He leaned back against the wall, pleased with what he had reasoned. Bartholomew rubbed a hand through his hair as his mind still grappled with the complexities of the evidence they had acquired.
‘Who can blame him?’ Michael added, gnawing on a bone. ‘You all behaved abominably. I told you days ago that I thought the town had abused him.’
Bartholomew watched him. ‘If all this is true, then d’Ambrey has succeeded in his revenge. The King, whose spy Heppel is probably here because of the growing unrest, will see the town as a hotbed of insurrection and he will clamp down on it hard. He will raise taxes, send more soldiers and shorten trading hours, so that Cambridge will be unable to compete with other market towns. Gradually, her wealth and influence will decline. Perhaps the University might even flounder, and take away another source of income, resented by the town though it may be. And as Cambridge sinks further into poverty – the poverty that d’Ambrey once fought so hard to reduce – he will have had his vengeance on the town.’
‘Now this is beginning to come together,’ said Michael with satisfaction, scrubbing the grease from his face with the sleeve of his habit. ‘Although I cannot yet see where Norbert fits into all this – unless he and d’Ambrey are in it together.’
‘They may be,’ said Bartholomew thoughtfully. ‘But something else became clear to me when the charming Lydgates were baring their souls. I think I now know what the two acts were that Matilde’s client told her about.’
‘From something the Lydgates said?’ asked Michael, frowning. ‘I cannot see what.’
‘The riots were instigated to mask two acts,’ said Bartholomew slowly. ‘We thought at first that these acts might be burglaries, such as the one at the house next to Oswald, or perhaps the destruction of the Market Square. But now I think these were just coincidental. The two acts were matters much closer to d’Ambrey’s heart: the first was his daughter Dominica’s supposed death, and the second involved Will finding a suitable hand to use as a relic.’
‘You reasoned this from something the Lydgates said?’ asked Michael, unconvinced.
‘Only the first one – Dominica’s supposed death,’
Bartholomew admitted. ‘We need to review what we know and it involves Joanna.’
Michael raised his eyes heavenwards.
‘No, listen to me, Michael! It will make sense if you listen! A short while ago, Joanna, a prostitute from Ely and Agnes Tyler’s niece, came to Cambridge. Mistress Tyler was not happy with her guest, because Joanna started some unofficial business from her home, putting her good name at risk – we had that from Jonas the Poisoner’s wife and from the old river men. Obviously, Mistress Tyler would not want Joanna’s clients calling at her house with three daughters to protect. Meanwhile, Dominica wanted to escape from the Lydgates, and what better way than to pretend she was dead? And Joanna had long, fair hair, like Dominica.’
‘Now, just a moment,’ said Michael, sufficiently startled to pause in his repast. ‘Are you saying that Mistress Tyler plotted to have Joanna’s body mistaken for Dominica’s?’
‘Yes,’ said Bartholomew earnestly. ‘Either she plotted with Dominica herself, or with d’Ambrey, who might well want his daughter back from the man who almost killed him in the tithe barn fire.’
‘Why?’ demanded Michael. ‘Why should a perfectly law-abiding, honest woman like Mistress Tyler plot with a fallen martyr and his murderous daughter to have her niece killed and her body given the identity of another?’
‘I have no idea what her motive might be,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But we know that the Tyler family are involved in something sufficiently sinister to force Eleanor to try to stop me from asking too many questions – and I am sure that something involves Joanna. Eleanor has virtually ordered me to stop investigating Joanna’s death twice once in the High Street and once at the Feast – and even the apothecary’s wife suspects their sudden flight had something to do with Joanna.’
‘All right,’ said Michael grudgingly. ‘We will ignore the motive for now – for your convenience – and concentrate on what we know. Continue.’ He picked up Bartholomew’s knife and began to prod the bones to see if there was any more meat to be salvaged.
‘This plan would allow Dominica to be free of the Lydgates and her life at Godwinsson. She could help d’Ambrey in the last stages of his revenge against the town, along with his other faithful friends – Master Bigod, Saul Potter, Huw, Ivo, and so on, the ones whose names were recorded in the hidden documents in the Galen. And afterwards, she could go wherever d’Ambrey might take her.’
