Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer

Michael dragged his thoughts away from the Chancellor and back to the merchants. ‘Your task would be difficult if the killer had remained in Oxford, but how will you find him here, in a town where you have no friends and where no one has any reason to help you?’

‘And even if you do discover a scholar who was in Oxford the day Gonerby died, it will be impossible to prove he is the culprit,’ added Bartholomew. ‘Unless he confesses.’

‘There were many vicious murders that dreadful day,’ added Tynkell softly. ‘Sixty scholars were slaughtered as they tried to go about their lawful business. Sixty!’

‘And how many townsmen?’ demanded Eu. ‘Probably twice that number!’

‘More,’ said Wormynghalle, tugging aggressively on his sheep-head pendant.

‘But the scholars were unarmed,’ insisted Tynkell. ‘Chancellor Brouweon wrote to us, and described dreadful acts of savagery.’

‘If the scholars were unarmed, then why did so many townsmen die?’ asked Abergavenny quietly. ‘The killing – with weapons – was carried out by both sides.’

‘You clearly dislike scholars,’ said Bartholomew to Eu. ‘Yet you travelled to Cambridge in their company. Why?’

‘It made sense,’ explained Abergavenny, resting his hand on Eu’s arm when the spicer looked as if he was about to make a curt response about his travelling arrangements being his own affair. ‘Duraunt was due to inspect Merton’s Cambridge holdings, and three of his colleagues were itching to leave the city, because they fear reprisals. Thus there were four academics, and we were four – if you count Okehamptone the scribe among our number. It seemed safer to make the journey as a single party, given that the highways are so dangerous these days.’

‘I appreciate your predicament,’ said Michael, regarding the three merchants soberly. ‘You have been charged to find a killer and you are determined to carry out your duty. But I must refuse you permission to do it here. The Archbishop of Canterbury is due in a few days, and I cannot have merchants asking inflammatory questions of scholars. You may cause a disturbance here, too.’

‘But you must!’ cried Eu, coming to his feet. ‘Widow Gonerby will be furious if we return empty-handed, and will denigrate us to our fellow burgesses.’

Abergavenny also stood. ‘Worse, she may come after this scholar herself, and then you will have a riot for certain. She is not a woman to be denied.’

‘I do not care,’ said Michael. ‘If she comes, she will be told what I am telling you: to go home.’

‘Then we shall see the Sheriff,’ declared Wormynghalle, making for the door. ‘He will not condone universities protecting scholars who slay innocent merchants.’

Wormynghalle’s tirade faltered when he found his way blocked by a small man with pale hair and a wispy beard. Despite his diminutive size, the man exuded an aura of confidence and authority, and even though Wormynghalle was at least a head taller, he stopped dead in his tracks when the fellow raised a hand to indicate he was to return to his seat. Sheriff Tulyet had approached so silently that no one was sure how much of the discussion he had heard. Bartholomew liked Tulyet, who was able, intelligent and more than a match for the criminals who tried their luck in his town. He introduced himself, and Bartholomew was gratified to see Wormynghalle at a loss for words.

‘Well?’ asked Abergavenny when he had repeated their request. ‘Will you see justice done?’

Tulyet walked to a window and stared across the grassy churchyard, hands clasped behind his back. ‘I know what happened on St Scholastica’s Day, and I do not want hundreds dead here because you interrogate our scholars. Brother Michael is right to forbid you from conducting your enquiries.’

‘But what shall we do?’ demanded Wormynghalle. ‘We cannot go home without a culprit, and I shall not stay here for ever.’

‘And we do not want you here,’ said Tynkell with a deplorable lack of tact. ‘But it is not our fault you agreed to this ridiculous quest. You must devise a solution to your predicament yourselves.’

‘You cannot let a killer go unpunished, any more than we can,’ reasoned Abergavenny. ‘He will be so delighted to get away with one murder that he may commit another.’

‘Perhaps he has already struck,’ said Eu uneasily. ‘Chesterfelde was stabbed last night: perhaps he knew the killer’s identity, and was murdered before he could tell.’ He appealed to his colleagues. ‘The Sheriff is right: we cannot do anything here, and we should leave while we are still able.’

‘I suppose we could go home,’ said Abergavenny cautiously. ‘But…’

‘We could not,’ stated Wormynghalle firmly. ‘We are not Chesterfelde – a grinning fool who spouted Latin at every turn – and we will not slink away like beaten curs.’ He gazed defiantly first at Michael, and then at Tulyet.

‘Tell me a little about Chesterfelde, since you are here,’ said Michael opportunistically. ‘I heard you were in the hall when he was killed.’

‘We were,’ said Eu with a shudder. ‘It was not pleasant to wake up and find a corpse in our midst, I can tell you! We were all tired and slept heavily – even old Duraunt, who usually only naps. We doused the lamps at dusk – about nine o’clock on these light evenings – and none of us knew any more until Bailiff Boltone woke us shortly before dawn.’

‘It was a vile shock,’ agreed Abergavenny quietly. ‘Knowing you slept through a murdered man’s final agonies. There are similarities between the deaths of Chesterfelde and Gonerby, Brother, and you would be rash to ignore them.’

‘And those similarities are?’ asked Michael, surprised.

Abergavenny raised his hands in a way that suggested he thought the answer obvious. ‘Both were killed with blades, and both were killed in such a way as to leave no witnesses.’

‘Gonerby was killed with a sword, and Chesterfelde with a knife,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘Chesterfelde died during the night, and Gonerby during a daytime riot. Gonerby was a parchment-maker and Chesterfelde a scholar. They do not sound similar to me.’

‘However,’ said Michael, ‘if these two deaths are related, then we shall have confirmation of it when I find Chesterfelde’s killer – which I will do, gentlemen.’ He looked at each one in turn, and Bartholomew thought that if any of the three merchants are the culprit, then he should be experiencing some serious unease. ‘I intend to have Chesterfelde’s killer in my prison before the Archbishop arrives, and if the fellow also did away with Gonerby, then your problem will be solved.’

‘How do we know we can trust you?’ asked Wormynghalle suspiciously.

Michael did not dignify the question with a reply. ‘You will return to Merton Hall and throw yourself on Duraunt’s hospitality while I make some enquiries. Then, when I have my culprit, you can question him about Gonerby.’

The three merchants looked at each other. Bartholomew could see Eu was ready to accept, because it was the easiest and safest option – and it would leave time free for business. Wormynghalle was against it, because he did not trust the monk to apprehend the right man. Abergavenny wavered, torn between wanting to be amenable to the authorities and preferring to conduct his own investigation.

‘Very well,’ said the Welshman eventually. ‘We shall do as you ask.’

‘We will bide by your decision until the Archbishop arrives – next Monday,’ said Wormynghalle, clearly irritated by the decision. ‘It is Sunday now, so you have seven full days. But then I am going home, and I will take a culprit with me. Either you will hand him to me, or I shall find one myself. I will not return to Oxford empty-handed.’