The Sanctuary Murders: The Twenty Fourth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew Book 24)

by Susanna Gregory

  ‘With a stone that just happened to be to hand?’

  ‘One I brought here to prevent documents from blowing around,’ replied de Wetherset. He smiled at Michael. ‘I forgot how draughty this chamber is. You may have it back, Brother, because I prefer the smaller one. I wish Heltisle had not insisted on uprooting you.’

  ‘Do you,’ said Michael expressionlessly.

  De Wetherset shrugged. ‘I made a mistake in appointing him Vice-Chancellor – his judgement is very poor. But I am sure you and I can work together to rectify all the harm he has done with his ambition and greed.’

  Michael glanced at Bartholomew. ‘You had better see if you can help Heltisle.’

  Bartholomew stepped forward, but de Wetherset blocked his path.

  ‘Stay back for your own safety,’ he urged. ‘He is a very dangerous man.’

  ‘Let me see him,’ ordered Bartholomew, trying to peer around de Wetherset’s bulk. ‘He may still be alive, and you do not want another death on your conscience.’

  ‘I have nothing on my conscience,’ objected de Wetherset indignantly. ‘I cannot be condemned for defending myself against a lethal attack, especially from Heltisle. No one likes him, and it is common knowledge that his policies have done much damage.’

  Bartholomew was disgusted that the Chancellor aimed to blame a friend for his own misdeeds, but supposed he should not be surprised. De Wetherset had always been ruthless.

  ‘Then how do you explain your pilgrim badge clutched in the hand of a murdered abbess?’ he demanded, and brandished the brooch aloft.

  ‘You found it?’ cried de Wetherset. ‘Thanks be to God! It was stolen last night, and I thought it had gone for ever. Heltisle was the thief, of course, and you have just told me why – to see me accused of a crime I did not commit.’

  He had an answer for everything, thought Bartholomew angrily, wishing Michael would just arrest the man so they could leave. He did not want to be in St Mary the Great when the inevitable mob marched in. Seeing Bartholomew did not believe him, the Chancellor turned to Michael.

  ‘You know I am telling the truth, Brother. I heard a letter arrived from Suttone today. I imagine it revealed Heltisle as a bully who forced him to resign against his will. Yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘Heltisle is no innocent. However, nor is he the mastermind behind the scheme to oust me and take control of the University. You are.’

  ‘Can you prove it?’ asked de Wetherset earnestly. ‘No? Then I suggest you desist with these accusations and—’

  ‘Why did you turn against Heltisle?’ interrupted Michael. ‘Were you afraid he would tire of being your henchman and claim the throne for himself?’

  ‘I have already told you what happened,’ snapped de Wetherset, growing exasperated. ‘But we cannot stay in here quarrelling while the town seethes with unrest. We should leave. Then we shall say that Heltisle was killed by the rabble that will descend on this church at any moment—’

  ‘Which is what you intended from the start,’ said Bartholomew accusingly. ‘That is why you sent the beadles away – so no one could ever testify that you were in here alone with him. But your accusation will ignite a brawl that—’

  ‘Better a brawl than exposing our Vice-Chancellor as a criminal,’ snapped de Wetherset. He addressed Michael again. ‘You know I am right, Brother. Do not let Bartholomew’s asinine obsession with the truth destroy the University that you have nurtured so lovingly these last few—’

  ‘There is blood on your boots,’ interrupted Bartholomew.

  ‘Of course there is – I have just been obliged to hit Heltisle in self-defence. There is blood on my tabard, too. See?’

  ‘No – that is fresh. The spots on your boots are brown and dry. It is Orwel’s blood. Or Wyse’s. Not Isabel’s – she is too recent as well. Now, let me examine Heltisle. He may be—’

  ‘Stay where you are,’ came a sharp voice from behind him.

  Bartholomew whipped around and felt his jaw drop in dismay. It was Aynton and he carried a loaded crossbow.

  Within moments, Aynton had propelled Bartholomew and Michael into the office and closed the door. Bartholomew was disgusted with himself. How could he not have predicted that the last member of the triumvirate would be to hand, and that he would side with the man who had given him his position of power? Aynton and de Wetherset were both members of Tyled Hostel, so of course they would be loyal to each other. Michael had been right to suspect the Commissary of unscrupulous dealings.

