‘You mean you left the gate unattended?’ asked Clippesby. It was generally accepted that the kindly, mild-mannered Dominican was insane, mostly due to his habit of talking to animals and claiming that they answered him back. There were occasions, though, when Bartholomew thought Clippesby made more sense than the rest of the College combined.
‘Only for a moment,’ said Walter defensively. ‘And it was an emergency.’
‘So, Drax just walked in,’ concluded Michael. ‘I wonder why?’
‘You had better ask Celia,’ said Langelee. ‘But be careful how you do it, Brother, because we do not want her to sue the College for his death. Yffi claims this was not his fault, but it was not ours, either, and we cannot afford to compensate her for her loss.’
‘I am sure she will appreciate your sympathy, Master,’ said Michael caustically. ‘But you are right. Drax should have stood up and declared himself when Agatha started to tug on the sheet. Then the tiles would not have fallen on him.’
Seeing Bartholomew about to probe a wound in the corpse’s stomach, Michael ordered all the labourers back to work, lest they witnessed something that would give credence to the tales regarding the physician’s penchant for sorcery. He dismissed Cynric and Walter, too.
‘I wonder if he left us anything in his will,’ Langelee was musing. ‘Given his generosity in the past, I have high hopes. I am sorry Drax is dead, but a legacy will more than console me.’
‘I hope he did not,’ countered Thelnetham. ‘He died in our College, and we already have a questionable reputation, thanks to Bartholomew’s unorthodoxy, Clippesby’s madness and your previous existence as an archbishop’s hireling. We do not want rumours to circulate that we kill townsmen for the contents of their wills.’
‘What nonsense!’ cried Langelee, stung. ‘We have a fine, upstanding reputation!’
His Fellows said nothing – they knew they did not.
‘Accidents happen,’ Langelee went on indignantly. ‘No one can blame us for what happened.’
‘It was not an accident,’ said Bartholomew, looking up at last. ‘Drax was murdered.’
There was a stunned, disbelieving silence after Bartholomew had made his announcement. It was Michael who found his voice first. ‘How do you know?’
Bartholomew hesitated, loath to provide too much information lest it should lead to renewed accusations of sorcery from William.
‘You can tell us,’ said the Franciscan gruffly, guessing the reason for Bartholomew’s reluctance to speak. He was not normally sensitive, but his recent banishment had encouraged him to be a little more sympathetic to the feelings of others. ‘I will not make disparaging remarks about your hideous trade, because you cannot help being a physician. Not everyone can specialise in theology.’
‘You are too kind, Father,’ murmured Bartholomew, aware of smirks being exchanged between Thelnetham and Ayera, the College’s newest member. Neither liked the Franciscan, despising him for his weak intellect, his filthy robes and the narrow-mindedness of his opinions.
‘Matt and I will take Drax to the church, and he can explain his theory to me there,’ said Michael, knowing exactly why his friend was reluctant to elaborate. ‘The rest of you can return to your teaching. Our students’ day has been interrupted long enough.’
‘No,’ argued Langelee. ‘He can tell us here. If Drax has been murdered, we need to know.’
‘I disagree,’ said Thelnetham, flicking imaginary dust from his immaculate habit. ‘I have no desire to be regaled with ghoulish details. It was bad enough overhearing his lecture on fractured skulls the other day. It made me quite queasy, and I had to be escorted outside for air.’
‘Thank God anatomy is illegal in our country,’ added Ayera. ‘Or he would be waving entrails around to demonstrate his points.’
Usually, Bartholomew liked Ayera, a tall, intelligent geometrician who shared Langelee’s fondness for outdoor pursuits and Bartholomew’s own love of teaching, but there were times when the man annoyed him. One was whenever the subject of anatomy was raised – Ayera disapproved of it with a passion Bartholomew found difficult to fathom. And Thelnetham had a nasty habit of encouraging Ayera’s irritating condemnation.
‘There is no “waving” of organs in anatomy,’ he snapped, unable to help himself. He had attended several dissections when he had visited the universities in Padua and Salerno, and had been impressed by the precision and neatness of the art. ‘It is all conducted with meticulous–’
‘You mean you have actually seen anatomy being performed?’ interrupted Thelnetham. He crossed himself, appalled.
Bartholomew had yet to gain Thelnetham’s measure, even though they had been acquainted for several months. He opened his mouth to reply, but then was not sure what to say.
‘So what if he has?’ asked Langelee. ‘It is not illegal in foreign universities, and he has an enquiring mind. It is only natural that he should make the most of what was on offer.’
Thelnetham sniffed. ‘Well, I do not want to hear about it, and I do not want to hear what he has to say about Drax, either. If you will excuse me, Master, I would rather teach. At least one of us should, because I can see from here that our students are throwing things around.’
As one, the Fellows looked towards the hall, where, sure enough, missiles were zipping past the windows. Langelee grimaced, and started to stride towards them. Immediately, there was a scraping of benches and a rattle of feet on floorboards, and Bartholomew had no doubt that by the time the Master arrived the students would be sitting, cherub-faced, in neat rows, and any sign of whatever they had been doing would have been whisked away.
‘Well?’ asked Michael, when Ayera, Thelnetham, Suttone and Clippesby had followed their Master’s lead, and only he, Bartholomew and William remained. ‘Explain.’
‘There is a puncture wound in Drax’s stomach.’ Bartholomew lifted the dead man’s tunic so they could see it. ‘It would have bled profusely, yet there is very little blood where he lies. This suggests he died elsewhere, and his body was brought here later. I can also tell you that he is cold and slightly stiff around the jaws, both of which suggest he has been dead for several hours.’
‘Lord!’ muttered Michael, shocked. ‘Are you telling me that someone toted a corpse into our College and shoved it behind the masons’ supplies?’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘I am not sure what to think about the culprit’s choice of hiding place. Was it because he knew it might be several days before these tiles were uncovered – and Agatha’s assault was just bad luck? Was he hoping to implicate the workmen? Or are the workmen to blame, and they had been planning to remove Drax to a more permanent resting place later?’
‘I do not like that Yffi,’ said William darkly. ‘He has the look of a killer about him. And I know these things, because I am a Franciscan friar.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Michael impatiently, unwilling to waste time on William’s odd remarks. He sighed. ‘We had better have a word with these builders.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Although bringing a corpse here – especially to the area given over to their supplies – was a rash thing to have done. Moreover, how did the killer get it in here in the first place? Not all the workmen are likely to have been involved, while our students are always gazing out of the windows. How did the culprit do it without being seen?’
Michael was thoughtful. ‘But our students were distracted, were they not? With vivid descriptions about the antics of Yolande de Blaston, which drew all eyes to the roof?’
‘Concerning a handful of chestnuts and a damp cloth,’ provided William helpfully, indicating that the students had not been the only ones absorbed in the builders’ commentary.