All I had to do was to explain to the proctors that the mob had killed Radbeche and John and then ask the Chancellor's permission to return to Scotland to recover from my terrible experience. I was convincing, was I not?'
Bartholomew hoped Michael would not reveal that John was still alive, or d'Ambrey was certain to order his death. But the monk was far too self-composed to make such an error. He assessed d'Ambrey coldly.
'Yesterday afternoon, when you went out with John, Father William left you in no doubt that he would uncover you as a fraud. Your work, therefore, had to be finished today, or you would risk being reviled by the townspeople a second time.'
'People are fickle,' mused d'Ambrey sadly. 'The scholars at David's were fond of me but I do not doubt for an instant that they would denounce me had Father William uncovered my disguise. You are right. I had to finish all my business today.'
Bartholomew wondered how he could have been so misled. The people at Godwinsson — Lydgate, Cecily, Edred and Werbergh — were an unsavoury crowd, but Bartholomew found them easier to understand than the smiling villains at David's. He glanced behind him into the trees, wondering how much longer they would be able to keep d'Ambrey entertained.
'But who killed Kenzie and Werbergh?' asked Michael.
His thin hair was plastered to his head, giving it a pointed appearance, and he, like Bartholomew, was shivering partly from sitting still in the rain, but mostly from the almost unbearable tension of wondering whether Tulyet would arrive in time to save them.
'I imagine Ruthven killed Kenzie,' said Bartholomew, looking hard at the Scot. 'Kenzie had lost his ring — or the fake — and was broken-hearted. Master d'Ambrey decided it was time to rid himself once and for all of the youngster who was not only careless with his belongings, but who had the audacity to fall in love with his daughter Dominica. So, Ruthven went with Kenzie to help him look for his ring, then hit him on the head when he, trustingly, went first along the top of the Ditch in the dark. Correct?'
Ruthven's eyes were fixed guiltily on Dominica.
'James Kenzie was entirely the wrong choice for my Dominica,' said d'Ambrey before the Scot could reply.
'Ruthven agreed to solve the problem before it became overly serious.'
Dominica did not appear to be impressed at this example of paternal care. 'You introduced me to him,' she said accusingly. 'Anyway, I was not planning to marry him. He was just fun to be with and he was imaginative in fooling my parents.'
'Well, Ruthven hit him on the head with the pommel of his dagger,' said d'Ambrey unremorsefully. 'And then poor Radbeche and I had to keep all our students in so that the University would think we were serious about discipline. It worked brilliantly. You never suspected any of us. '
'Actually, we did,' said Michael.
Dominica shook her head slowly at Ruthven, ignoring d'Ambrey's mild outrage at Michael's claim. 'But Jamie was your friend!'
Ruthven declined to answer and stared at the wet grass, fiddling dangerously with the winding mechanism on the crossbow.
'Very clever,' said Michael, turning back to d'Ambrey.
'Ruthven's alibi for the time of the murder was the man who ordered the murder in the first place.'
Bartholomew wondered whether Dominica might launch herself at Ruthven in her fury, and tensed himself to take advantage of the situation while Ruthven battled with her.
He was unprepared for her sudden, dazzling smile. His spirits sank.
'Such loving care! My parents never managed to prevent me from seeing the men of my choice but you two have!'
Then?' asked d'Ambrey suspiciously. There were others?'
'And what of Werbergh?' asked Michael, uninterested in Dominica's romantic entanglements. 'Why was he killed and his death made to look like an accident?'
'Ah yes, Werbergh,' said d'Ambrey, still looking uncertainly at Dominica. 'Werbergh was employed by me as a spy to keep an eye on Lydgate's movements, but he was next to worthless. He was so nervous that it must have been obvious to a child what he was doing. I began to distrust his discretion, so I had Ruthven slip out and kill him as he came back drunk from the celebrations at Valence Marie. Will hid the body near the Ditch, until Saul Potter and Huw were able to make his death look like an accident.'
So that explained why the body had been wet and there were pieces of river weed on it, thought Bartholomew. It also explained why Werbergh had died so long before his accident in the shed, and why Saul Potter and Huw were the ones who said that he had been going to fetch some wood.
'But I do not know what happened to Edred,' said d'Ambrey. 'I sent him to spin a few tales to confuse you and to have a good look for my book, but he never returned. He was playing a double game, passing information to Lydgate as well as to me. He could not be trusted either.'
Bartholomew understood why Edred's fear had been genuine: it was a dangerous game indeed that he had been playing.
D'Ambrey stood. He held the book, now beginning to warp from the rain. 'It is unfortunate you took my letters, but there are few who will understand their importance should they fall into the wrong hands. Now. It is getting dark, and it is time to leave.'
He gave Ruthven a cursory nod, and began to gather his belongings together. Ruthven swung his crossbow up and pointed it at Bartholomew.
'But why wait twenty-five years?' asked Michael, his voice sounding panicky to Bartholomew's ears. 'Why not strike sooner, when those that wronged you were still alive?'
'Oh, I had other things to do,' said d'Ambrey carelessly.
'I travelled a good deal and used my considerable talent for fund-raising to my own advantage. And anyway, I wanted to wait until the time was right. People would have recognised me had I returned too soon, and Dominica would not have been old enough. But that is none of your concern. Ruthven, make an end to this infernal questioning.'
Bartholomew forced himself to meet Ruthven's eyes as the student checked the winding mechanism on his crossbow, and pointed it at him.
The little clearing was totally silent. Even the birds seemed dispirited by the rain, while the group of horses tethered to one side hung their heads miserably.
'Hurry it up,' ordered d'Ambrey. 'We have a long way to go tonight.'
Ruthven took aim.
'Drop it, Ruthven! ' came Tulyet's voice, loud and strong from one side of the clearing. Bartholomew's relief was short lived, as Ruthven, after lowering the weapon for an instant, brought it back up again to aim at Bartholomew's chest. There was a whirring sound, and Ruthven keeled over, his loosed crossbow quarrel zinging harmlessly into the ground at Bartholomew's feet. Bartholomew forced his cold legs to move and scrambled upright. Tulyet's men were suddenly everywhere, advancing on the clearing with their clanking weapons. Huw was with them, held between two men-at-arms, and gagged securely. Hovering at the rear, away from any potential danger, was Heppel, swathed in a huge cloak against the rain.
D'Ambrey looked at them in disbelief. 'What is this?' he cried. 'Where have you come from? You should not be here!'
'So it would seem,' said Tulyet dryly, helping the stiff Michael to his feet. 'I have been listening to you for quite some time now, Father Andrew. Or do you prefer Master d'Ambrey? What you have said, in front of my men, will be more than enough to interest the King.'
'Are you accusing me of treason?' asked d'Ambrey, his voice high with indignation.
'I would consider inciting riots and killing His Majesty's loyal subjects a treasonable offence, yes,' said Tulyet. He motioned to his men and they began to round up d'Ambrey's band of followers. D'Ambrey watched aghast.
'Not again!' he said. 'I have been betrayed again!'
'This time,' said Tulyet, 'you have betrayed yourself.'
D'Ambrey bent slowly to retrieve something from the ground. His action was so careful and deliberate that it seemed innocent. But then he straightened with frightening speed, a knife glinting in his hand. He tore towards