  ‘They are mad, Aynton,’ said de Wetherset. ‘You should hear the nonsense they have been spouting about me. And then they killed Heltisle.’

  Bartholomew blinked, hope rising. Did de Wetherset’s words mean that Aynton was not part of the plot after all? His mind worked fast. How could he convince the Commissary that he was backing the wrong side? He glanced at Michael, whose face was full of grim resolve.

  ‘Why did you embark on such a deadly path, de Wetherset?’ the monk demanded. ‘We could have governed the University side by side, as we did in the past.’

  ‘There was no deadly path,’ said de Wetherset, flicking a nervous glance at Aynton. ‘And we could never have worked together, because you would have turned me into another Suttone. Everyone agrees that you are too strong.’

  ‘It is true, Brother,’ said Aynton quietly. ‘It is not healthy for one man to wield so much power, and nor is it right that the Chancellor is just a figurehead.’

  De Wetherset smiled so gloatingly that Bartholomew felt his hopes fade. Aynton might not have been part of the plan to remove Michael, but he was clearly in favour of it. Meanwhile, Michael regarded the Commissary in stunned disbelief.

  ‘So you are happy that de Wetherset’s intrigues have set us against the town?’ he demanded accusingly. ‘And destroyed all the goodwill that I have built over the last decade?’

  ‘The town does not want our friendship,’ snapped de Wetherset. ‘They cheat us at every turn, and it is time we put an end to it. Is that not so, Commissary?’

  Michael was disgusted. ‘So you aim to replace all the fair agreements I made with ones of your own – ones that will benefit us, but that will cause hardship in the town.’

  ‘I make no apology for putting the University first,’ flashed de Wetherset.

  ‘Then you are a fool! You might win us a few weeks of cheap bread and ale, but resentment will fester, and we will lose in the end.’

  ‘How?’ asked Aynton curiously.

  ‘Because no foundation can prosper in a place where it is hated. Our scholars will be murdered by those you have wronged, and new students will opt to study elsewhere. Gradually, we will wither and die.’

  ‘I know why de Wetherset killed Wyse,’ said Bartholomew, more interested in their current problems than future ones. ‘Because the trouble between us and the town was taking too long to blossom. He chose a helpless, frail old drunkard, then made sure everyone knew that a scholar had killed him.’

  Was that a flicker of surprise in Aynton’s eyes or had Bartholomew imagined it?

  ‘He sat in the Griffin, making a great show of reading and flaunting his inky fingers,’ said Michael, taking up the tale. ‘Then he trailed Wyse to a deserted road and hit him. Wyse was only stunned, so de Wetherset callously shoved his head in the ditch and left him to drown.’

  Bartholomew expected him to deny it, but the Chancellor glanced at Aynton, decided he had an ally, and shrugged his indifference.

  ‘Something had to be done. We were stuck in a stalemate that benefited no one.’

  Outside, there was a crash, followed by a cheer and a bellow of rage. The trouble was starting early. Bartholomew looked desperately at Aynton, hoping to see some sign that he wanted no part of de Wetherset’s monstrous schemes, but the crossbow was still aimed at him and Michael, and it did not waver. He clenched his fists in impotent fury; it was hard to stand helpless while his town ripped itself apart.

  ‘Then there was Orwel,’ Michael went on. ‘Th
e Sheriff sent him to the Griffin to question witnesses, and what they confided allowed him to identify de Wetherset as Wyse’s murderer.’

  ‘I saw Orwel leaving this church once,’ said Bartholomew, anxiety intensifying when he glanced out of the window to see dusk was not far off. ‘I imagine he came to blackmail you.’

  ‘He did,’ said de Wetherset indignantly. ‘And when I refused to pay, he arranged to meet the Senior Proctor and reveal all, although only in exchange for money, I imagine. So I realised I had to shut him up permanently – for the good of the University.’

  ‘But Abbess Isabel saw you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Although she assumed you were the Devil, and was so frightened that she hid in a church for two days.’

  ‘You said she could identify me, so I had to silence her, too. I had no idea how to do it, but then a miracle occurred – I spotted her walking through the Barnwell Gate. I caught up with her on the Causeway and . . .’

  ‘Three innocent lives,’ said Michael harshly. ‘All ended with a heavy stone. Are you happy with that price, Aynton, or do you consider it too high?’

