Bartholomew seriously doubted his brother-in-law had said any such thing. Stanmore was far too sensible to risk the Senior Proctor’s ire by gossiping about him to strangers. He said so.
‘Well, perhaps he did not use the term spy,’ admitted Spynk. ‘But that is what you are, regardless.’
Michael’s expression was glacial, and the hapless wasp met a sudden end between the table and his fist. ‘I keep de Lisle apprised of University affairs. Why? Is there a problem?’
‘Not with you,’ said Spynk. ‘But there is a huge one with your Bishop. His men have bullied me for years, and I detest the man.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Michael flatly. ‘You are one of the people who complained about him to the King. That is why you and Danyell went to London. I had forgotten.’
‘Well, someone needed to take a stand,’ said Spynk stiffly. ‘De Lisle cannot be allowed to terrorise anyone he pleases. And do not tell me he is innocent, because there were sixteen charges in all, including arson, murder, abduction, extortion and blackmail. Why do you think he has fled to Avignon? Because he knows there is not a court in the country that will find in his favour.’
‘I do not think this is the best way to secure Michaelhouse’s good graces, dearest,’ said Cecily with a good deal of sarcasm. ‘And I am sure Brother Michael knows all about the Bishop’s intrigues.’
‘He has nothing to do with them,’ said Bartholomew sharply, unwilling for people to think the monk complicit in anything de Lisle might have done.
Cecily came to stand closer to him than was decent, and he recalled thinking she had probably behaved improperly with Danyell, too. He supposed she could not help herself, and tried to ignore it.
‘Are you sure about that, Doctor?’ she asked, adjusting the neckline on her kirtle. It slipped, revealing more frontage than was civilised. ‘Every man has his secrets. And so does every woman.’
Bartholomew shot her husband an uneasy glance, but Spynk’s attention was on Michael, whom he was regarding minutely, as if he thought he might see something there if he looked hard enough. The physician was tempted to tell him not to waste his time – he had known Michael for years, and the monk was not that easily read. Indeed, there were still occasions when Michael said or did things that made Bartholomew think he barely knew him at all.
‘I am a good judge of people, Brother,’ said the merchant eventually. ‘And I sense you are an honest, straightforward fellow. You will have had nothing to do with the Bishop’s reign of terror.’
Bartholomew stifled a laugh, thinking Spynk was not as good a judge as he imagined; Michael was the last man who could be considered straightforward. Or honest, for that matter. Then he was obliged to jump away smartly, when Cecily edged even closer to him.
‘You examined Danyell’s body,’ she said, reaching out to rest her hand on his chest when his sideways jig trapped him between the wall and a tree. ‘Are you sure he was not murdered?’
‘No one can ever be sure about such matters,’ replied Bartholomew. When she frowned, considering the implications of his remark, he seized the opportunity to slither past her. His new position put him in the full glare of the sun, but that seemed a small price to pay.
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Spynk. His eyes narrowed as he became aware of the curious dance that was taking place between his wife and her intended victim.
‘What I say,’ replied Bartholomew, balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to initiate evasive manoeuvres if Cecily advanced again. ‘Determining causes of death is not an exact art. However, your descriptions of the pain Danyell had been experiencing in his chest and arm strongly indicate a natural seizure. Why do you ask whether he was murdered?’
‘Because the case against the Bishop is weakened without his testimony,’ replied Spynk, going to take Cecily’s hand and pushing her rather unceremoniously on to the bench next to Michael. She glowered sulkily at him. ‘And we are suspicious of it. Perhaps de Lisle ordered Danyell’s death.’
‘De Lisle is not stupid,’ said Michael, standing hastily and going to lean against the wall. ‘He would not kill in any circumstances, but he is not such a fool as to attack someone who has challenged him in a court of law. How will he prove his innocence, if the complainant is dead?’
Spynk shot him a look that said it was impossible de Lisle could be innocent. ‘What about Danyell’s clothes?’ he demanded. ‘Have you found them yet?’
‘His body had been stripped when Doctor Bartholomew found it,’ explained Cecily, when Michael looked blank. ‘He said Danyell had been dead for hours, so there was plenty of time for thieves to act.’
‘Damned vultures!’ snapped Spynk, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder as she attempted to rise. ‘They even stole the sample stone he carried. I saw it under his arm when he left the house that night.’
‘More importantly, what about his missing hand?’ asked Cecily, trying to squirm away. Spynk’s grip intensified, and she winced. ‘The Bishop–’
‘The missing hand had nothing to do with de Lisle,’ said Michael quickly. He did not want her to start the rumour that the Bishop had a penchant for dead men’s limbs, because that was a tale that would be popular. The prelate’s haughty manners had not earned him many friends in Cambridge.
Spynk did not look convinced. ‘Perhaps his henchmen took it, to prove Danyell was dead.’
‘What henchmen?’ asked Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘You mean his vicars?’
‘I mean the louts who run his estates. There are about fifteen of them, all surly villains who would slit anyone’s throat for a piece of silver. The two worst are Osbern le Hawker and John Brownsley. Osbern persecuted me while Brownsley led the attack on Danyell’s house.’
Bartholomew was not sure what he was saying. ‘Are you telling us these men are in Cambridge?’
Spynk looked shifty. ‘Well, I have not seen them personally, but Danyell’s death has their mark upon it. They are the kind of villains who would hack a limb from a man while he still lives.’
‘The physical evidence suggests the hand was taken after Danyell died,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I know this because the blood vessels of a corpse are–’
‘The Bishop and his people played no role in Danyell’s death,’ interrupted Michael, before the Spynks could be told something they would probably rather not know. ‘Your friend died of natural causes, and someone later stole his fingers because witches are rather active here at the moment. However, the outrage will not go unpunished, and I will catch the man who desecrated him. But I need your help.’
‘We know about Cambridge’s warlocks,’ said Cecily, finally managing to escape her husband’s restraining grip. Bartholomew aimed for the table, putting it between her and him. ‘There was a tale only this morning that a silversmith dug his way clear of his grave in order to visit his favourite tavern. Perhaps you are right in claiming that this has nothing to do with de Lisle, Brother. It will not be the first time my husband has been proven wrong.’
Spynk glared at her, but then a crafty expression infused his face. ‘If we help you prove the Bishop is innocent of harming Danyell, will you back my bid to buy Sewale Cottage?’
‘No,’ replied Michael curtly. ‘You will help me because obstructing my investigation might see you in prison. The house business is a completely separate matter.’
Spynk was unperturbed by the threat, and treated Michael to a conspiratorial wink. ‘I understand. You say this because you still want the silk I offered earlier.’
‘I will help you, Brother,’ said Cecily, cutting across the indignant denial. She stalked provocatively towards the table; Bartholomew tensed, waiting to see which way he would need to dodge to avoid her.