It was Father William’s turn to conduct the morning mass, and, as usual, it was finished in record time. Unfortunately, it was too early to ask questions about Lynton or Motelete, so Bartholomew and Michael sat in the conclave, and the physician described to Michael – yet again – what had transpired in the churchyard of St Mary the Great the previous night.
‘Are you sure Motelete was poisoned?’ the monk asked. ‘You told me toxins are difficult to detect, which is why you failed to notice one in Kenyngham. Yet you are able to pronounce a clear cause of death with Motelete?’
Bartholomew was too tired to argue about Kenyngham. ‘The substance was caustic enough to blister his mouth – not badly, but sufficient to tell me it would have damaged his innards, too.’
‘Yet someone was hovering over him with a dagger. Why would anyone want to stab a corpse?’
Bartholomew shrugged. ‘Cynric thinks it had something to do with witchcraft.’
‘Are you sure Motelete was dead when all this was going on? You usually tell me it is impossible to pinpoint a time of death with any degree of accuracy.’
‘I can usually tell the difference between someone who has been a corpse for hours and someone who has only just breathed his last.’
‘And there was nothing in the two living figures that will allow you to identify them?’
‘It was too dark. However, Arderne has a penchant for meddling with the dead.’
‘I doubt Arderne is the killer – I imagine he would rather have Motelete alive, as a testament to his remarkable skills. However, if Motelete had changed from demure boy to belligerent womaniser, then perhaps he was not the kind of advertisement Arderne wanted for his handiwork.’
‘Had he changed? Do you remember what Gedney said? That the dead student was loud-mouthed and drank too much?’
‘Gedney is addled. However, he does have moments of clarity, and he was an astute man in his time. It is not impossible that vestiges of that brilliance still flash now and again.’
‘I imagine you would like the culprit for Motelete’s murder to be Candelby.’
‘Actually, Matt, I would rather it was Honynge – and I happen to know he went out yesterday evening. I set Meadowman to follow him, but the sly fellow gave him the slip.’
‘Unfortunately for you, Honynge was here when those two figures were with Motelete in the churchyard. He was arguing about the books he has spirited away to his room – and you are his alibi. He only went out later.’
Michael’s expression was triumphant. ‘But you said Motelete was dead hours before that. Honynge might have murdered him and deposited him in the churchyard, leaving Arderne to maul the corpse at a later time. That would be a convenient solution, because it would please us both.’
They left the conclave, and the monk showed Bartholomew the empty shelves in the hall, where the books had been. The severed chains dangled forlornly. Wynewyk joined them, and complained bitterly about the ‘theft’. Bartholomew thought they were overreacting.
‘Cynric said the tomes are in Honynge’s room – he wants to protect them. They are not stolen.’
‘Honynge claims he acted out of concern,’ said Michael. ‘But he has locked the door to his quarters, which means no one else can read anything unless he lets them in.’
Wynewyk snorted his disdain. ‘Honynge’s antics have nothing to do with caring for books. He is compiling an exemplar – a collection of readings – for third-year theologians. Its sale will make him rich.’
Michael blew out his cheeks in understanding. ‘And because his exemplar will include texts from a wide variety of sources, he wants our library readily to hand. His motive is selfish.’
‘Hateful man!’ said Wynewyk fervently. ‘I am glad William fed him dog again this morning.’
Because it was Saturday, the disputation was more lighthearted than the ones during the week, and was run by students, rather than Fellows. Falmeresham had been scheduled to take charge, but with his defection to Arderne, Langelee ordered Carton to take his place. The commoner was making for the back gate when he heard his name mentioned. He returned with a nervous grin.
‘Where were you going?’ demanded Langelee. ‘I gave an order for everyone to stay in today.’
Carton’s smile began to slip. ‘I did not have enough to eat this morning, because Agatha keeps putting dog in everything. I was going to buy a pie from the Angel.’
Michael glared at him; he knew a lie when he heard one. Nor was Langelee amused, and he had just begun to deliver a lecture about obedience, when Tyrington approached.
‘God help us,’ he breathed. ‘I do not mean to offend, but Deynman is no scholar.’
‘He is not,’ agreed Honynge, overhearing. ‘And if he is allowed to go and practise medicine he will kill someone. But Michaelhouse created the problem, so Michaelhouse must devise a solution.’
‘I would suggest inventing some nominal post here, to keep him out of mischief,’ said Tyrington. ‘But we have no money to pay him, and I certainly do not want him anywhere near my students.’
Honynge issued a weary sigh. ‘Leave it to me. I shall think of something. After all, it is an issue that requires intelligent thinking – something of which the current Fellowship seems incapable.’
‘We did some intelligent thinking about our books,’ said Langelee curtly. ‘We want them back, so they can be used by everyone. If you do not return them by noon, I shall order Cynric to smash the lock on your door and remove them by force.’
Honynge glowered. ‘Very well – let your precious tomes be doused in spit, then. See if I care! However, I have a far more serious issue to bring before you today, one I find deeply disturbing.’
‘The breakfast dog had nothing to do with me,’ began Michael immediately. ‘It was a–’
‘This,’ said Honynge, waving a torn piece of parchment, ‘was in the Illeigh Hutch. You told me to do an inventory of its contents, Master, and I happened across it.’
‘It is a rent agreement,’ said Michael, puzzled. ‘Or the top half of one. What does it–’
‘It proves someone is breaking the Statutes – by charging a rent higher than that set by law,’ declared Honynge. ‘Since the document was found in Michaelhouse, I can only conclude that Michaelhouse men are engaged in illegal activities.’
As the monk did not have his magnifying glass, Bartholomew took the fragment from Honynge. He stared at it in confusion, then spoke in a low voice, while Honynge continued to rail at Langelee. ‘I cannot be certain, Brother, but this looks like the other half of the document we found in Lynton’s hand. When we compare the two, I would be surprised if the torn edges do not match.’
‘What?’ asked Michael, astounded. ‘How does it come to be in the Illeigh Hutch?’
Honynge overheard, and levelled an accusing finger at him. ‘You brokered an illicit agreement, and tore the names from the bottom to cover your tracks. Then you hid the document in the Illeigh Hutch, but forgot to reclaim it before the chest passed to me. It proves you are dishonest.’
‘It does not,’ said Tyrington. ‘It means someone is, but there is no proof that it is Michael.’
‘How is it proof of dishonesty?’ demanded Wynewyk. ‘There are no names on the thing, so it is invalid anyway. Someone probably kept it as scrap, intending to use the back for something else. Parchment is expensive, so we all re-use what we can.’
‘It proves Michael owns a High Street house, and that he rented it at an illegal rate,’ Honynge raged. ‘He must have won it at the Dispensary, and is intent on making his fortune from it.’