‘I see,’ said Michael. ‘So, the plan was to kill Joanna and leave her for Lydgate to find. You told me that her face was battered, which would make her difficult to recognise. Dominica knew her father’s eyesight was failing and he would be easy to fool. He was not a man given to reason anyway, particularly when enraged. He would storm off into the night searching for Dominica, see a blur of golden hair and assume his daughter was dead.’ He shook his head. ‘Unpleasant though it may seem, I suppose it is a just revenge on a man who had tried to kill d’Ambrey twenty-five years ago, and deprived him of seeing his daughter grow up.’
Bartholomew took up the tale. ‘Edred must have been in on the deception – he tried to steal the Galen with Norbert’s documents in it, so we can assume he was in their pay. Edred was the one who told Lydgate that he had seen Dominica in the streets of Cambridge. Naturally, Lydgate raced out to bring her back, while Edred and Cecily followed. Dominica knew the places Lydgate was most likely to look, so Joanna was killed at one of them by Godwinsson’s Frenchmen, who first raped her.’
‘No,’ said Michael, stopping him. ‘She was killed in Mistress Tyler’s house – we saw the bloodstains – and then dumped at a place Lydgate would be likely to look. That was why Mistress Tyler would not allow you to try to oust the looters from her house, and why she – a woman who knows how to look after herself and her property chose to abandon her house and spend the night with Jonas and his wife.’
Bartholomew nodded. It was beginning to make sense.
‘Meanwhile, Cecily took the opportunity to run away from her husband, while Edred, after he had helped her, sneaked back and ransacked her room. Lydgate told us he had stolen a crucifix.’
‘So, we have reasoned out Matilde’s “first act”,’ said Michael. ‘Ah, here comes the landlord with a pie. Apple! Excellent! Carry on, Matt. What of the second act – this relic business?’
‘The answers to that have been staring us in the face all the time. Think about where the first riot started at Master Burney’s tannery. Everyone knows that the Austin Canons own the room underneath, and that they use it as a mortuary, thinking the smell of the tannery will eliminate any dangerous miasmas that might come from the corpses.’
‘Mistress Starre’s son!’ exclaimed Michael in sudden realisation, his pie forgotten. ‘That feeble-minded boy who was a giant and whom you put into the Canons’ care when he was implicated in all that business with the saffron trade a while ago. We saw his body in the wreckage of Master Burney’s tannery!’
Bartholomew recalled the tangle of limbs in the rubble after the tannery had collapsed, and remembered that he had even told Michael that Starre was one of the dead.
‘There was too much else to be done with caring for the injured for the Canons to have been concerned with a missing hand, although I am sure d’Ambrey and his accomplices ensured that the body was carefully arranged so that the damage looked accidental.’
Michael shook his head in grudging admiration. ‘These people are clever. They selected Starre’s hand so that there would be no question that it belonged to a man because he was so big.’
‘And, of course, there were signs that the hand had been boiled and there was a pin to hold two of the bones together. The hand had not simply been discovered in the King’s Ditch – it had been carefully prepared. On top of all this, there was the ring it wore. John of Stirling took the ring Dominica gave to Kenzie at Father Andrew’
s – d’Ambrey’s – request. D’Ambrey must have had an imitation made, which John then gave back to Kenzie, later to be stolen by Edred, thrown into the shed, and found by me. The real ring d’Ambrey must have given to Will of Valence Marie, with which to adorn the skeleton’s hand. Cecily said the pair of lovers’ rings were hers perhaps they were a gift from d’Ambrey if he were her paramour.’
‘And d’Ambrey could not simply use the one Cecily still had because it was too small to fit over the big hand they had prepared – she had the woman’s ring, and they needed the man’s. Dominica’s generosity to James Kenzie brought about his death.’
‘But it could not have done, Michael. Kenzie had the false ring, remember? And he clearly was unable to tell the difference and did not know the rings had been exchanged, or he would not have gone to Werbergh and Edred in his desperation to have it back.’
