Cynric patted him consolingly on the shoulder. ‘She saved your life,’ he said softly. ‘If she had not brained him, I might well have done.’
Bartholomew turned to look at him. ‘But you would not, Cynric,’ he said bitterly. ‘You might have rendered him insensible, but you would never have struck him dead from behind in the dark.’
‘What is done is done,’ interrupted Dame Pelagia sharply, looking down at the body. ‘This is neither the time nor the place for recriminations. Julianna believed this man was about to kill you, and so she took the action she considered appropriate. And now we should continue our journey before one of us comes to harm.’
Dame Pelagia’s reaction to Egil’s violent death was no more nun-like than Julianna’s had been, and Bartholomew wondered afresh about the religious community in the Fens. Were they all smugglers, slipping out in the dead of night with their habits kilted around their knees to haul stolen goods along secret waterways? Was it the nuns of Denny who had hired Alan and the mercenaries to kill him and Michael? But that made no sense – Bartholomew had never been to Denny before and the nuns could have no reason for wanting him dead. Perhaps it was something to do with Michael and his grandmother. He looked at the old lady dubiously, wondering what intrigues and wicked deeds she had encountered while in the service of the Bishop. If she had been in the spying business for years, her skills must be outstanding in order to have allowed her to have reached her ripe old age unscathed.
Bartholomew stood and walked away from the others, looking up at the star-blasted sky and trying to pull himself together. His first inclination was to go to Julianna and shake her so hard that her teeth would fall out; his second was to run back to Michaelhouse as fast as he could, and put the whole business – the pointless deaths of young Armel and Master Grene; the brutal murder of Isaac; the vicious attacks on him, Michael and Cynric; the Fen smugglers; and Julianna’s assault on Egil – out of his mind. He dismissed the wish almost as soon as he had made it: he had no desire to see Julianna tried for murder, since she had obviously acted in the firm belief that Egil was trying to kill him. But the matter would need to be handled very carefully, nevertheless, if the Sheriff were to be convinced her action was justified. And, Bartholomew admitted to himself, it was not so much the manner of Egil’s death that distressed him – horrifying though it was – it was Julianna’s total lack of remorse. He had met some selfish people in his life, but none were quite as cheerfully blatant about it as was Julianna.
Nothing would be gained from further delay, however, so he took a deep breath, and walked back to where Cynric was wrapping Egil in the dead man’s cloak.
‘We cannot carry him back with us now,’ said Cynric, tugging at the inert body and testing its weight. ‘He is too heavy for you to carry alone and I still need to scout ahead.’
Bartholomew agreed. ‘Our first priority is to get Dame Pelagia and Julianna to safety. So, we will leave Egil at the side of the road and come back for him in the morning. Oswald …’
He had been going to say Oswald would lend him some of his men, but, in view of what had happened to the last ones, he was uncertain Stanmore would trust him with others.
‘Perhaps the Sheriff …’ he trailed off miserably, looking at Michael.
‘Master Stanmore will come for the body,’ said Cynric decisively. ‘Help me carry him off the track before we lose any more time.’
Between them, Michael, Bartholomew and Cynric managed to haul Egil’s heavy body to the side of the road. A dark trail dribbled from the bundle as they moved, and Bartholomew glanced involuntarily at the huge stone that Julianna had selected. She must surely have known that a blow from such a large rock would kill. He glanced over to where she watched, hands on hips and a satisfied smile playing about her lips. He considered inviting her to paint her face with Egil’s blood, as young hunters often did with their first kill, but was not entirely certain that she would not leap at the opportunity with enthusiasm.
As Bartholomew tucked the cloak tighter around the corpse, Cynric drove a stick into the ground as a marker. Although nothing was said, Bartholomew knew as well as Cynric that a corpse might attract wild animals, and if they dallied too long before returning, who could be certain that Egil would be where they had left him?
When they had finished, Cynric wordlessly slipped off into the darkness to check the road ahead again, while Michael took Dame Pelagia’s arm and led her forward. Bartholomew was left with Julianna.
