The Killer of Pilgrims (20 page)

Bartholomew doubted the boy had said any such thing.

‘You should not have given him a sword,’ admonished Michael. ‘Matt might have been killed.’

‘The hero of Poitiers?’ asked Tulyet dryly. ‘I doubt it! But that is not what is vexing me today. I am peeved with
you
, Brother. Drax was a townsman.
Ergo
, as you always say, his murder is mine to investigate. But you have been exploring the case without consulting me.’

‘You can work together from now on, then,’ said Bartholomew, thinking his students were going to be in for a shock when he
returned. ‘Michael is on his way to speak to Celia.’

‘Not so fast,’ said Tulyet, grabbing his sleeve as he turned to leave. ‘I have a bone to pick with you, too. But first, I
will hear why the good Brother has been trampling all over my authority.’

‘You have never objected to me trampling before,’ said Michael, stung. ‘Besides, it is likely that Drax’s killer is the same
villain who has been stealing pilgrim badges,
and
who poisoned Alice. But we can collaborate now if you like. I am more than happy to share all I have discovered.’

Tulyet sighed, mollified by Michael’s conciliatory tone. ‘Very well. I am sorry I barked at you. I would hate you to resign,
because I doubt another senior proctor would be so reasonable.’

‘There is no danger of that,’ said Michael comfortably. ‘I like running the University, and will only give it up when I am made a bishop or an abbot. Of course, it is only a matter
of time before the offers roll in, but I shall be selective about what I accept.’

‘I see,’ said Tulyet, looking closely at the monk to see whether he was jesting. He frowned, evidently unable to
tell, although Bartholomew knew Michael was perfectly serious.

‘I know why you want this case,’ the monk went on. ‘You are used to criminals running riot and the University causing trouble.
But all the felons have been driven away by Emma, and the University is more interested in squabbling with itself than the
town at the moment. You are bored, and yearn for something that will stretch your wits.’

‘On the contrary, I have mountains of administration to occupy me,’ said Tulyet indignantly. ‘Running a shire this size is
not easy, you know.’ Then he glanced at Michael’s arched eyebrows and shot him a reluctant grin. ‘All right, you have me –
I
am
tired of sitting in an office, and Drax’s death
does
represent an interesting diversion. We shall do as you suggest, and work together.’

‘Then you can buy me an ale in the Brazen George while I brief you,’ said Michael comfortably. ‘It will help lubricate my
memory, and ensure I do not leave anything out.’

‘Felons want ale when they provide me with information, too,’ said Tulyet, amused. ‘But you had better make it worth my while.
Times are hard, even for sheriffs, and ale has become expensive. Life would be a good deal simpler if I accepted some of the
bribes that come my way. At least, that is what Dickon tells me.’

‘Refuse them,’ advised Bartholomew, thinking Dickon was not a good source for wise counsel. ‘You will find life is a lot more
complex once you start breaking the law.’

Michael ordered a platter of assorted meat as well as ale in the Brazen George, on the grounds that he thought more clearly
when his attention was not diverted by his growling stomach.

‘Tell me what you have learned,’ ordered Tulyet, once the landlord had served the victuals and had left them in
peace. He already looked more cheerful, and his expression was positively eager as he leaned across the table to be sure
he missed nothing.

‘Drax was stabbed early on Monday morning,’ obliged Michael, as he began to eat.

‘But he was not taken to Michaelhouse until mid-afternoon,’ said Bartholomew. ‘We know, because of Physwick’s testimony, and
the blood in their dairy, where he died.’

‘My first suspects were Yffi and his apprentices,’ Michael went on. ‘But they were on the roof all day, with the exception
of the occasional foray downwards for supplies. One
may
have dashed out to kill Drax. However, I do not believe any of them brought his body to our College.’

‘Do you not?’ asked Tulyet doubtfully. ‘Why?’

‘Because toting corpses around necessitates some degree of caution – waiting for a point when the lane was empty, watching
for possible witnesses, and so on. It would have taken time, and the others would have noticed a more prolonged absence.’

‘So they might,’ agreed Tulyet. ‘But why would they betray one of their own to you?’

‘I doubt they would,’ said Michael. ‘But they are not clever, and I would have caught them out by now. However, I remain unhappy
with their role in the affair – it is odd that they saw nothing suspicious, while their lewd discussion almost certainly provided
the diversion the killer needed to enter Michaelhouse – and I plan to interrogate them again today.’

