A Killer in Winter (52 page)

‘That is something we shall have to ask Ailred,’ said Michael. He eyed the pardoner coldly. ‘Why did you need to borrow money,
when you seem to be doing well with your book sales?’

Harysone smiled again, showing his unpleasant ivory teeth. He fingered the bag containing what Bartholomew believed was Gosslinge’s
thumb. ‘This relic of St Zeno cost me five pounds – which was more than I could lay my hands on at short notice, so I was
obliged to seek out Dympna and ask for funds. Langelee threatened to sell it to someone else
unless I came up with the money quickly, you see.’

‘How did you learn about Dympna?’ asked Michael.

‘I asked people,’ replied Harysone. ‘There was a fat laundress who let slip
that Robin of Grantchester might help me. I was about to knock at Robin’s door when I happened to hear him muttering to someone
about Dympna and Father Ailred of Ovyng. A friar seemed a better class of person than that surgeon, so I approached Ailred
and the transaction was agreed – very quickly, as I told you. I was to repay it by the end of the month, but you can have
it next week, if you insist.’

Robin was talking to his pig again, Bartholomew surmised, probably railing bitterly that Ailred and the others did not consider
him an equal member of Dympna. So, Clippesby was not the only one to overhear the man murmuring to himself, and Harysone had
also benefited from the surgeon’s dangerous and unwise habit.

‘I want it today,’ said Michael. ‘And if you cannot pay, I shall ask you to leave. The road to London is now open, and we
cannot afford debtors here. In my experience, they never raise the money they promise, but become entangled in a web of ever-increasing
obligations.’

‘Very well,’ said Harysone stiffly. ‘I would have paid you next week, but since you choose to be unpleasant I shall leave
and you will never have it. I am weary of this sordid little town anyway. It is dirty and soulless, and I dislike the fact
that you have harassed me continuously and your Sheriff has not stopped demanding money. I would not have had to borrow from
Dympna if he had not fined me every time we met.’

‘For jigging like a Turkish whore?’ said Michael expressionlessly.

‘For demonstrating my dancing skills,’ replied Harysone huffily. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I shall set about packing
my remaining books. Goodbye, Brother. I hope we never have the misfortune to meet each other again.’

‘I quite agree,’ said Michael, sitting back with a happy
smile. The pardoner was leaving, Dympna’s remaining funds were secure with Kenyngham, and he had arrested the people who
he believed had murdered Norbert and Gosslinge. Michael was a contented man.

‘Just tell me again,’ said Langelee, shaking his head in confusion. ‘Simply this time, without all the details. How did you
guess that Ailred and the Waits were planning to steal Dympna?’

Langelee and the other Michaelhouse Fellows were sitting in the conclave three mornings later. A fire burned brightly, but
the shutters were closed because the Waits had smashed the largest of the three windows and it had not yet been repaired.
In the hall next door, the students were sitting quietly, reading or playing innocent games like chess or backgammon. Deynman
had tried to induce them to do something more daring on his last day of chaos, but Michaelhouse’s students were not a seriously
rebellious crowd, and most had already had enough of the season of misrule. They were keen to return to their lessons, and
to settle back into the rules and regulations that governed their lives – where they would not be served green food.

‘It is not difficult,’ said Michael, holding out his cup to be refilled. Langelee stood to oblige him. ‘First, a man named
John Fiscurtune was murdered by Turke. Turke bought himself a pardon, and no more was said on the matter.’

‘That is odd in itself,’ said Langelee, frowning. ‘Someone must have objected to a murder.’

‘Someone did,’ said Michael. ‘Fiscurtune’s kinsmen: his brother Ailred and his nephew Frith. Meanwhile, Turke knew he needed
to atone publicly for the crime – which otherwise might prevent him from becoming Lord Mayor of London – by undertaking a
pilgrimage.’

‘Frith lived in Chepe, where his Uncle John Fiscurtune secured him plenty of business,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It must have been
hard to watch Turke enjoy his freedom, while
Frith and his friends began to lose their custom. I imagine his hatred festered and he began to plot a murder of his own.
But Turke was wealthy and it is not easy to attack such a man in a well-populated city. It was only when Turke announced his
pilgrimage that Frith saw his opportunity.’

