A Killer in Winter (49 page)

Bartholomew darted forward. The floorboards inside the door had been removed, and in the resulting recess sat a handsome walnut
chest. Dympna. Bartholomew spotted it too late, and suffered the same fate as Michael. He caught
his foot in the gaping hole, and slid the entire length of the conclave on his stomach.

He joined Michael in a mass of colourful arms and legs – the monk had evidently entered the room with such force he had collided
with Yna and Makejoy and had bowled them from their feet. While the physician tried to disentangle himself and work out what
was happening, the door was slammed shut and a heavy bench dragged across it.

‘What are you doing, Frith?’ asked Kenyngham in dismay. ‘Now no one else can come in.’

‘You do not want people wandering in and out while your gold is sitting in full view,’ said Frith reasonably. ‘It is better
we keep the door closed until it is hidden again.’

‘Very well,’ said Kenyngham tiredly. ‘Are you hurt, Michael? If not, you should stand up, because I think that poor lady underneath
you is suffocating.’ He turned to Frith. ‘You said you would leave once you had the chest. There it is. Now take it and go.’

Michael gaped in astonishment, removing himself from Makejoy, who struggled to her knees and attempted to catch her breath.
‘What are you doing, Father? This money has been used for good deeds. Why are you prepared to give it away?’

Frith smiled unpleasantly. ‘Because I have just informed him that if he does not, I shall set light to his College and burn
it to the ground with every Michaelhouse scholar inside it. The friar is an intelligent man, and knows when folk are speaking
the truth.’

‘They were just leaving when you crashed in,’ said Kenyngham to Michael, sounding tearful. ‘They promised they would take
the chest and be gone by nightfall. It is only money. Ten Dympnas would not be worth a single life.’

‘But lives may be lost once Dympna has gone,’ Michael pointed out, ignoring Frith and addressing Kenyngham. He took Bartholomew’s
hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. Makejoy and Yna stayed where they were, the former running tentative hands
down her arms and legs as
she tested for damage, while the other appeared to have been knocked all but insensible. ‘It is not just a chest of coins:
it is something that has helped a lot of people.’

‘But, like all earthly wealth, it has become tainted,’ said Kenyngham softly. ‘I am not overly distressed to see it go.’

‘Ailred,’ said Bartholomew, watching him closely. ‘You are referring to Ailred.’

Kenyngham nodded, and his saintly face was grey with sorrow. ‘He was a good man, but the gold corrupted him. He started to
make illegal loans from the chest, so I was obliged to demand custody of it three weeks ago. He was not pleased. He was even
less pleased when I confronted him with the fact that a large amount was unaccounted for.’

‘Did you tell Tulyet?’ asked Bartholomew.

Kenyngham shook his head. ‘There was no need for that. I simply gave Ailred notice that the missing gold had to be returned
by the end of the Twelve Days – in four days’ time now – because that is when we will lend a sizeable sum to Robert de Blaston
to demolish the High Street hovels and replace them with decent dwellings. Ailred had almost a month to recover it all.’

‘Ailred needed funds quickly, so he started calling in the loans he should never have granted,’ said Bartholomew to Michael.
‘The first note from Dympna to Norbert was about three weeks ago. We were right: Ailred did demand money from Norbert in Dympna’s
name.’

‘Ailred gave funds to Norbert?’ asked Kenyngham in horror. ‘That young man made an official application, but it was refused
on the grounds that he wanted it to squander on earthly pleasures. That is not the purpose of Dympna.’

‘This is beginning to make sense,’ said Michael, brushing himself down. ‘The question that remains, however, is how did Ailred
come to use the Waits as his accomplices? Did they travel to Cambridge for that purpose? Or was it just incidental to avenging
the murdered Fiscurtune?’

He turned questioningly to the jugglers. Makejoy was flexing an arm in a way that suggested it was damaged, while
Yna held her head, still dazed. Frith had listened carefully to the exchange between the scholars, while Jestyn stood guard
at the door, picking at a skinned elbow. Bartholomew understood exactly why Frith was prepared to let the scholars talk among
themselves without interruption: he was giving the women time to recover, and then they were going to make their escape –
with the chest.

‘Langelee!’ he shouted urgently, wondering whether the Master had gone for an axe, or whether he had decided to wait and see
what happened before damaging his precious College. Considering the conclave door had been slammed in his face, Bartholomew
sincerely hoped Langelee had the sense to do something practical.

