Susanna GREGORY: The Killer of Pilgrims

Bartholomew shook his head. ‘Tell Michael what we have found, and do not let anyone come in. I will try to disarm whatever device he has constructed.’

Thelnetham pointed to a door. ‘There are the stairs that lead to the roof. God forgive me, but Welfry asked me where they went the other day, and I told him. I thought he was making polite conversation, and he is such a charming fellow…’

‘It is not your fault – he deceived us all. Now go.’

Bartholomew opened the door and began to climb. The steps were narrow, pitch black and very uneven, and he could not go as fast as he would have liked. It seemed an age before he reached another door, which he opened to reveal a small ledge and a dizzying drop. But there was something else, too.

In the gloom of the ancient, dusty rafters, he could see buckets attached to ropes. They were linked by twine that had been smeared with the substance he and his medical colleagues had created, and he understood immediately what was intended to happen: a flame would be touched to the twine, allowing the perpetrator time to escape while it burned. He recalled Welfry admiring the ‘fuse’ Kendale had invented when he had illuminated St Mary the Great: he had stolen the idea.

Bartholomew tried to pull the twine away from the pails, but it had been tacked very securely to the wood, and he could not do it – he would have to disable the receptacles themselves. But these had been positioned far along the rafters, so they would be directly over the tables below. Cautiously, he stepped off the door ledge, and took several wobbly steps along the nearest beam. Immediately, the door closed behind him.

‘Keep walking,’ came Welfry’s voice. ‘I have a knife, and I am not afraid to use it. And even if I only injure you, you will still fall to your death. Walk away from me, and do not turn back.’

Bartholomew could not have turned back, even if he had wanted to, because the beam was too narrow. With no choice but to obey, he did as Welfry ordered.

His legs trembled, and he tried not to look down, although it was difficult, because he had to watch where he was putting his feet: the rafter was uneven, and there was a very real risk of him losing his balance and falling to his death without the Seneschal’s knife helping him along. Eventually, he reached the crown-post in the middle of the rafter, and grabbed it gratefully.

‘Do not stop,’ called Welfry. ‘There is another door at the far end. Walk to it, and close it after you. The latch sticks, so you will be trapped until someone rescues you, but you will live. However, if you stop, I will be forced to kill you.’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew. The next section of rafter was much more uneven, and he was in no state for acrobatics. ‘Lob your knife if you will, but I am not moving.’

Immediately, a blade thudded into the wood by his face, making him jump so violently that he almost lost his footing.

‘Damn!’ muttered Welfry. ‘But I have another, so do not think of starting back.’

‘This is over, Welfry.’ Bartholomew sounded a lot more confident than he felt.

‘Almost,’ agreed Welfry. ‘My work will soon be completed.’

‘How could you do this?’ Bartholomew eased around the post in an effort to put himself out of knife range. ‘You are one of the University’s most popular members – and its latest Seneschal. How could you betray it all for a future with Odelina and a handful of signacula ?’

‘I am not going anywhere with Odelina. First, Isnard’s barge is unseaworthy. But second, and more importantly, you should credit me with a little integrity – I have never broken my vows of chastity.’ Welfry sighed when he saw Bartholomew no longer represented a clear target. ‘I said keep moving.’

‘Michael knows about your crimes,’ warned Bartholomew, not holding much hope of talking the Dominican into giving up, but desperate enough to try. ‘You may not have killed Drax, Alice, Gib, Yffi and Poynton yourself, but you are certainly implicated. And we know it was you who stole the signacula and St Simon Stock’s scapular.’

‘Perhaps, but he will never be able to prove it. Please start walking. I do not want to hurt you.’

‘He will prove it.’ Bartholomew could see Welfry in the gloom, holding a blade in his gloved hand. He was safe from lobbed knives behind the crown-post, but as long as he was pinned down, he could not stop the Dominican from activating his pulleys. He knew he had to do something quickly, but what? ‘He even knows why you have done these terrible things.’

Welfry gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I doubt it.’

‘You hate Kendale, so you needled him with gentle tricks, knowing he would respond with vicious ones. But when that failed to see him expelled, you ordered Heslarton to leave Yffi and a box of “evidence” in his hostel, so he would be blamed for the crimes you and your helpmeets had committed. You ordered Drax left in Michaelhouse for the same reason.’

‘Unfortunately, it was too subtle for Brother Michael. He failed to make the connection.’ Welfry sounded exasperated. ‘Enough of this! Start walking again, or I will–’

‘He failed to make the connection because he does not allow himself to be misled by villains,’ retorted Bartholomew, struggling to keep the unsteadiness from his voice. ‘But why do you–’

‘It started when I saw Chestre murder Jolye,’ snapped Welfry. ‘Shoving him in the icy river and then refusing to let him out. It was monstrous!’

‘If you witnessed a murder, you should have told Michael. He represents justice, not you.’

‘My word against an entire hostel, including the wily-tongued Kendale? No one would have believed me. But they will pay for their crime.’

‘What happened to you, Welfry?’ asked Bartholomew softly. ‘What brought you to this?’

‘ You ask me such a question?’ asked Welfry with a short, mirthless laugh. ‘A man abandoned by God because of his heretical ideas and fondness for sorcery?’

Bartholomew winced, but pressed on. ‘How could you throw in your lot with Odelina?’

‘Odelina,’ sighed Welfry. ‘That was the worst part: enduring her attentions to secure her help. However, she dispatched Gib, Alice – and probably Drax, too, although she denies it – of her own volition. And her father was responsible for Yffi and Poynton. I had nothing to do with any of it.’

‘No, but you took advantage,’ countered Bartholomew, watching Welfry finger the dagger restlessly. ‘Leaving corpses in Michaelhouse and Chestre, and tying a yellow wig on Gib to make everyone think the badge thief was dead. The thief was you, although Heslarton did not know it at the time.’

Welfry inclined his head. ‘And neither did Odelina – both would have killed me for targeting Emma and Celia, so I kept it from them until I had her completely in my thrall. But enough chatter, Matthew! Start walking towards the door.’

The benefits of Thelnetham’s tonic had finally worn off, and Bartholomew felt sick and dizzy. He knew he would fall if he moved along the beam as ordered. And how could he thwart Welfry, if he was trapped behind a door that would not open, anyway? He began speaking again, hoping the delay would allow him time to devise a plan – although nothing had come to mind so far.

‘I do not understand why you stole so many pilgrim badges. Do you intend to sell them, to make yourself a fortune?’

‘No, of course not. I know why you are struggling to keep me talking, by the way. You expect Thelnetham to fetch Michael and save you. Unfortunately, Thelnetham met with an accident.’

He jabbed his thumb downwards, and Bartholomew risked a quick glance. The Gilbertine was lying on the floor: there was blood next to his head.