‘You swore you had handed all your findings to me,’ said Tulyet sternly. ‘Now you confess that you kept certain articles?’
‘Only the astrolabe,’ protested Weasenham, horrified at himself. ‘And only briefly – I do not have it now. Alyce thinks one of our customers must have made off with it.’
Tulyet grimaced in disgust, then turned to Michael. ‘Who else have you eliminated from your enquiries, other than Eudo and Boltone?’
‘Clippesby. He was with Matt when one attack took place, so he is in the clear.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Tulyet. ‘Brother Paul sent me a message saying he escaped last night.’
‘I have no idea,’ said Michael.
‘Well, you should find him as soon as possible,’ advised Tulyet. ‘Personally, I believe we are not looking for a single killer, but a man who uses others to help him. It is the only way he could have perpetrated all these evil deeds, and you may find Clippesby is his accomplice.’
‘I do not think so,’ said Bartholomew, although he was aware of an uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. Surely, Clippesby could not be guilty after all they had been through?
‘You had better be sure,’ warned Tulyet. ‘This killer is ruthless and cold blooded, and he knows exactly what he wants. I suspect he manipulates people and, if you have hidden Clippesby somewhere, thinking to protect him, you may find yourselves in grave danger.’
‘God’s teeth!’ muttered Michael, emerging from the stationer’s shop and looking to where folk lined the High Street, as if anticipating that the King himself might ride down it. He watched Tulyet’s men trying to move them back, but it was difficult when people were so determined to secure themselves a good view; they jostled and shoved, and in places they blocked the road completely. Tulyet’s expression was anxious, and Bartholomew sensed something in the air that had not been there earlier: an aura of menace. ‘I wish we had the wolf locked up in the Castle, not Eudo and Boltone. They are nothing.’
‘I am not so sure,’ said Tulyet, scanning one of the proclamations. ‘If they had succeeded in distributing these, the Archbishop might have experienced at first hand how uneasy this town can be. They have accused the University of the most despicable of acts, and scholars would have fought to protect their honour. These would have caused a riot for certain.’
Michael disagreed. ‘No one would fight over this rubbish: it is too ridiculous. For example, it claims Chancellor Tynkell is a demon, because he has an aversion to water.’
‘I have always wondered why he never washes,’ said Tulyet dryly. ‘Now all is clear.’
‘And it says King’s Hall is full of men who cannot read,’ said Michael. ‘They would not fight over that, because it is true.’
‘It also says the Senior Proctor eats seven meals a day at six different Colleges,’ said Bartholomew, taking the parchment from Tulyet and reading it properly for the first time. He started to laugh.
‘Scurrilous lies,’ snapped Michael, trying to snatch it from him.
‘But here is something that is neither amusing nor untrue,’ said Bartholomew, pulling it back, so it tore. He glanced at Michael with a troubled expression, his jocundity evaporating. ‘It says that the University is harbouring a killer, and it is only a matter of time before more Cambridge men fall victim to his lust for blood.’
‘More Cambridge men?’ echoed Tulyet. ‘I thought the only people to have died so far were from Oxford: Gonerby, Okehamptone, Chesterfelde and Spryngheuse.’
‘And Hamecotes,’ said Michael. ‘From King’s Hall.’
‘But no one should know about him,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Certainly not Eudo and Boltone, who have been hiding in the Fens these last few days. So, either someone from King’s Hall told them about Hamecotes’s fate, or the murderer did.’
‘No scholar from King’s Hall would spread this tale,’ said Michael. ‘Which leaves the killer.’
‘Are you sure they are different?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily.
Tulyet was angry at the notion. ‘Damn these scholars! They had better not do anything untoward when Islip is here, not after all the trouble the town has taken to impress the man.’
‘No one will produce a set of teeth and attack an Archbishop in broad daylight,’ said Michael soothingly. ‘So far, the killer has only claimed his victims during the hours of darkness. We will need to be on our guard tonight, but not now.’
‘Not true,’ argued Tulyet, unappeased. ‘Gonerby was murdered in the day, when the streets were awash with rioting people, and there was a witness who saw everything.’
‘Possibly,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But the witness is Polmorva, who may have lied about the timing of the murder – and who may even be the wolf himself.’
Michael nodded. ‘It would explain why the wolf tried to kill you, too. Polmorva would slit your throat in an instant, if he thought he could get away with it. He hates you with a passion.’
‘I want this clear in my mind,’ said Tulyet. ‘Chesterfelde’s death was an accident, and has nothing to do with “the wolf ”, as you so prosaically call him. We can forget Eudo and Boltone, because all they did was steal from Merton and try to kill you with a spade. But we still have Gonerby, killed in Oxford, and Hamecotes and Okehamptone, killed here. The wolf made an attempt to disguise both deaths – Okehamptone’s by making sure Matt went nowhere near the corpse; Hamecotes’s by hiding his body and sending false messages to friends claiming he was buying books.’
‘Hamecotes may have sent at least one of those himself,’ said Michael. ‘His room-mate Wormynghalle seems certain they were penned by his own hand.’
‘Oxford and King’s Hall,’ said Tulyet. ‘The wolf retrieved Hamecotes from an Oxford-owned cistern and took the corpse to King’s Hall. It is not easy to wander in and out of Colleges, with porters on guard and territorial students all over the place, so I suspect that Matt is right: whoever put him there was a King’s Hall man.’
‘You are right,’ agreed Bartholomew, thinking hard. ‘And only a King’s Hall scholar would know which of the outbuildings was abandoned, too.’
‘But he did not,’ said Michael. ‘He selected one used by Dodenho, and his secret was out.’
‘Does this exonerate Dodenho, then?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘He found the body and told his colleagues about it. If he were the wolf, then he would have kept quiet about it.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Michael. ‘He could not expect to keep a corpse hidden there for ever, especially with summer on the way. He would know it was only a matter of time before someone noticed an odd smell and went to investigate.’
‘And several people knew the shed was used exclusively by him, so it would not have been long before fingers were pointed,’ acknowledged Bartholomew. ‘You are right. Dodenho could be covering his tracks by “finding” the body.’
‘There is something odd about him,’ said Tulyet. ‘It would not surprise me to learn that he is the wolf. His crude attempts at scholarship are all anyone ever remembers about him, but perhaps he is more clever than we suspect, and he feigns stupidity because he thinks it will hide his true character. But other members of King’s Hall are equally suspect: Paxtone, because he is a physician – they travel a lot and bloody throats do not bother them; Warden Powys because he is Welsh and the Welsh are often abused in Oxford – he may have wanted to avenge the honour of his countrymen; Norton because he is no more a scholar than I am, and has no business being here.’
‘And Wormynghalle because he is too scholarly,’ suggested Michael. ‘Wolf, because he is missing and no one knows where he is.’
They glanced up as distant trumpets sounded, and all along the High Street people began to speak a little louder. The Archbishop was drawing closer.