‘But–’
‘We now have another murder to solve,’ the monk went on. ‘Because I cannot believe that Elsham’s death was an accident – that Huntyngdon’s killer just happened to be beneath a lump of rock that plummeted down and crushed him.’
‘I spoke to Shardelowe afterwards,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He showed me how the stones were set. They were close to the edge, but none would have fallen without being pushed fairly vigorously.’
‘But no one saw who did it?’
‘Ulf and his friends were making a nuisance of themselves at the time, and everyone was either watching them or ducking their missiles. No one was looking at the stones.’
‘Could Ulf have done it? I would not put it past him.’
‘He was on the riverbank. And it was not his friends either, before you ask – they were on the ponticulus, and it was lucky the stone did not hit one of them on its way down. Besides, Shardelowe says it would have been too heavy for any of them to budge.’
‘So who are your suspects? I assume you have some?’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘Most are already on the list for dispatching Aynton, and all were near the bridge when the stone was pushed. They are Donwich, Brampton, Narboro, Stasy, Hawick, Morys and Shardelowe.’
Michael nodded. ‘But Chaumbre and Gille are eliminated, because they were on the ferry when Elsham died, and if the killer of Elsham and Aynton are one and the same …’
‘I had already discounted Gille as a suspect, because he has an alibi for Aynton’s murder. He and Elsham were in the Griffin, with witnesses to prove it.’
Michael considered. ‘Obviously, the culprit is Elsham’s mysterious friend. This person ordered Huntyngdon dispatched, but when Elsham failed to hide the body in a place where it would never be found, he exacted a terrible revenge.’
‘I would say the friend is Donwich, but he will need all the help he can get if he is to make himself Chancellor, and I do not see him dispatching a loyal ally just yet. Moreover, he was distressed when he learned that Elsham was dead – genuinely so, I believe.’
Michael was not so sure. ‘He has changed since becoming Master of Clare Hall, and has grown harder and colder. It would not surprise me if he killed a crony to suit himself, then feigned grief.’
Bartholomew supposed it was possible. ‘Then there are Stasy and Hawick. I have seen Elsham conferring slyly with them on three separate occasions. They claim it was about selling second-hand exemplars, but why should we believe them?’
‘You think either of that lowly, disreputable pair could force a brute like Elsham to kill on their behalf?’ asked Michael doubtfully.
‘Well, Elsham refused to give me the name of this friend, lest he disturbed his afterlife, and you expelled Stasy and Hawick for witchery …’
‘That is an interesting point. However, I do not believe that a lump of stone can be shoved off a bridge with no one seeing. There will be witnesses – we just need to find them.’
‘I tried, Brother,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘I questioned everyone who was there, but no one saw anything. And they would have told me if they had, not to win justice for Elsham, but because Chaumbre was also a victim, and people like him.’
‘I will set a couple of beadles to ask around the taverns,’ said Michael. ‘There are a few townsfolk who will never share information with a scholar, not even to benefit one of their own, but they talk to the beadles. Did you believe Elsham when he claimed he did not know what was in Aynton’s letter?’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘I had the impression he did not want to know – that he “forgot” to take it lest he inadvertently found out. He says Huntyngdon’s purse held a few farthings when he left, but it was empty by the time Dickon cut it free. I suspect the thief emptied it out and threw the letter away, not realising its importance.’
‘Pity,’ said Michael.
‘What about Huntyngdon’s father?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Could he have killed Elsham? Perhaps he is a better investigator than me, and did not need a dying man’s confession to learn the truth about what happened to his son.’
‘Elsham died when the Earl – and everyone else at King’s Hall – was burying Huntyngdon. Well, everyone other than Brampton, who was out collecting the University’s share of the money for the bridge.’
‘I see,’ said Bartholomew, filing the last piece of information away in his mind.
Michael rubbed his chin. ‘I accept your reasoning for why Gille cannot be this sinister friend, but I do not like the fact that he disappeared the moment the ferry touched land.’
‘Especially as Elsham said he was more brother than friend – yet he abandoned him without a backward glance.’
‘Well, find him, and force him to reveal the name of the mysterious person who bent the loutish Elsham to his will.’
‘Find Gille?’ echoed Bartholomew warily. ‘On my own?’
‘I have ordered the beadles to be on the alert for him, while Dick has done the same with his soldiers. You are not on your own.’
Bartholomew sighed. ‘I suppose I could see if he went home to Clare Hall …’
‘As soon as I heard what happened, I sent beadles to apprehend him there, but he had already packed a bag and left. Innocent men do not vanish with such suspicious haste, so he definitely has something to hide. Speak to his colleagues and see what you can learn.’
‘I doubt they know anything – they do not like each other. Donwich might, though.’
‘If he does, he will not tell you, so do not waste your time on him. When you have finished in Clare Hall, visit the Brazen George to see if Gille really was there when Huntyngdon was murdered. Then speak to our other suspects – Morys, Narboro, Stasy, Hawick and Shardelowe.’
‘Brampton was also near the bridge when Elsham died. He was chatting to Donwich.’
Michael made a moue of irritation. ‘I imagine he was trying to convince him to pay Clare Hall’s share of the bridge money. I hope he succeeds, because if not, other foundations might follow suit, and we will be unable to meet our obligations.’
‘Are you sure Brampton is the right man for the task?’ asked Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘It will take a forceful character to sway the likes of Donwich, and Brampton is hardly what you would call assertive.’
‘He scaled the greasy pole of University politics without too much trouble, so I imagine he will find a way. Leave him be until Wednesday, by which time he will have collected everything we must pay the town. You may question him then, assuming we are still looking for a culprit. Agreed?’
‘You really think he can do it?’ asked Bartholomew, sure he would fail, as scholars were notoriously good at finding ways to avoid parting with money.
‘I do,’ replied Michael. ‘Do not underestimate him – he has many hidden skills.’
Bartholomew was interested to hear it, and wondered if sly murder was among them.
As work on the Sabbath was forbidden, there were never classes or lectures on Sundays. Some Colleges allowed their students to roam free, but Michaelhouse had learned that letting dozens of bored – and sex-starved – young men loose in the town was unwise, so the Fellows always made sure there was plenty for them to do at home. Activities usually revolved around amusing talks, games or light-hearted debates.
That day, it was Zoone’s turn to provide the necessary distractions. In deference to the heat, he eschewed anything energetic, and set up a bridge-designing tournament instead. As he offered a monetary prize for the winner, and most students were short of cash so late in the term, everyone was keen to chance his hand. Before that, however, there was to be a mock disputation on the subject of gluttony.