Susanna GREGORY - The Killer of Pilgrims

‘I suppose so,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Although bringing a corpse here – especially to the area given over to their supplies – was a rash thing to have done. Moreover, how did the killer get it in here in the first place? Not all the workmen are likely to have been involved, while our students are always gazing out of the windows. How did the culprit do it without being seen?’

Michael was thoughtful. ‘But our students were distracted, were they not? With vivid descriptions about the antics of Yolande de Blaston, which drew all eyes to the roof?’

‘Concerning a handful of chestnuts and a damp cloth,’ provided William helpfully, indicating that the students had not been the only ones absorbed in the builders’ commentary.

‘Do you think Yffi staged a diversion?’ asked Bartholomew.

Michael sighed. ‘I have no idea. But something untoward is unfolding, and I am not ready to discount anyone as a suspect until I understand what.’

The masons had not resumed their labours, but were standing in a cluster, discussing what had happened in low, excited voices. Yffi was doing most of the talking, and his apprentices leaned close to hear what he had to say on the matter. Blaston, who had no apprentices of his own, was standing nearby, regarding them with undisguised disdain.

‘They think it is a joke,’ he whispered, when Bartholomew and Michael approached. ‘A man is dead, and all they can do is huddle together and chatter like a flock of crows.’

Bartholomew studied the masons closely but could detect no signs of unease or guilt in any of them. Of course, that meant nothing – the culprit would have to be bold and fearless, to drag a corpse around inside a well-populated College in the first place.

‘I do not suppose you noticed anything suspicious, did you?’ Michael asked Blaston hopefully.

Blaston shook his head apologetically. ‘I am sorry, Brother. I was in the stable, making new frames for the window shutters.’

‘All day?’

Blaston thought for a moment. ‘No. Not long after dawn, I went out to buy more nails.’

‘Did anyone see you?’

Blaston was alarmed by the question. ‘Well, no, because the smith was away, so I took what I needed and left the money under his anvil, just like I always do. He trusts me. Why do you ask? Am I a suspect for this horrible crime?’

‘Of course not,’ said Bartholomew soothingly. ‘We are just trying to gain a clear picture of who was where. Did you see anyone wandering about the College, other than scholars and staff?’

‘Yes – there were several visitors,’ replied Blaston, reassured. ‘Walter will give you a list.’

‘Unfortunately, he has a habit of loitering in the latrines,’ said Michael. ‘I doubt he can help.’

‘Well, then.’ Blaston scratched his head. ‘There was a delivery of more sand for the mortar. Those pilgrims poked their heads round the door – Prior Etone was showing them the town, and they were being nosy. Then Agatha the laundress’s cousin arrived, wanting kitchen scraps.’

‘He must be desperate,’ muttered Michael. ‘Our leftovers are left because they are inedible.’

‘Folk are desperate, Brother,’ said Blaston quietly. ‘It is a terrible winter.’

Michael nodded slowly. ‘Yes, it is. I hate to mention this, Blaston, but did you hear what Yffi and his lads were saying about your wife?’

Blaston nodded, and an expression of immense pride suffused his face. ‘Yolande is an incredible woman, and it pleases me to know folk admire her talents. I heard everything, and she will be very flattered when I repeat it to her.’

Michael’s jaw dropped, but Bartholomew was not surprised. He had heard Blaston say as much on previous occasions, and knew exactly what the carpenter thought of his wife’s abilities in other men’s bedchambers. Before the monk could make some remark that might detract from Blaston’s pleasure, Bartholomew gestured for Yffi and his apprentices to approach.

‘We need to know what you saw today,’ he told them.

‘Nothing,’ replied Yffi with a shrug. ‘We have been on the roof all day, and it is difficult to see down into the yard from up there. We all went to peer over the edge when Agatha started chasing that dog, but it was the only time I looked down all day.’

‘What about the rest of you?’ asked Michael. Yffi’s assistants were all undersized youths in baggy leggings and grimy tunics. ‘Surely, one of you must have climbed down at some point for more supplies? Or even stood for a moment to stretch and take a breath?’

‘We did come down from time to time,’ acknowledged one called Peterkin. ‘But we were in a hurry, so did not waste time gawking around. All I can say is that there was no body behind our tiles at dawn this morning, because I went behind there to pee. And I would have noticed.’

‘Someone entered our College and hid a corpse among your supplies,’ said Michael, rather accusingly. ‘In broad daylight. Surely, one of you must have seen something to help us find out who did it?’

There were a lot of shaken heads and muttered denials. ‘You cannot let your mind wander on roofs,’ said Peterkin, rather sanctimoniously. ‘It is asking for accidents.’

Michael sighed his exasperation, and tried a different tack. ‘Did any of you know Drax?’

‘Not really,’ replied Yffi. ‘We all drink in the Griffin, which he owned, but we rarely spoke.’

‘I did not like him,’ said Blaston unhappily. ‘He knew this winter has been hard, and that decent men are struggling to make ends meet, but he still charged top prices for his wares.’

‘That is true,’ said Yffi, while his lads nodded agreement. ‘Why do you think he bought prayers from Michaelhouse? His conscience plagued him, and he needed your masses to salve it.’

‘But none of us were angry enough about it to kill him,’ added Peterkin hastily.

Michael asked a few more questions but they elicited nothing useful, so he ordered them back to work. When they had gone, he stood next to the stack of tiles and squinted at the roof.

‘If Yffi and his boys were all up there, they would not have been able to see down here – although we would still have been able to hear their banter. So they may be telling the truth.’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘Drax was not a large man, so it would not take many moments to haul him here and deposit him. The killer could well have done it while Yffi and his apprentices were on the roof and Blaston was in the stables. Of course, he would have to hope none of our students happened to be looking out of the window at the time.’

‘But it could have happened when they were transfixed by Yffi’s lewd banter,’ mused Michael. ‘I was interested to hear that those pilgrims were nosing around at the salient time, though, especially that pardoner. You know what I think of pardoners. Perhaps Fen saw our home and decided it looked like a good repository for the body of his victim.’

‘Why would he do that?’ asked Bartholomew, startled by the assertion. ‘If he did kill Drax, why risk capture by toting the corpse around?’

‘Pardoners are an unfathomable breed,’ declared Michael, never rational where they were concerned. ‘Who knows what passes through their sly minds? But I shall find out when I interrogate Master Fen later. I do not want you with me, though. You are too willing to see the good in people, and he will use your weakness to his advantage.’

‘As you wish,’ said Bartholomew, relieved to be spared the ordeal.

Cynric had been busy while Bartholomew and Michael had been talking to the workmen, and not only had he arranged for servants to carry Drax to St Michael’s Church, but he had conducted a systematic search of the College buildings, too, and was able to report that there were no signs of blood or a struggle in any of them.