edith. ‘You mistook me,’ he blustered. ‘Of course I do not think you are a killer.’
Chaumbre laughed at his discomfiture. ‘Do not worry, Matt. I understand why you had to ask those questions, and I am not offended in the slightest. But I gave you my answers and you were satisfied with them, so let that be the end of the matter. Agreed?’