‘You were there all morning?’ asked Michael, irked to learn that his Junior Proctor was compromised, although Bartholomew wondered if Theophilis had done it on purpose, to let the triumvirate know whose side he was really on.
Aynton continued to grin amiably. ‘Yes, other than the time I went out. I shall pontificate on the Chicken Debate later this month, so I take every opportunity to practise. I go to the Barnwell Fields, where I can speak as loudly as I like without disturbing anyone.’
Michael stifled a sigh of exasperation. ‘So you were alone for part of the time?’
Aynton raised his eyebrows. ‘I was, although I hope you do not suspect me of the crime.’ He chortled at the notion. ‘Perhaps Clippesby will ask the sheep to give me an alibi. Would that suffice?’
‘Not really,’ said Michael coldly. ‘Because it transpires that you knew two of the victims – they were the proxies hired by de Wetherset and Heltisle.’
‘I did not know them,’ argued Aynton pedantically. ‘I met them twice. All I can tell you is that they had shifty eyes and looked around constantly, as if they feared an attack. So, now I have proved that my acquaintance with them was superficial, you can cross my name off your list of suspects. Eh?’
He gave a cheery wave and sailed away. Michael watched him go with narrowed eyes.
‘If that was not the response of a guilty man, I do not know what is. How dare he claim he was in a field talking to sheep and expect me to believe it!’
‘Perhaps it was the truth,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He has always been eccentric.’
They entered St Mary the Great, and headed for Michael’s sumptuous office. Theophilis was in it, riffling through the documents on the desk.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded Bartholomew, indignant on Michael’s behalf.
Theophilis regarded him with an expression that was difficult to read. ‘Looking for next week’s theology lecture schedule,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Father William assures me that he is on it. I hope he is not, because I refuse to listen to him again.’
Michael sighed. ‘He has used this tactic to win a slot before, and it occasionally works. Tell him the programme is full. Or better yet, suggest he delivers his tirade to his fellow Franciscans. They are less likely to lynch him, and it will still satisfy his desire to be heard.’
Theophilis inclined his head and slithered away to do the monk’s bidding.
Bartholomew picked up the document on the top of the pile. ‘Here is the schedule. I wonder why he felt the need to rummage when what he wanted was in plain sight.’
‘He could not see the wood for the trees, I suppose,’ shrugged Michael. ‘But do not worry about him prying. I keep nothing sensitive here – not as long as the likes of Aynton and Heltisle are at large. Now where did I put that dagger? Hah! Here it is.’
The weapon was a handsome thing, one its owner would surely be sorry to lose. It was also distinctive, with a jewelled handle of an unusual shape and a blade of tempered steel.
‘It is not the same as the one that killed the Girards,’ said Bartholomew, turning it over in his hands. ‘The blade is longer and thinner. However, the design is almost identical, and it would not surprise me to learn that they came from the same place.’
‘You mean the same forge?’
‘No, I mean the same geographical region. Have you seen Cynric’s knives? They look alike, because they were all made in Wales. But I am no expert – Dick will tell you more.’
Michael put the weapon in his scrip. ‘We shall do it as soon as I find out why Heltisle feels the need to flex muscles he does not have. And while we are there, we shall ask him where he was when his proxy was stabbed and incinerated.’
De Wetherset was in his poky office, assessing applications from prospective students. Bartholomew was impressed to note that each was given meticulous attention before a decision was made – Suttone had delegated the entire process to his clerks, while the Chancellor before that had only read the first line. His iron-grey hair was perfectly groomed, and he exuded authority and efficiency.
Heltisle was behind him, leaning over his shoulder to whisper. His clothes would not have looked out of place at Court – he had abandoned his College livery in favour of a purple mantle that any baron would have envied, while his hat was trimmed with fur. He oozed a sense of wealth and entitlement – just the attitude that townsfolk found so aggravating.
His shifty blush when Michael and Bartholomew walked in made it clear that he had been talking about them. As he straightened, a strand of his hair snagged on the pilgrim badge in de Wetherset’s hat. De Wetherset sighed and fidgeted impatiently while Heltisle struggled to free himself, and the process was complicated further still when the Chancellor jerked away suddenly and caught his hand on one of his deputy’s metal pens. The resulting cut was insignificant, but de Wetherset made a terrible fuss, obliging Bartholomew to provide a salve.
‘Why did you want me, Vice-Chancellor?’ asked Michael, when the kerfuffle was finally over. ‘Please state your case quickly. I am a busy man.’
Heltisle eyed him coldly. ‘Why are you still involved in the Spital affair?’
‘The Spital murders. And of course I am still involved. Why would I not be?’
‘Because it is not University property and the victims were not scholars,’ replied Heltisle. ‘Ergo, it is not our concern. Moreover, the place is said to be under Lucifer’s personal control, and we cannot be associated with that sort of thing.’
‘Superstitious nonsense,’ declared Michael. ‘And the murders are my concern, because they were almost certainly committed by the same rogue who killed Paris, who was a scholar. Moreover, you hired two of the victims to train at the butts on your behalf. Surely you want to know who deprived you of your proxies?’
‘Not really,’ sighed de Wetherset. ‘It will not bring them back, poor souls. Did you arrange for our money to be given to the orphaned child, by the way? You must let us know if we can do anything else to help her.’
‘There is, as a matter of fact,’ said Michael. ‘You can answer a question: where were you both on Wednesday morning?’
De Wetherset’s eyes widened with shock. ‘Surely you cannot think we had anything to do with these deaths?’
‘He does,’ growled Heltisle, tight-lipped with anger. ‘And it is a gross slur on our character. You should dismiss him at once for his–’
‘No, Heltisle,’ interrupted de Wetherset, raising a hand to stop him. ‘Michael is right – we had a connection to the victims, so of course we must account for our whereabouts.’ He turned back to Michael. ‘We were in here, working.’
‘Just the two of you?’ asked Bartholomew, enjoying the way that Heltisle bristled at the indignity of being interrogated like a criminal.
‘Aynton was here for a while,’ said de Wetherset. ‘But then he went out, probably to practise a lecture he intends to give.’
‘Can anyone confirm it?’
‘No,’ replied Heltisle, barely able to speak through his clenched teeth. ‘The door was closed, because we were engaged in confidential University business, and it was necessary to thwart eavesdroppers.’
The look he gave Michael suggested that Theophilis’s usefulness as a spy was well and truly over.
‘But it does not matter, because Heltisle and I have alibis in each other,’ said de Wetherset. ‘That is what alibis are, is it not – one person proving that another is entirely innocent?’