‘Quiet!’ hissed Jestyn menacingly. ‘Or I will silence you once and for all.’

Suddenly, both he and Frith had knives in their hands. Jestyn seemed uncertain and nervous, and Bartholomew saw that he was
the kind of man who would use his weapon just because he could think of no other way out of the predicament in which he found
himself. Bartholomew drew breath to shout again, to warn the Master the Waits were armed, but Jestyn was on him in an instant,
and the physician found himself pressed hard against the wall with the blade of a knife held at his throat by a desperate
and frightened man.

‘I think Jestyn is suggesting we shall have no more shouting,’ said Frith, when he saw his friend was fully prepared to slit
the physician’s throat if another sound was uttered. ‘He is right: we do not want everyone in a frenzy over nothing. People
might get hurt.’

Michael took a step forward, to go to Bartholomew’s aid, but stopped dead when Frith grabbed Kenyngham’s arm and waved his
own weapon menacingly near the old man’s face.

‘Sit on the bench by the wall.’ Makejoy’s stern voice came from the other side of the room. She was kneeling next to Yna,
who had apparently suffered the most from the monk’s
onslaught. ‘All of you. And put your hands on your knees, where we can see them. If you do as you are told no one will be
harmed.’

There was no option but to obey. Bartholomew eased past the agitated Jestyn and went to the bench, relieved to be away from
the unsteady blade. Michael perched next to him, while Kenyngham sat on the monk’s other side. They placed their hands on
their knees and waited, watching while Frith had low and urgent words with Jestyn, obviously attempting to calm him. Bartholomew
suspected he was lucky that Jestyn had not silenced him with a stab wound there and then; the fellow looked unsettled enough
to commit a rash act.

He looked around, assessing his chances of reaching the door and removing the heavy bench before Jestyn could catch him. He
decided they were slim. And what would happen to Michael and Kenyngham if he escaped, anyway? The Waits would still have hostages,
and therefore the means to force Langelee to do what they wanted.

Frith hefted the box of coins from the hole in the floor and set it on the bench next to Bartholomew. The physician glanced
at it, and saw it was about half full of gold nobles, along with some jewellery with precious stones. There were silver coins,
too, and a neatly bound stack of parchments listing various transactions that had been made. Bartholomew looked at the top
page, and saw Ailred had kept a careful list of his loans, despite the fact that they had been made without his colleagues’
consent. Near the end was Norbert’s name, with the numbers one, thirteen and four next to it. They were the same digits as
on the note Quenhyth had found in the Waits’ belongings. He wondered whether the parchment had been retrieved from Norbert
when he had gone to meet ‘Dympna’ in the church, or if it had been written but never sent. Regardless, it was a strong indication
that the Waits were Ailred’s accomplices.

‘When did you become involved in this?’ asked Michael of Frith. ‘And how?’

Frith smiled. ‘Have you not worked that out yet? You
scholars think you are so clever, and yet you know nothing.’

‘I know enough,’ said Michael, unruffled by the jibe. ‘I know you probably hail from a village called Fiscurtune, which is
also Ailred’s home. And I know you were keen to avenge the death of one John Fiscurtune, who was murdered by Walter Turke.
It is no coincidence that you and Turke’s household arrived in Cambridge on the same day.’

‘Good,’ said Frith, clapping his hands together in mocking congratulations. ‘And how did you guess all this?’

‘Because we know you helped Ailred regain his bad loans. Since he would not have told just anyone about them, it is reasonable
to assume he told someone he trusted. A kinsman. You have been here since the fifteenth of December, which is about when Norbert
had his first letter.’

‘Ailred and John of Fiscurtune are my uncles,’ said Frith. ‘They were brothers to Isabella – my mother – who was Turke’s first
wife, God rest her poor soul.’

‘Do you mean that you are Turke’s son?’ asked Kenyngham, bewildered.

Frith looked angry. ‘Of course not! Turke was my mother’s second husband, and my stepfather. He married her because she was
a wealthy widow. When I learned he planned to embark on the pilgrimage he imagined would absolve him of Uncle John’s murder,
I decided a journey of my own was in order. Someone needed to prevent a killer from becoming Lord Mayor.’