  ‘It is more than three,’ said Bartholomew when Aynton made no reply. ‘It was de Wetherset who yelled the order to shoot at the butts. He planned all along for there to be trouble that evening, which is why he arrived wearing his armour – armour he has donned again tonight, which should tell you all you need to know about his intentions.’

  Aynton’s crossbow wavered for the first time. ‘You provoked that brawl on purpose?’

  ‘I regret the loss of life, but it was necessary,’ said de Wetherset shortly. ‘It proved that Michael cannot protect us from the town. And if he is unable to control a few spade-wielding peasants, how will he fare against the Dauphin?’

  ‘So you hate the French, too,’ said Bartholomew in distaste, watching Aynton regard the Chancellor uncertainly. ‘You stabbed Paris, the Girards and—’

  ‘I did not,’ interrupted de Wetherset. ‘I imagine that was Heltisle’s doing. I thought he was strong and able, but he proved to be a petty despot with no redeeming features.’

  At that point, Heltisle astonished everyone by sitting up with a bellow of rage, and stabbing the Chancellor in the foot with one of his metal pens.

  * * *

  Outside in the street, it was growing dark. Some folk retreated inside their houses, praying the trouble would pass them by, but far more poured out to join in whatever was about to happen. In St Mary the Great, Heltisle’s pen sliced through de Wetherset’s foot and pinned it to the floor beneath. The Chancellor shrieked in pain and shock, and flailed at Heltisle with a knife. One swipe scored a deep gash across Heltisle’s wrist, which began to bleed copiously.

  ‘Stop!’ roared Aynton, aiming his crossbow at them. ‘You two did not act to strengthen the University against the town, but to benefit yourselves. You disgust me!’

  ‘Thank God!’ breathed Michael fervently. ‘Now perhaps we can—’

  ‘Of course we did it for the University,’ snarled de Wetherset, his face a mask of agony. ‘Or I did. Heltisle acted for himself.’

  ‘Lies!’ cried Heltisle. ‘There is no blood on my hands. Everything I did was on his orders – hiring incompetent beadles, adjusting the trade agreements, antagonising the town—’

  ‘And how willingly you did it,’ sneered de Wetherset. ‘You enjoyed every moment, and would have done more if I had not curbed your excesses.’

  Heltisle gave him a look of disgust before addressing Aynton. ‘Arrest these three idiots. None are fit to govern, so I shall assume command. Well? What are you waiting for?’

  ‘Do you still have the key to this office, Brother?’ asked Aynton. ‘Good! We shall lock this pair inside, then set about mending the harm they have done.’

  ‘No, you will obey me,’ shrieked Heltisle, cradling his injured arm. ‘I am in charge. You heard what they said – Michael is so inept that he did not notice blood on a pair of boots, while de Wetherset is a murderer. You should have shot them the moment you arrived.’

  ‘I am glad I did not,’ said Aynton fervently. ‘It took me a while to separate truth from lies, but my eyes are open now. Step away from the prisoners, Matthew. Do not even think of tending their wounds.’

  ‘We cannot leave de Wetherset impaled,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘And Heltisle will bleed to death unless I sew him up.’

  ‘It is more important to tell Tulyet that we have identified the authors of all this mayhem,’ said Aynton. ‘Then peace will reign once more.’

  ‘It is too late,’ said Michael bitterly. ‘The wheels of unrest have been set in motion, and nothing will stop us and the town from turning on each other now.’

  ‘Good!’ crowed de Wetherset. ‘And when it is over, and you need a strong leader to crush what remains of the town, I shall lead the University to victory.’

  ‘Actually, there will be no harm to us or the town,’ countered Aynton, and looked pleased with himself. ‘Because we have a common enemy – the French. I have spent the whole day telling everyone that the Dauphin is poised to invade, so we must stand together to defeat him. That is how we shall restore the harmony between us.’

  ‘You have done what?’ breathed Michael, aghast. ‘Is that why some foundations have joined forces with townsfolk, making the situation more complicated than ever?’

  ‘Yes, and it is a good thing,’ Aynton assured him, beaming happily. ‘It means no one will attack anyone else lest he hurts a friend. There is no French army waiting in the fens, of course. I just expanded on a false rumour that was circulating earlier in the week.’