‘You had better go with them,’ he said, regarding her with distaste. ‘It will be safer for you.’
‘It will be safer for you if I am here,’ she replied brightly. ‘You would have been throttled by now, had I not saved you.’
‘You killed my brother-in-law’s servant,’ said Bartholomew, feeling his anger rising again. ‘There was no need to hit him so hard!’
‘There was every need!’ blazed Julianna. He shook his head and turned away from her, but she caught his arm. ‘Listen! I am sorry he was someone you knew but, believe me, it was you or him as far as I was concerned.’
‘All right,’ said Bartholomew, relenting slightly. ‘Now go with Dame Pelagia and Michael. I will check your screeching did not alert any outlaws.’
She opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it, and flounced after Michael. The sadly inadequate shoes prevented her from walking in as dignified a fashion as she would have wished, but she managed to effect a respectable strut. Bartholomew watched her go, hearing her footsteps recede into the darkness. Overhead, the stars were beginning to fade and the sky was fractionally lighter than it had been. It would not be long until dawn. He stood looking down at Egil’s body for some time before he followed the others.
Mercifully, the rest of their journey was uneventful, and they arrived at the Barnwell Gate just after prime. Julianna’s flimsy shoes had finally disintegrated and Bartholomew and Michael had been forced to take turns to carry her for the last three miles. Dame Pelagia, however, had maintained a steady pace, and Bartholomew was impressed with her stamina, especially given her performance of frailty when he had helped her up the steep stairs to chaperone Julianna’s astrological consultation. The old lady, Bartholomew thought begrudgingly, was a fine actress indeed. He supposed her habitual pretence of feebleness would go a long way in ensuring she was excused from some of the more rigorous duties of a convent nun – such as taking a turn in the vegetable garden or long vigils – and thus improve Dame Pelagia’s quality of life immeasurably.
By the time they reached the town gate, all five of them were mud-spattered, cold and weary, and Michael was limping from where his wet sandals had chaffed his heels. Only Cynric and Dame Pelagia seemed to have any energy left. The soldiers on duty at the Barnwell Gate regarded the bedraggled party suspiciously, but allowed them in without comment when they recognised Michael.
‘Cynric will inform the Sheriff of what has happened to us,’ Michael announced to the guards imperiously, ‘and should anyone come asking whether we have returned, Master Tulyet will not be pleased if you tell them we have, no matter how kindly seeming the enquirer.’
The guards nodded understanding and escaped gratefully to their small lodge out of the cold. It was not the first time Michael had made such a demand, and they knew his threat was not an idle one. Unlike most University officers, Michael often worked closely with the Sheriff to maintain peace in the town, and Tulyet would take seriously a request from him to reassign the soldiers to less pleasant duties.
As they walked towards Petty Cury, a narrow street lined with a random assortment of shops, Michael grabbed Bartholomew’s arm and pulled him out of Dame Pelagia’s hearing.
‘When I made the decision to bring my grandmother with us, I had no clear notion but to get her away from Denny,’ he whispered, glancing furtively over his shoulder. ‘But what shall I do with her? I cannot take her to Michaelhouse: the other Fellows would have a fit if I took a woman there, regardless of her age and vocation.’
Bartholomew shrugged. ‘You could lodge her with the nuns at St Radegund’s Priory.’
Michael shook his head. ‘The Priory lies too far outside the town to be safe and, anyway, that will be the first place the smugglers will look when they see she has gone.’
Bartholomew regarded him speculatively. ‘You think they will come for her?’
‘I am certain of it,’ said Michael. ‘They will want to know how much information she has gathered, so they will know which parts of their operation are secure and which need to be closed down. I mulled over what she told me all the way home. If those smugglers are well organised enough to carry out an elaborate plan to kill us, then a search of the town for an old nun will be child’s play to them.’
‘I suppose we could take her to Edith at Trumpington,’ said Bartholomew, reluctant to involve his sister, but feeling obliged to offer.
Michael shook his head again. ‘That will be the second place they will look. We need somewhere where they
