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‘I have something to tell you about the Spital, Brother,’ announced Cynric grandly. ‘We need not worry about the French attacking it again.’

‘No?’ asked Michael warily. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I have just been to see Margery Starre, and she says it is now Satan’s domain,’ explained Cynric. ‘And he has put it under his personal protection. Anyone assaulting it can expect to be sucked straight down to Hell.’

‘Well, then,’ said Michael, hoping that would be enough to protect the peregrini until they could slip away. ‘We had all better keep our distance.’

Chapter 7

By the following morning, everyone knew that Satan had moved into the Spital, and would not welcome uninvited guests. However, while the news encouraged superstitious townsfolk to stay away, it had the opposite effect on those in holy orders.

‘The Devil will not tell me what I can and cannot do in my own town,’ declared Father William indignantly, as he and the other Fellows sat in the conclave after breakfast. ‘Who does he think he is?’

‘That tale is a lot of nonsense started by Cynric,’ said Theophilis in the sinister whisper that Bartholomew was coming to detest. ‘I shall be glad when you leave the University and take that heretic with you, Bartholomew. I dislike the fact that he – and you, for that matter – has befriended a witch.’

‘Cynric is not a heretic,’ objected Bartholomew, although he was aware that the book-bearer was not exactly a true son of the Church either. ‘And I am no friend of Margery Starre.’

‘Really?’ asked Aungel guilelessly. ‘Because she always speaks very highly of you. When I collect the cure she makes for my spots, she always says–’

He stopped abruptly, aware that he had not only dropped his former teacher in the mire, but had done himself no favours either. Theophilis was quick to pounce.

‘You will not buy her wares again, Aungel,’ he ordered sharply. ‘And I shall put Bartholomew’s association with that woman in my weekly report to the Chancellor.’

‘Come to the Spital with me, Theophilis,’ said William, eyes blazing fanatically. ‘You and I will send Lucifer packing together.’

‘Good idea,’ said Theophilis, and turned to Michael. ‘And while we are there, I shall investigate the murdered lunatics. I am your Junior Proctor, so if anyone helps you solve the mystery, it should be me.’ He glared pointedly at Bartholomew.

‘It is kind of you to offer,’ said Michael. ‘But I need you to monitor the triumvirate. I say this not for my benefit, but for your own – you will never rise in the University hierarchy if the Chancellor regains too much power, as he will prevent me from promoting you.’

‘Of course,’ said Theophilis, paling at the awful prospect of political stagnation. ‘I shall go to St Mary the Great at once. Meadowman told me that a letter arrived for de Wetherset at dawn, so I should find out who sent it.’

‘You should,’ agreed Michael. ‘It is the time of year when nominations for lucrative sinecures arrive, and it would be a shame if you lose out to someone less deserving.’

Theophilis made for the door at such a lick that he startled the hens that Clippesby was feeding under the table. They scattered in alarm.

‘Keep those things away from me,’ he snarled, flapping his hands at them. ‘They should not be in here anyway – unless they are roasted in butter.’

‘You would eat Gertrude?’ breathed Clippesby, shocked. ‘The nominalist?’

Theophilis forced a smile. ‘Of course I would not eat her, Clippesby. I am too fervent an admirer of her philosophy. Forgive me, Gertrude. I spoke out of turn.’

He bowed to the bird and left, leaving Clippesby to smooth ruffled feathers. William watched him go, then went to recruit Aungel for a holy assault on the Spital.

‘I do not understand why you trust Theophilis,’ said Bartholomew, once he and Michael were alone. ‘He is only interested in furthering his own career, and cares nothing for yours.’

‘Almost certainly. However, he also knows that the only way he will succeed is with my support, so he will do anything to keep my approval.’ Michael stood and stretched. ‘We should go to meet Dick. We have a lot to do today.’

‘Have we?’ asked Bartholomew without enthusiasm.

Michael nodded. ‘Once we have discussed our findings with him, we must speak to Leger and Norbert about their conversation with the Girards. I want to know why they kept an encounter with two murder victims to themselves.’

‘It might be wiser to let Dick do that,’ said Bartholomew, thinking that while the ruffianly pair might not assault a monk, the same could not be said about a physician. He was no coward, but there was no point in deliberately courting danger.

‘You may be right. Next, we shall go to St Mary the Great, where I will show you the blade that killed Paris the Plagiarist. You never saw it, because it got kicked under a stone and Theophilis did not find it until the following day.’

Theophilis found it? And it was missed during the initial search?’

‘Yes, but when he showed me where it had fallen, I was not surprised that no one had spotted it sooner. I want you to compare it to the weapon that killed the Girards.’

‘The wounds on them and Paris were not the same size,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I told you that yesterday. Theirs were more akin to Bonet’s, but he is buried, so we will never know if he was killed with the weapon we found at the Spital. Incidentally, have you asked where Theophilis was when the fire started?’

Michael’s eyes were round with disbelief. ‘Lord, Matt! What is it about my poor Junior Proctor that you so dislike? He never says anything nasty about you.’

‘Spying is distasteful, but he happily rushed to do it, which says nothing good about him. He spends a lot of time with de Wetherset and Heltisle, and he is ambitious. If they offer him a better deal, he will take it – then it will be you who is the subject of his snooping.’

‘I shall bear it in mind, although I am sure you are wrong.’

‘So did you ask where he was when the fire started?’

Michael was growing exasperated. ‘Why would Theophilis, a Fellow of Michaelhouse, renowned canon lawyer and possible future Chancellor, stab a few frightened Frenchmen? I have discussed the war with him in the past, and he is of the same opinion as you and me – that the leaders of both sides should bring about a truce before any more blood is spilled.’

‘So you have not asked him,’ surmised Bartholomew in disgust.

‘You know where he was – here, in the hall, keeping the peace while William revealed his ignorance of the nominalism–realism dispute.’

Bartholomew raised a triumphant finger. ‘No, he was not! Aungel said he left shortly after it started, and did not return for some time – which is why my students were able to savage William so ruthlessly. Theophilis was not here to keep them in line.’

‘I forgot – he did mention going out,’ said Michael. ‘Heltisle had a meeting, and refused to reveal who with, so Theophilis followed him. Unfortunately, he lost him by King’s Hall, so he returned to his duties here.’

‘It is not a very convincing alibi, is it?’ said Bartholomew, unimpressed. ‘No one can really verify what he was doing.’

‘I suspect that is true for half the town, which is why this case will not be easy to solve. But solve it we must, because we cannot rest until this killer is caught. So if you are ready …’