the Tylers had been to some trouble to eradicate quickly any signs of what must have been an unpleasant episode in their lives?
Slowly, feeling that the frail bench was beginning to give way under their combined weight, he stood to take, his leave of the old men. He walked slowly back along J the river bank in the gathering gloom, aware that the curfew bell must have already sounded because the path was virtually empty. His thoughts were an uncontrolled jumble of questions and he tried to sort them outf into a logical sequence. First and foremost was the | revelation that Joanna had existed, while Bartholomew! had wrongly assumed that she was Dominica. Second was that Matilde had been certain that Joanna had not been a prostitute, which had misled him: Joanna had not been a prostitute who lived in Cambridge.
He rubbed at his temples as he considered something else. Eleanor Tyler had seen Bartholomew talking in the street with Matilde and had chided him for it. What had she said? That Matilde was not to be trusted, and that she revealed the secrets of her clients. At the time, he had been disturbed more by the slur to Matilde than by what she might have meant. Eleanor's was an extreme: reaction but one he had put down to the natural dislike of prostitutes held by many people. But in the light oi what he had just learned from Dunstan and Aethelbald, i could mean that she had guessed that he might be asking about Joanna, and wanted to ensure that any information? given to him by Matilde would be disregarded.
Matilde had also told him that the riots had been started to hide two acts. Perhaps one of the acts was, the murder of Joanna — getting rid of the unwelcome^ visitor that had been bringing shame to Mistress Tyler's respectable household.
He raised his eyes heavenward at this notion. Now he was being ridiculous! How could Mistress Tyler possibly have the influence, funds or knowledge to start riots? And surely it was not necessary to start a riot merely to be rid of Joanna? Why not simply send her home to Ely?
All Dunstan's information had done was to muddy already murky waters. Now Bartholomew did not even know whether Dominica was alive or not, whereas before he had been certain she had been dead. But he was sure Lydgate had been at the grave. Why? Had he, like Cecily, mistaken Joanna for Dominica in the dark? Was his graveside visit to atone for a life taken by mistake?
The shadow of a cat (or was it a fox?) flitting across the path brought him out of his reverie. He realised that he had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he had walked past the bottom of St Michael's Lane and was passing through the land that ran to St John's Hospital. With an impatient shake of his head, he turned to retrace his steps, quickly now, for the daylight was fading fast, and he did not wish to be caught outside the College by the Sheriffs men or the beadles without a valid excuse.
As he turned, he saw another shadow behind him.
This time, it was two-not four-legged and made a far less competent job of slipping unobtrusively into the bushes than the animal. Bartholomew was after him in an instant, diving recklessly into the undergrowth and emerging moments later clutching a struggling student.
He hauled him upright to see if he could recognise the scholar's face in the rapidly fading light.
'Edred,' he said tonelessly. He released the Godwinsson friar and watched him warily.
Edred made a quick twitching movement and Bartholomew thought he might dart away. But he stayed, casting nervous glances at his captor.
'Well?' asked Bartholomew. 'Why were you following me?'
Edred's eyes slid away from Bartholomew's face looking off down the river.
'To see where you were going.'
'That is no answer,' said Bartholomew impatiently. 'Did someone tell you to? Master Lydgate?'
The name produced a violent reaction, and Edred shook his head so vigorously that Bartholomew thought he might make himself sick. Bartholomew had seen many soldiers before they went into battle and knew naked fear when he saw it. He took the young friar's arm and escorted him firmly back towards Michaelhouse.
Michael had been waiting at the gates. Relief showed clearly in his face when Bartholomew shouted to be let in. He was surprised to see Edred but said nothing while Bartholomew led the student to the kitchen, and asked Agatha to give him a cup of strong wine. While Edred drank, colour seeped back into his pinched white features. Michael nodded to Agatha to keep her matronly eye on him and beckoned Bartholomew out of earshot in the yard.
Venus was twinkling way off in the dark blue sky and Bartholomew wondered what it was that made it shine first red, then yellow, then blue. When he had been a child, he had imagined it was about to explode and had studied it for hours. He had watched it with Norbert, too, many years before, both wanting to witness what they imagined would be a dramatic event. The last time they had seen it together had been at the gates of Stanmore's house in Trumpington, before Norbert had disappeared into the night to flee to the safety of Dover Castle.
'I was beginning to be worried,' Michael was saying. 'I was back ages ago and I thought you may have run into trouble, given that your attackers are still on the loose. I was about to go out to look for you.'
Bartholomew raised apologetic shoulders and gave his friend a rueful smile. 'Sorry. I did not think you might be anxious.' He ran his fingers through his hair. 'What did you discover at the Hostel from Hell?'
Michael laughed softly at his appellation for Godwinsson.
'Very little, I am afraid. There was some kind of celebration at Valence Marie on Friday night because of finding the relic. The scholars of Maud's and Godwinsson were invited. Some went, others did not, but by all accounts it was a drunken occasion and those that did attend are unlikely to recall those who did not. It will be almost impossible to check alibis for anyone. Just about anybody could have knocked Werbergh over the head and hidden his body. Including Lydgate.'
'Not so for David's Hostel,' said Bartholomew, recalling his visit there two days before. 'Master Radbeche has his students under very strict control — perhaps too strict for such active young men. Anyway, none of them are ever out of the sight of either Radbeche or Father Andrew.'
He had a pang of sudden remorse as he remembered the Galen. He considered sending Gray with it, but it was almost dark and he did not wish to be the cause of his student's arrest by the beadles. Father Andrew would have to wait until morning.
'The only thing I managed to ascertain,' continued Michael, 'was that Edred has not been seen since Werbergh's body was found. And, as I was beginning to wonder whether he might have gone the same way as his friend, you bring him to Michaelhouse.'
Bartholomew told him how he had encountered Edred, and Michael listened gravely. He decided to keep his thoughts about Joanna until later, when he and Michael had the time to unravel the muddle of information!! together.
When they returned to the kitchen, Agatha had settled?
Edred comfortably at the large table with some of her freshly baked oatcakes. He looked better than he had done when he first arrived, and even managed a faint smile of thanks at Agatha as she left the kitchen to go to bed. Bartholomew was aware of a slight move-j ment from the corner, and saw Cynric sitting there, | crouched upon a stool, eating apples which he peeled S with a knife. He raised his eyebrows to ask whether! he should leave, but Bartholomew motioned for hinrf to stay.
Bartholomew sat opposite Edred and leaned his elbows I on the table. Michael went to Agatha's fireside chair and'1 the room was filled with creaking and puffing sounds;! until the fat monk had wriggled his bulk into a position| he found satisfactory.
'Why did you steal James Kenzie's ring?' asked Bar-J tholomew softly.
Edred's gaze dropped. 'Because Master Lydgate offered! money for the student who returned it to him,' he said,| his voice little more than a whisper. 'We were all looking! for it, mostly on each other. Then I saw it on the ScotJ It was me who started the argument in the street that! day. I wanted to get closer to him to make sure it was; the right ring.'
He looked down, unable or unwilling to meet the eyes! of his questioners.
'How did you steal the ring from Kenzie's finger?' asked Bartholomew, more from curiosity than to helpa with solving the riddle of Kenzie's death.
Edred shrugged. 'I have done it before,' he said. 'I jostled him and we pushed and shoved at each other. I pretended to fall and grabbed at his hand. When I released it, I had his ring and he did not.'
'A fine talent for a friar,' said Bartholomew dryly.
Edred favoured him with a superior smile. 'It is a skill I learned from a travelling musician in exchange for a