‘The Waits are thieves,’ said Suttone, holding out his goblet for Langelee to fill. He had listened carefully the first time
Michael had told his story, and understood the twists and turns well enough to explain them to the slower-witted Langelee.
‘They played in the homes of wealthy merchants in Chepe – thanks to Fiscurtune – and stole small things that would not be
missed. These were passed to a third party to sell – Fiscurtune himself, I imagine. As time passed, wise investment and a
steady trickle of pennies amassed them a fortune.’

‘Never mind what they did in London,’ said Langelee. ‘I am interested in what they did here.’

‘The same thing,’ said Suttone, annoyed by Langelee’s dismissal of his information. ‘They stole things like inkpots, salt
dishes and knives – along with gold from the King’s Head.’

‘The pilgrimage,’ prompted Langelee, looking at Michael for an explanation. ‘What happened when Turke decided to undertake
the pilgrimage?’

‘When Turke and his household arrived in Cambridge, Frith was hot on their heels. It must have been a shock for Turke to see
him here.’

‘He knew Frith was Fiscurtune’s kinsman?’ asked Langelee.

‘Of course,’ replied Michael, shooting the Master a glance that
indicated he thought Langelee was being very slow on the uptake. ‘Frith’s mother was Fiscurtune’s sister, Isabella. And Isabella
was Turke’s first wife. Turke did more than know Frith and Fiscurtune were kin: Turke was Frith’s stepfather, so of course
they knew each other.’

‘The fact that Turke and Frith were related by marriage explains the odd reactions of Turke, Philippa and Giles when the Waits
performed at Michaelhouse on Christmas
Day,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Philippa refused to acknowledge them, and Giles immediately left the room – twice – when they appeared.
Meanwhile, Frith jostled Turke – quite deliberately, I think – and made him spill his wine, but although Turke was furious
at the insult, he did not make the sort of fuss I would have expected from a wealthy merchant doused in claret by an unrepentant
juggler.’

Langelee still did not understand, so Bartholomew elaborated further. ‘Frith had a hold over Turke. Meanwhile, Philippa was
a loyal wife, and did not reveal Turke’s nasty secrets even after his death, and Giles was just upset because he thought the
Waits’ presence would distress the sister he loves. They all had their own reasons for their individual reactions.’

‘Gosslinge and Abigny were both seen talking to the Waits,’ added Michael. ‘Doubtless they were trying to find out what Frith
had in mind. I think Frith intended to kill Turke, but Turke died before he could act.’

‘Meanwhile, Ailred had been using his position as “keeper” of Dympna to make illegal loans,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Among others,
he made one to Norbert about a month ago, and another to Harysone last week. Kenyngham noticed the losses, and demanded that
Ailred should hand the chest to him. He set a time limit for the money to be replaced.’

‘Next week,’ said Kenyngham in a soft voice. ‘We plan to use a large part of it to rebuild the hovels opposite St John’s Hospital.’

‘Ailred made the loan to Harysone last Wednesday,’ said Michael. ‘I know he did not lend his own money, because by then he
had spent it all on supplies for Dunstan; and we know he did not use Dympna, because you had already taken it from him. So,
we do not know how he came by two pounds to lend the pardoner.’

‘I can explain that,’ said Kenyngham tiredly. ‘Ailred said he had devised a way of retrieving two nobles, but said he needed
six to bring it about.’

‘The loan to Harysone,’ said Michael.

‘I suspected that was the kind of thing he had in mind,’ Kenyngham continued, ‘and I
was loath to give him the money. But he was so desperate to make amends for his earlier mistakes that I did not have the heart
to refuse him.’

‘You should have done,’ said Michael. ‘I doubt Harysone had any intention of giving Ailred two nobles in interest.’

‘You cannot know that, Brother,’ warned Bartholomew. ‘Harysone was guilty of nothing except borrowing money. He was just a
pardoner, who had the misfortune to arrive in Cambridge the same time as Turke and Frith, and who happened to have an interest
in fish. He will talk to virtually anyone to sell a book, which explains why he was seen with Frith and Gosslinge, but it
meant nothing significant. He was not the criminal you imagined.’

‘Norbert was unable to repay Ailred, because he had already squandered his loan,’ said Michael, electing to explain a different
aspect of the tale, since he did not want to acknowledge he had been mistaken about the pardoner. ‘Frith or Ailred – probably
Frith – killed him after the several summons they issued failed to bring back the money.’

‘But Frith said
Turke
killed Norbert,’ said Kenyngham. ‘I heard him myself.’

