Susanna GREGORY - The Devil's Disciples

As usual, Mildenale’s hands were clasped before him and he was gazing heavenward. A student mimicked his pious posture, although he desisted abruptly when Michael frowned at him.

‘I am not sure what I can tell you,’ said Mildenale, when the monk asked whether he knew anything that might solve Carton’s murder. ‘His devotion to stamping out wickedness earned him enemies, but that is to be expected in a soldier of God. I wonder who will be next, William or me?’

‘You think someone might be targeting zealots?’ asked Michael, rather baldly.

Mildenale regarded him in surprise. ‘Carton was not a zealot, Brother. What a dreadful thing to say! He was just determined to speak out against sin, as am I. And with God’s help, I shall succeed.’

‘If you think you might be in danger, you should stay in,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘Until–’

‘I will take my chances.’ Mildenale’s smile was beatific. ‘God will stop any daggers that come my way, because He is keen for me to open my hostel.’

‘I hear you argued with Carton over the burning of some books,’ said Michael.

Mildenale nodded, rather defiantly. ‘He was collecting evil texts for a bonfire, but I thought it was dangerous to keep them indefinitely, and wanted to incinerate them at once. We quarrelled about it on several occasions, but he stubbornly refused to see that I was right.’

‘Some people think Carton was the Sorcerer,’ said Michael, again somewhat bluntly. He did not bother to address the fact that Carton had doubtless thought he was right, too.

Mildenale gaped at him. ‘Of course he was not the Sorcerer! What has got into you today, making all these odd remarks? If Carton had been the Sorcerer, do you think he would have railed against him so vehemently? He was by far the most outspoken of us on that particular issue. William and I tend to denounce evil in general, rather than damning individual heathens.’

‘Do you think the Sorcerer killed him, then?’ asked Michael.

Mildenale thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No, because the Sorcerer has never stooped to violence before, and we have been battling each other for weeks now. Of course, fighting would be a lot easier if we knew who he was, but the fellow eludes us at every turn.’

‘He eludes me, too,’ said Michael with a weary sigh. ‘Where were you yesterday afternoon? No, do not look offended. It is a question I must ask everyone who knew Carton.’

‘In church, praying. I am afraid no one can verify it, but I am not a man given to lies. There is no reason why you should not believe me.’

‘Right,’ said Michael. ‘Do you know of anyone who was especially irritated by Carton’s views?’

‘The Dominicans,’ replied Mildenale immediately and predictably. ‘And the canons at Barnwell were not keen on him, either, because he did something of which they did not approve.’

‘What was that?’

‘He told a lie about Sewale Cottage – the house they want to buy from us. He said a merchant called Spynk offered ten marks for it, whereas Spynk had actually only stipulated nine. They raised their bid to eleven marks, and were peeved when they later learned they had been misled.’

‘They said nothing about this to me,’ said Michael, startled and a little angry.

‘I am sure they did not,’ said Mildenale. ‘But it is true – Carton told me himself. He liked the canons, but was prepared to do all he could to secure Michaelhouse the best possible price.’

Michael turned to Bartholomew. ‘It looks as though we shall have to visit Barnwell again.’

‘Mildenale did not seem overly distressed about Carton,’ said Bartholomew, sitting on one of the hall benches. They still needed to talk to William. ‘Carton was one of his closest companions, and they held similar views, yet he received news of the murder with remarkable aplomb.’

‘That did not escape my notice, either. He is almost as difficult to read as Carton, hiding as he does behind a veil of piety. Do you think they had a fatal falling out over these “heretical” texts?’

‘I cannot see Mildenale wielding a dagger, especially in a chapel.’ Bartholomew rubbed his eyes, which felt sore and scratchy. ‘I wish I was not so tired. We shall need our wits about us if we are to catch a man who has no compunction about killing priests.’

‘I would suggest you apply for sabbatical leave, because you do need a rest. But you were away all last year, so you have had your turn. And I would refuse to let you go, anyway. It was tiresome being without my Corpse Examiner.’

‘You had a Corpse Examiner: Rougham.’

Michael grimaced. ‘Who did not diagnose a single suspicious death in fifteen months. I still wonder how many murderers walk our streets, laughing at me because their crimes have gone undetected. In fact, there was one case when I was certain something untoward had happened, but Rougham was unshakeable in his conviction that both deaths were natural.’

‘ Both deaths?’

‘John Hardy and his wife. Do you remember them? He was a member of Bene’t College, but resigned his Fellowship when he married. Because he was an ex-scholar, I was asked to look into what had happened to him. The couple lived near Barnwell Priory.’

Bartholomew frowned. ‘They owned a big yellow house. Cynric told me it had burned down.’

‘There was a rumour that it was set alight by the canons. Naturally, I questioned Prior Norton, but he said the inferno had nothing to do with them. I was inclined to believe him, because there was no reason for the Augustinians to incinerate the place.’

‘Were Hardy and his wife in the building when it went up?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily.

‘No, the fire was weeks after they died, and the house was empty. The gossip that the canons set the blaze originated with Father Thomas.’

Bartholomew regarded him askance. ‘And what was Thomas’s reason for starting such a tale?’

‘First, he pointed out that the Hardy house was very close to Barnwell Priory. And second, he claimed that Podiolo becomes a wolf once the sun goes down, and is assisted in his various acts of evil by Fencotes, the walking corpse.’

‘Lord!’ muttered Bartholomew, struggling not to laugh. ‘Was he serious?’

‘He never joked about religion. Fortunately, no one knew one small fact that might have lent his accusations more clout: the Hardys dabbled in witchcraft.’

Bartholomew thought about the pleasant couple and found that hard to believe. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I found all manner of satanic regalia in their home. Prudently, I removed it before anyone saw, and Beadle Meadowman burned it for me. I do not think the Hardys were great magicians like the Sorcerer but there was certainly evidence to suggest they had pretensions.’

‘Then perhaps they were killed because they were Devil-worshippers.’

‘It is possible. But Thomas did not know what they did in their spare time, so there is no reason to suppose anyone else did, either.’

‘How did they die?’

‘Rougham said of natural causes. They were in bed, side by side, and slipped away in their sleep.’

Bartholomew was incredulous. ‘Both of them? That is not very likely.’

‘I spent hours in their house, searching for an explanation. There was no evidence of a struggle, or that a killer had cleaned up after one. There was no sign of a forced entry, and the washed pots in the kitchen indicated they had dined alone – no visitors or guests. Their bodies were unmarked, and there was nothing that looked as if it might have contained poison. Nothing.’

‘But two people do not die in their sleep at the same time.’

‘Why not? Rougham said it was possible.’

‘It is possible , but so improbable …’