The Killer of Pilgrims (41 page)

‘No!’ cried Horneby in a strangled voice that eerily echoed Welfry’s distress earlier. ‘He would not have taken my priory’s
most valuable possession.’

‘Meryfeld’s cauldron,’ said Bartholomew, moving to a more urgent matter. ‘Did Welfry order you to lay hold of it?’

‘Yes! Dickon had mentioned it to him. He told me that if I grabbed it we could prevent it from being used on innocent people.
I did as he suggested, eager to help avert an outrage. But when I presented it to him, he promptly passed it to Heslarton.
I suspected then that something was wrong.’

‘Why did you not report it to Michael or his beadles?’

‘Because Welfry is the University’s Seneschal,’ explained Horneby in despair. ‘The man who calmed a potentially bloody situation
outside King’s Hall this morning. Who would believe me? I decided to follow him instead, in an affort to learn exactly what
he thinks he is doing. He came here, and shortly afterwards, Odelina arrived.’

‘Then what?’

‘She told him you knew almost everything about their plan. He merely smiled, and said he had acquired enough
signacula
at last, although he did not say for what. Then I must have made a sound, because she came and hit me. I cannot believe any
of this. Surely, I am dreaming?’

‘Welfry is strong, fast and agile,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Capable of snatching Poynton’s badge, of donning a disguise and stealing
Edith’s, of breaking into Gyseburne’s home to take his …’

‘Odelina is furious that he made her grandmother and Celia his victims,’ said Horneby. ‘But he has promised to make it up
to her. He mentioned something about already giving her father a nice red cloak as compensation. Welfry! He is my
friend
!’

‘Have you burned the notes for your lecture?’

Horneby regarded him askance. ‘No, of course not! I have been working on them for months.’

‘Then have you been reading books on alchemy, and conducting experiments?’

‘No! I have not had time, not with my lecture looming, although Welfry has always been interested in such matters. But how
can you ask such irrelevant questions when there is an atrocity to prevent? You must act, Bartholomew! Now, before it is too
late!’

Bartholomew tried to scramble to his feet when he heard a sound behind him, but his legs were still too unsteady.
Odelina was already swinging a heavy sword towards his neck.

Bartholomew’s life might have come to an end there and then, if it had not been for Horneby. The theologian reached up and
hauled Bartholomew down on top of him, so Odelina’s wild swipe passed harmlessly over both their heads. While she regained
her balance, Bartholomew scrambled upright, and Horneby eased himself up on to one elbow, his face ashen with shock and pain.
Bartholomew knew exactly how he felt.

‘Welfry has deceived us all,’ the Carmelite said in a low, strained voice. ‘Please, Odelina. You must see this is wrong. People
will die, and it will be on
your
conscience.’

‘I do not have a conscience,’ declared Odelina. ‘At least, that is what my father always says. And if it should happen to
twinge, then Welfry has enough pilgrim tokens to buy me a clean slate.’

‘Put down the sword,’ ordered Bartholomew, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. But he had to stop Welfry, and there
was no time to fool around with Odelina. ‘You are not going to escape this time, and whatever Welfry has planned is going
to fail. The Sheriff, Senior Proctor and all manner of other people are working to thwart him.’

Odelina laughed unpleasantly. ‘But they will not succeed, because no one knows
he
is the one they should be hunting. He will outwit them, just as he has outwitted them before. In fact, his plan is already
a success, because he wanted Horneby to be seen as the villain, and that is
exactly
what folk believe.’

Bartholomew took a tentative step towards the door, but she waved the weapon menacingly. Could he disarm her? Unfortunately,
he knew he was not yet strong enough to
try, not even with Thelnetham’s miraculous tonic coursing in his veins. She would kill him, and then she would kill Horneby,
and there would be no one left to tell Michael the truth.

‘He was jealous of you, Horneby,’ Odelina was saying. ‘Of your intellect, although I do not think wits are an especially enviable
commodity. As far as I am concerned, they make men arrogant, and unwilling to appreciate pretty ladies in search of husbands.’

‘Even if Welfry succeeds, it will not help you,’ said Bartholomew harshly. ‘Because
you
will be in prison, awaiting execution for the murder of Drax, Gib and your mother.’

