Bartholomew described Polmorva’s invention. ‘But they disappeared after I accused him of complicity in the sub-prior’s death. He thought I had stolen them while I assumed he had hidden them, ready to hire out again when the fuss had died down. Duraunt confessed to melting them down, although he did not see fit to mention this at the time, and exonerate me from Polmorva’s accusations.’
‘So, who is the wolf, then?’ asked Clippesby. ‘Duraunt or Polmorva?’
‘Duraunt is too frail to fight me,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Polmorva is not, though.’
‘And he hates you,’ agreed Agatha. ‘However, I am told you defeated him with ease when you fought at the cistern, so are you sure he is strong enough?’
‘He must be, because otherwise it means the wolf is Duraunt. Duraunt does not want me dead.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Clippesby softly. ‘The Merton Hall chickens heard him telling his friends that he offered you a Fellowship at Oxford, and was deeply hurt when you elected to come here instead. He also thinks you are different from the young student he knew and loved.’
‘I grew up,’ said Bartholomew tersely. ‘I became more practical and less idealistic, but so do we all.’
‘Not all,’ said Clippesby pointedly. ‘Some of us cling to our naïveté, hoping it will protect us from the horrors of the world. Sometimes it works, but most of the time we are exposed to it regardless. You should not dismiss Duraunt from your list of suspects too readily. The stoat who lives at the Cardinal’s Cap tells me he is belligerent once full of ale. Drunks can be strong.’
‘No,’ insisted Bartholomew doggedly. ‘Not Duraunt.’
‘He lied about the teeth,’ Agatha pointed out. ‘He said they were destroyed, but they were not. They are here, in Cambridge, being used for a far more sinister purpose than helping old monks gnaw their meat. The wolf must be him.’
‘And it was definitely you he was after,’ added Clippesby. ‘He does not perceive me as a threat – he could have come to the hospital any time and dispatched me at his leisure. It was you he wanted, just as he wanted Rougham, not me, the first time I encountered him.’
‘But why?’ asked Bartholomew in despair. ‘I do not understand!’
‘He thinks you are close to revealing his identity and is determined to stop you,’ said Clippesby. ‘Whatever direction your investigation is taking is obviously the right one.’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew wearily. ‘There must be some other explanation.’
‘So you said, but speculating will get us nowhere,’ said Agatha, looking up at the sky. ‘Dawn is not far off, and we should be about our business before anyone finds out what we have been doing: Clippesby escaping, me visiting lunatics, and Matthew stalking College laundresses.’
‘I still cannot let you go,’ said Bartholomew to Clippesby, dragging his thoughts away from Duraunt. ‘Especially not now. You have saved my life, and I want to do the same for you.’
‘But we have established that the wolf does not have designs on me.’ Clippesby smiled wryly. ‘He probably believes I am too addled, which goes to show a little eccentricity has its advantages.’
‘You are more than a little eccentric,’ said Agatha bluntly. ‘You are stark raving mad.’
‘I am not worried about the wolf …about the killer harming you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I am concerned about the Oxford merchants and others who may seize you as a scapegoat. You cannot stay at Stourbridge, though; you are not safe here, either. Not now.’
‘Well, if he cannot stay here, and you will not let him escape, then where is left?’ demanded Agatha. ‘He is not a bird, whatever he might think himself, and he cannot fly away.’
‘I know somewhere,’ said Bartholomew. ‘No one will think to look there, and he will be safe until this is over.’
‘Good,’ said Agatha. ‘Then lead us to it.’
CHAPTER 11
It was well past dawn by the time Bartholomew had secured Clippesby in his new hiding place, and he was late for the Monday morning mass. He noticed that the town was waiting in eager anticipation for the Archbishop, and even the beggars had made an attempt to spruce themselves up. He hurried to St Michael’s Church and walked briskly to his place in the chancel. Michael was officiating, but took his mind off his sacred duties long enough to indicate he wanted to speak to the physician. Then he delighted the students and bemused the Fellows by speeding through the rest of the ceremony at a rate that was far from devout.
‘I wish all our priests would do it like that,’ remarked Langelee, as he led the procession out of the church and back to Michaelhouse. ‘It would save us a good deal of wasted time.’
‘Praying is not wasted time,’ said William, shocked, despite the fact that his masses were usually even faster. He jerked his head at the listening students. ‘And watch what you say when there are impressionable minds listening.’
‘Our impressionable minds might be disturbed by witnessing the Master’s hankering for Agatha,’ said Deynman sanctimoniously. ‘The news of that is all over the University.’
‘The Master does not hanker after her any longer,’ said William, who had heard the rumours that Langelee had shifted his affections to Alyce Weasenham. ‘That honour now falls to Suttone.’ He guffawed loudly, to indicate he was making a joke.
‘Suttone,’ mused Deynman, and Bartholomew saw he had just witnessed the birth of another falsehood that would soon be circulating around the town and paraded as truth.
Michael snatched Bartholomew’s arm and pulled him out of the procession. ‘Where have you been? You were needed last night, and there was no trace of you. Have you been with a patient?’
‘Yes,’ replied Bartholomew truthfully. ‘Why? What has happened?’
‘Matilde’s house was invaded – by the killer, we think.’
Bartholomew gazed at him in horror, a stab of panic making his breath catch painfully in his throat. ‘She is not …? Is she …?’
‘She is unharmed,’ replied Michael. ‘Frightened and angry, but unharmed.’
Bartholomew closed his eyes in relief. ‘I am going to marry her, Michael,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘I am going to ask her as soon as Rougham has gone and we can be alone.’
Michael smiled. ‘Good. It is time you acted on this, and I am sure Matilde will think so, too.’
‘Do you think she will have me?’
‘Probably,’ replied Michael carelessly. ‘It will mean the end of your Fellowship, but I intend to order Tynkell to keep you as our Corpse Examiner. I doubt Rougham will be clamouring for your dismissal, given what you have done for him of late.’ He smiled affectionately. ‘I hope you will be very happy together – and that you will spare the occasional cup of wine for an old friend.’
‘Always,’ said Bartholomew. They were silent for a moment, as each considered the enormity of what Bartholomew was about to do. He would have to start hunting for patients who could pay him, and would have no time for his treatise on fevers. Meanwhile, Michael thought about how different life would be for him, too, and realised how much he had come to rely on the physician’s insights and help in all manner of ways.
‘Did Matilde see who broke into her house?’ asked Bartholomew, pulling his mind away from the future. ‘And what about Rougham? Did the killer come to complete what he started two weeks ago?’
‘I think that is exactly what he was doing,’ said Michael soberly. ‘It happened at midnight precisely, because Matilde heard handbells jangling inside All-Saints-in-the-Jewry. Rougham escaped unharmed, too, although the shock has not been good for him.’
‘Lord!’ muttered Bartholomew. ‘The wolf was busy last night. He must have gone directly from Matilde’s house to Stourbridge.’
‘The wolf?’ echoed Michael.
Bartholomew shook his head, impatient with himself. ‘That is what Clippesby calls him. I am sorry, Brother. He used it so often last night that it rubbed off on me.’
‘You went to see Clippesby?’ asked Michael warily. ‘In the middle of the night? With a killer on the loose, who may decide you are to be next?’