are probably correct,’ said Langelee, sitting opposite him and poking at the fire. ‘Do you have any idea who this killer is?’
Michael shook his head. ‘And according to Morden, Walcote did not know, either.’
‘How did Walcote know about the plot?’ asked Langelee. ‘What evidence did he have?’
‘Apparently, he found a letter in which details of a proposed attack were given,’ said Michael. ‘This letter was in the possession of one of my beadles – a man I did not like, as it happens – whose body was discovered in a ditch on Christmas Eve.’
‘The beadle was called Rob Smyth, and he had been drinking in the King’s Head,’ elaborated Bartholomew. ‘On his way home, he drowned in a puddle. Beadle Meadowman found the body.’
Michael eyed the pie until Langelee cut him a second piece. ‘Matt inspected the corpse, and told me he was certain Smyth drowned accidentally – that no one else had done him any harm.’
Bartholomew agreed. ‘It was obvious that he had slipped on some ice and tumbled face-down in a puddle. Being drunk, he was unable to move.’
‘And this Smyth was the recipient of the letter?’ asked Langelee doubtfully. ‘I thought most of your beadles could not read.’
‘Smyth was a courier,’ replied Michael. ‘The other patrons of the King’s Head – including Agatha – claimed Smyth had been very generous that night: he bought ale for all his acquaintances, as well as for himself. Now I understand why: he was spending the money he had been paid to deliver the letter.’
‘Only, fortunately for Michael, he never did,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Smyth died before he could deliver the message.’
‘So, there are at least two people conspiring against you,’ observed Langelee. ‘The person who sent the letter, and the person to whom the letter was addressed.’
‘Right,’ said Michael. ‘But, according to Morden, Walcote had failed to uncover the identity of either. Damn! I wish Walcote had told me about this!’
‘Why did he keep it from you?’ asked Langelee, politely sucking the pie knife clean before cutting Michael a piece of cheese. ‘Had I found such a letter, you would have been the first to know, so that you could be on your guard against attack.’
‘Apparently, he decided that Michael had enough to worry about, and thought he would be better not knowing,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘It was only a few weeks after that business with Runham and the stolen gold at Michaelhouse, and Walcote considered that more than enough anxiety for a while.’
Michael scraped the pie crumbs from the table into his hand and slapped them into his mouth. ‘Matt is being politic,’ he informed Langelee. ‘It seems Walcote knew I was disappointed not to be elected Master of Michaelhouse, and thought I did not need to know that someone disliked me enough to end my life.’
‘But this does not tally,’ said Langelee, after a moment of thought. ‘A few days ago you told me that Walcote’s secret meetings started around or just after the time when Michaelhouse’s stolen gold spilled across the Market Square. That was in late November. But Smyth died at Christmas.
‘We had fathomed that, thank you,’ said Michael testily. ‘According to Morden, Walcote had been anticipating trouble between the religious Orders for months. The meetings were his attempt to understand the causes, so that he could try to minimise the effects. The subject of the intended murder was raised at a later gathering.’
‘But I still do not understand why someone would want to kill you,’ said Langelee, poking the fire again. ‘Have you been involved in any especially dubious business recently that may have upset anyone? We all know about the arrangements with Oxford, of course.’
‘Thanks to you,’ said Michael, not without resentment. It had been Langelee’s announcement regarding his liaison with Heytesbury that had ultimately deprived Michael of the Michaelhouse Mastership. ‘But my Oxford business cannot be the reason. All I am doing is passing some property to Heytesbury in exchange for a couple of names and one or two bits of information.’
‘Controversial information?’ pressed Langelee, keenly interested.
Michael could not suppress a gleeful grin. ‘Not yet, but it will be. Heytesbury is almost ready to sign. He thinks I want to use the information to become Chancellor – which I might, as it happens – but I have other plans for it first. And Cambridge will emerge richer and stronger from it.’
‘Good,’ said Langelee, smiling warmly. ‘It is gratifying to see Cambridge besting Oxford. But what about the other men whom Walcote met? You say one was Morden, and I know another was Kenyngham.’
‘You do?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘How? He refused to speak to me.’
‘He refused to speak to me, too,’ said Langelee. ‘So, I paid a visit to his Prior instead. Gretford admitted that he and Kenyngham had attended about four of these meetings, but told me that the main issues discussed were repairing the Great Bridge – anonymously, so that the town would not expect the University to pay in the future – and the relative merits of nominalism and realism.’
‘Morden said much the same,’ said Bartholomew.
‘It seems to me that the person who wishes Michael dead may well be one of those powerful men who attended Walcote’s meetings,’ said Langelee thoughtfully. ‘To kill a proctor is to strike at the heart of the University’s authority – as I remarked when you first started to investigate this business. Thus, the would-be killer may be a high-ranking cleric.’
‘I think you are right,’ said Michael. ‘He probably kept Walcote alive long enough to learn from him what was happening regarding the investigation of Smyth’s letter, and then murdered him when he started to come too close to the truth.’
‘Then all we have to do is find out precisely who attended these meetings,’ said Bartholomew. ‘That will at least give us a manageable list of suspects. Otherwise, we have to assume it could be anyone – not just in the University, but in the town, too.’
Langelee agreed. ‘You have apprehended a lot of killers in your time, Brother. Many believed their crimes were justified and hated you for thwarting them, while others doubtless had families or friends who might want vengeance.’
‘True,’ said Michael. ‘But luckily, most of them were either killed in the chase or were subjected to the justice of the King’s courts – it was not I who hanged them; it was the Sheriff.’
‘Then what about criminals’ families?’ asked Langelee. ‘There are probably wives, children, parents and siblings who want you struck down for what you did to their loved ones.’
‘That kind of person would not
‘I agree,’ said Michael.
‘So, let us consider your list of likely suspects, then,’ said Langelee, passing Michael another hunk of yellow cheese and taking an equally large slice for himself. Bartholomew was not halfway through his pie. ‘Who do you know for certain attended these meetings?’
‘Dame Wasteneys and Matilde claim that Kenyngham, Lincolne and Pechem were regular attenders,’ said Michael with his mouth full. ‘Brother Adam added Ralph of the Austins and Morden of the Dominicans. However, Morden denies seeing Kenyngham, and Kenyngham denies seeing Morden and Pechem.’
‘We have explained that, though,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Walcote simply arranged separate gatherings for the two factions of the realism – nominalism debate, because he knew they would squabble if he did not.’
Michael nodded. ‘Eve Wasteneys told us Walcote held eight or nine meetings in total: Morden and Kenyngham both claimed to have attended four or five. Since they were not at the same ones, we can deduce that Eve was telling us the truth about the total number.’
‘Can we be sure that Walcote’s reason for separating the factions was honourable?’ wondered Bartholomew thoughtfully. ‘He may have been playing a game, pitting one group against another.’
‘That would have been risky,’ said Langelee, topping up his own goblet, then doing the same for Michael. Bartholomew had barely touched his, but the Master gave him more anyway, filling the goblet so that a trembling meniscus lay over the top. ‘These are powerful men, who would not appreciate being pawns in the game of a mere Junior Proctor.’
‘Then perhaps
‘Do you know a novice at St Radegund’s Convent called Tysilia de Apsley?’ asked Bartholomew, changing the