‘Not me,’ said Odelina smugly. ‘And I did
not
kill Drax, as I keep telling you. But none of it matters, because Welfry is taking me to France on Isnard’s barge. I shall
marry him, and we will live happily ever after.’

‘He is a priest,’ said Horneby quietly. ‘He cannot marry.’

‘He is going to retract his vows,’ asserted Odelina. ‘Why do you think he has been amassing so many pilgrim badges? It is
to buy himself freedom from the silly promises he made to God.’

Horneby looked as though he felt sorry for her. ‘He will not settle down with you, Odelina. Marriage will deprive him of everything
he loves – books, learning, jokes with the novices—’

‘He loves
me
,’ declared Odelina stubbornly, raising the sword. ‘And we
will
wed. But you will not be alive to see the happy day.’

‘Think, Odelina,’ urged Horneby. He struggled to his knees. ‘Do you not see what he is doing?
You
will be blamed for killing Matthew and me, leaving him to walk free.’

‘He will meet me by Isnard’s barge,’ insisted Odelina. ‘He promised.’

‘He will not be there,’ said Horneby, compassion in his voice, while Bartholomew listened to the discussion in an agony of
tension. Every moment wasted with Odelina was time for Welfry to realise his diabolical plans, and he itched to dive at her
and wrest the sword from her grip. Surely it was worth the risk, to prevent something so evil? He took another step towards
the door.

‘He will,’ insisted Odelina. She feinted at Bartholomew, causing him to flinch, but this time there was uncertainty in the
manoeuvre. Perhaps he could disarm her …

‘Let us go, so we can prevent more mayhem,’ urged Horneby with quiet reason. ‘I will speak for you at your trial. He has clearly
lied to you, as he has to me.’

‘I will never betray him,’ declared Odelina. Tears began to form in her eyes. ‘And I am not listening to any more of your
clever words. You are only trying to confuse me.’

‘Why is he so intent on causing such mischief?’ asked Horneby quickly, when her fingers tightened around the hilt and the
great blade began to wobble towards Bartholomew again. ‘You could at least tell us that before we die.’

For a moment, Bartholomew thought she was going to attack them without answering the question, but then she began to speak.

‘He does not want Kendale in Cambridge, because he has aggravated the rivalry between the hostels and Colleges. He wants him
ousted, by having him blamed for all the murders and thefts. He says the University will be better off without such men in
it.’

Bartholomew regarded her in disbelief. ‘
Kendale
has caused trouble? What about Welfry?’

‘Enough talking!’ she shouted suddenly. ‘I should be at Isnard’s barge, not chattering here with you. Say your prayers, both
of you. I will try to be merciful.’

She advanced on Bartholomew, but she had been holding the weapon aloft too long, and her arms were fatigued. She struggled
to lift it, and the fractional delay gave him just enough time to lunge forward and grab her arm. The situation had resolved,
he realised with sudden clarity, exactly as Horneby had engineered it to, and explained why the friar had been to such pains
to keep her talking for so long.

Unfortunately, Odelina was still strong, while the aftereffects of Bartholomew’s concussion had rendered him more feeble than
he had appreciated. Instead of defeating her immediately, a furious tussle ensued, during which he felt himself losing ground.

When he saw what was happening, Horneby went into action again. He rolled into a ball, and this time Bartholomew grasped his
plan a good deal more quickly. He shoved Odelina towards him, so she tripped over backwards, to land with a crash that drove
the air from her lungs. While she fought to catch her breath, Horneby removed the rope belt from around his waist.

‘Go,’ he said urgently. ‘I will secure her, and stay here until you send help. I am too weak to dash out and help you confront
Welfry, but I can do this. Go!’

With grim resolve, Bartholomew began to stagger to where he could see Michael moving through the spectators. He was obliged
to jig away sharply when the camp-ball game surged towards him, and then was slowed by the same gamut of shoves, pokes and
jostles that had delayed him on his way out. He was alarmed to note that scuffles had broken out in several places, and the
beadles and Tulyet’s soldiers were hard pressed to quell them.

By the time he reached Michael, he was dishevelled, breathless and his legs threatened to deposit him on the
ground. He gasped out his explanation, leaning on the monk’s shoulder for support as he did so.

‘Welfry,’ said the monk heavily, dispatching two beadles to rescue Horneby. ‘But why did he order Horneby to steal your brimstone
concoction? What does he intend to do with it?’