‘I will do it,’ said Tulyet keenly. ‘In the castle. It is astonishing how a spell inside my walls can loosen tongues. Leave
Yffi and his apprentices to me.’

‘Very well, but please do not keep them long. It looks like rain, and my room is currently without a roof.’

‘I cannot imagine why your College accepted free repairs from Emma de Colvyll,’ said Tulyet disapprovingly. ‘There is something
about her that I distrust intensely. Moreover, I do not like the way she earns her money – by taking advantage of the grief-stricken
and the desperate.’

‘I agree,’ said Michael soberly. ‘Unfortunately, Langelee does not.’

‘What about Blaston as the culprit?’ asked Tulyet, turning his mind back to murder. ‘He is a decent, hard-working man, but
he has been very vocal about the high price of ale in Drax’s taverns.’

‘He left the College for nails, so has no alibi for the murder,’ replied Michael, before Bartholomew could stop him. ‘He is
no killer, but I am keeping an open mind anyway.’

‘And I shall do the same,’ said Tulyet. ‘Do you have any other suspects?’

‘Fen the pardoner,’ replied Michael immediately. ‘He was seen – by Blaston – poking his head around our College gates not
long before Drax’s corpse was so callously left there.’

‘Poynton and the two nuns also looked inside Michaelhouse,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘So did Prior Etone. But none of them
– including Fen – has a motive for killing Drax.’

‘I can make a few enquiries about them,’ offered Tulyet, when Michael glared at Bartholomew. ‘I know the pilgrims stayed at
one of Drax’s inns – the Griffin – the night before they arrived at the Carmelite Friary, and Poynton in particular seems
easily provoked. Are these your only suspects, or are there more?’

‘Chestre Hostel argued with Drax about an increase in rent,’ replied Michael. ‘And there was a quarrel between
them on the morning of the murder. Chestre is not far from Michaelhouse – they may have dumped the body there as some bizarre
form of attack on the Colleges.’

‘They might,’ agreed Tulyet. ‘But I shall leave Chestre to you. Kendale is extremely devious, and I doubt a mere secular will
catch him out in lies or contradictions. But be careful. I detect something dangerous about him – he is not a man to cross
lightly.’

Bartholomew regarded Tulyet uneasily, not liking the notion that Kendale had unsettled a hard, practical, courageous man like
the Sheriff. Michael did not seem to share his concerns, though, and went on to outline the case against the last of his suspects:
Celia and Heslarton. Tulyet looked thoughtful when informed of the rumour that they were enjoying an amour.

‘That is an interesting hypothesis, but can you be sure that Alice was the intended victim?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘Emma is unpopular in the town, and Heslarton is her henchman. Perhaps the poison struck the wrong victims.’

Michael nodded slowly. ‘Emma is more than unpopular – she is feared and hated.’

Tulyet agreed. ‘She is involved in a number of unpleasant disputes, but the worst is the one with the Gilbertine Priory over
Edmund House. She bought it for a pittance, when they were in desperate need of ready cash, but she leaves it empty and rotting,
despite the fact that they have offered to pay well above the odds to have it back.’

‘Do you know why she has taken such a stance?’ asked Michael.

Tulyet shook his head. ‘I asked her, but she fobbed me off with some tale about Heslarton being fond of the place.’

‘Are you suggesting a Gilbertine might be our culprit?’ asked Bartholomew unhappily. Two canons came
immediately to mind: the enigmatic Thelnetham, who had been behaving oddly of late, and Brother Jude, who was enough of a
ruffian to enjoy camp-ball.

‘I am suggesting nothing, just telling you what I know of Emma’s dealings.’ Tulyet turned to Michael. ‘Now what about these
pilgrim badges? I understand you believe the thief and the killer is one and the same?’

‘The first crime was against Poynton in the Carmelite Friary,’ obliged Michael. ‘But since then, the villain has also targeted
the Mayor, Meryfeld, a wealthy burgess named Frevill, two Franciscans and Drax.’

‘I heard he picked on Celia, too,’ said Tulyet. ‘And if that is the case, she cannot be the killer – not if the culprit is
also our thief.’

‘We only have her word that it happened,’ said Michael. ‘And in my experience, criminals lie.’

