Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer

‘He has been visiting Matilde in the Jewry,’ said Clippesby, keen to be helpful. ‘That is why he could not use the front gate. The College cat told me all about it.’

‘Did she, indeed?’ asked Bartholomew, supposing Clippesby had heard the rumours during one of his bids for freedom.

‘William told me you were courting Matilde,’ said Agatha. ‘But I did not believe him. I know you have a liking for her, but I did not think you would spend every night at her house for nigh on three weeks because of the damage it might do to her reputation.’ She regarded the amber liripipe with rank disdain, and reached out to finger it. ‘This is nasty.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Bartholomew tiredly. ‘It is.’

‘It will not make you more attractive to Matilde, either,’ predicted Agatha authoritatively. ‘It is not the kind of garment she would admire. Like me, she has elegant tastes. I recommend you dispense with it, and let me sew you something more suitable. But why have you chosen to woo the poor woman so flagrantly of late?’

‘He is doing it for me,’ said Clippesby. He started to explain with a clarity Bartholomew found disconcerting. ‘Rougham was attacked one night by a wolf. I drove the beast away, but the poor doctor had been so badly mauled that his senses were disturbed. Unfortunately, he then claimed that I was the wolf rather than his saviour. He agreed to keep his accusations to himself, but only if Matilde allowed him to recuperate at her house, and Matthew provided the necessary medical care. I told them it was not I who did him the harm, but no one would believe me.’

‘And that is why you are here,’ said Agatha in understanding. ‘We were told it was because your wits are awry due to the warm spring weather.’

‘They are awry,’ said Bartholomew, defensive of his medical diagnosis. ‘More than usual.’

‘They are going to send you to a hospital in Norfolk,’ said Agatha to Clippesby. ‘That is why I came here tonight: to set you free.’

‘Do not run,’ said Bartholomew to Clippesby. ‘It will only confirm your guilt in the eyes of the others, and I am still working to exonerate you.’

‘Yes,’ said Clippesby thoughtfully. ‘You have at least tried to believe in my innocence, although I know it has been difficult for you. But I think I will take Agatha up on her offer. I would rather be free and outlawed than living here like a criminal.’

‘But where will you go?’ asked Bartholomew, alarmed.

‘I have friends. Sheep are accommodating creatures, and there is a siege of herons at the river–’

‘Stop!’ commanded Agatha angrily. ‘It is when you talk like this that people doubt your sanity. You are more of an enemy to yourself than anyone else will ever be. At least pretend to be normal.’

‘Very well,’ said Clippesby with a sigh. ‘I shall go nowhere very far. There are plenty of woods where I can sleep during the day, while at night I shall go to Cambridge and try to find the real killer, since Michael seems unable to do it. It is the only way I will ever clear my name.’

‘You cannot,’ said Bartholomew, appalled. ‘It is only a matter of time before someone associates you with these murders and harms you. Let Michael do his work. He will find the culprit.’

‘Perhaps he will, but by that time I will be in Norfolk,’ argued Clippesby. ‘Locked away with lunatics. And Langelee may find he prefers Michaelhouse without me, and will see my absence as an opportunity to secure himself a new Master of Music and Astronomy. I cannot take that chance.’

‘Hide well,’ advised Agatha. ‘I will bring you several different sets of garments. Matthew believed I was Langelee, just because I was wearing his cloak, so you should take advantage of the fact that people look but they do not see .’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew, standing to block the door. ‘This is madness.’

‘A poor choice of words, Matt,’ said Clippesby with a rueful grin. ‘But you are wrong: what would be madness is to stay here. Who knows? Perhaps someone will shoot me as I am escorted into exile, just to bring this case to a satisfactory conclusion. You obviously believed that was what Langelee intended to do, or you would not have pressed a knife to the throat you thought was his in an attempt to save me.’

Bartholomew shook his head, and wished Clippesby was not quite so astute. ‘Escaping will solve nothing. Let me go to Rougham and say you cannot leave tomorrow. I will tell him you have an ague and need to rest. Then–’

‘He will know you are buying time,’ said Clippesby. He stood and walked towards the door. ‘I am leaving now. Please do not stop me.’

‘But someone may harm you if you are caught, or the merchants may drag you back to Oxford to answer for Gonerby’s murder.’ Bartholomew appealed to Agatha. ‘Surely you can see the sense in what I say? Help me persuade him.’

‘Once he is in this Norfolk hospital, he will never be allowed out. He will talk about his animals, and the physicians there will insist he stays, even when Michael proves he had nothing to do with biting people. Let him through, Matthew.’ Agatha’s sword was still drawn and she waved it at him.

‘What will you do?’ demanded Bartholomew. ‘Stab me with it? Sit down, Clippesby, and…’

Clippesby turned, and Bartholomew assumed he was going to recline on his bed again, but at the last moment he swivelled around and barrelled towards the door. The physician braced himself, but Clippesby had gathered considerable momentum, and he was bowled from his feet. He recovered quickly, and grabbed one of the Dominican’s legs. He was far stronger than Clippesby, and could easily have overpowered him, but he had reckoned without Agatha. She ripped his fingers away from the friar, and Clippesby wriggled free to race down the short passage. The Dominican’s feet thundered on the stairs and then there was silence.

While Clippesby’s footsteps faded into nothing, Bartholomew tried to struggle free of the suffocating grip Agatha had managed to secure on him, but she tightened her hold in a way that threatened to break his neck, and he found himself growing weak from lack of air. She eased off when she heard him choke, and, as soon as she did so, he shouted as loudly as he could, to raise the alarm. He still held his dagger, but he could hardly stab her with it, so he dropped it and used both hands to break free. She grunted in pain as he forced her away, and almost took a tumble. Bartholomew took a moment to ensure she was unharmed, then tore after Clippesby, almost falling down the stairs in his haste.

Clippesby had a good start, and was running towards the dense woods that lay beyond the hospital’s fields. The Dominican was good at hiding, and Bartholomew knew he would never find him once he had reached the trees. He ran harder, aware that Agatha was behind him, threatening all manner of dire consequences if he did not let Clippesby go. Lights were being kindled in Brother Paul’s house, and Bartholomew could hear the agitated, fretful voices of the inmates as they demanded to know what was causing the disturbance.

Clippesby had just reached the edge of the copse when, by forcing a massive burst of speed, Bartholomew managed to catch up with him. He grasped the hem of the Dominican’s flying habit and pulled hard, jerking him from his feet. Clippesby stumbled and Bartholomew dropped on top of him, aiming to hold him down with the weight of his body until he had regained the strength to secure him properly. Then someone grabbed his hair and jerked his head upwards in a motion that made the bones in his neck crick in protest.

‘Agatha!’ he gasped. ‘Let go!’

But he heard Agatha bellowing in the distance, and knew she was still labouring across the uneven ground towards him. He struggled. There was a flash of brightness in the moonlight, and something jabbed at his throat. He threw himself back, towards his attacker, aware of Clippesby wriggling away from under him. His assailant did not lessen his grip, and the metal glittered again as it descended towards his neck. There was a thick, rank smell, too, that made him want to gag.