‘I suppose so,’ said Tulyet moodily. ‘Although I will be saying masses for a short and very cold winter next year. All this happened because the waterways are so open.’
‘Why the gloom?’ asked Michael, finishing the pie and wiping his sticky fingers on his habit. ‘You have done just what the King would have wished. He will raise town taxes and the merchants will be too guilt-stricken to protest. Everyone will gain from your discreet handling of the affair.’
Tulyet shook his head. ‘I have the Fenmen who smuggled the occasional barrel of brandy and I know exactly which merchants and scholars used the established routes to bring in smuggled goods since the beginning of winter. But neither of these groups is responsible for the outlaws I have been hunting. These are still at large.’
Michael raised his hands in the air, exasperated by Tulyet’s continuing claims that the case was not yet fully solved. ‘But the outlaws must be Fenmen hired by the merchants to bring the goods along the waterways.’
Tulyet shook his head. ‘Because the Fens are flooded, it is not difficult to travel across them by boat. Anyone can do it this year, and no special knowledge of Fenland geography is needed. No new men were hired – the merchants simply used their own people to bring the goods in. For example, I know that Stanmore’s steward, Hugh, was responsible for bringing cloth from the Wash to Cambridge and he has no experience of the Fens whatsoever.’
‘But if you know which of the merchants’ “own people” were used, arrest them,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘They will be your outlaws – hired louts like Stanmore’s Hugh who decided to take advantage of jaunts out of town to do a little business for themselves. I do not see your problem.’
‘The merchants’ people are men I know,’ said Tulyet. ‘I cannot see the likes of Hugh committing robberies and burglaries. I may have uncovered the Fenmen’s little business and unnerved the merchants and some scholars, but I still do not have the outlaws.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Michael, unconvinced. ‘My informant was very clear about the names of the smugglers. If you are certain the merchants and their servants are not to blame, then the culprits must be among the Fenmen.’
Tulyet sighed, and scratched his head. ‘Perhaps you are right. I suppose I will have to question them all over again.’
‘I offered you my services for that,’ said Michael.
Tulyet nodded absently. ‘Perhaps I will have to accept. But I was convinced they were being honest with me.’
‘It seems honesty is not a virtue widely practised around here,’ said Michael, gazing meaningfully at Bartholomew’s cloak and gloves. ‘I am shocked that so many people I considered principled, law-abiding citizens have gaily travelled along the paths of iniquity and turpitude.’
‘Do not be so pompous, Brother,’ said Bartholomew, tugging off his gloves and shoving them in his bag. He stood up and prepared to take his leave. ‘I must go. I am due to lecture on Theophilus’s
‘A lecture on urine sounds almost as inviting as hearing Langelee pontificating on the creation of the world,’ said Michael scathingly. ‘Personally, I would rather talk to Dick’s vile little smugglers in his dank and rat-infested prison.’
Tulyet smiled suddenly. ‘Remember I told you that I searched Thomas Deschalers’s house? His stored lemons were wholly legal as it transpired – the pomegranates, figs and nuts were imported by Cheney – but there was a woman staying with Deschalers who almost had him arrested regardless of his innocence. As I was talking to him, a lemon dropped from her sleeve, and her bedchamber was filled to the gills with them, where she had made an attempt to hide them away. She had the brazen effrontery to offer one to me as a gift!’ He drew it out of his pocket and showed it to Bartholomew.
‘Julianna,’ said Bartholomew, in sudden understanding. ‘Yes, she would.’
‘She was quite a challenge,’ said Tulyet, his eyes glittering with amusement as he recalled the scene. ‘When I asked to inspect Deschalers’s cellars, he immediately gave me permission. But this woman – Julianna – refused point blank. She overrode Deschalers as if he were her servant. Who is she? His harlot?’
Michael gave an unpleasant leer. ‘His niece.’
