Bartholomew was not so sure, but there was no time to discuss it. ‘How do we find Walkelate now?’
‘By interrogating another of his accomplices,’ said Michael grimly. ‘Gyseburne will be—’
‘Holm,’ countered Bartholomew. ‘We should check Holm first because … because he lives nearer, and you are tired.’
Michael shot him a rueful glance for his transparency, but turned towards Cholles Lane anyway. All along the High Street, houses were being bedecked with red blossoms, and the churches had their doors open. The flowers smelled strong, and Bartholomew was uncomfortably reminded of Ayera and his penchant for poisonous blooms. Everywhere, people were greeting each other cheerfully, and scholars and townsfolk alike were girding themselves up for fun.
‘You must postpone the library’s opening – at least, until we find Walkelate,’ said Bartholomew.
Michael nodded. ‘Yes. Although Dunning will never forgive us …’
‘Tell Dick to cancel the pageant, too. Every dignitary and cleric in Cambridge plans to take part in it, while virtually every man, woman and child will be watching. We cannot let it go ahead when we fear an atrocity in the making. It would be immoral.’
‘What about the plan to lure the raiders here, so we can engage them in battle?’ panted Michael. ‘They will not come if the ceremonies are called off, and Shropham was right – we cannot endure weeks of uncertainty while we wait for their next assault.’
‘Dick thought Shropham’s plan reckless, and so did Dame Pelagia. The Guild of Corpus Christi has supported it, but only because cancelling the event will lose them money. Dick should do as he suggested last night – declare a state of military law until the robbers have been caught.’
Michael was silent for a moment, then burst out with, ‘But wildfire, Matt! I do not think that Walkelate would unleash such a terrible substance on us.’
‘He took two of the most wicked weapons ever to be invented, and combined them. How can you even think that such a man has a conscience?’
Michael waylaid two passing beadles, and sent one to the castle with the recommendation that the Sheriff postpone the pageant, and the other to Dunning, to explain why he was going to be deprived of his moment of glory. Then he and Bartholomew ran the short distance to Holm’s house, which they found with all its windows shuttered and its door closed. They exchanged a glance: was the fact that the surgeon had declined to lower his guard evidence that he knew what was about to befall the town?
‘I will wait a few moments, then knock,’ said Michael. ‘You go around the back, to make sure he does not escape. Here is a dagger.’
Bartholomew had not known Michael was armed, and was unsettled that the monk should think such draconian measures necessary. Without a word, he took the weapon, and eased down a smelly alley until he reached a gate. It was unlocked, so he opened it and stepped into Holm’s yard.
He was startled to see the surgeon slumped over a garden table. There was no sign of Walkelate. He approached cautiously, and saw a lump on the back of Holm’s head; ropes secured his hands and feet. He felt for a life-beat, and at his touch, Holm’s eyelids flickered open. The surgeon moaned and cursed his way back to wakefulness, while Bartholomew struggled to unravel the knots.
‘Who did this to you?’ asked Bartholomew urgently. ‘Quickly, man! Speak!’
‘Walkelate,’ groaned Holm. ‘It happened last night, and I have been stuck out here ever since. Thank God you came to save me.’
‘Why did he hit you?’ demanded Bartholomew, agitation and concern making him rougher with the ropes and his questions than he might otherwise have been.
‘You are unsympathetic, because of Isnard,’ said Holm sullenly. ‘He claims I tried to poison him, because it transpires that he is innocent of wrongdoing and I owe you five marks.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Do you know—’
‘But I only used a mild dose of henbane,’ Holm went on. ‘I would not have given him any, but he was gloating about me having to pay you, and I could not help myself.’
Bartholomew gaped at him. ‘Isnard was right? You did try to dispatch him?’
‘Not dispatch,’ corrected Holm, rubbing his abused wrists. ‘Teach him a lesson. And I shall give you your five marks as soon as I am married.’
‘You will pay me from Julitta’s dowry? I hardly think that is right.’
‘No?’ pounced Holm. ‘I am glad you think so. I shall keep it for myself, then.’
It was no time to discuss money. ‘Did you know that your lover is a murderer? He has just confessed to killing several scholars in order to frighten them out of libraries.’
