clearly.'
'You say 'we',' said Bartholomew. 'Who else knows of this?' 'I cannot say,' said Aelfrith, 'because we do not know who is truthfully for Cambridge, and who may have been sent by Oxford. I can only tell you that seven of the Fellows whose deaths I mentioned earlier were of the same mind as me, including Sir John and the two young lads you tried to treat for food poisoning. This network of spies is nothing recent — there is nothing inherently wrong in watching the moves of the opposition, and we have had people who have traded information for as long as University records exist. But there has never been any violence, especially murder. Poor Augustus knew of the threat and he must have been killed because it was thought he might know something — someone believed he should not have done.'
'By whom? By Oxford people to strike at the Colleges, or by Cambridge people to keep him from spilling their secrets?'
'That is my problem, Matthew. I do not know.'
Bartholomew looked at him through narrowed eyes. 'Good company you keep, Priest, if you think them capable of murder.'
Aelfrith rose restlessly, and began to pace back and forth. Bartholomew caught a sparkle of tears in his eyes as he walked, and was sorry for his comment. Aelfrith was a virtuous man, and Bartholomew was sure that he had allowed himself to become embroiled in the murky world of University politics for the purest of reasons, and probably for what he considered to be the good of the College.
'You saw Augustus's room,' the friar said, after a moment. 'Someone was looking for something. Whoever attacked us had chipped loose plaster from the walls and had tried to prise up the floorboards. I have an idea of what the person may have been looking for.'
'What could possibly be worth the killing of two old men?'
Aelfrith smiled. 'You are a good man, Matthew, but you have been out into the world and you should know better than to ask a question like that. The lives of two old men are worth nothing to those that we are dealing with — on either side.' He stopped pacing and came to sit next to Bartholomew again. 'The spy system uses coded messages. We are dealing with some of the best minds in England here, so the codes have become very intricate and complex. All coded messages are affixed with a specific mark, or seal, so that their authenticity can be assured. Each time a message is sent, the seal is attached.
'You probably did not know that Sir John acted as an agent for the King for many years. Essentially, his task was to act as a link, passing information up and down the chain of communication. Each contact had a different sign that only he and Sir John knew, to ensure that only authentic information would be passed on. About a year ago — the same time as the first deaths in King's Hall — one of Sir John's contacts started to send messages about a group of scholars at the University of Oxford who are dedicated to bringing about the downfall of the University here.
'The sign Sir John used with this contact was an elaborate knot design carved into a gold signet ring — they had one each, exact duplicates in every detail.
When a message came, Sir John only needed to match his seal with the one on the message to know that it was authentic. The design of the seals was very complex, and Sir John would have known if a message was marked with an imitation. Sir John carried this seal with him always, on a thick cord around his neck. After Sir John died, the seal he used to send his messages disappeared.'
Bartholomew nodded, a little impatient at the lengthy explanation. He had seen the ring Aelfrith was talking about. It always hung on a robust length of leather around Sir John's neck. Bartholomew had asked him about it once, and Sir John had given him the impression that it was a trinket of no inherent value, but of great personal significance. Bartholomew supposed, in the light of what Aelfrith had just told him, that Sir John had spoken the truth.
'On the night of his death Sir John visited Augustus, and may have hidden the seal in his room. I am sure Sir John was killed because someone wanted to steal the seal, but I am also confident that he was not wearing it when he died.'
'How can you be sure of that?'
'The manner of his death. He is said to have thrown himself into the mill race so that he would be either crushed or drowned by the water-wheel.'
Bartholomew swallowed hard and looked away.
Aelfrith continued.
'There were two odd things about Sir John's death.
The first is that when you, Swynford, and I dined with him on the night of his death, he did not seem like a man about to take his own life. Would you agree?'
Bartholomew assented. It was a fact that had played on his mind, increasing his sense of helplessness about Sir John's death. Had the Master seemed ill or depressed, Bartholomew could have offered his support and friendship.
'The second odd thing was the clothes he was wearing. Now,' Aelfrith held up his hand as Bartholomew began to protest, 'I am not going to say anything that will harm Sir John's reputation further. He was wearing the habit of a Benedictine nun. Correct?'
Bartholomew refused to look at Aelfrith. It had been the most disturbing aspect of Sir John's death. It was bad enough to imagine him being in a state of mind where he could hurl himself under the water-wheel. But that his own clothes were nowhere to be found, and that he was clad in the gown of a nun, drew much speculation on Sir John's sanity and personal life.
'I do not think Sir John was in disguise as has been suggested,' said Aelfrith. 'I believe his clothes were stolen so that they could be thoroughly searched for the seal. I think he was killed — perhaps by a knock on the head — and his clothes taken after he had died. The nun's habit was specifically chosen to bring Michaelhouse into disrepute.
Its Master wearing nun's clothes to commit suicide at the mill! The plan succeeded: the town people still nudge each other and grin when Michaelhouse is mentioned, and scholars in Oxford claim that there, the masters are men in men's clothing.'
Bartholomew winced, but said nothing. Aelfrith saw his discomfiture, and hurriedly changed the subject.
'But whoever killed Sir John did not find the seal, and came to look for it in Augustus's room, assuming that Sir John had hidden it there because it was the only place he had been between dining with us and leaving the College. I was knocked on the head, Paul stabbed, and the commoners drugged to allow time to make a thorough search. You interrupted that search, and were attacked.'
Bartholomew was about to dismiss Aelfrith's explanation as inadequate, when he recalled Augustus'swords on the afternoon of Wilson's installation. He had spoken of an evil in the College that would corrupt all, but there was some thing else, too. Just remember John Babington, hide it well.' Bartholomew's thoughts raced forward.
Perhaps Aelfrith was right, and Sir John had hidden the seal with Augustus, and Augustus had watched him.
So, did that mean that Augustus had been killed so that the discovery of the seal would remain a secret? Was he killed because he had refused to reveal where it was hidden? But Bartholomew had seen no marks on Augustus's body to support the possibility that he was forced to do anything.
'But this does not explain what happened to Augustus's body,' he said. He began to have hopes that the bizarre manner of Sir John's death might be explained, and his good reputation restored.
Aelfrith sighed. 'I know. But one of the last messages Sir John received from Oxford said that our protagonists are in league with witches and warlocks,' he said.
'I do not think we will see our Brother Augustus again.'
Bartholomew disagreed. 'Bodies do not just disappear, Father,' he said. 'His will be found, especially if it is hidden away in this heat!'
Aelfrith pursed his lips in disgust. 'This is the part that disturbs me most of all,' he said. 'I believe the disappearance of Augustus's body was the work of the Devil, and that the Devil has a servant in this College!'
Bartholomew was surprised that Aelfrith would so readily accept witchcraft as an answer. He had also been surprised with Brother Michael for the same reason. It was too convenient an answer.
'So who do you think attacked us and killed Paul and Montfitchet?' he asked, to move the discussion on.