‘He was lying, Father,’ said Michael patiently. ‘Turke had no reason to stab a student he did not know. Matt thought Turke
was looking for the murder weapon when he went skating on the Mill Pool, but he is wrong, too.’

‘I know that,’ admitted Bartholomew. ‘As you said, Turke had no reason to harm Norbert. It must have been Frith who killed
him.’

‘Quite,’ said Michael, satisfied. ‘But let me continue with my story. After Frith murdered Norbert, he devised a plan that
would see Ailred relieved of the Dympna problem once and for all. It would also allow him to repay Michaelhouse for what he
considered shabby treatment.’

‘He planned to burn the College with Kenyngham in it,’ said Bartholomew. ‘That would protect Ailred – who was
doubtless unaware his nephew’s plan extended to murder – and would be a neat end to the adventure.’

‘But we thwarted it,’ said Langelee, pleased. ‘The College is still here, and Dympna is in the possession of a man who will
use it justly and wisely. I do not want the thing in Michaelhouse, though, Father. When do you propose to remove it?’

‘It has already gone,’ replied Kenyngham. ‘I am shocked by Ailred’s role in this. We worked together for years, until the
sheen of gold seduced him. Gold is a curse, not a blessing.’

‘I hope you have not hidden it under any more floorboards,’ said William accusingly, glancing at his leg, newly relieved
of its splint.

Kenyngham smiled. ‘I have forgotten the skills I once had with nails and wood, but I did not make a total mess of it. You
all looked at the boards, but none of you realised I had created a storage hole below them. I did better than you give me
credit for.’

‘So, Frith killed Norbert,’ mused Langelee, still thinking about the deaths that had occurred so close to his college. ‘And
Turke just had an accident while messing around on the Mill Pool. What did you decide about Gosslinge?’

‘He choked on a piece of vellum,’ replied Michael. ‘This was marked with Dympna’s name and a sum of money, and was sent to
Norbert the night he died. I think what happened was this. Norbert went to the church and told Frith he could not pay him.
Meanwhile, Gosslinge had either found the note or overheard the interchange between Norbert and Frith. He was caught watching,
and Frith – or it could have been Ailred, I suppose – rammed the vellum down his throat and suffocated him. Then Frith stole
Gosslinge’s fine clothes and hid his body among the albs, where it was found by us two days later.’

‘But Frith denies killing anyone,’ said Bartholomew, thinking there were still questions unanswered about the whole affair,
such as why Philippa wandered around the
town wearing Abigny’s cloak and why Turke carried Gosslinge’s finger and claimed it was St Zeno’s.

Michael waved a dismissive hand. ‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he? But do not cast shadows over our achievements, Matt. I want
to bask in our success, and enjoy the fact that we have culprits for Dick Tulyet.’

‘My God!’ exclaimed William suddenly, stooping to retrieve something from the floor near the conclave door. With amusement,
Bartholomew saw it was part of the marchpane Madonna Deynman had presented at his first feast as Lord of Misrule. Because
the floors had not been cleaned, the piece had remained hidden among the rushes after Michael had flung it from him in disgust
when he realised it was made from salt. ‘What is this?’

No one liked to answer. The sculpted head had not fared well from its time in the rushes: it had been trampled and its face
was distorted, and the hairs of the tonsure had slipped and were in a lopsided beard. However, Bartholomew thought it was
still recognisable as William, and judging from the expressions of mirth on the other Fellows’ faces, so did they.

‘Marchpane,’ replied Langelee nonchalantly, struggling not to laugh. ‘It was one of Deynman’s jests. Do not eat it: it is
salty.’

‘I am not in the habit of devouring scraps retrieved from the floor, Master,’ said William indignantly. He turned it over
in his hand. ‘It seems familiar, although I do not know why. It is as if it is wearing a disguise, and the face is just beyond
the reaches of my memory.’

‘It is a good thing he does not spend much time in front of a mirror,’ whispered Michael gleefully. ‘Or his memory might be
more reliable. It still looks like him, even though it is crushed.’

‘It is the hair around the tonsure,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is his most notable feature, and the thing I always imagine when
his face appears in my mind.’

‘I try to avoid that,’ said Michael. ‘I would rather dwell
on more pleasant images. Like Matilde. Or Yolande de Blaston. I tend not to contemplate the faces of men.’