Holm squinted up at him, and Bartholomew felt uncharitably disappointed when he saw the astonishment in his eyes. He could tell it was genuine. The surgeon blew out his cheeks as he assimilated the information.
‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘Who would have thought it? I know he was always saying that times are hard, but to kill to make them better … Oh, well. I was beginning to tire of him, anyway, and I can do a lot better for myself, even if his cousin does know the King.’
Bartholomew did not care about the surgeon’s ambitions. ‘Where is Walkelate now?’
‘I have no idea. And I cannot imagine why he hit me, either. All I did was offer to spruce up his library – I decided it would do my reputation no harm to be associated with the finished product, you see. Besides, it was an excuse to be away from the annoying Julitta.’
With difficulty, Bartholomew ignored the last remark. ‘He hit you for wanting to help him?’
At that moment, Michael appeared. ‘The door was unlocked, so I—’ He gaped in confusion when he saw Holm holding his head and the ropes on the ground. ‘What happened?’
‘I suppose I was rather insistent,’ admitted Holm, continuing to address Bartholomew. ‘However, he did not have to resort to violence. I would have desisted eventually.’
‘He could not take the risk that you would foist yourself on him anyway.’ Bartholomew spoke more to himself than the surgeon. ‘I suspect he had a lot to do last night. Tell us what you recall.’
‘Me begging to accompany him, and him saying that he was too busy. I told him I did not require entertaining, and I suppose we quarrelled. The next thing I knew was him coming at me with the hilt of a dagger. I am lucky he did not skewer me.’
‘You hired singers to entertain the craftsmen at Newe Inn the night Northwood and the others died,’ began Michael. ‘Why did you choose that particular night to be generous?’
‘Because Walkelate said it would be a kindness, and I was keen to stay on his good side. He is an important member of King’s Hall, as I have said before.’
Again, Bartholomew knew Holm was telling the truth; the open selfishness had the ring of honesty about it. ‘Clearly, Walkelate wanted to drown out any sounds his accomplices might have made doing God knows what in the garden,’ he said to Michael.
‘Yes,’ agreed the monk. ‘And now we had better look for him in Gyseburne’s home, where we should have gone in the first place.’
‘He will not be there,’ said Holm. He shrugged rather sheepishly. ‘Ayera told me a tale that Gyseburne’s mother is a witch, and I repeated it to Walkelate, thinking he would find it amusing, but he was appalled, and has avoided the fellow ever since. But why are you so eager to find him?’
‘Because it transpires that he has an unsavoury interest in artillery,’ explained Michael tersely. ‘And because we fear that he may be in league with men who want to use some on our town.’
Holm considered the accusation, then nodded slowly. ‘He might. He is interested in armaments, and he has been meeting villainous men for weeks. French-speaking men. I overheard him arranging to sell them something a fortnight or so ago. He told me that they were visiting scholars from Paris, but I did not believe him. They were warriors without a doubt.’
‘We have not had visiting scholars from Paris for months,’ said Michael immediately, who as Senior
Proctor was in a position to know.
‘Are you saying that the raiders are French?’ asked Bartholomew, bewildered. But then he recalled that the ones he had encountered had spoken that language.
‘Well they are rather more than common brigands,’ said Holm curtly. ‘Or they would not be so damned persistent.’
Bartholomew struggled to understand what he was hearing. ‘We think Walkelate has invented a wildfire-spitting ribauldequin, and we are at war with France. Selling Frenchmen weapons – or even plans and formulae – amounts to treason!’
‘Only if he is caught,’ said Holm. ‘And he told me himself that he is cleverer than you.’
‘I thought he was your friend,’ said Michael, before Bartholomew could point out that siding with the French at Poitiers had hardly been an act of patriotism. suspicious of the surgeon’s disloyal revelations. ‘How can you betray his confidences so readily?’
‘He forfeited my friendship when he hit me on the head,’ said Holm with a pout. ‘Besides, I have my reputation to consider. I do not want to be associated with treason.’
