‘What will you be doing?’ asked the Franciscan.
‘Visiting suspects,’ replied Michael harshly. ‘For trying to dispatch me and for murdering Robert, Pyk, Joan and Lady Lullington.’
‘Perhaps we should leave today,’ said William anxiously. ‘Gynewell cannot expect us to stay when we are in fear of our lives, and we can hire a cart to carry Matthew – he would be safer in one than on horseback, anyway.’
‘I am not in the habit of fleeing from villains,’ said Michael haughtily. ‘And Peterborough deserves answers. We will catch this killer and then we shall see him hang.’
Inspired by his own defiant words, Michael stalked out of the abbey, stopping only to inform a waiting Henry that visitors to the guest house would not be welcome that day. His first port of call was Reginald’s workshop, where a rhythmic hammering told him that the cutler was in. He tried to open the door but it was barred, so he knocked, courteously at first, and then with increasing irritation when there was no answer. Eventually, a grille was snapped open.
‘What do you want?’ barked Reginald.
‘To buy a knife,’ lied Michael. ‘You sell them, do you not?’
‘Yes, but not today. I am busy.’
Michael frowned suspiciously. ‘I am a customer. You cannot be too busy for those.’
‘Well, I am,’ declared Reginald. ‘And I do not do business with bishops’ commissioners, anyway. You have no right to poke your nose into Abbot Robert’s affairs.’
‘I am trying to learn what happened to him,’ replied Michael indignantly, aware that their hollered discussion was attracting amused glances from passers-by. ‘I am told he is probably dead, but there is also a possibility that he is in trouble and requires help. And as one of his friends, you should be doing all you can to assist me.’
‘He will not be in trouble,’ Reginald shouted back. ‘He has probably found a hovel somewhere, and is enjoying the peace and quiet. I would not blame him. His monks are a pious crowd, and I would not want to live among them.’
‘He is an abbot – such men like living among pious monks. And what about Pyk? Will he also be in this mud hut while the whole town mourns his loss?’
‘No, but he might have seized the opportunity to escape from his dreadful wife,’ Reginald shot back. ‘But I am not talking to you any more, because you will try to trick me. Now go away. I do not have any knives to sell you.’
Michael became aware of a presence behind him. It was Botilbrig, standing brazenly close to ensure he did not miss anything.
‘You should not buy one of his blades, anyway,’ he said, not at all discomfited by the monk’s annoyed glare. ‘They are all below standard, and he will cheat you.’
‘I heard that,’ yelled Reginald angrily. ‘There is nothing wrong with my cutlery.’
‘Then show me some,’ challenged Michael. ‘And at the same time, you can tell me why you think I might trick you. You should not be concerned if you have nothing to hide.’
‘He will have something to hide,’ whispered Botilbrig. ‘If there is anything untoward happening in Peterborough, you can be sure that Reginald will be at the heart of it. How else could a mere cutler afford a nice shop and such lovely clothes? There are rumours that he has discovered Oxforde’s treasure, you know.’
‘What treasure?’ asked Michael, forbearing to mention that the shop was squalid and the cutler’s clothes were a long way from being sartorial.
‘The things that Oxforde stole during his life of crime,’ explained Botilbrig impatiently. ‘He amassed a fortune, but he never told anyone where he hid it.’
Michael recalled what Clippesby’s grass snake was alleged to have said. ‘Spalling maintains that Oxforde gave it all to the poor.’
Botilbrig spat. ‘Spalling never met Oxforde, or he would not make such a ridiculous claim. Oxforde was ruthless and greedy, and would no more have given his ill-gotten gains away than he would have flown to the moon.’
‘Some people believe it, or Oxforde’s shrine would not be so popular.’
‘Fools,’ sneered Botilbrig. ‘All misled by the witches at St Thomas’s Hospital, who have seized on Spalling’s remarks and used them to encourage even more folk to pray at his tomb.’
‘What are you saying out there, Botilbrig?’ demanded Reginald. ‘You had better not be telling him that stupid tale about me finding Oxforde’s treasure. It is a lie – I was not even born when he was hanged. Now go away, both of you, before I come out with my sharpest knife and hack you both to pieces.’
‘We had better do as he says,’ gulped Botilbrig, pulling on the monk’s arm. ‘He went after Master Pyk with a dagger once, just for asking concerned questions about Reginald’s wife. She vanished, you see.’
‘Vanished?’
‘We all suspect he killed her, but that was five years ago, shortly after Robert became Abbot, so you will not get him to admit it now. Too much time has passed. However, it means I do not want him after me with pointed implements.’
Michael turned his attention back to Reginald. It was frustrating, knowing the man might have information to help his enquiries, and he heartily wished he had a pack of beadles at his command, as he did in Cambridge. Beadles made short work of inconvenient doors.
‘How is your friend?’
Michael had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he had not seen Lullington approach. The knight was wearing a magnificent new cloak, although a light mail tunic could be seen underneath it, which led the monk to wonder what the man had done to warrant such precautions.
‘Still insensible,’ Michael replied shortly. ‘And if he fails to wake, I will not leave Peterborough until I catch the villain who poisoned him.’
‘Do not take that tone with me,’ objected Lullington. ‘I had nothing to do with it.’
‘Then who do you think might have done it?’
A sly expression flitted across Lullington’s face. ‘Where to start? Aurifabro is a vicious rogue. Then there is Ramseye, who is as cunning and duplicitous a fellow as I have ever met. Yvo will be innocent, though.’
As Michael knew that Yvo represented Lullington’s best chance of continued luxury, he was inclined to dismiss the last claim.
‘Trentham is also a villain,’ the knight went on. ‘Do not let that look of innocent youth deceive you, because he is a rascal. How dare he tell me how to treat my wife!’
The abbey’s cook, sacrist and brewer were also vilified, and it quickly became apparent that Lullington’s list of suspects just comprised people who had crossed him. Unwilling to waste more time listening to it, Michael went on the offensive.
‘I find it odd that you happened to be by the gate when we returned last night. What–’
‘Yvo has already explained what we were doing,’ snapped Lullington. ‘Waiting to get my wife’s … my jewellery from the treasury. If Welbyrn had not gone out without his Prior’s permission, we would not have been obliged to hang around waiting for him to come back.’
Michael moved to another subject. ‘I understand you and Robert were friends. Yet I am told he could be … difficult.’
‘He probably should not have taken the cowl,’ acknowledged Lullington. ‘He would have done better at court, for he had the wit and cunning to best any politician.’
‘What did you do when you learned he was missing? You, Pyk and Reginald were his particular friends, but Pyk is also lost and Reginald is not a caring man. That leaves you.’
‘What could I do, Brother?’ asked Lullington, spreading his hands. ‘I am a poor corrodian with very little money. Well, that has changed now my wife is dead–’