Brazen George, so why should he not lie to us again? And Gilbert has confessed to killing Janetta and Frances. We know why the friar died and how; we have discovered who killed Froissart and Nicholas; and we have rescued Buckley. We have done all that de Wetherset has asked of us.' He rubbed his eyes tiredly. 'It is over for us, Matt.'
'You are wrong, Brother,' said Bartholomew softly.
'This business is not over yet.'
13
Stanmore insisted that Bartholomew and Michael stop at Trumpington for breakfast.
Tulyet and his men, aided by Stanmore's new recruits, rode on to Cambridge. Tulyet had a busy day ahead of him. He would need to interview all his prisoners, round up any others who were implicated, and begin the documentation of the case. As they parted, Tulyet made arrangements to call at Michaelhouse later to go over the details once more. Cynric wanted to see Rachel Atkin to let her know he was safe, and said he would take word to de Wetherset.
'Shall I tell him that his clerk spent his spare time as a woman?' Cynric asked guilelessly.
'Not unless you want to spend the rest of the day in the custody of the Proctors,' said Bartholomew mildly. Cynric grinned and sped off after Tulyet's cavalcade.
Michael leaned back in one of Stanmore's best chairs and stretched his feet towards the fire Edith was stoking up. Stanmore sat opposite him, sipping some wine. Michael's habit was still splashed with the paint Bartholomew had flicked at him the night before.
Bartholomew wondered who would dye it now de Belem was gone.
They discussed details of the night's work. Edith sniffed dismissively when they told her how Gilbert had disguised himself, and claimed a woman would have been able to tell the difference.
'You are probably right,' said Bartholomew. 'Once I knew, it was very obvious. His walk was masculine and his cheeks were sometimes thickly coated in powders.'
'That would be to hide his whiskers,' said Edith. 'He would need to shave constantly, even though his beard was not adequate to hide the scars on his face.'
'No wonder Janetta was difficult to track down,' said Michael. 'And Gilbert fooled Tulyet, too. He went to interview 'Janetta' when Froissart first claimed sanctuary, and she even told him she had witnessed the murder she had committed herself!'
'And then she denied ever meeting Tulyet to add to our growing concerns over Tulyet's involvement,' said Bartholomew. He thought for a moment, staring pensively at the wine in his cup. 'But I am still concerned about their claim that they did not kill the other women.'
'They are lying to confuse us,' said Stanmore. 'It was them. Gilbert confessed to killing Janetta and Frances.
How much more evidence do you need? Think about Sybilla's description, Frances's last words, and the circles on their feet'
'Sybilla gave no kind of description at all,' said Bartholomew impatiently. 'It could fit just about anyone.
And, as you pointed out, they will hang anyway, so why bother to lie?'
Because they have spent the last several months doing little else,' said Stanmore. 'They have perpetrated the most frightful fraud, terrifying people with false witchcraft, and pretending to be those they are not.
Their whole lives have been a lie.' He reached for the jug of wine. 'It is over. We should look to the future, and I must decide whether I should employ a dyer until another comes to take de Belem's place.'
'What will you do with your private army?' asked Michael, beginning to laugh.
Stanmore regarded him coolly. 'I do not see why you find that prospect amusing,' he said. 'If there had been men like these with us tonight, we would not have been ambushed. We live in dangerous times, Brother. These men will guard my goods, and I will be able to trade much further afield.' He rubbed his hands. 'Ely is lacking in good drapers.'
Michael rubbed his eyes. 'I will have nightmares about this for weeks,' he said. 'I hate to confess this to you, Matt, but when I saw that shadow figure and heard that awful screech, I thought de Belem really had conjured something from hell. It was something to do with the atmosphere of that place, with the chanting and the torchlight. I can understand how de Belem was able to use people's imaginations to increase their fear.'
Bartholomew stretched, feeling his muscles stiffening from his unaccustomed ride. 'I did not imagine de Belem would give it a second glance, but I was desperate. I certainly did not think you would be fooled by it, especially in view of the fright you gave me last week.'
'But mine was only a goat!' said Michael, his eyes round. 'Lord knows what yours was meant to be, but it looked like a demon from hell! It was horrible: all gnarled and twisted!'
'It was meant to be a goat. And I am sure you will appreciate there was little time for practice under the circumstances,' Bartholomew added drily.
Michael gave a reluctant smile. They took their leave of the Stanmores and walked back to Michaelhouse. De Wetherset had posted a clerk at the Trumpington Gate to bring them to him when they arrived. He was waiting in his office with Buckley and Harling at his side.
Bartholomew smiled at the grammar master, pleased to see that he had regained some colour in his face, and his eyes had lost the dull, witless look they had had the night before. De Wetherset, however, looked grey with shock.
'I am sorry,' he said. He must be shaken indeed, thought Bartholomew, to admit being wrong. 'When did you begin to suspect Gilbert?'
'Only yesterday,' said Michael, 'although the clues to Gilbert's other identity were there all along. It is ironic that Gilbert heard us discussing the probability that Master Buckley was the culprit, while all along, it was he.'
De Wetherset put his face in his hands, while Buckley patted him on the shoulder consolingly. Bartholomew wondered how he could ever have considered the possibility that this bumbling, gentle old man would have hidden bodies in chests and stolen from the University.
He stole a quick glance at Harling. He stood behind de Wetherset, his face impassive, although his fingers picked constantly at a loose thread on his gown. Now Buckley was back, he would have to relinquish his position as Vice-Chancellor.
Michael tried to encourage the dejected Chancellor.
'It is over now. No one stole the book, so the University's secrets are safe. Even from me,' he added guilelessly, making de Wetherset favour him with a guilty glance. 'I must say that it has caused me to wonder whether such a book should exist at all, given that it could become a powerful tool in the hands of wicked men.'
De Wetherset pointed at a pile of grey ashes in the hearth, twitching gently in the draught from the door.
'There is Nicholas's book. You are right, Brother. Master Buckley and I decided that if the book were gone, no one will be able to use it for evil ends. But I am afraid you are wrong when you say it is over. There was another murder last night. A woman was killed near the Barnwell Gate.'
Bartholomew looked sharply at Harling, but his face betrayed nothing.
'But that is not possible!' said Michael. 'We knew where de Belem and Gilbert were all of last night'
'De Belem and Gilbert do not know the identity of the killer,' said Buckley. 'I heard them talking about it.'
'Well, who is it then?' exploded Michael.
Bartholomew watched Harling intently.
'And of which guild were you a member, Master Harling?' he asked quietly.
Harling gazed at him in shock before he was able to answer. 'Guild? Membership of such organisations is not permitted by the University!'
'No more lies, Richard,' said de Wetherset wearily.
'Brother Michael and Doctor Bartholomew have served me well in this business. I will not have them deceived
