Michael glared at Yffi, who took an involuntary step backwards. ‘You will not disappear again until our roof is finished. Do I make myself clear? And you would do well not to annoy me, because you are in a very precarious position. A body was found among your supplies.’
Yffi scowled. ‘It is hardly my fault that some villain decided to leave a corpse behind the tiles! If you want someone to blame, then pick on your idle porter.’
‘Or Blaston,’ said Peterkin slyly. ‘He was down here all alone. You have not accused him, because you have known him for years, but he is just as capable of wielding a knife as the next man.’
‘I want to know where you were from dawn until the body was found,’ said Michael, cutting across Blaston’s indignant denials. ‘All of you.’
Yffi sighed impatiently. ‘We were on the roof – as your porter will confirm. One or two of my lads came down for supplies, but that only took moments, and I would have noticed prolonged absences. We all have alibis in each other.’
‘I work alone,’ said Blaston uncomfortably. ‘But the only time I went out was to buy nails, as I told you. The smith will confirm that I left money under his anvil, though. That is an alibi.’
They began to argue, and were still sniping at each other when Michael decided there was no more to be learned from them and took his leave.
‘I detected a furtiveness among the masons, Matt,’ he said as he walked. ‘I wonder why.’
‘I have a feeling they were lounging on the roof, safe in the knowledge that they could not be seen,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘They do not want you to tell Emma that she is paying for them to sit about.’
‘It is possible, although I have a feeling there is more to it than that. Unfortunately, our questions took us no further forward – we can neither eliminate Yffi and his lads as suspects, nor arrest them.’
‘Well, we know none of them killed Drax, because they were here when we think he was stabbed. And Drax was not dispatched in Michaelhouse, because Cynric’s search found no blood.’
‘Blaston was not here during the salient time, though,’ said Michael unhappily. ‘He was out buying nails. Alone. Moreover, he admits to disliking the victim.’
‘Yffi disliked Drax, too. Along with half the town. I will not entertain Blaston as a suspect, Brother. He cares too much for his family to risk being hanged. And he is not a killer, anyway.’
‘You are probably right. But we had better not dismiss him from our enquiries until we can be absolutely certain. Do not look alarmed! Fen the pardoner is much higher on my list than Blaston, and we know he was nosing around here the morning of the crime.’
‘Have you interviewed him yet?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing,’ replied Michael grimly. ‘Because he was out admiring churches with his two fat nuns when I called at the Carmelite Priory yesterday, and so was unavailable to me. But I shall snag him today, and see whether I can force a confession–‘
He was interrupted by the arrival of Meadowman, his favourite beadle.
‘You are needed at Peterhouse, Brother,’ said Meadowman apologetically. ‘They are squabbling with Batayl Hostel, and it is beyond my diplomatic skills to bring about a truce. There is no violence, but some very rude words are being exchanged.’
‘Then I suppose Fen will have to wait,’ sighed Michael, aiming for the gate.
Bartholomew and Father William were the only Fellows present for breakfast in Michaelhouse that morning, and half the students were missing, too. It did not take them long to understand why. Agatha was running dangerously low on supplies, so the meal comprised a grey, watery pottage that had been bulked out with the addition of bean pods and something that looked suspiciously like sawdust.
‘She must have got it from Blaston,’ said William, poking it in distaste.
The Franciscan was not a fussy eater, and if he found fault with what was on offer, Bartholomew knew the situation was serious. Suddenly, William surged to his feet and announced to the world at large that there would be no grace that day, because not even beggars could be expected to be grateful for such slop. Then he grabbed Bartholomew’s arm and steered him out of the hall, towards his own room. Bartholomew resisted, knowing from past experience that sessions in William’s quarters tended to mean being berated for something he had done that the friar deemed heretical.
‘Come,’ said William impatiently. ‘My students will be back soon and I have no intention of sharing with them. But you are a colleague. And besides, you look hungry.’
Bartholomew was both pleased and surprised when the Franciscan presented him with a large piece of bread, several slices of cold meat and a pot of cheese.
‘I slipped it up my sleeve during the feast,’ explained William gleefully. Bartholomew was not keen on the notion of eating something that had spent time inside the Franciscan’s revolting habit, but was hungry enough to overlook the matter. ‘I had a feeling Agatha would make up for yesterday’s luxury with a few days of thrift, so I decided to take precautious.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bartholomew, when he had eaten enough to make himself feel queasy. ‘It is good of you to share. I know you do not like doing it.’
‘No, I do not,’ agreed William blithely. ‘But you missed the feast, so it is only fair.’
Uncomfortably overloaded, Bartholomew went in search of Michael, but was told by Langelee that the monk was still trying to quell the spat between a rich College and a particularly poor hostel.
‘I have a bad feeling this rivalry will erupt into something dark and violent before it burns itself out,’ said the Master. ‘Incidentally, we had a message to say you are needed by the Carmelites.’
Bartholomew told Valence to read Theophilus’s De urinis to his other students, thinking Gyseburne would approve of time spent on urine. Then he walked to the White Friars’ convent, where Horneby said he was feeling better but was worried that continued hoarseness would affect his delivery at the Stock Extraordinary Lecture. Prior Etone was hovering anxiously on one side of the bed, while Welfry was on the other. Bartholomew raised his eyebrows at a Dominican among the Carmelites – the Orders tended not to fraternise.
‘Horneby and I are old friends,’ explained Welfry, when he saw Bartholomew’s surprise. ‘I have been helping him prepare his lecture.’
‘Welfry has a brilliant mind,’ said Etone begrudgingly. ‘If he were to use it sensibly, he could be Horneby’s equal in the debating chamber. But he prefers practical jokes to theology, and–’
‘Enough, Father!’ cried Welfry. His eyes danced with wry amusement – it was hardly Etone’s place to reprimand him. ‘You are worse than my Prior-General!’
‘Well, perhaps being Seneschal will make you more sombre,’ said Etone. ‘And bear in mind that if Horneby’s sickness persists, you will be the one I nominate to read his lecture.’
‘Me?’ asked Welfry, suddenly alarmed. ‘But I am not a Carmelite.’
‘No, but you are Horneby’s closest friend, and the man most familiar with his theses,’ said Etone. ‘Unfortunately, I do not think the rest of us are up to the task. You are though.’
‘Lord!’ breathed Welfry. He looked at Horneby, wide-eyed. ‘You had better get well as soon as possible, then, because I am disinclined to accept this “honour”.’
‘When is the lecture?’ asked Bartholomew, struggling to inspect Horneby’s throat with the Carmelites’ best lamp.
Prior Etone regarded him reproachfully. ‘Next Tuesday. How can you even ask such a question, when it has been the talk of the town for weeks?’