Michael sighed. ‘Regardless, we had better apprehend this Simon d’Ambrey before he does any more damage. But what about Werbergh’s murder? How does that fit into this foul web of retaliation?’
‘We will have to work that out as we go,’ said Bartholomew, reaching out a hand and hauling Michael to his feet. ‘We have wasted enough time already. If we are correct in our deductions, then d’Ambrey’s work is almost done here and he will soon be gone.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To Valence Marie. That is where this relic purporting to be d’Ambrey’s hand is, and that, I am certain, is where d’Ambrey will go sooner or later.’
They left a message with the sergeant to tell Tulyet of their suspicions – neither Bartholomew nor Michael felt there was much point in entrusting the information to the feeble Guy Heppel. Tulyet, Bartholomew knew, would not stop to question their message; he would hasten to Valence Marie and leave explanations until later. The sun was high as they hurried along the High Street, but it was already beginning to cloud over with the promise of rain. As Michael raised his hand to knock on the great gate, Bartholomew pushed it away. The memory of Radbeche’s murder at David’s was clear in his mind. He and Michael had been incautious to walk so blithely into David’s – Radbeche’s killer could easily have been lurking still at the scene of his crime. He wished Cynric were with them, since he would know exactly how to proceed.
Bartholomew pushed open the door and peered round it. There was no porter at the lodge. He drew a surgical knife from his bag, while Michael found a sturdy piece of wood he could use as a cudgel. Bartholomew pushed the door open a little further, and stepped inside. Like the last time they had visited Valence Marie, it was eerily quiet.
Bartholomew took a deep breath and began to make his way around the edge of the yard, Michael following.
The hall door was ajar. Standing well back, Bartholomew pushed it open with the tip of his knife and looked inside. It was deserted. Puzzled, he lowered the knife and walked in. It looked as though it had been the scene of a violent struggle. Cups and plates lay scattered on the floor and two of the long tables that ran down the sides of the hall had been overturned. Several tapestries hung askew, wine had pooled on the polished floor. Michael pushed past him, whistling at the mess.
Without warning, something heavy fell on Bartholomew from above. With a cry, he dropped to his hands and knees, the knife sent skittering across the stone floor.
The minstrels’ gallery! Valence Marie had a small gallery for musicians that was just above the main door; it was from here that someone had dropped down on to him.
Michael spun round with his cudgel, but was knocked backwards by a tremendous punch swung by Master Thorpe himself. Valence Marie scholars poured down the stairs where they had been hiding with howls of fury.
Bartholomew attempted to regain his feet but someone leapt on to his back, forcing him to the ground. He tried to scramble forwards to reach his knife but one of the Fellows saw what he was doing, and kicked the blade away so hard that it disappeared under a bench on the opposite side of the hall.
Michael lay on his back, his stomach protruding into the air like an enormous fish, while Thorpe stood over him wringing his fist. Bartholomew began to squirm and struggle with all his might. He felt the man clinging to his back begin to lose his grip. Others came to help but Bartholomew had managed to rise to his knees. As one scholar raced towards him, Bartholomew lowered his head and caught him hard in the middle. He heard a groan as the student dropped to the floor clutching his stomach.
But it was an unequal contest and, despite valiant efforts, Bartholomew found himself in the firm grip of several of Valence Marie’s strongest students. Realising that further struggling would merely serve to sap his strength, Bartholomew relented. He glanced nervously at Michael, still lying on the floor.
‘What do you mean by entering my hall armed with a knife?’ asked Thorpe coldly. ‘We saw you sneak into our yard like a thief, without knocking or calling out to announce yourself.’ He gave a superior smile. ‘So the scholars of Valence Marie decided to give you a welcome you did not anticipate.’
As several students jeered triumphantly, Bartholomew wondered how to explain. He tried to see the faces of the men who held him, to see if Father Andrew were there but he could not move. He tried to think of an answer that Thorpe would accept, but the Master of Valence Marie did not give him the chance to reply before firing another question at him.
‘What have you done with our relic?’
‘Your relic?’ repeated Bartholomew stupidly. ‘The skeleton’s hand? Has it gone?’