‘You can add Welfry to your list of victims, too,’ said Tulyet. ‘He has not made a formal complaint, but Prior Morden mentioned
it. Apparently, it was a badge of which he was very fond.’

‘John Schorne’s boot?’ asked Bartholomew. Its loss would be a blow to Welfry, and the pity was that the thief would probably
throw it away once he realised it was from an unofficial shrine and thus was essentially worthless.

‘What have you learned, Dick?’ asked Michael. ‘So far, we have provided more information than we have been given.’

‘That is because you have been more successful than me,’ replied Tulyet gloomily. ‘I questioned Emma’s entire household about
the theft of her box
and
the poisoning, but learned nothing. They are terrified of her, so prising information from them was like drawing teeth.’

‘How
is
Emma’s tooth?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘I do not suppose you noticed?’

Tulyet regarded him askance. ‘I cannot say I did, no.’

‘You mentioned a bone to pick with Matt?’ said Michael. ‘What was it?’

Tulyet’s scowl returned, and Bartholomew wished Michael had not reminded him of it. ‘I shall have to show you. Come with me.’

Exchanging bemused glances, Bartholomew and Michael followed the Sheriff along the High Street to the Guildhall. Scholars
were normally barred from it, because it was where town matters were discussed, and the University was not welcome. Bartholomew
had only ever been inside it once, when he was a boy and his brother-in-law had taken him. It was a fine place, unashamedly
brazen about the fact that a lot of money had been spent on it. That day, its front entrance was ringed with spectators, and
Tulyet was forced to shoulder his way through them to reach it.

But when he opened the door and ushered Bartholomew and Michael inside, it was not the extravagance of the interior furnishings
that caught their eye – it was the massive war machine that sat in it. The device was a trebuchet, which was used for hurling
missiles at the walls of enemy fortresses, and it usually stood in the castle grounds. Its mighty throwing arm grazed the
ceiling of the lofty chamber, while its wheels only just fitted between the tiers of benches that were permanently afixed
to the walls. Bartholomew glanced at the average-sized door through which they had just walked, then back to the contraption.

‘How in God’s name did you get that in here?’

‘You tell me,’ said Tulyet coolly.

Bartholomew frowned. ‘I suppose you must have dismantled it, then reassembled the pieces once they were all inside. But why
would you do such a thing?’

‘I assure you,
I
did not,’ said Tulyet stiffly. ‘And do not play the innocent with me, Matt. This prank is not amusing.’

Bartholomew disagreed, and was all admiration for whoever had devised it. Then he turned to the Sheriff and saw he was being
regarded in a way that was not at all friendly. He felt his jaw drop. ‘Surely, you cannot think
I
—’

‘I know you did,’ interrupted Tulyet. ‘You must have dropped your bag at some point, because we found two medicine phials
with your writing on them, plus one of the implements you use for surgery. And do not tell me you are too busy for such tricks,
because Dickon saw you blowing up pots in Meryfeld’s garden. That suggests you have plenty of free hours for mischief.’

Bartholomew saw Michael begin to snigger. ‘I
did
drop my bag,’ he admitted. ‘But it happened in Chestre Hostel, not here.’

He considered the events of the previous night. Kendale’s injury had
not
been caused by a door, but might well have occurred while a trebuchet was being dismantled. Kendale and his lads must have
stolen the war machine from the castle, returned home to await treatment for Kendale’s damaged hand, then gone to reassemble
the device when they were sure the Guildhall would be empty. Bartholomew had seen them set off with his own eyes, from outside
Michaelhouse.

‘Kendale is the culprit?’ asked Michael, amusement fading when Bartholomew explained what he thought had probably happened.
‘Am I to assume this is a challenge to the Colleges, then? That we must brace ourselves for more mischief in retaliation?’

‘I do not care about scholars’ spats,’ said Tulyet resentfully. ‘But I
do
care about my Guildhall. How am I supposed to hold meetings with this monstrosity in here?’

‘Kendale pulled it to pieces and rebuilt it within the
space of a few hours,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And he has probably never touched a device like this before. Surely your soldiers,
who are familiar with its workings, can reverse the process? Or are you telling me that scholars—’

‘No,’ declared Tulyet, grimly determined. ‘Your University will not best the town. Not in this matter and not in any other,
either.’