Outside, Heyford regarded him suspiciously. ‘You took a long time.’
Bartholomew brandished the wig. ‘It took me a while to undo the knots.’
He could not look the priest in the eye, and was acutely aware that he probably looked very furtive. Silently, he cursed Michael for putting him in a position where lies were required.
Heyford continued to look doubtful. ‘They did not look that firmly tied to me. And why not cut them with one of the many knives you carry for surgery?’
‘Evidence,’ supplied Michael, when the physician had no answer. ‘Small details like knots are important, and may be the clue that leads us to the killer.’
‘Killer?’ asked Heyford, very quick on the uptake. ‘You mean he was murdered?’
‘Yes,’ said Bartholomew, when Michael raised questioning eyebrows. ‘I am sure of it.’
‘We had better inform Chestre,’ said Michael unhappily. ‘Thank you for your help, Heyford.’
‘You are welcome,’ replied Heyford. ‘But I shall hold you to your promise: I want this funeral.’
‘Well?’ asked Michael, when the venal vicar had been left behind, and he and Bartholomew were walking towards the town’s centre. ‘What did you learn?’
‘That Gib did not go easily. He was a large man, and strong, so I imagine he was dispatched by more than one assailant.’
‘And what about the wig? Did he tie it on himself? Or did someone else do it for him?’
‘I could not tell, Brother. I am sorry.’
Michael looked worried. ‘We had better hurry – it will not take long for word to reach Chestre, and we cannot have them taking matters into their own hands. They may wreak revenge on some hapless scholar from a College.’
‘Take some beadles with you,’ advised Bartholomew.
‘Take some beadles with us,’ corrected Michael. ‘Kendale is extremely clever – he may know exactly why his student was murdered, but may be disinclined to say. I need you to watch him, to assess whether he is telling the truth. And then we shall compare notes.’
Bartholomew dragged his feet as he and Michael walked down Bridge Street. Regardless of whether Kendale and his students had had a hand in what had happened to Gib, they would make a fuss, and he was tired and dispirited, not in the mood for confrontation. Worse yet, they might decide to honour Gib’s memory with more of their claret, and he felt his stomach roil at the notion of swallowing anything so potent.
‘There is Welfry,’ he said, pointing as they passed St John’s Hospital. ‘What is he doing?’
Michael glared at the Dominican. ‘Crouching behind water butts is hardly seemly behaviour for a Seneschal. Did I tell you that he has already written to the exchequer, requesting tax exemptions for those of our students who are apes? It made for hilarious reading, as it happens, but you do not jest with the King’s clerks. He will get us suppressed!’
‘I am hiding from Odelina,’ explained Welfry, when they approached. A pained expression crossed his face. ‘She has taken to stalking me of late.’
‘Has she?’ asked Bartholomew, daring to hope it might signal the end of her pursuit of him.
‘She said I remind her of a character in some ballad. It is my hand, apparently – her hero had a withered limb, but a lady kissed it and it grew well again. Odelina has offered to kiss mine.’
‘Perhaps you should let her,’ said Michael, amused. ‘There is nothing wrong with being cured.’
Welfry was shocked. ‘I am a friar, Brother! Besides, the reward for this cure is to marry her. And that would be too high a price, even if I were not wed to the Church.’
‘Here she comes,’ said Michael. ‘But you need not worry, because she seems to have transferred her affections to Valence. God help him.’
‘That means nothing,’ said Welfry gloomily, watching Valence effect a hasty escape. ‘She is quite capable of entertaining a fancy for more than one gentleman at the same time. Please go away. You will attract her attention, and–’
‘It is too late,’ said Michael. ‘She is almost here. Stand up, man, or she will wonder what you are up to. You are our Seneschal, and kneeling behind barrels is hardly dignified.’
Odelina had donned a kirtle with a tight bodice of scarlet. It was identical to one Celia Drax owned, and Bartholomew could only suppose she wore it to emulate the woman she so admired. Unfortunately, it was not a style that suited Odelina’s paunch and generous hips.
‘Well!’ Odelina exclaimed. Her eyes gleamed, and Bartholomew was reminded unpleasantly of her grandmother. ‘Two handsome gentlemen in one place.’
‘Two?’ asked Michael, puzzled. ‘Which of this pair do you consider unattractive, then, because there are three of us here.’
‘I am expected at the Dominican Friary,’ said Welfry, beginning to edge away.
Odelina snagged his arm. ‘Surely, you can spare a few moments to converse with a pretty lady?’
‘You are a pretty lady, mistress,’ said Welfry, gently disengaging his wrist. ‘And one day, you will find a fine husband, who will make you very happy. I shall pray for it to happen soon.’
‘I do like him,’ said Odelina, watching the Dominican scuttle away. ‘And I am sure I could cure his withered hand, if only he would let me kiss it. Love is a powerful thing, you see, and can overcome all manner of obstacles. It is how you saved me from death, Doctor.’
‘Actually, what saved you was vomiting,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It purged–’
‘No, no, no!’ cried Odelina in distaste. ‘That was not it at all. I told you: we share something special, because you snatched me from the grave. But where are you going? To visit my grandmother, and give her a better horoscope than the one Meryfeld has devised?’
‘Actually, we are going to Chestre Hostel, to inform them that one of their students is dead,’ said Bartholomew, supposing Emma’s household would also have to be told the news. ‘He was wearing a yellow wig, but we cannot say for certain yet whether–’
‘You have the villain who poisoned me and my mother?’ whispered Odelina, crossing herself. Her face was suddenly pale. ‘Thank God! Who is he? What was his name?’
‘Gib,’ replied Michael. ‘But we have many questions to ask before we can say for certain that he is the culprit. And we must be sure, before we besmirch his name.’
Odelina swallowed hard, seeming young and rather vulnerable. ‘Gib is the one with the big ale-belly, is he not? There was a time when my grandmother considered funding a scholarship at Chestre, and Principal Kendale used Gib as a messenger. She decided to pay for the repairs to your roof instead, in the end, but Gib certainly knew his way around our house.’
‘Well,’ said Michael, watching her hurry away to inform her grandmother and father of what had happened. ‘The noose around Chestre tightens further still.’
As it happened, Bartholomew and Michael did not need to visit Chestre, because they met Kendale and his students emerging from the Round Church. They all carried wax tablets, indicating they had been attending a lecture there, although most of the tablets were clean – few had taken notes.
‘What do you want now?’ demanded Kendale, when Michael put out a hand to stop them. His calculating eyes immediately took in the beadles, along with the fact that they were heavily armed. ‘We have indulged in no pranks today, so do not accuse us of it. I have been pontificating on the Aristotelian pre-concept of the mean speed theorem, and all my lads were in attendance.’
‘We have some sad news,’ said Michael. ‘Perhaps we might return to Chestre and–’