Thorpe looked hard at a small upended box that lay on the floor next to a piece of fine white satin and then back at Bartholomew, pursing his lips. ‘I have no doubt that you have taken it. The Chancellor has already instructed me to get rid of it, but who am I to deny the people of Cambridge their heritage? I refused. One of the students thought he might have found more sacred bones, but while we were out to investigate his discovery, our hand was stolen. Then, even as we searched for it, you enter my College, without permission and armed.’
Bartholomew could see why Thorpe was suspicious of him. ‘But if we had taken your relic, Master Thorpe, we would not still be here. We would go to hide it.’
Thorpe gestured to his scholars and Bartholomew and Michael were thoroughly searched. Bartholomew’s bag was torn from his shoulder and emptied unceremoniously on the floor. Phials and bandages rolled everywhere, and the damaged copy of Galen shaken vigorously, as if it might produce a stolen hand. Bartholomew looked around him quickly. One of the men who held him was the burly Henry, who had been present when the hand was found in the Ditch. Standing to one side was another servant, his arm in an untidy splint. Next to him, not taking a part in restraining Bartholomew, but favouring him with a gaze that was far more frightening than the scholars’ rough hands, was Will.
As Bartholomew looked into Will’s glittering eyes, cold and unblinking, he knew he was in trouble indeed. Seeing Bartholomew was observing him, the diminutive servant moved his tunic slightly to reveal the long, wicked-looking dagger in his belt. The hand that rested on its hilt had a semicircular mark that Bartholomew immediately recognised as a bite. Michael had bitten one of the men who had attacked them on the High Street the previous week, while Bartholomew knew he had broken the arm of another: Will and the servant who stood next to him.
‘Well, you might not have our relic with you,’ said Thorpe, oblivious to Will’s implicit threat, ‘but I know that you, or another of the Chancellor’s men, have taken it away. We found this precious thing. It came to us in the knowledge that it would be revered and honoured at Valence Marie.’
To say nothing of its use to amass wealth, thought Bartholomew. ‘I really have no idea where it is,’ he said. ‘And I cannot imagine that the Chancellor would arrange to have it taken by stealth. You do Master de Wetherset an injustice, sir.’
Thorpe clenched his fist again, and Bartholomew thought he was going to strike him. But Thorpe’s hand had already been bruised by punching Michael, and he was loath to risk harming himself
a second time.
‘We will see,’ he said. He turned to Will. ‘Make sure they cannot escape. Lock them in, and we will go to discuss this with the Chancellor.’
He turned on his heel and stalked out. Bartholomew’s arms were pulled behind him and tied securely. Will still regarded him with his curious glittering eyes.
‘You go with the Master,’ he said to the students, nodding at Thorpe’s retreating back. ‘Henry, Jacob and I will remain here and guard these two.’
Bartholomew struggled to stand. He thought quickly, knowing that if he were left alone with Will and his cronies, he and Michael would not live to tell how they knew that the hand of Valence Marie did not belong to Simon d’Ambrey.
‘Can your Master not manage his affairs without the entire College at his heels?’ he shouted, trying to shame some of the retreating scholars into staying behind. ‘Do you find it necessary to follow him around like faithful dogs?’
Father Eligius, one of Bartholomew’s patients, hesitated.
‘This is an important matter, Matthew. If all Valence Marie’s Fellows are present and in complete agreement, it will add weight to our case that this sacred relic belongs here.’
‘But there is no sacred relic,’ said Bartholomew desperately. ‘It is the hand of a recently dead corpse planted in the Ditch by Will and his associates. It belonged to Mistress Starre’s son.’
Eligius looked startled, while the other Fellows laughed in derision.
‘Will has been a faithful servant since the College was founded,’ said Eligius reproachfully. ‘Such an accusation does you discredit, Matthew.’
‘But it is true!’ pressed Bartholomew. ‘Think about it! Why should a sacred relic have a pin to hold the bones together? Because it was carefully prepared by Will! And why was it wearing a ring recently stolen from the David’s student murdered just outside your walls? And why did Will just happen to have a fine casket lined with satin to use as a reliquary for it?’
A Bone of Contention хмб-3 Page 41