  ‘What false rumour?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily.

  ‘That the Spital is full of the Dauphin’s spies. Do not look so worried, Matthew. It is not true. I met Warden Tangmer yesterday, and he assured me that no foreigner has ever set foot inside his gates.’

  Bartholomew regarded him in horror. ‘He was lying! There are women and children there – folk who are supposed to leave at nightfall.’ He glanced at the window. ‘About now, in fact.’

  Aynton swallowed hard. ‘But they cannot – they will be seen. Angry folk have been gathering there all afternoon, and the Spital is now surrounded by a sizeable mob. I assumed it would not matter – and better damage to a remote foundation than us or the town.’

  ‘It looks as though I shall have my bloodbath after all,’ said de Wetherset, and laughed.

  Bartholomew refused to leave the Chancellor pinioned to the floor, so valuable moments were lost releasing him. Unfortunately, Heltisle had rammed the pen home with such force that it had shattered, and Bartholomew was far from sure he had removed all the fragments. Meanwhile, Heltisle stubbornly refused to let him tend his bleeding arm.

  ‘I would sooner die,’ he snarled defiantly.

  ‘Send him home, Brother,’ said Bartholomew, tired of trying to convince him. ‘Tell his students to summon a medicus urgently or they will be looking for a new Master tomorrow.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Michael. ‘But I am not doing the same for de Wetherset. He can sit in the proctors’ gaol until I decide what to do with him.’

  He had fetched beadles and stretchers while Bartholomew had been busy. Without further ado, Heltisle and de Wetherset were loaded up and toted away. The beadles made no effort to be gentle, and the faces of both men were grey with pain. When they had gone, Aynton turned to Bartholomew and Michael.

  ‘Go to the Spital,’ he ordered. ‘I will stay here and help the Sheriff.’

  ‘It should be me who stays,’ objected Michael, sure Aynton would be of scant use to Tulyet.

  ‘Please,’ said Aynton quietly. ‘I was an unwitting help-meet, but my conscience pricks and I must make amends. Besides, now de Wetherset and Heltisle are arrested, it means I am Acting Chancellor – a role I shall fill until you can arrange an election. Ergo, I outrank you. Now go – you have innocents to save.’

  ‘Do you trust him?’ asked Bartholomew, as he and Michael hurried through the now-dark church towards t
he door. ‘He took a long time to choose a side – it should have been obvious that de Wetherset was guilty long before Aynton made his decision.’

  ‘I have never trusted him. You are the one who thought he was harmless. But I sent Meadowman to Dick with a full account of what happened, and Dick is someone I do trust. He will keep Aynton in line.’

  ‘Did you believe de Wetherset when he denied stabbing Paris and the others?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘I did – he confessed to the rest, so why baulk at those?’

  Michael nodded tersely. ‘The culprit is not Heltisle, either. He is a vile individual, but not one to poison children. Do we have any suspects left?’

  ‘Aynton,’ replied Bartholomew unhappily. ‘But there is nothing we can do about him now. We must wait until we have rescued the peregrini, whose only crime was hoping to find a place where they could live free of fear and persecution.’

  Night had fallen at last, and the high street and the alleys off it were full of whispers and bobbing torches. They added a tension to the atmosphere that did nothing to aid the cause of peace. Michael’s beadles were everywhere, ordering scholars and townsfolk alike back to their homes, although with scant success.

  ‘It is hopeless,’ reported one in despair. ‘The only good thing is the rumour about French spies at the Spital, as it has drawn many would-be rioters away. Even so, there are hundreds left, and if we avert a battle, it will be a miracle.’

  ‘Here is Dick,’ said Michael, as there was a rattle of hoofs on cobbles and the Sheriff cantered up. Both he and his horse showed signs of being in skirmishes, and the knights who rode with him were grim-faced and anxious.

  ‘For God’s sake, tell no one else about de Wetherset,’ he said curtly. ‘If word gets out that a scholar orchestrated all this mayhem . . .’

  ‘We have many bridges to repair,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But it can be done.’

  ‘I hope you are right. But do you really want Aynton to “help” me while you jaunt off to the Spital?’

  ‘Not really, so keep him close, and do not turn your back on him for any reason.’

  Tulyet regarded him askance. ‘Do not tell me that he is the killer!’