Bartholomew nodded to where William was still badgering Aungel to join him in a righteous assault on Satan. ‘What about him? We cannot let him go anywhere near the Spital, because if he learns who is inside …’
‘I shall ask him to visit his fellow Franciscans and find out what they know about Wyse. He will enjoy that, as he is always clamouring to be a proctor. By the time he has finished, he will have forgotten all about his holy mission against the Devil.’
Bartholomew hoped Michael was right.
Taverns were off limits to scholars, on the grounds that they tended to be full of ale-sodden townsfolk. In times of peace, Michael turned a blind eye to the occasional infraction, but Paris’s murder meant the stricture had to be enforced much more rigidly. Unfortunately, several hostels had flouted the rule the previous night, and there had been drunken fights.
‘We have seen trouble in the past,’ muttered Michael as he and Bartholomew hurried to their meeting with Tulyet, ‘but it is worse this time because everyone is armed.’
He and Bartholomew entered the Brazen George via the back door, where they were less likely to be spotted. The room the landlord always kept ready for him was a pleasant chamber overlooking a yard where hens scratched happily. They reminded Bartholomew of Clippesby’s treatise.
‘How many copies has Heltisle sold?’ he asked. ‘Do you know?’
‘Enough to build the dogs a veritable palace and pay for the conclave windows to be glazed.’ Michael shook his head admiringly. ‘Clippesby has been stunningly clever – he also added a clause that obliges Heltisle to bear the cost of all these new copies himself. Unless he builds a kennel in the next few days, our Vice-Chancellor will be seriously out of pocket.’
‘Then let us hope no one warns him,’ said Bartholomew pointedly.
‘Theophilis would never betray us. Stop worrying about him, Matt.’
There was no point in arguing. Landlord Lister arrived, so Bartholomew sat at the table and listened as Michael began to order himself some food.
‘Bring lots of meat with bread. But no chicken. I am disinclined to eat those these days, lest one transpires to be a nominalist and thus a friend to my Order.’
‘You cannot be hungry, Brother,’ said Bartholomew disapprovingly. ‘You have just devoured a huge meal at College–’
‘Unfortunately, I did not,’ interrupted Michael stiffly. ‘You stuck that dish of peas next to me, which meant I could not reach anything decent. Besides, I was up half the night, and I need sustenance. After choir practice, there were the brawls to quell and I had to make sure the nuns from the Spital and the Gilbertine Priory were safely rehoused in St Radegund’s.’
‘Was there room for them all?’
‘Not really, and the conloquium is a nuisance, getting in the way of preventing civil unrest, solving Paris’s murder and controlling de Wetherset. Or rather, controlling Heltisle and Aynton, as they are where the real problem lies. They have never liked me, and de Wetherset is far too willing to listen to their advice.’
‘Heltisle is a menace, but Aynton–’
‘Did I tell you that most spats last night were about Wyse?’ interrupted Michael, unwilling to hear yet again that the Commissary was harmless. ‘You said he was murdered.’
‘He was murdered. I hope Dick catches the culprit soon, because he was an inoffensive old sot who would have put up no kind of defence. It was a cowardly attack.’
‘The town cries that a scholar killed him, and the University responds with angry denials. Wyse’s death may not come under my jurisdiction, but we shall have no peace until the suspect is caught, so I will have to look into the matter. And you will help. Do not look irked, Matt – your town and your University needs you.’
Tulyet arrived a few moments later, looking tired – keeping the King’s peace in the rebellious little Fen-edge town was grinding him down, too. He immediately began to complain about de Wetherset, who was in the habit of obsessing over minute details in any agreements the town tried to make with him. Thus negotiations took far longer than when the Senior Proctor had been in charge.
‘He never used to be this unreasonable,’ he grumbled. ‘What is wrong with the man?’
‘He just needs a few weeks to assert himself, after which he will be much more amenable,’ said Michael soothingly. ‘The situation will ease even further once I persuade him to dismiss Heltisle and Aynton.’
Tulyet brightened. ‘Will you? Good! I am sure Heltisle encourages de Wetherset to be awkward, although Aynton is a bumbling nonentity whom you should ignore. But you are sensible and accommodating, and I have grown complacent. This new regime is an unpleasant reminder that your University contains some very difficult men.’
‘Here is Lister,’ said Michael, more interested in what was on the landlord’s tray. ‘You two may discuss the murders while I eat.’
‘I believe we have one killer and seven French victims,’ began Bartholomew. ‘We may know for certain once we have compared the dagger that killed Paris to the one used on the Girard family. It is a pity Bonet’s was stolen, and that he is already buried.’
Tulyet helped himself to a piece of Michael’s bread. ‘So we have a French-hating killer and a rogue who drowns helpless old drunks. Two culprits, not one.’
‘Did Sauvage learn anything useful in the Griffin last night?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘Yes, but only after Sergeant Orwel arrived to help him,’ said Tulyet. ‘Orwel knows how to get the truth from recalcitrant witnesses. Sauvage does not.’
‘And?’ asked Michael, his mouth full of cold beef.
‘The other patrons did see someone watching Wyse with suspicious interest – someone who then followed him outside. Unfortunately, the bastard kept his face hidden. However, his cloak was of good quality, and his boots were better still.’
‘Really?’ asked Michael. ‘The Griffin does not usually attract well-dressed patrons.’
‘These witnesses also saw this man take a book out of his scrip, and they noticed his inky fingers,’ Tulyet went on. ‘Two things that “prove” the culprit is a scholar. It is what ignited the trouble between us and your students last night.’
‘Did he read and have inky fingers?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Or did these so-called witnesses make it up?’
‘I suspect he did, as too many of them gave identical testimony for it to be fiction. Of course, some townsmen can read …’
‘And are clever enough to know who will be blamed if books and inky hands are flashed around,’ finished Michael. ‘It could be a ruse to lead us astray. Now, what about the Spital deaths? Summarise what we know about those while I nibble at this pork.’
‘The Girard family considered the shed to be theirs,’ began Tulyet, ‘which I suspect created friction, as petty things matter to folk under strain.’
‘We saw for ourselves that there are two distinct factions among the peregrini,’ added Bartholomew. ‘The majority side with Father Julien, but the Jacques follow Delacroix.’
‘The Jacques,’ muttered Tulyet. ‘Members of a violent uprising that destabilised an entire country. I am not happy with such men near my town.’
‘No,’ agreed Michael, dabbing his greasy lips with a piece of linen. ‘But take comfort from the fact that there are only four of them – hopefully too few to be a problem.’
Tulyet looked as if he disagreed, but did not argue, and only returned to analysing the murders. ‘Hélène collected milk from the kitchen, then joined her family in the shed. There, she found the milk had a peculiar taste and refused to drink most of it, which saved her life. Shortly afterwards, the adults had been stabbed and the fire started.’