The students laughed harder and longer than the rejoinder really warranted, which told Bartholomew that he was not the only one who disliked the Junior Proctor. Or perhaps it was just that they were protective of Clippesby, who had always been a great favourite of theirs. Thus snubbed, Theophilis fell silent, although he continued to record all that was said about Ma’s new and intriguing definition of hermeneutic nominalism.
Bored with theology, Aungel began to whisper to Bartholomew. ‘I hope Brother Michael will not win a bishopric or an abbacy very soon, because if he leaves the University, Theophilis will become Senior Proctor, and he will not be very good at it. He is too deceitful. For a start, we do not even know his real name.’
Bartholomew frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
Aungel shrugged. ‘No one calls their child Theophilis, so he must have chosen it for himself. “Loved by God” indeed! He should let us be the judge of that. Incidentally, Chancellor de Wetherset has been going around saying that Michael is no longer allowed to investigate murders. I hope he is wrong, or Paris will never have justice.’
‘Have you heard any rumours about who might have killed Paris?’
‘Oh, plenty,’ replied Aungel, ‘including one that claims de Wetherset, Heltisle and Aynton did it, because his plagiarism brought disgrace to the University. Which it did, of course. They do not do that sort of thing at Oxford.’
‘We do not do that sort of thing here,’ averred Bartholomew. ‘Paris was an aberration.’
‘A dead aberration,’ said Aungel, ‘although even he deserves vengeance.’
A short while later, Bartholomew and Michael discussed their plans for the day, which did not include training Heltisle’s new beadles, as Michael’s time with them the previous evening led him to declare them a lost cause.
‘They are useless,’ he spat. ‘Not worthy to be called beadles, so I shall refer to them as “Heltisle’s Horde” from now on. Worse, monitoring them took my attention away from my real duties, and there was nearly a skirmish because of it.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was the town’s turn to practise at the butts, but some of our scholars tried to join in. Dick managed to keep the peace, but only just. But to business. We shall go to the castle first, as he sent word that Leger and Norbert are home and available for questioning. Perhaps they will recognise the daggers.’
‘I wish someone would,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I thought Joan might, and I was disappointed when her memory failed her.’
‘Perhaps she will remember today. I hope so, as there will be serious trouble unless we can present some answers soon. Last night, the town again accused the University of killing Wyse. I managed to avert trouble, but it was not easy.’
‘How are the peregrini?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Still safe?’
‘For now, although they must leave tomorrow, because there will be a bloodbath if they are caught here. Of course, if it transpires that the Jacques murdered Paris, Bonet and the Girards, we shall have to hunt them down and bring them back.’
‘But only the Jacques,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Not the old men, women and children.’
‘So perhaps we had better speak to them again before they go,’ Michael went on. ‘And tonight, we shall both have to make an appearance at the butts.’
‘Not you – as a monk, you are exempt from wasting your time there.’
‘Exempt from training, but not from supporting the efforts of my colleagues,’ sighed Michael. ‘If I stay away, the triumvirate will accuse me of being unpatriotic.’
‘Not the triumvirate,’ growled Bartholomew. ‘Heltisle. He is the poisonous one, aided and abetted by the insidious Theophilis.’
‘Aided and abetted by Aynton,’ countered Michael. ‘De Wetherset must be sorry he appointed them, because they are losing him support hand over fist.’
‘They are losing you support, too,’ warned Bartholomew. ‘Their antics reflect badly on all the University’s officers, not just the Chancellor.’
‘Yes,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But to win a war, you must make some sacrifices, so I shall let them continue for now. Do not look so worried! I know what I am doing.’
Bartholomew hoped he was right, and that overconfidence would not see the downfall of a man who really did have the University’s best interests at heart.
The castle lay to the north of the town. It had started life as a simple motte and bailey, but had since grown into a formidable fortress. It stood atop Cambridge’s only hill, and was enclosed by towering curtain walls. Its function was usually more administrative than military, but the King’s call to arms had resulted in a flurry of repairs and improvements. The chains on the portcullis had been replaced, unstable battlements had been mended, and the dry moat was filled with sharpened spikes.
‘Do you really think the French will raid this far inland, Dick?’ asked Bartholomew.
Tulyet shrugged. ‘We are not difficult to reach from the sea, and it is better to be safe than sorry. However, an invasion worries me a lot less than the presence of Jacques in the Spital. True, our local hotheads are more likely to kill them than listen to their seditious ideas, but they make me uneasy, even so.’
Michael was more concerned with his own troubles. ‘I have been ordered to leave the Spital murders to Aynton.’
Tulyet eyed him keenly. ‘Because he will never find answers, thus leaving the killer to go free? If de Wetherset and Heltisle are the guilty parties, that would suit them very nicely.’
Michael’s expression was wry. ‘I did wonder if one of them had his own reasons for wanting an unskilled investigator on the case.’
‘I sincerely hope this is an order you intend to flout,’ said Tulyet.
Michael smiled. ‘Naturally, although I shall need some help from you. I do not want Aynton knowing about our findings, lest he impedes the course of justice, either by design or accident. When he comes to you for information, would you mind misdirecting him?’
‘With pleasure. Now, did anyone recognise the dagger you showed around yesterday?’
‘Prioress Joan thought it was familiar,’ replied Michael. ‘She could not recall why, but I suspect she has seen it – or one similar – on someone’s belt.’
‘And where has she been staying?’ pounced Tulyet. ‘In the Spital, with the Jacques!’
‘She has promised to reflect on the matter,’ said Michael, ‘so perhaps she will surprise us and produce a name.’
‘Leave Paris’s blade with me when you go,’ instructed Tulyet. ‘I will show it and the one from the Girards to the garrison. However, my money is on the culprit being at the Spital. I went there again at dawn, just to keep the Tangmers and their guests on their toes.’
‘Did you learn anything new?’ asked Michael.
Tulyet nodded. ‘The Jacques intended to slip away this morning, leaving the rest of the peregrini to fend for themselves, but Delacroix fell ill during the night. He accuses Father Julien of poisoning him, which is possible, as the priest will not want his flock to be without men who can protect them.’
‘And is Delacroix poisoned?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Or just unwell?’
‘He cannot stray more than two steps from the latrines, so who knows? Are you ready for Leger and Norbert? We should tackle them before they decide to go hunting again.’
The two knights were in the hall, the vast room that served as a refectory for Tulyet’s officers, staff and troops. They had taken seats near the hearth, where a fire blazed, even though the day was warm. They lounged comfortably, boots off, armour loosened, and weapons arranged on the bench next to them. Neither acknowledged Tulyet as he approached, which was a deliberate affront to his authority.