‘Wolf,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘It was Clippesby who started referring to the killer as “the wolf”. I assumed he was talking about an animal, but I wonder if he was actually referring to the name.’
Michael sighed. ‘Damn Clippesby and his obtuse way of seeing things! Of course it is Wolf. It makes sense now: Wolf is a King’s Hall man, who travelled to Oxford, and who has been missing since the first of the Cambridge murders.’
‘We have no time to discuss this now,’ said Tulyet, beginning to move away. ‘The Archbishop is almost here, and I must be there to greet him. You, too, Brother. And Matt should change his tabard before someone sees it and thinks either he has stabbed someone or has indulged in particularly gruesome surgery. Either may result in a skirmish, and that is something we must avoid at all costs.’
They hurried along the High Street, Michael walking in front of Bartholomew in an attempt to disguise the mess of red on his chest. However, even easing politely through the crowd drew hostile glances. Bartholomew was shoved in the back as he passed a tinker, and was only saved from falling because Michael was in the way. The physician heard bitter comments about Oxford men bringing murderous and dishonest ways to Cambridge, and supposed the rumour-mongers had made it known that he had once studied in Oxford.
When they parted at the High Street’s junction with St Michael’s Lane, Tulyet stopped and called back to them. ‘I have just remembered something – I should have mentioned it before, but all this noise distracted me. When he was arrested, Boltone blamed Eudo for the dishonest accounting and for Chesterfelde. He also claimed someone else told Eudo what to write in the proclamations.’
‘Who?’ asked Michael. ‘Wolf?’
Tulyet shrugged. ‘He just said it was someone from King’s Hall.’
* * *
Bartholomew ran down the lane towards his College, Michael puffing at his side. The porter opened the door, and Bartholomew saw that he, Michael and Tulyet were not the only ones to detect the atmosphere of unease among the townsfolk: Langelee also knew that large gatherings of people might result in trouble, and had taken the appropriate precautions. The gates were secured with heavy bars, and barrels had been filled with water and stood in rows near the hall, in case of fire. All the porters and servants were armed – and silently resentful that they were obliged to remain inside, when they could have been on the High Street admiring the pageantry.
‘We will change into our finery and look for Wolf among the crowds,’ panted Michael. ‘I will not let him harm the Archbishop and damage my University.’
‘I do not like the aura of unrest that pervades the town this morning,’ said Langelee, coming to speak to them. ‘Do you think this killer will attack Islip in order to thwart our chances of gaining his favour? Is he an Oxford man?’
‘He probably has connections to the place,’ said Michael, hurrying to don his best habit. ‘I do not understand why he has committed these crimes, but I intend to stop him from harming anyone else. We can discuss his motives tomorrow, when he is safely inside the Castle prison.’
Bartholomew hauled off his ink-stained tabard and called for Agatha to give him his spare. It was in the process of being laundered, and he hoped she had not been as tardy with it as she had with Langelee’s cloak. She hurried from the kitchens to hand it to him. He pulled it over his head and straightened it impatiently, while Langelee regarded him in dismay.
‘You are not going to meet Islip in that, are you? He will think we are paupers!’
‘Surely that is a good thing?’ said Bartholomew, unwilling to admit he did not own another. ‘If he sees we have no money, he might give us some.’
‘Interesting point,’ said Langelee, looking down at his own ceremonial robes, then glancing at Michael, who was resplendent in a cloak of soft black wool. ‘I shall have to change. It is a pity, because Alyce said I cut rather a fine figure in this, but it cannot be helped, and it is all in a good cause.’
‘He knows,’ warned Michael, before the Master could leave. ‘Weasenham knows about you and Alyce.’
‘Not much escapes his attention,’ agreed Agatha, not entirely pleasantly.
‘True,’ conceded Langelee with a sigh. ‘I knew our happiness could not last for ever. But now is not the time to discuss it. I hear Clippesby has escaped.’
‘Yes,’ said Michael. ‘But we do not need to concern ourselves about him, and especially not today. We are fairly certain our killer is Wolf of King’s Hall. Clippesby may only be his accomplice.’
There was another blast of trumpets, much closer this time, and Bartholomew could hear the rhythmic rattle of drums. The Archbishop was obviously intent on putting on a spectacle for the people of Cambridge, with music and a procession of handsomely attired churchmen and their scribes. He was sure it would be remembered for years to come, and only hoped the memories would be pleasant ones, and not of a murder that had taken place during it.
‘Really?’ asked Langelee. ‘Wolf did go missing at about the right time, but I understood it was because he had a pox.’
‘Only according to Weasenham,’ said Agatha. ‘But Clippesby has been talking about wolves these last three weeks, and he is no fool. I thought he meant animals, but he must have referred to Wolf the man.’
‘How do you know?’ pounced Michael. ‘You have not seen him since he was sent to Stourbridge.’
Agatha regarded him coolly. ‘I visited him. I know he sounds deranged, but to my mind he is far more sane than the rest of you most of the time. I need a word, Matthew. In private.’ She gave him a monstrous wink that immediately secured Michael’s keen attention.
‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew warily. ‘Do you need a consultation?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, giving another indiscreet leer. ‘But not the kind you are thinking about. I want to tell you something about a mutual friend.’
‘Clippesby?’ he asked in alarm. ‘What has he done?’
‘He has gone out. He-’
‘Gone out from where?’ demanded Michael. He gazed accusingly at Bartholomew. ‘You have not been telling me the truth, my friend! You said he ran away after he saved you from the wolf, but that is not true, is it? You helped him to hide. And where safer than Michaelhouse, where there are strong walls and a sturdy gate to protect him?’
‘I did not lie,’ said Bartholomew defensively. ‘You jumped to conclusions.’
‘But you did not correct me. Are you insane? What if the rumour spreads that Clippesby is the killer, and people discover he is here? We will be in flames in an instant, and not even the Archbishop of Canterbury will be able to save us.’
‘Do not exaggerate,’ said Bartholomew uneasily. ‘No one but Tulyet knows Clippesby was a suspect, and Rougham will say nothing. Clippesby is in more danger from others than he is to them.’
‘He is right,’ declared Agatha. ‘And he promised to stay in Matthew’s room, with the College cat for company.’
‘I do not like the use of the past tense here,’ said Bartholomew worriedly. ‘Where has he gone?’
‘He said he had been thinking about your mystery all morning, and he had reached a conclusion. He was wildly excited when I took him larded oatcakes a short while ago, and was talking about the wolf.’
‘Then Tulyet was right after all,’ said Michael. ‘Clippesby has always known more about these killings than he should have done, and now it is clear why: he is the wolf’s accomplice. Tulyet said the wolf could not have managed alone and needed help, and now I see who provided it: Clippesby, who is too addled to know the difference between good men and bad.’
‘He knows the difference,’ said Agatha angrily. ‘He knows it better than you.’
‘You have done him a grave disservice by helping him escape, madam,’ said Michael, rounding on her. ‘Your actions may lead him to commit another crime – or one he will be blamed for, whether he is responsible or not. And Michaelhouse may be forced to bear that responsibility with him.’