An Unholy Alliance (42 page)

‘We have it reasoned out,’ he said. ‘We know Gilbert murdered his sister, then Froissart and his wife, and then Nicholas. We know that you hired the friar to steal the book. And we know that the covens were merely a front to hide the size of your business empire from prying eyes, and to ensure these poor people continued to work for you for pitiful wages.’

De Belem shrugged. ‘You can think what you like, but you can prove nothing.’

‘Taxes!’ said Stanmore all of a sudden. ‘Part of the reason you have kept the size of your business secret is that you are swindling the King out of his taxes!’

De Belem paled a little, but said nothing. Stanmore rubbed his hands together. ‘Old Richard Tulyet has an eye for figures. We will petition the King that we be allowed to assess how much you have cheated him. I am sure he will be willing to let us look. Then the Sheriff will charge you with treason!’

-‘Why did you kill your sister, Gilbert?’ asked

Bartholomew gently, hoping to coax with kindness what they might never learn by force.

‘Do not deign to answer,’ said de Belem harshly. ‘They can prove nothing.’

‘We can prove Gilbert killed Froissart,’ said Michael.

‘And he will hang. Is that what you wish, Gilbert, for you to hang while de Belem goes free?’

‘She betrayed me,’ said Gilbert in a small voice. De Belem made a lunge for him, but was held by two of Tulyet’s men.

‘Say nothing, you fool! I can hire lawyers who will make a mockery of their feeble reasonings.’

‘Now you have no saffron, you have nothing. Tricks and lies will not work now.’

De Belem tried to struggle to his feet, but was

held firmly by the soldiers. Gilbert ignored him and continued.

“I did not mean to kill her. The knife was in my hand.

I was angrier than I have ever been before, and the next thing I knew was that she was lying at my feet. I regret it bitterly. Nicholas seized his opportunity and escaped.’

He gave Bartholomew a weak smile. ‘I heard you say to Master de Wetherset that Nicholas’s coffin had been desecrated because it was meant to be found. You could not have been more wrong. It was never intended to be found. I tried hard to dissuade the Chancellor from excavating the grave, and moved the marker so that you would dig up another. But all failed, and she was exposed to prying eyes in the end. I did not want her to be reburied where she had been so defiled by that mask,’

he said, casting a defiant look at de Belem. “I buried her elsewhere. I will never tell you where because I do not want her disturbed again.’

Bartholomew hoped no one would ask. He had no

wish to conduct more exhumations.

‘And Froissart and Nicholas?’

Gilbert nodded. ‘Marius Froissart came barging into my house when I was removing my beard. It was obvious from his face he knew who I was. He fled to the church.

I followed and told him I would kill his family unless he kept silent. I killed his wife, put about Froissart had murdered her, and killed him later that night. Nicholas was easier. He came to look atjanetta’s body in the crypt, and I killed him there.’

‘And why did you kill Frances?’ Bartholomew asked.

‘Frances?’ whispered de Belem, the colour fleeing from his face.

‘She knew too much,’ said Gilbert. ‘She was on her way to reveal all when I killed her.’

‘You killed Frances?’ whispered de Belem. ‘My

daughter?’

‘Yes!’ said Gilbert loudly. “I killed her. I did it for the sake of the saffron. Believe me, Reginald, once that fox-faced friar knew about it, it would not have been a secret for long, and we would have lost everything.’

‘How could you?’ whispered de Belem. ‘Why did you not tell me what she was doing? I could have spoken with her. She loved me!’

‘Like Isobel?’ asked Michael casually.

‘Did you kill her too?’ asked de Belem, his face grey.

“I did not,’ said Gilbert. ‘Although doubtless I will be accused of it. I did not touch the whores.’

‘But you have already told us you killed Janetta and Frances!’ said Stanmore.

Gilbert raised his manacled hands. ‘But I did not kill the others. Perhaps de Belem did. It was he, who as high priest, called for another murder. How would he know if he were not the killer?’

De Belem looked away. ‘Not I,’ he said.

‘Rubbish!’ said Michael. ‘Gilbert deliberately started the rumours that Froissart was the killer because the killer was him! He confessed to killing Frances, and she, like the others, had a circle on her foot.’

“I saw that mark on the others,’ said Gilbert. “I copied it. It was the high priest who killed the others.’

De Belem eyed him coldly. ‘What anyone thinks matters nothing now that I know my daughter’s murderer

will hang.’ He gave a soft laugh. “I really thought it was the Guild of the Holy Trinity punishing me for my involvement with the covens. I did not imagine it would be a colleague! The reason I predicted another death was because it is time. Excluding Janetta, whom Gilbert killed, there has been a murder every ten days or so. The ten days since Isobel are almost up.’

‘It does not matter which of you is the killer, you will both hang,’ said Tulyet impatiently, and called to his men to start the journey back to the town. It was light, and time spent talking now was time wasted.

Bartholomew and Michael watched them go. ‘Do you believe him?’ asked Bartholomew.

Michael shook his head. “I do not. De Belem is merely trying to confuse us. He lied to us in the garden of the 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.’

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 any longer.’

Harling pursed his lips in a thin, white line and looked away, so de Wetherset answered.

‘Master Harling became a member of the Guild of

the Coming when he took over as my deputy. I am

ashamed to say that a Physwick Hostel scholar was a member, and Richard persuaded him to take him to one of the meetings. He joined to gather information to help you.’

Bartholomew looked sceptical, and Harling’s eyes glittered in anger. ‘My motives were purely honourable,’

he said in a tight voice. ‘As Vice-Chancellor, it was only a question of time before I took over from Master de Wetherset. I did not want to inherit a University riddled with corruption and wickedness, so I undertook to join the coven so that any University involvement in this business could be stamped out.’

‘Only I knew of Harling’s membership,’ said de