‘You make it sound altruistic,’ said Michael scathingly. ‘Be honest. You wanted to kill Turke because Fiscurtune’s death meant
there was no one to recommend you to wealthy merchants.’

‘But Frith did not kill Turke,’ Kenyngham pointed out. ‘Turke fell through the ice while skating. The whole town knows his
death was an accident.’

‘Uncle John’s son – my cousin – is not interested in avenging his father,’ said Frith bitterly, ignoring the friar. ‘He will
spare a few pennies for a requiem mass, but that will be all.’

‘I thought Fiscurtune’s son had drowned himself,’ said Bartholomew, recalling a story Quenhyth had spun.

‘His rescuers should have let him die when he hurled himself into the Thames,’ said Frith, turning angrily on him. ‘Uncle
John deserved better than that ungrateful wretch – he should have been disowned and I made heir in his place. I would have
made Uncle John proud.’

‘By playing the pipe and tabor?’ asked Michael archly. ‘However, although you may not have killed Turke, two other men have
died in suspicious circumstances: Norbert and Gosslinge are connected to the chain of events that led you to help Ailred collect
his lost pledges.’

‘We had nothing to do with either of them,’ said Jestyn furiously. He turned accusingly to Frith. ‘You see? I told you they
would blame us if we became involved in the mess your uncle created with his box of gold. Now they think we have committed
murder!’

‘Well, we did not,’ said Frith shortly. Bartholomew found his denial unconvincing and, judging by the uncomfortable expressions
on the faces of Jestyn and Makejoy, so did they. ‘This is all Turke’s fault. If he had kept control of his temper, Uncle John
would still be alive and we would be enjoying a continuation of our success in Chepe.’

‘We should not be here,’ agreed Jestyn. He glanced around him disparagingly. ‘I do not like these religious institutions.
They are full of fanatics and lunatics. We are not safe.’

‘We would have managed in Chepe without Fiscurtune, Frith,’ said Makejoy, bitterly. ‘But Jestyn is right: we should not have
come and we should stay here no longer. I want to leave now.’

‘In a moment,’ said Frith, indicating Yna with a nod of his head and giving Makejoy a meaningful look. Yna was still unsteady
on her feet, and Frith wanted to give her more time to recover before making what would probably be a dramatic escape.

‘What was Fiscurtune like?’ asked Bartholomew, taking advantage of the fact that the Waits were predisposed to
talk. It occurred to him that the Fiscurtune described by Tulyet, Giles and Philippa did not seem the kind of character to
inspire others to great loyalty. ‘You were ready to avenge him, and yet others claim he was … less worthy.’

‘I suppose you spoke to Abigny and Turke’s wife,’ said Frith with a sneer. ‘Of course
they
would not like Uncle John. He could be rude, and the early loss of his teeth did not improve his looks. But, nevertheless,
he was hurt when Philippa rejected him as a suitor.’

‘Turke and Fiscurtune were both courting her,’ said Bartholomew, recalling that Philippa had chosen Turke on the basis of
his roofed latrine.

‘My uncle was better off without her,’ declared Frith vehemently. ‘Later, he invented a new method for salting fish, but Turke
would not give him permission to develop it, despite the fact that it would have made the finished product cheaper to buy.
My uncle was an imaginative man.’

‘So, you travelled to Cambridge after his murder, where you met Ailred and agreed to do two things,’ surmised Bartholomew.
‘First, you would ensure that Turke never finished his pilgrimage; and second, you offered to help Ailred extricate himself
from the mess he had created with Dympna. Unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately, depending on your point of view – Turke
died naturally before you could do anything about the first. But you have been very active as regards the second.’

Frith looked away. ‘Ailred is not dishonest, just weak. I think he enjoyed the power to make people’s wishes come true. He
is just a man who cannot say no – even to someone like Norbert.’

‘But he – with your help – intends to do something dishonest now,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘Once Dympna has gone, it will
never help needy souls again.’

‘Right,’ agreed Frith. ‘But its disappearance also means that the amount outstanding from Ailred’s bad loans will be irrelevant,
and he will be free from the whole nasty mess.’

Makejoy cleared her throat noisily, giving Frith the kind
of look that indicated she thought he was making a grave mistake by telling the scholars all their secrets. Bartholomew felt
his hopes rise. Makejoy would not be concerned about such matters if she believed the encounter would end with their deaths.
Meanwhile, Yna was recovering fast.