'Edred came to us last night saying he was in fearf of his life,' Michael began. 'He claimed you had kille young James Kenzie, then your daughter Dominica and| a servant from Valence Marie and finally your student!
Brother Werbergh.'
Lydgate leapt to his feet. 'That is not true!' he shouted,! his voice ringing through the silent church. 'I have killed! no one.'
Michael gestured for him to sit down again. 'I ami merely repeating what we were told,' he said in placatoiyj tones. 'I did not say we believe it to be true. Indeedjf Edred's claims were all based on circumstantial ev dence and conjecture, and he had nothing solid to| prove his allegations. We arranged for him to sleep in Michaelhouse last night, since he seemed afraidi| While Matt's bookbearer made his bed, Edred struc him from behind and began a search of the roon Do you have any idea what he might have been seek'] ing?'
Lydgate shrugged impatiently. 'No. What was it?'
'We are uncertain,' said Michael. Bartholomew grateful that Michael had decided to be less than opeiil with Lydgate although, hopefully, Michael was providing him with sufficient information to loosen his tongue.;
Michael continued. 'When we caught Edred rummag^ ing, he drew a sword and threatened us. In the ensuing! struggle, Edred was killed.'
Lydgate's mouth dropped open, and Bartholome swallowed hard. The Chancellor and Master Kenyngha had advised against telling Lydgate of Edred's deat and Bartholomew wondered whether Michael had nc committed a grave error in informing him so bluntly.. sat tensely and waited for an explosion.
He waited in vain. 'You killed Edred?' said Lydgate, his voice almost a whisper. He scrubbed hard at the bristles on his face and shook his big head slowly.
Michael flinched. 'I did not kill him deliberately. Which cannot be said for the murderer of Werbergh.'
'Werbergh?' echoed Lydgate. 'But he died in an accident.
My servants, Saul Potter and Huw saw it happen.'
'Werbergh did not die in the shed,' said Bartholomew.
'I hope this will not distress you, Master Lydgate, but I took the liberty of examining Werbergh's body in the church.
I think he died on Friday night or Saturday, rather than Sunday morning under the collapsing shed. And he died from a blow to the head, after which he fell, or was pushed, into water.'
Lydgate scratched his head and let his hands fall between his knees. He looked from one to the other trying to assimilate the information.
'How can you be sure?' he asked. 'How can you tell such things? Did you kill him?'
' I most certainly did not! ' retorted Bartholomew angrily.
'I was not up and about until Saturday, as anyone in Michaelhouse will attest.'
Michael raised his hands to placate him. He turned to Lydgate. 'There are signs on the body that provide information after death,' he said. 'Matt is a physician.
He knows how to look for them.'
Lydgate rubbed his neck and considered. 'You say Werbergh died on Friday nigh t or Saturday? Friday was the night of the celebration at Valence Marie. A debauched occasion, although I kept from the wine myself. I do not like to appear drunk in front of the students. Virtually all of them were insensible by the time the wine ran out.'
'Was Werbergh there?' asked Bartholomew. 'Was Edred?'
Lydgate scowled, and Bartholomew thought he might refuse to answer, but Lydgate's frown was merely a man struggling to remember. 'Yes,' he said finally. 'Both wer there. Werbergh was drunk like the others. Edred was not They left together, late, but probably before most of the others.' He looked from Michael to Bartholomew. 'Do! you think this means Edred killed Werbergh?'
Bartholomew ran a hand through his hair. 'Not necesslj arily. I think he genuinely believed Werbergh had die by your hand sometime on Sunday morning, not from; blow to the head on Friday night.'
'No,' said Michael, shaking his head. 'That is false! logic, Matt. He may have killed Werbergh on Friday, bu| claimed Master Lydgate had killed him on Sunday lest an)| should remember that it was Edred who accompanied th‹ drunken Werbergh home on the night of his death.'
Lydgate scratched his scalp. 'What an unholy muddle»! he said.
'Unholy is certainly the word for Edred,' said Bar| tholomew feelingly. 'What was his intention last night What did he think he could gain by blaming the murder on his Principal?'
'Oh, that is simple,' said Lydgate. 'It is the only thir I understand in this foul business.' He gave a huge sigh and looked Bartholomew in the eye. 'But I do nc know why I should trust you. You have already tried blackmail me.'
Bartholomew gazed at him in disbelief. Michael gav a derisive snort of laughter.
'Do not be ridiculous, Master Lydgate! What could Mae blackmail you about?'
But Bartholomew knew, and wondered again whethe Lydgate had overheard him and Michael discussing burning of the tithe barn during their first visit Godwinsson.
After a few moments, Lydgate began to speak in a voie that was quiet and calm, quite unlike his usual bluster.
'Many years ago, I committed a grave crime,' he said. He paused.
'You burned the tithe barn,' said Bartholomew, thinking to make Lydgate's confession easier for him.
Lvdgate looked at him long and hard, as though trying to make up his mind. 'Yes,' he said finally. 'Not deliberately, though. It was an accident. I… stumbled in the hay and knocked over a lantern. It was an accident.' 'I never imagined it was anything else,' said Bartholomew.
'Nothing could have been gained by a deliberate burning of the barn — it was a tragic loss to the whole village. That winter was a miserable time for most people, with scanty supplies of grain and little fodder for the animals.'
'You do not need to remind me,' said Lydgate bitterly.
'I was terrified the whole time thatyou would decide to tell the villagers who was the real cause of their misery — me and not that dirty little Norbert you helped to escape.'
'You knew about that?' asked Bartholomew, astonished.
Lydgate nodded. 'I saw you let him go. But I kept your secret as you had kept mine. Until the last few weeks, that is, when you threatened to tell.'
'I have done nothing of the sort,' said Bartholomew indignantly. 'The whole affair had slipped my mind and I did not think of it again until the skeleton was uncovered in the Ditch. Edith thought the bones might be Norbert's and I told her that was impossible.'
'How do you know?' asked Lydgate curiously.
'Because I received letters from him,' said Bartholomew.
He looked at Michael. 'Copies of which were concealed in a book I have recently read,' he added.
Then it must be Norbert who is trying to blackmail me and not you at all! He has waited all these years to claim justice! I see! It makes sense now!' cried Lydgate.
Various things became clear in Bartholomew's mind from this tangled web of lies and misunderstandings.
Lydgate must have already been sent blackmail messages when Bartholomew and Michael had gone to speak to him about Kenzie's murder, which was why he had threatened Bartholomew as he was leaving Godwinsson, and why he had instructed Cecily not to contradict anything that was said. And it was also clear that Lydgate's aversion to Bartholomew inspecting Werbergh's body was not because he was trying to conceal his murder, but because he was keen to keep his imagined blackmailer away from events connected to his hostel.
'Not so fast,' said Michael, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
'We must consider this more carefully before jumping to conclusions. We found copies of Norbert's letters in a book. That tells us that he probably kept them to remind himself of the lies he had written, so he would not contradict himself in future letters. Perhaps he always intended to return to Cambridge to blackmail the man who almost had him hanged for a crime he did not commit.'
'Were these blackmail messages signed?' asked Bartholomew of Lydgate.
Lydgate shook his head. 'There have been three of them, all claiming I set the barn alight, and that payment would be required for silence.'
'What about Cecily?' asked Bartholomew. 'Could she have sent the notes? After all, you are hardly
