Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer

‘I am pleased to be here,’ said Michael, settling on a bench and shaking his head when Paxtone offered him a plate of pastries. Bartholomew wondered whether he was unwell. ‘I want to talk to you all about something.’

Dodenho looked pleased. ‘You want me to give another University Lecture. My last one was very well received, and a number of people have asked when the next will be.’

‘So they can avoid it,’ whispered Wormynghalle to Bartholomew. ‘But he is so convinced of his scholarly prowess that he does not realise they are insulting him. Duraunt from Merton Hall said his lecture was enough to make the angels weep, and Dodenho interpreted it as meaning the heavenly hosts would shed tears of admiration at the power of his arguments!’

‘Is he really so stupid?’ asked Bartholomew, regarding the preening scholar wonderingly. ‘Or is it all an act, and he is actually more clever than we think?’

Wormynghalle considered. ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘He really does believe he is Cambridge’s answer to Roger Bacon. And speaking of Bacon, what do you think of his contention that–?’

‘My question does concern King’s Hall,’ said Michael to the others, loud enough to distract her. ‘But it is not about public lectures – it is about Hamecotes, who abandoned his duties without permission, and went to buy books. He claims to have purchased Heytesbury’s Regulae from Merton. However, Duraunt informs me that Merton never sells its books, because they are too valuable a commodity. Hamecotes was lying.’

‘We know,’ said Paxtone, taking the wind out of Michael’s sails. ‘It is why I asked you to come here and share a cup of wine with us.’ He swallowed uneasily, and glanced at his two companions. ‘We had hoped to keep the matter quiet, given the disgrace it might bring to our College, but you are a sensible man and I am sure we can rely on your discretion.’

Michael narrowed his eyes. ‘Why do I sense I am going to hear something I will not like?’

‘Probably because you are,’ said Wormynghalle softly. She grimaced, as if the subject was painful for her. ‘You see, Hamecotes is not in Oxford. He is here.’

‘Here?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘Well, I have written his absence in the University records now, and I cannot erase it. When did he return? Or are you going to tell me he never went?’

‘We do not know whether he went,’ said Wormynghalle. ‘Although he sent us those letters, so I am inclined to believe that he stopped there briefly, even if it was not his intended destination. We discovered him an hour ago, which is why we have not yet had time to do anything official.’

‘Send him to see me,’ said Michael sternly. ‘He owes two marks for being absent without leave, and we could do with the money before the Visitation.’

‘It is not that simple,’ said Wormynghalle. She looked at Paxtone and Dodenho. ‘I do not know how to explain this.’

‘I do,’ said Paxtone. He stood and indicated that Michael and Bartholomew should follow him. ‘The easiest way is to show–’

‘No!’ cried Dodenho, also coming to his feet. ‘Do not make the situation worse than it is! Just tell them in a few words. They do not need all the grisly details.’

‘I will not lie,’ said Paxtone wearily, as if they had debated the matter too long already. ‘We must do what is right, and Brother Michael is the Senior Proctor. I do not want King’s Hall to become the centre of rumours and speculation when we have done nothing wrong.’

‘King’s Hall is not what I am worried about,’ said Wormynghalle unhappily, indicating that Paxtone was to sit again. ‘It is Hamecotes. I am obliged, as his room-mate, to protect him…’

‘I am more concerned with the impact it might have on my scholarly musings,’ said Dodenho. ‘People might not want to read texts scribed by a man whose College …well, you know.’

‘I do not,’ said Michael loudly. ‘What has Hamecotes done that is so dreadful?’

‘It is better just to show him,’ said Paxtone, raising his hand to quell the objections of his younger colleagues. ‘Michael and Matt are friends, and will help us resolve this unfortunate matter quietly and discreetly. Besides, they will not tell anyone else, because of the Visitation.’

Dodenho sighed. ‘Very well, but you had better be right. If this misfires, I shall be cross.’

‘Cross?’ cried Wormynghalle in disbelief. ‘Well, in that case we had better redouble our efforts. Hamecotes may be disgraced and the College shamed, but it would be worse if you were cross !’

Paxtone laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder that made her flinch, while Dodenho merely looked bemused, as if he could not imagine what he had said wrong. Bartholomew and Michael followed Paxtone to the door, the physician doing so reluctantly, not sure he wanted to know what was about to be revealed.

‘You are right to be uneasy,’ whispered Wormynghalle. ‘Do not allow yourself to become embroiled in this, Matt. Let Michael do it – this sort of thing is why he is paid such a princely salary.’

‘I want him with me,’ said Michael, overhearing. ‘Where are we going, anyway?’

Paxtone did not reply, but walked into the yard, where he passed a number of buildings before reaching a disused stable block at the far end of the vegetable plots. It was near the river, and Bartholomew was aware of the water’s dank fumes. Paxtone approached a ramshackle shed, and opened a door that creaked rustily. Everyone waited in silence while he took a lamp from a hook on the wall and set about lighting it.

‘What are you doing?’ came an appalled voice from behind them. It was Norton. ‘Are you mad?’

‘We have no choice,’ said Paxtone, busy with the wick.

‘You should have waited,’ shouted Norton furiously. ‘This should be for the Warden and all the Fellows to decide, not just you three. You have no right.’

‘I do not care,’ said Paxtone. ‘I have seen what happens when men try to deceive their way out of difficult situations. They always end up in deeper trouble. It is better this way.’

‘I am not sure I want to remain here any longer,’ said Norton coldly. Bartholomew saw unease and fear under the shell of anger. ‘It is not how I imagined it would be. It is all gossiping in Latin and eating too much. I shall resign at the end of term.’

‘Good,’ said Wormynghalle, as Norton stalked away. ‘At least something good has come out of this. That man has no right to present himself as a scholar. It is an insult to those of us with minds.’

Once the wick burned, Paxtone led the way inside the stable. Bartholomew could make out very little in the gloom, other than that it was dusty and dry.

‘Here is Hamecotes,’ said Paxtone, carrying the lamp to a table that stood in the centre of the room and tugging away a rug to reveal a body. It was swollen and black, and should have been in its grave days before. Michael gasped in shock, and backed away so fast that he collided with Dodenho. Bartholomew simply stared at the sorry sight in front of him.

‘We found him here this morning,’ explained Wormynghalle, putting her hand over her mouth and averting her eyes. Bartholomew saw she was struggling not to betray herself by fainting or being sick. Dodenho was not so iron-willed. He shoved his way past her to reach the fresh air outside, where he stood rubber-legged and breathing heavily.

‘He has been dead a lot longer than that,’ said Michael, stating the obvious. ‘When did you say he left for Oxford?’

‘The morning after Ascension,’ replied Wormynghalle shakily. ‘Fifteen days ago.’

‘And how long has he been a corpse?’ asked Michael, as Bartholomew studied the grisly spectacle.