Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer

‘I said, LET US PRAY !’ boomed Islip again, even more thunderously.

The apprentices looked at each other in bemusement, but obediently lowered their weapons. One or two even knelt, while the students, conditioned by the routine of their daily offices, formed tidy lines and stood with bowed heads. Bartholomew was astounded to see that everywhere people were assuming attitudes of prayer, either standing devoutly or dropping to their knees. The silence was absolute, and all signs of hostility gone, like blossom in a spring gale.

‘Help me!’ cried Joan in desperation, when she saw her plan about to be thwarted.

The townsmen who had come to her rescue edged away uncomfortably as she shattered the reverent stillness. Michael released his grip and folded his arms, smiling in satisfaction.

‘Rape!’ shrieked Joan in final desperation, appealing to her rescuers. ‘He tried to–’

‘Hush!’ hissed Lee angrily. ‘The Archbishop is praying.’

A communal growl of agreement accompanied his words, as the crowd indicated that they wanted her to shut up until the great man had finished.

Tulyet approached, and spoke softly in her ear. ‘It is over, Joan Gonerby. My men and Michael’s beadles are all around you. You cannot escape.’

‘Help!’ yelled Joan, not one to give up easily, although her face was frightened. Her furious howl drowned Islip’s next words, and those around her began to complain, outraged that she should dare to screech over the most venerable churchman in the land.

‘Be still, woman!’ snapped William. ‘I cannot hear what he is saying.’

Joan, seeing she had lost, ducked away from Michael, and people hastily moved out of her way, not wanting to be associated with someone who made a racket during an Archbishop’s devotions. Sheriff and Senior Proctor followed. Bartholomew winced when Tulyet tripped her from behind and Michael, to make sure she did not escape again, sat on her. He hurried forward, genuinely afraid she would be crushed to death. Two of Tulyet’s sergeants took her arms, and he saw she was limp and unresisting, squashed in spirit, as well as in body, as they hauled her away.

‘I said “Peace be with you”,’ said the Archbishop, in response to William’s demand that he repeat himself. Bartholomew glanced at Islip, and saw the faintest of smiles touching his lips as he regarded the confused crowd. ‘The usual response is for you all to say that it is also with me.’

‘Forgive me, my Lord,’ said William, bowing absurdly deeply. ‘You spoke English, and I only ever make such responses in Latin. But I shall make an exception for you.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ said Islip, now unable to suppress the grin. He raised his hands and appealed to the crowd. ‘Well come on, then.’

There was a disorganised rumble of voices.

‘No,’ said Islip patiently. ‘You all speak together . Loudly and clearly, so I can hear you.’

‘And also with you,’ bawled William, all on his own.

‘Well, that is a start, I suppose,’ said Islip. ‘Now how about the rest of you?’

Scholars, clerics and townsmen alike exchanged bewildered glances, but did as they were told. Then they did it a second and a third time, until Islip was satisfied. By this time, the beadles had interposed themselves between Lee and his adversaries, and the antagonism between Dominicans and Michaelhouse had been forgotten in the unprecedented phenomenon of making priestly responses to an Archbishop in English. The townsfolk were delighted, and began to shout their appreciation. The scholars joined in, and it was not long before the atmosphere had changed from unease to jubilation.

‘That was clever,’ said Michael admiringly. ‘I heard Islip is a genius, and now I see why he has that reputation. But let us see to Joan. I want her locked up before she tries any more mischief.’

They edged through the cheering crowd until they reached the soldiers who had arrested her. Bartholomew immediately sensed something was wrong. He started to run towards them, but stopped abruptly when he saw Tulyet. The Sheriff’s hands were sticky with blood.

‘Help her, Matt,’ he said.

‘I cannot,’ said Bartholomew, kneeling to confirm what he already knew just by looking. ‘She is already dead.’

‘What happened?’ asked Michael.

‘Those damned teeth,’ said Tulyet unsteadily. ‘She used them to cut her own throat.’

‘It was all very simple in the end,’ said Michael, as he and Bartholomew sat together on the old apple tree in Michaelhouse’s orchard. Clippesby was with them, and Bartholomew was teaching him to juggle with stones. Michael was chewing on a stick in an attempt to assuage the pangs of hunger that racked his portly frame. The Visitation had lasted a week – Islip had left that morning – and Bartholomew was impressed by the way the monk had kept to a rigid dietary regime of his own devising. Michael had been deeply alarmed by his inability to come to his friend’s rescue in the stationer’s shop, and had taken Brother Thomas’s warning to heart. He was determined to be slender.

‘Yes,’ agreed Clippesby, attempting to juggle and talk at the same time. ‘Joan Gonerby wanted to be a scholar, and completed a term at Merton College in Oxford, but her husband disapproved. So, with the blessing of a cunning brother, she instigated a riot that would serve as a way to murder him without anyone knowing what had really happened.’

‘Unfortunately, she did not kill him instantly, and he heard her talking about going to Cambridge,’ continued Michael. ‘He charged Eu and Abergavenny – and Wormynghalle, without knowing his role in the affair – to bring his killer to justice. Then Joan and her brother decided to turn what could have been an awkward situation to their own advantage. We might have had the answer to this sooner, Matt, if you had mentioned that King’s Hall was recruiting women. I could have told you no good would come of it.’

‘She was an excellent scholar,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘Besides, I see no reason why women should not be allowed to study.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Clippesby, throwing his stones in the air. ‘Pigs do it, and the world has not tumbled around our ears. There is very little more erudite than a sow, you know.’

‘I shall take your word for it,’ said Michael shortly. He resumed his analysis before Clippesby could lead them off into some strange world of his own. ‘Joan exhorted the merchants to investigate her husband’s death, then came to enjoy herself at King’s Hall.’

‘Polmorva had witnessed Gonerby’s murder and was encouraged to accompany the merchants,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Joan did not care – she knew he had seen nothing of import or she would have killed him – but Duraunt extended the invitation because he thought Polmorva planned to dispatch the Master of Queen’s College for personal gain.’

‘Wormynghalle wanted Eu and Abergavenny to come, because it was a chance to rid himself of two burgesses who would vote against him as Mayor,’ continued Clippesby. ‘Duraunt suggested they should all travel together, and offered them accommodation at Merton Hall when he realised they were likely to cause trouble. But why was he so magnanimous? The Merton Hall cat told me he is not an especially good man, just an average one.’

‘Because Oxford is under interdict, and he does not want Cambridge to fall into the same pit,’ replied Michael. ‘Cambridge is Merton’s bolt-hole, should Oxford be suppressed or collapse. It is in his interests to preserve Cambridge.’

‘So, you were wrong to assume that the Oxford men came to cause trouble,’ said Clippesby, jigging and dodging to keep his stones in the air. ‘None of them cared anything for Islip and his rumoured foundation. It was something you might have done, Brother, but nothing they considered.’