Tulyet blew out his cheeks. ‘What a harpy! She hurled herself at my sergeant like a wild animal, and screamed that if he wanted to inspect the cellars, it would be over her dead body. He offered to arrange it and she backed off. Then, when Deschalers provided us with all the legal documentation for his stored fruit, she turned to him with such an expression of shock that I could not help but laugh. I have never seen such a performance that bespoke of her belief in his guilt in my life!’
Michael smiled. ‘She was betrothed to Edward Mortimer. Perhaps he has had a lucky escape.’
Bartholomew was certain he had.
Tulyet sighed and stretched. ‘I should be at home with my family – it is Sunday, after all.’ He tossed the lemon in the air and caught it. ‘What shall I do with this?’
‘Well, do not eat it raw,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And do not give it to your infant son.’
Tulyet grinned. ‘I heard about Mortimer’s illness. Katherine probably fed him the raw lemons to see if she might kill him. You have this. I do not want to be walking around the town with bribes in my pocket!’
He threw the hard fruit to Bartholomew and departed, leaving the two scholars alone. Bartholomew put the lemon in the pocket in his shirt and shivered, reaching down for his bag.
‘It is too cold to be out here,’ he said. ‘And there is a fire in the conclave today.’
‘You would never get near it,’ said Michael, leaning back comfortably. ‘All the Fellows and commoners are there, and Langelee is entertaining them with some story about a journey he took to Bristol last year.’
‘That does not sound appealing in the slightest,’ admitted Bartholomew, sitting down again. ‘I do not like that man. I was hoping he would be implicated in all this smuggling so we might be rid of him.’
‘I told you that I would have a few words here and there,’ said Michael, making it sound most sinister. ‘I will put it about that he drinks, and that I am afraid he will spark off some incident that might cause a riot. Kenyngham will not wish to risk that, no matter who is pressuring him to employ Langelee.’
‘So, Colton, Julianna and Eligius, whom I was certain were as guilty as sin, are now wholly vindicated,’ said Bartholomew, his mind still running over the events of the past few days.
‘Do not speak too soon,’ said Michael. ‘You heard Tulyet say there are still outlaws at large.’
‘Colton and Julianna are hardly likely to be outlaws,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And Eligius is dead.’
Michael sat up straight and stretched his burly arms so hard they cracked. ‘I said I would return to Valence Marie today and tell them more about what Thorpe confessed to doing in their hallowed halls.’
‘And what was that exactly?’ asked Bartholomew, pulling his borrowed cloak closer around him, reluctant to return to his room to start work on his lecture. ‘The last I heard, he was professing his innocence and big bad Grene was entirely to blame.’
‘He has stuck to his story,’ said Michael. ‘But we were essentially right. He turned to Grene when Will Harper died from drinking Sacks’s wine, and Grene told him how and where to dispose of the body so that he would not be dismissed from Stanmore’s service. He confided to Grene how he yearned to strike a blow at the College that allowed his father to be disgraced, and Grene worked out a plan that would allow him to do just that.’
‘And Grene really did drink the poison knowingly?’
Michael nodded. ‘I think Rob Thorpe is telling the truth – although my ability to distinguish between liars and honest men is sorely stretched these days. I am inclined to believe Grene felt sufficiently bitter to use his public suicide to destroy his hated rival, Bingham. We know from Philius that he was dying anyway, and we know from Eligius that he took some care to ensure three Fellows knew he considered himself in danger from Bingham. Even if Bingham had not been convicted of his murder, the suspicion would have hung over him like the Sword of Damocles.’
‘And the Countess?’
Michael gave a nasty smile. ‘That was all Thorpe’s own idea, although he did try to convince me that Grene’s tormented spirit appeared to him in a dream and ordered him to do it.’
‘What will happen to him?’
‘I imagine he will be expelled from the country,’ said Michael without much interest. ‘He will be stripped of his possessions and put on a ship for France – best place for him, if you ask me. The Countess wants him hanged,