‘Think very carefully,’ instructed Michael, before Bartholomew could point out that siding with the French at Poitiers had hardly been an act of patriotism. ‘Can you suggest anywhere he might be? He is not at King’s Hall or his library.’
Holm frowned, still rubbing his wrists, while Bartholomew struggled with the urge to grab him by the throat in an effort to speed up his ponderings.
‘Try the Carmelites’ scriptorium,’ he said eventually. ‘He mentioned buying some labels there.’
‘Go to the castle and tell the Sheriff everything we have just reasoned,’ ordered Michael, turning to leave. ‘Even the parts you do not understand. It is a matter of life and death, so do it immediately – as quickly as you can run.’
‘He will not oblige,’ said Bartholomew, regarding the surgeon with loathing. ‘Just as he did not bother to raise the alarm when Rougham and I were accosted. He ran straight home and shut himself safely inside. If he had been braver, we might have been rescued before Rougham revealed the secret of wildfire to what we now suspect were French spies!’
‘That was different,’ objected Holm indignantly. ‘It was dark then, and I was frightened.’
‘You will do as I ask,’ said Michael sharply. ‘Or you may find your wealthy bride-to-be hears certain nasty truths about her beloved fiancé.’
Holm’s face was a mask of furious resentment as Michael turned on his heel and stalked out. Bartholomew stared at him for a moment, then followed.
‘We cannot trust him, Brother,’ he warned. ‘He is more likely to run straight to Julitta, and start spinning yarns as to why your accusations are untrue.’
‘He would not dare.’ Michael broke into the waddle that passed as a run for him. ‘He knew my threat was in earnest. Besides, what else can we do? We do not have time to explain everything to another messenger. Holm will come through, Matt. He has too much to lose by failing.’
Bartholomew was unconvinced, but they had reached the Carmelite Priory, and he was obliged to turn his thoughts back to Walkelate. The convent was deserted; the friars and their servants were in the chapel, singing gustily as they performed the first of many offices that would take place that day. He and Michael tore across the yard to the scriptorium. It, too, was empty, except for one man who was busily rifling through some ledgers, his hands stained red with ink.
‘Langelee!’ they exclaimed in unison.
Bartholomew and Michael were so astonished at seeing the Master that neither spotted the figure that had been loitering in the shadows until it emerged with a sword at the ready. It was Ayera, unshaven, dishevelled and tense.
‘Damn,’ he murmured softly. ‘Now what?’
‘Now they help us,’ said Langelee, beckoning Bartholomew and Michael forward. ‘Because we cannot do this alone.’
‘Help you do what?’ asked Michael warily, declining to move.
‘Foil the men who are determined to betray our country,’ replied Langelee, turning back to the ledgers. ‘Ayera and I have been racing about blindly for days now, and we are at our wits’ end.’
‘I know the feeling,’ said Michael icily, still not moving. ‘What is going on?’
‘Walkelate has invented a ribauldequin that can eject wildfire,’ explained Langelee tightly. ‘And we believe he has gone some way to producing wildfire itself. He and his cronies have been experimenting with the stuff in Newe Inn’s garden.’
‘Who are his cronies?’ asked Bartholomew, acutely aware that Ayera had not sheathed his sword, and that it hovered unnervingly close to his back.
‘Enough questions,’ said the geometrician sharply. ‘I do not like this.’
‘Northwood, the London brothers, Vale, Jorz and possibly others,’ replied Langelee, ignoring him. ‘Although I doubt any of them knew what they were doing, or what Walkelate intended to do with the formula once he had it. They have been mercilessly used. And all are dead, of course.’
‘Jorz drowned in a bowl of red ink.’ Michael looked pointedly at Langelee’s scarlet hands.
‘Knocked on the head first, though,’ said Langelee. ‘Otherwise there would have been too much splashing. Knocking people on the head is becoming quite a habit with Walkelate. I now know that it was he who attacked me in Newe Inn’s garden. Ayera found out.’
‘I overheard him telling Frevill about it,’ explained Ayera, although he spoke reluctantly.
‘How do you know Jorz was knocked on the head first?’ asked Bartholomew of Langelee.