‘He is ingenious, as his practical jokes have shown,’ said Bartholomew, fighting off another wave of dizziness. ‘He will find
a way.’

‘Horneby must be inside the priory,’ gabbled Thelnetham, dashing up to them. ‘It is cold today, so our new Seneschal has persuaded
Leccheworth to serve the free wine and ale in the refectory. Horneby and his diabolical substances will be in there.’

‘The culprit is not Horneby,’ said Michael. ‘It is Welfry himself.’

Thelnetham gaped at him. ‘I do not believe you! He is a lovely man, all smiles, compassion and goodness. Well, and a little
malice, too, if the truth be known. His trick with the eggs made Agatha a laughing stock—’

‘There is no time for chatter,’ interrupted Michael. ‘Come, both of you. We must stop him.’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew, gesturing to the field. ‘There are skirmishes breaking out everywhere, and the Senior Proctor needs
to be seen doing his duty
here
. It will not matter if Welfry blows up the refectory, if there is a massive bloodbath among the spectators first.’

‘Then what do you suggest?’ demanded Michael in agitation.

‘That you stay outside, and keep the peace. Thelnetham and I will hunt for Welfry in the priory. You can come to help us as
soon as you have the situation here under control.’

Michael screwed up his face, disliking the choice he was
being offered, but he knew the importance of the Senior Proctor’s visible presence when scholars were of a mind to fight.

‘Can you do it?’ he asked, looking doubtfully at his friend. ‘You will not collapse on us?’

‘I will help him if he does,’ said Thelnetham. ‘We will stop this villain together.’

‘Very well. But be careful. The University needs its Corpse Examiner.’

‘And one of its most talented lawyers,’ added Thelnetham dryly. ‘However, remember that it is only conjecture that Welfry
is inside. We may not be able to find him.’

‘You must,’ urged Michael. ‘The game will not last much longer, and then everyone will charge towards their free drinks. You
must
apprehend him before that happens.’

‘But if we cannot, you must insist that everyone disarms before entering the refectory,’ said Bartholomew. ‘That should cut
down the potential for violence.’

‘My beadles will see to it.’ Michael sketched a blessing at them. ‘Now, go.’

Bartholomew took considerable care as he eased through the crowd, anxious not to provide the spark that would ignite a full-blown
brawl. The lads from Batayl Hostel jostled him as he passed, but he ignored them, even when one shove was hard enough to send
him sprawling on to his hands and knees. Thelnetham hauled him to his feet, and dragged him on, looking neither to left nor
right.

‘If they do that to a Michaelhouse student, there will be a riot for certain,’ he muttered. ‘Langelee ordered all the Fellows
to stay with them today, to keep them away from provocation, but our colleagues will not find it easy.’

‘Then perhaps you had better go and help them,’ said
Bartholomew, looking at the Gilbertines’ buildings and experiencing a flutter of dread in his stomach. ‘This is not your
fight.’

‘Of course it is my fight!’ snapped Thelnetham. ‘It is my University, is it not? And the confrontation with this deranged
monster is going to take place in the refectory of my own Order! I am terrified out of my very considerable wits, but I am
not leaving you to do it alone. Father William is always talking about College loyalty, so here is my chance to prove myself.’

‘Why should you need to prove yourself?’

Thelnetham looked away. ‘Because it was me who told Celia Drax that you were a warlock. I was being flippant, but she took
it to heart, and you lost a wealthy client because of it. I have tried to make amends with small gestures of friendship, but
you have been suspicious of them. So I shall have to put my life at your disposal instead.’

‘Be careful, then,’ said Bartholomew, supposing a guilty conscience might well explain Thelnetham’s recent curious behaviour
towards him.

‘I am always careful,’ said Thelnetham with a rueful grin. ‘And I am wearing a new habit – I do not want it damaged by whatever
diabolical substance you and your medical colleagues invented.’

Bartholomew pushed open the refectory door and stepped inside. It was a massive room, with great, thick rafters, dark paintings
on the walls and a flagstone floor. One or two lamps had been lit, although they did little to illuminate the place: it was
dim and shadowy, a combination of an overcast day and narrow windows. Long tables had been set out, and there were buckets
of ale and jugs of wine on them, along with baskets of bread and cakes. There was no sign of Welfry.