‘Because I was spying here, and I saw it happen. I raced to help him the moment Walkelate had left, but it was too late. And I splattered ink all over myself into the bargain.’
‘Are you saying you delayed before going to Jorz’s assistance?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily. ‘You stood in the shadows watching while murder was committed, and only emerged when the killer had gone?’
Langelee waved a dismissive hand. ‘I could not afford to let Walkelate see that he was discovered lest he went to ground. And then we would never have answers. Still, at least one thing is clear: I now know why Northwood quizzed me so relentlessly about my battlefield experiences – he wanted information to share with those damned raiders.’
Michael turned suddenly to Ayera, who took an involuntary step backwards when he saw the dark expression on the monk’s face. ‘We have it on good authority that you were among the raiders, too. Walkelate might be betraying his country, but you have betrayed our town.’
Ayera regarded Langelee with weary resignation. ‘Did you tell them?’
Langelee looked indignant. ‘Of course not. However, I did say that you would be unlikely to deceive Michael, and that you should take him into your confidence. You should have listened.’
‘What is going on?’ snapped Michael. ‘And you can put down that blade, Ayera, because we all know you will not use it on us.’
Bartholomew knew no such thing, and waited, taut as a bowstring, while Ayera stared at the monk. Then the geometrician sighed, and the sword dipped towards the floor.
‘I did join ranks with the robbers, but I had my reasons.’
‘I suppose you wanted money because your uncle failed to bequeath you any,’ surmised Bartholomew coldly. ‘And you were eager to buy that horse.’
‘It is a little more complex than that,’ said Ayera shortly.
Michael folded his arms. ‘Then explain.’
‘Perhaps one day,’ said Ayera. ‘But not now.’
Michael took an angry step towards him. ‘That is not good enough.’
‘Leave him be,’ came a voice from the door. ‘He cannot tell you what you want to know, because he is under orders to keep his silence. You see, he is in my employ, as is Master Langelee.’
Bartholomew spun around, Michael’s dagger in his hand, but lowered it quickly when he recognised the speaker. It was Dame Pelagia.
‘At last!’ cried Langelee in relief. ‘Where have you been, madam? W
e need more directions, because Ayera and I are hopelessly out of our depth here.’
Michael gaped at his grandmother, still struggling to understand. ‘They are working for you?’
Pelagia inclined her head. ‘Ayera has been with me for a while now, ever since the King decided it was time I had an assistant to perform some of my more physically demanding duties.’
‘Ayera is your apprentice?’ Michael looked as astonished as Bartholomew felt.
Pelagia nodded again. ‘And he recruited Langelee when we needed more help.’
‘Why Langelee?’ demanded Michael indignant and hurt. ‘Why not me?’
‘Because Langelee is a warrior,’ explained Ayera. ‘We fought together at the Battle of Neville’s Cross, and we were friends in York. You are a brave and intelligent man, Brother, but I needed a soldier.’
‘Ayera joined the raiders on my orders,’ said Pelagia, when Michael was silent. ‘He told them he needed the pay because he feared his uncle’s bequest would prove to be a disappointment.’
‘It did prove to be a disappointment,’ said Ayera ruefully. ‘My family lending me money for that horse is not the same at all.’ He turned to Bartholomew. ‘I am afraid I did not handle your questions very well, Matt. You caught me off guard, and I suspect my answers did nothing to alleviate your concerns.’
‘And I am sorry I threatened to restrict your access to patients,’ added Langelee. ‘But it was the only way I could think of to bring an end to the discussion. You kept catching us in inconsistencies – such as whether Ayera found me wandering dazed in Cholles Lane or in Newe Inn’s garden – and I had to end it before it went any further.’
‘It was Ayera who saved my life last night!’ exclaimed Bartholomew in sudden understanding. ‘Frevill was about to kill me in the scuffle outside King’s Hall, but Ayera threw a knife. The shadow was too large to be Dame Pelagia.’
‘Now you know why I am so certain that there will be an attack today,’ said Pelagia, as Ayera shot the physician a brief smile of acknowledgement. ‘Ayera heard it from the raiders’ own lips. We must do all we can to prevent it, so—’
Murder By The Book (The Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew) Page 37
